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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 months ago

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Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: May I introduce everyone to my secret extra villain, bureaucratic incompetence! Chapter Title from Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine.

Word Count: 24k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sunglasses and text messages break the camels back. Usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

“Do you,” Ryan swallowed the food in his mouth, staring at the floor as he spoke. “Do you guys get nightmares?”

Ben didn’t know how to handle that question. He didn’t know how to handle most of Ryan’s questions that weren’t about Her or the more glamorous parts of Ben’s past. He could talk about Her for the rest of fucking time and never get tired, and it was pretty damn easy to mutter I did see Star Wars in theaters, was even at the premier of two of those shit-ass movies. Pussy characters, none of them can just get their fucking jobs done. Hero's journey bullshit, and shut your damn mouth Sunshine, you’re the one who told me about the hero's journey. Indiana Jones was a fuck ton better anyway.

He didn’t talk to anyone but Her about things like nightmares. Even She didn’t know the full extent of them, of the memories of gas and knives and sterilized needles that had plagued Ben’s sleep. Or how they’d turned to terrors of Homelander taking Her, of Ben roaring Her name into the dark and only hearing wordless screams in response, and of blood. Nightmares full of blood and fog that he’d woken up from choking on air while she was gone. Ben certainly didn’t tell Her about the nightmares where he touched her and she started clawing at his skin and sobbing, falling to the floor and not allowing Ben to pick her back up. Where she didn’t recognize him and just kept screaming.

He’d been waking up with Her screams still ringing in his ears, and hadn’t told her. He wouldn’t tell Her, because this was Ben’s fucking issue, and he’d deal with it his goddamn self. She had enough shit to deal with. She’d spent the past week working her damn ass off—combing through more and more of A-Train’s stupid fucking leads, listening to the media spout more and more bullshit lies about Her life, and training with Ben and Ryan—and her own nightmares had returned. After Ben had found Her in the shower, screaming and crying and fucking breaking apart in front of him, there hadn’t been a night were she hadn’t burst into flames and Ben hadn’t had to listen to the strangled, painful sounds that left her body. But she hadn’t stopped touching him. Linking her arm through Ben’s when they walked, pressing her thigh into his at the table and pulling his arm around her body. Running a hand through his hair before tugging his brow to hers when she crawled onto him in the dark. Holding Ben against her as the fire died out, letting him pull her back down until he was flat on his back and rubbing circles on her hips. Relaxing into his kisses on the top of her head and pressing her face into his neck as she fell back asleep.

Even now, sitting on the mat of the gym as they ate lunch with Ryan, she was touching Ben. She was leaning into his side as she sighed, watching Ryan carefully as she answered his question. Of course She’d know how to answer that question. She was fucking perfect.

“I do,” Her hand had wandered to Ben’s knee, tapping against him as she spoke. “Most of us do. I’d imagine it would be more worrying if we didn’t.”

Ryan blinked at her. “Worrying?“

“Well,” She frowned. “We’re exposed to a lot of fucked up situations. We make a lot of impossible, horrible decisions. Nightmares mean that we still care, that we’re still capable of remorse over our worse actions and haven’t given up on ourselves enough to just remain unaffected. We’re still able to feel something, even if that thing is fear.”

“But I don’t want to feel fear,” Ryan mumbled, still watching the ground. “I don’t want to be afraid of stuff anymore. My dad said that I shouldn’t be afraid of anything, that fear was a weakness.”

“Ryan,” She leaned a little further forward. “Can you look at me?”

When he listened, slowly looking up with a nervous expression, a small, sad smile crossed Her face.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Um, I don’t know.” Ryan glanced at Ben, and even though he didn’t know what the fuck She was getting at—he rarely did—he gave Ryan a sharp nod. It seemed to say what the kid had been looking for, because Ryan swallowed and continued. “My dad?”

“Fear really fucking sucks,” she whispered, and Ben’s fists tightened on his cheesesteak. “But it’s not bad. It doesn’t make you weak. We all get afraid, it’s your brain trying to tell you that you and the people you care about are in danger. And Homelander is dangerous. It’s smart to be afraid of him, Ryan, because then you’re not like him.”

“But I’ve hurt people, what if I am-“

“Homelander,” Her nails were burning on Ben’s skin. “Isn’t afraid of anything. Because he thinks he’s above fear, because he doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Just the fact that you’re afraid of Homelander tells me you’re nothing like him.”

“Are, are you afraid of anything?”

She nodded, heart picking up in her chest, and Ben moved his hand silently to her waist. Pulling Her closer without looking away from Ryan, keeping his face perfectly fucking neutral when she squeezed his knee and her breathing slowed.

“Homelander.” She took a heavy breath. “And heights.”

Ben hadn’t known that. He made a mental note to look up if you could take a boat to Rome.

Ryan nodded, looking at Ben with wide, nervous eyes. “Ben?”

He grunted, taking another bite of his cheesesteak as he waited for Ryan to continue.

“You don’t get afraid, right?”

Ben froze mid-chew. He wasn’t afraid of anything, and—if he was—it wasn’t any of Ryan’s goddamn business. It wasn’t like fear ever fucking affected him, or made him whine like a pussy, made him fucking cry like Ryan was about to-

He looked at Her. Completely fucking involuntarily, Ben looked at her and knew he was afraid of that. Afraid he’d fail her again. And maybe also gas. And small, closed spaces. Not Homelander himself—that pussy could eat Ben’s shit—but Homelander hurting Her. Hurting her in a way that made Ben lose her, taking her away where Ben couldn’t get her back. But that was a fear for Her. It was a service to Her, to share some of the weight she kept trying to carry alone. And of course Ben would be afraid of failing Her, he’d done it once and it had put her in fucking danger, so that didn’t count. Gas didn’t count either, gas had taken Ben’s who goddamn life away from him, anyone would be afraid of gas if they had half a goddamn brain. Closed spaces were a little fucking pathetic, but Ben would like to see any other pussy be kept in a box for forty years and not start to fucking hate it. But none of that was shit for Ryan to be all fucking sad about-

Ben felt Her whack his arm, and looked down to find her glaring at him. Stop being a giant fucking manchild and tell Ryan you’re afraid of something.

Ben scowled, but swallowed his food and looked back to Ryan. “Everyone’s afraid of shit, kid. As long as you’re not a fucking pathetic dickless pussy about it, you won’t be any less of a fucking man.”

Ryan nodded, something in his eyes a little lighter and a confusing fucking warm feeling inflating in Ben’s chest. “Thanks.”

“Don’t fucking-“

Her hand flew up to cover Ben’s mouth, and when he shot her a glare she just wrinkled her nose. If you ruin this nice moment, Pretty Boy, I’ll stab you.

Ben rolled his eyes, Shut the fuck up, and pulled Her hand away, kissing her knuckles before looking back to Ryan. “You done with that sandwich?”

“I’m, um, not really that hungry.“

“I’ll hold on to it for you, and you can put it in the fridge when you get home.” She pulled out from Ben’s side, reaching across the mat with her perfect fucking ass in the air to grab the rest of Ryan’s food. Ben couldn’t let himself stare at Her ass, or think about kicking Ryan out to fuck her into the floor, or sit with his legs crossed anymore. He had maybe a minute before he’d have to stand up, and he needed to get his shit together so he didn’t do it with a raging hard-on.

“You don’t have to-“

“If I don’t,” She leaned back into Ben, grinning at Ryan. “Grandpa will eat it when neither of us are looking. He’s like a dog, you can’t leave food out.”

“I am not a fucking dog-“

She sat up on her knees, giving Ben the prettiest fucking fake-pout and kissing his cheek before pulling back with a smile. A wide, bright smile where there wasn’t any pain hidden in her perfect, sharp eyes, and all Ben could bring himself to do was glare at her.

Brat.

Cunt. Go show Ryan how to punch stuff.

He kissed her once, soft and quick and so fucking simple—his hands in her hair and her body half on his lap—before pulling back to stand. Ryan scrambled up, following Ben silently to the far side of the mat, and She scooted back to the wall.

Over the week, they’d developed a habit of this shit. Ben trained Ryan for a few hours, while She sat off to the side and switched between watching them and working on the V leads. Then they’d eat lunch together, Ben and Ryan would go for another hour or so, and they’d walk Ryan back to Butcher before returning to their own apartment. It was a damn good routine, because Ryan was already a fuck ton better then when they’d started—he hit the target every time now, and had only crushed two metal plates on accident today—and She had used the time to build a fucking airtight case for the president to just give them some goddamn V.

She’d explained the whole thing to Ben twice. Once in their apartment and once during a meeting with the team. Ben didn’t remember any of the first time, because she’d looked so fucking hot—chewing her lip while she thought and glaring at the papers in front of her with sharp eyes—and he’d wanted to slam Her on top of those stupid papers and see if she could recite all that fucking smart shit with Ben buried deep inside her. He’d managed to remember the second one only because she’d said it was really important they all have a basic understanding of our argument, in case Singer decides to cold call.

“The first half,” She’d frowned at the papers as she sorted through them at the dining hall table. “Is mostly evidence of Homelander as a genuine threat to American stability, security, democracy, and like, fucking everything else. I think-”

“If Singer ain’t total fuckin brainless cunt, we shouldn’t need to show our bloody work-“

“It’s precautionary, Butcher.” She’d snapped. “And if you’d let me fucking finish, I was going to say that we could all just use personal experience for it. The second half is the important stuff. Copies of the document that says this would work, a vague outline of a plan to get the V in Homelander, a list of all the other avenues we’ve exhausted to get some V-“

“He’s not going to know I gave you guys those leads, right?” A-Train had cut Her off with frantic words. “If these get leaked or some shit, it can’t be traced back to me-“

“No,” She’d shaken her head. “We’re not saying how we got them, because that’s not important. He just needs to know that we’ve looked elsewhere, and there isn’t time to waste on continuing on wild goose chases. I’ve added hypotheticals about what could happen if we don’t act soon-“

Ben loved Her so goddamn much. He’d stopped paying attention, because he was losing his fucking mind about how much he loved her. She was so beautiful, and smart, and if everyone would just shut the fuck up and stop asking Her stupid questions Ben could get fucking lost in how perfect she was.

He’d gotten a boner. He’d been watching her talk all fucking focused and intense and pretty, and she’d grinned and bumped his shoulder with hers about something Ben couldn’t even fucking remember anymore, and he had completely given up on paying attention so he could get lost in a fantasy of bending Her over the table and fucking her until she whined and her eyes rolled back in her head.

It was becoming a fucking problem, how everywhere Ben looked was just another place he wanted to fuck her on or against, and how every word she said made him want to tell Her he loved her. He’d thought about it before, while she was gone, it was somehow worse when she was home. When she kept doing things that made him love Her more. Ben kept thinking he’d finally hit fucking capacity on how much he loved her—that loving her so much he’d move mountains and crack open the sky was the greatest type of love anyone was fucking capable of—and then She’d prove him wrong. She couldn’t just let Ben exist in goddamn peace, she had to make him and Ryan lunch everyday. She had to keep encouraging Ryan, and teasing Ben about wanting encouragement right before she’d tell him she thought he was an excellent teacher, even if he wouldn’t stop swearing at the child. She had to keep singing to herself while she moved around the apartment, and making everything around her so much fucking better than it had been before. She had to finally stop fucking apologizing, and kept curling into Ben’s body like it was the most natural thing in the fucking world. And it all made Ben feel like a fucking dumbass, because he kept being wrong. There was no limit to how much he loved Her, and every single thing she did would always make him want to just fuck her until she was happy and felt good.

But Ben wasn’t allowing himself to fuck Her. Not when he’d touched Her once and she’d shattered. They’d reached a silent agreement to not talk about the gun range and to keep kissing but never do more. Ben’s hands would wander down to her hips and her heart would pick up, so he wouldn’t go further. She’d kiss him and run fingers over his abdomen, but the moment Ben tensed in anticipation she’d freeze and drag them back to his chest. They hadn’t talked about it, but Ben knew she’d say I’m fine, and he’d insist that she wasn’t—people who are fine don’t fucking wake up in the middle of the night on fire—and she’d insist she was. They’d fight, and Ben didn’t want to fight with her. Not about something that fucking mattered like this, not when she kept kissing and smiling at him before—barely an hour later—something would suddenly shift and Her eyes would grow more and more hollow. He loved Her, and if they had a fight he’d probably yell that he fucking loved her to make her understand why it was killing him to watch Her be in pain that he wasn’t allowed to fix, and he’d lose Her. She wasn’t ready, and if Ben made this about how he loved her he’d lose her. He wouldn’t say it right, or well. He didn’t know how to talk about his goddamn feelings without sounding like a pathetic fucking pussy. He’d fuck it up and She wouldn’t understand that he loved Her so fucking much it could carve into the earth, and he’d lose Her.

She still looked at him with adoration. She still touched Ben like she wanted him, and sighed his name like it was important. But that was all she could give him right now, and Ben had to force himself to find a way to be okay with it. To let Her break and break in front of him, to keep her safe and pick up her pieces off the tile floors, then just kiss her until she gave a soft, happy sigh. To not grab her face and tell her that he loved Her. That he was so fucking worried about her because he loved her, and that he’d keep waiting. He’d wait and wait forever until she wanted him again. He’d take whatever she’d give him. He fucking loved Her, loved her in a way that would kill any other goddamn asshole to feel because it was fucking primal. It was real, raw, painful and indestructible love. Love where Ben would never be able to show it enough, never be able really make Her fucking understand how powerfully and zealously he loved her.

He could imagine it. Ben could indulge himself in these stupid fucking fantasies and drive himself mad as a punishment for being too fucking weak to know how to fix this. For being so much of a fucking pussy that the woman he loved kept breaking down and he could barely make it better, Ben started torturing himself with all the ways he’d could get this fucking right.

He’d roll Her over in their bed and kiss her breathless, before telling her that he loved Her and she was beautiful. Then he’d fuck her, gentle and long and goddamn romantic as shit, and she’d moan his name.

She’d give him one of her perfect, secret smiles over dinner and he’d tell Her in silence. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and she’d make a lame excuse to pull Ben back home. The door would barely close before she’d tackle him to the floor and ride him until she fell against his chest.

They’d be at a meeting, and Ben would just fucking yell it over the table. He’d roar I fucking love you, Sunshine, and the whole team would leave because Ben would already have her half-naked and in his lap.

Fuck, even now as She walked a pace ahead of him—smiling down at Ryan as he rambled about fucking homework and listening like She actually gave a shit, because she probably did—Ben wanted to grab Her and fuck her. He didn’t even need a wall or a bed, he’d just pick her up, rip off her pants, and slam himself into her until she felt good. But she’d fucking fall apart again after, and the pain of watching that was unspeakably worse than the ache of never touching her again.

But he would tell Her. Ben would keep fucking trying to make this better for Her, and when the shadows started to creep out of her eyes and Homelander could never fucking touch her again, Ben was going to fucking tell Her. He’d say Her name, and she’d look at him all pretty and concerned about if everything was okay, and he’d tell her. I love you. I love you so goddamn much, and it’s made me a pathetic fucking pussy, and I don’t give a fuck because I love you. You’re perfect and I love you. You’re my whole fucking world and I love you. I’ll wait for you to be ready for the rest of goddamn time, because I love you.

And she’d smile at him and say-

“Benjamin, if you don’t start walking I swear to god I’m going without you.”

They’d dropped off Ryan. Ben had given him another awkward hug before Ryan had turned to Her and they’d hugged as well. Then she’d smiled at Ben over Ryan’s head, making all of his thoughts devolve into perfect. Beautiful, perfect woman. He loved Her so fucking much, and when he told her that he was going to blow her perfect fucking mind with how fucking romantic it was, and he’d stopped paying attention.

She was walking back in the direction of the gym, and Ben frowned. “Where the fuck-“

“Mallory called a meeting, and we’re already late-“ She stopped tugging at Ben’s arm, giving him a flat look. “You forgot.”

He had forgotten. She’d told him when they’d sat down for lunch that they’d have to go straight to the dining hall after, because there were updates that apparently couldn’t just fucking wait for the daily briefing tomorrow morning. He’d nodded, taken his cheesesteak, and she’d kissed his cheek. That alone had melted his brain a little, but then she’d moved some hair out of his face and leaned against his side and Ben had started wondering if this would be it. If he lowered Her onto the gym mat and told her he loved her, it would work. If She’d pull him down to her mouth and let him kiss her until there was a dent on the floor, then mumble into his mouth that she loved him as well. That she understood, and if Ben wanted to fuck her when they got home she wouldn’t stop him.

In reality She was still glaring at him outside of Butcher’s apartment—perfect arms crossed and pretty eyes narrowed—and Ben had to act indignant. If he didn’t, she’d ask a lot of fucking questions and he’d shut her up by walking her backwards into the wall, telling her he loved her, and kissing her fucking stupid.

“Mallory calls a whole lot of fucking bullshit meeting, we don’t need to go to every single one-“

She snorted. “Yeah, we do. You just don’t want me to call you old.”

“I’m not fucking old. And I didn’t forget-“

“Ben.” She linked her arms through his, and Ben scowled at her goddamn beautiful face and bored, amused, perfect fucking voice. “You are very old. And we have to go to the meeting you forgot about, you fucking dinosaur.”

“Most of these stupid meetings are completely goddamn pointless,” Ben grumbled, even as he let her pull him down the hall. “Mallory thinks every single thing needs a whole hour to go over, and it’s never any actual fucking progress-“

“It might be, though.” She shrugged, grinning over her shoulder. “And if there is news, Kimiko will bring out the ice cream to celebrate. Don’t want to miss that.”

“We have our own ice cream, Sunshine.” He tugged Her arm just enough for her to fall back a pace, walking at his side so Ben could rest his arm over her shoulder. Keep her right against him, where she was fucking safe and smiling and there weren’t shadows across her perfect features. “We can just go the fuck home if you want ice cream.”

“We don’t have sprinkles. I want sprinkles.”

“Those things taste like fucking wax-“

“They are wax, Pretty Boy. They’re sugar wax.” Her hands had risen to hold Ben’s over her body, and he had to fucking pay attention and not spin her around, dance with her in the hall and dip her down all fucking romantic before whispering that he loved her. “I just want some colorful fucking sugar wax to go with my boring, old man vanilla ice cream.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You fucking love my old man vanilla ice cream. You eat it just as much as me.”

He caught his own error, but she didn’t jump in with a smug voice and tell him as I. And when Ben frowned down at Her, she was watching him with that expression he didn’t understand. All adoration and want, with something burning behind her eyes, and her voice soft when she spoke.

“I do love your old man vanilla ice cream.” Her smile spread, and her eyes looked a little brighter. “But I’d love it more with sprinkles.”

Ben snorted, and kissed the top of her head. “Brat.”

“Dramatic fucking cunt,” she mumbled, and Ben would have to figure out where to buy sprinkles now. There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was asking Mallory for that shit, but he’d figure it out and maybe it would help keep her expression light and joyful.

Everyone seemed to have finally fucking accepted that She and Ben would never be on time, because the most shit they got for being ten minutes late—again—was Mallory shooting Ben a glower and a collection of sighs when they entered the dining hall.

“Now that we’re all here,” Mallory’s words were cold, and Ben pulled Her a little further into his side on the bench. “Let’s get started. William?”

Butcher grinned around the table, a smug smirk on his face. “You cunts ready to hear the first good news you’ve gotten in a year?”

“Good news?” Hughie frowned. “Did we find some V?”

“Guess again, lad.“

The French Prick leaned across the table. “Madame Sage has made an error?”

“Sage doesn’t make errors,” A-Train muttered. “It’s probably more about Vought, a lead or some shit.“

“Still ain’t it, mate. Anyone want to take a shot-“

“Butcher,” MM grunted, running a hand over his face. “Just fucking tell them, you asshole.”

“You really take all the bloody joy out of life, MM.” Butcher hands slid in his pockets, pretending not to see MM flip him off as he continued. “The one and only cunt in charge agreed to meet with us. Said he wants us in DC by tomorrow afternoon, gave us a fuckin travel fund and everything.”

“In DC?” She narrowed her eyes at Butcher, and Ben felt her tense under his arm. “That’s a four hour drive away, and we can’t all go-“

“Most of you won’t be going,” Mallory snapped. “You and A-Train are at a security risk if you leave the compound, William has to stay with Ryan, and Campbell has some work to do.”

Hughie blinked. “I do?”

“Ah, that may be my fault petite Hughie.” Frenchie shrugged. “I requested that the A-Train provide access to Vought’s supe files. I will need your aid in retrieving them through the computers.”

Hughie nodded slowly, looking back to Mallory. “Does that mean it’s just Annie and MM?”

“Blood good deduction, Lad, but you forgot about Soldier Boy.”

Everyone looked at Ben, and he froze as Her heartbeat picked up. “The fuck you mean he forgot.”

“You’re goin’ on a field trip, Gov.” Butcher winked. “I’ll pack you some applesauce for the road, and make sure you take a piss before you get in the car.”

She swallowed, glancing between Ben and Butcher, and her words were far too fucking soft. “How long will they be gone?”

“About a day,” Annie sighed. “We’re leaving around 7am tomorrow, and after the meeting with Singer we’re going to have to wait for a transportation clearance, which probably won’t come until morning.”

“Transportation clearance?” Hughie gave Annie a confused look. “Can’t you just take Butcher’s car?”

“Nope.” MM shook his head. “Sage has got records of Butcher’s car. We’re taking an FBSA escort there, and a CIA escort back.”

“But,” She was still so fucking quiet. “Why will you have to wait for morning?”

“Route approval,” MM muttered. “Bunch of fucking security shit, and the motherfuckers at the CIA move slow. Annie’s right, it’ll probably take us a day to get there, do the meeting, and get back.”

“Why the fuck do I have to go,” Ben hissed. This was a fucking stupid idea, he didn’t need to be there. He didn’t need to be anywhere without Her, and he sure as hell wasn’t fucking leaving her. “I’m not going to be doing the actual damn pitch, and Singer can eat my fucking balls if he thinks I’m going to brownnose him to get the V-“

“He specifically requested your presence, Gov.” Butcher shrugged. “Didn’t say why, but I’m sure it’s your sparkling fuckin personality.”

“Shut the fuck up you pussy, I’m not going anywhere-“

“Was it a condition?” She was looking between Butcher and MM, fingers tapping on the table. “Did Singer request Ben, or demand him?”

MM sighed. “Demand. We don’t bring Soldier Boy, they won’t let us in the door.”

“Okay.” She nodded. “You’ve got all the information for the pitch?”

Annie and MM started rattling off all the details She’d given them about the V, and her face was so fucking tired. She wasn’t looking at Ben, but her body was all but falling into his, her eyes were far away, and her breathing was fucking mechanical again.

He squeezed her shoulder, glaring down at Her until she glanced at him. I am not fucking going to DC.

Yes. You are. She gave him a small, empty smile. You have to, Ben. Please.

He shook his head. No. I am not fucking leaving you for a day just because Singer’s a fucking pussy who thinks he can make demands.

I’ll be okay, She pressed her knee to Ben’s, and he didn’t fucking believe her. It’s only a day, Pretty Boy. I’ll survive.

She would survive. She was strong as fucking hell, and she’d survive one goddamn day without Ben. It was him that wouldn’t make it one hour away without going fucking sick with worry that she was in danger, or alone, or breaking and he wasn’t there to help. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not fucking leaving.

If you don’t, we won’t get the V. She sighed. We have phones, Pretty Boy. You can text me, and I’m not going anywhere.

Ben scowled. Swear that if you need me home you’ll tell me.

She was giving him that look again. There was something fucking confused behind her gaze, like she hadn’t understood his words. But She nodded, Promise, and turned back to the table.

Ben was going to have to go. He had not fucking interest in going, but She was asking him to, so he would. This could get them a step closer to killing Homelander—to making Her fucking safe and Ben being able to say he loved her—so he would. He spent the rest of the meeting glowering at everyone and holding Her tighter, making sure she knew he was in no way a fucking fan of this bullshit, but didn’t keep arguing.

It would be fine. He’d survive one fucking day without Her. She’d be home and safe, and he wasn’t so fucking pathetic that he’d whine and moan like a pussy without her there. Then he’d come home and kiss Her, and beat Homelander’s fucking brains in, and find them the next boat to Rome.

After the meeting, they ate dinner with the team. It was tense, with everyone a little quieter than usual and focused mostly on their food, so Ben watched Her. He’d already memorized every single fucking thing about Her, but he never got tired of just watching her. She was so fucking beautiful, smiling at Ryan when he arrived, resting her head on Ben’s shoulder when she finished eating, signing with Kimiko about something that made her giggle—light and joyful, the best fucking sound in the world—and looking up at Ben when Kimiko turned back to Hughie.

Are you ready to go?

Ben had been ready to go for a damn hour, and he didn’t waste another fucking second before nodding, pulling Her up with him, and turning to the door.

She made a small sound of surprise, and Ben waited for her to be all fucking kind and polite—bidding the team goodnight and hugging Ryan—before tugging her back to his side and out into the hall.

“Are you okay?”

He frowned down at Her as they walked back to their apartment. “What.”

“I know you don’t want to go to DC, but-“

“I’ll fucking manage,” he grunted. He wouldn’t, this was going to be fucking horrible, but She didn’t need more shit to worry about. “And you’ll text me.”

“I will,” she mumbled, pressing Her face into Ben’s side and letting him guide their steps. “Thank you for doing this.”

Ben sighed. “Don’t.” It’s for you, Sunshine. I’d fucking do anything for you.

“But I am,” he could feel Her smile into his side. “Thank you.”

He didn’t push it. She was smiling, and he fucking loved Her, so Ben just opened the door to their apartment and sighed. “TV?”

She nodded, playing with the fabric of his shirt as they sat on the couch. “Your night to pick, Pretty Boy. Can I guess?”

“You’re fucking going to anyway-“

“It’s either the documentary about the Cuban Missile Crisis we didn’t finish, or the baseball game that’s on tonight.”

Ben frowned. “How the hell do you know about the game?”

“I pay attention,” she smiled up at him, and he was going to fucking explode. “I like to know if I’ll be spending the night listening to you lose your fucking mind over some balls.”

“They’re not just some balls, Sunshine, it’s a staple of fucking America-“

“With balls.”

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

“No,” she reached for the remote, passing it to him with a grin. “And, for the record, my personal vote is for the game. It’s Red Sox versus Phillies, and I want to see you cry when Boston beats your ass.”

Ben snorted, and flipped through channels until he landed on the game. “Brat.”

“Cunt,” She wrapped her arms around his torso, resting her head on his chest. “I,” she sighed. “I adore you, Benjamin.”

“I adore you too,” he muttered Her name, and she gave a small, content sound, relaxing further into his body. “You’re okay.”

She hummed, looking backwards with that strange fucking warmth in her eyes. “I’m okay.”

Ben kissed Her, soft and easy, and didn’t believe a goddamn word she was saying. They did this every fucking night, and he knew how it would end. He’d spend the whole time swallowing shouts of I love you, and she’d almost fall asleep against him. So fucking beautiful, so fucking tired, and Ben would keep trying to figure out how to just fix this shit. To find something he could say to Her that would make her tell him how to make this better. He couldn’t touch Her, she’d break. He couldn’t tell Her he loved her, this wasn’t about him. But She had to be happy, and Ben wasn’t going to fucking rest until he figured out how to make her totally and completely happy.

Here, in the glow of the TV, was a place she was happy. With Ben holding Her tight and tracing patterns on her skin, her face was peaceful and her heart was steady. He was pretty fucking sure she’d been happy, in the gun range. But then She’d broken, and Ben was never going to allow it to get any worse. She was still happy, most of the time, but she wasn’t touching him. Wasn’t trying to take more.

So he’d keep waiting until he got his fucking act together and figured out a way to tell her properly, or until She told him to touch her again. Until Ben knew how to make the happiness stay, and stop it from fleeing in the dark.

Ben felt a tug on his hand, and looked down to see her turning his fingers between her own, not meeting his eyes as she spoke. “Can you-“

He didn’t wait for Her to finish. She was quiet and nervous, and she looked so fucking exhausted, and the stupid game didn’t matter even a fraction as much as she did. Ben knew what she was asking, so he picked her up and carried her upstairs to the bathroom.

She was still crying in the shower. Steam would choke the room as she turned the water up to boil—She’d refused to let Ben fix the ceiling fan, so now the whole apartment grew humid every night—and Ben had been forced to hear Her heart race, hear the quiet, choking sobs shake her body, before he’d break into the bathroom and could hold Her until she was breathing again. After three nights in a row, he’d just started showering with her. Every night Ben set her down on the bathroom floor, stripped his clothes, and pulled her carefully with him into the water. She didn’t cry when they did it like this. When Ben stood a step back while she used all her fucking hair shit, and held Her against his bare chest when she looked at him with a silent plea to do so. When she was done, he helped dry her off, then carried her to bed. Set Her down carefully, go back to the bathroom to brush his teeth—keeping an ear on her heart as she shuffled around the room—and climb into bed himself. Nothing more. Not until She was ready, and Ben couldn’t break her by touching her.

He’d developed a daydream. Ben loved Her so fucking much he’d started to fantasize, late in the night when she was content and peaceful against him—before the fire and screaming began—about if she did love him. About a perfect world where She blinked her eyes open, sat up on Ben’s chest, and smiled down at him as she held his face and played with the hair of his beard. Where she leaned down and kissed him gently, murmured that she loved him, that she was Ben’s the same way he was Her’s, and he believed Her. He looked at the joy on her face, believed that she was okay, and did everything. He’d do everything for her, to her, with her. Everything she asked or needed or wanted, Ben would do.

In the daydream, it was what Ben wanted as well. In his head he’d grin at Her, flip her on her back, and take control. Make her feel so fucking good, make her moan and writhe under him, give Her one place in her life where she didn’t have to do any work. Then they’d kill Homelander together—maybe he’d just fucking drop dead the next morning—and leave this stupid fucking life forever. He’d carry Her to Rome, and buy her a house with the money they earned from her excellent fucking escort business, and fuck her on every surface available to him. He’d tell Her he loved her every other sentence, and she’d smile at him, and Ben would ask Her to marry him. He’d just walk into the room, grab her and say I love you, Sunshine, and you should marry me. I’ll fucking treat you like a Queen, because you’re perfect and I love you. She’d giggle, and tell him that he already did treat her like a queen—because he would, no matter what Ben’s whole life after this was going to be about fucking her like she deserved and making her happy—but still agree to marry him. They wouldn’t bother with the fucking dramatics of a wedding, it would be quick fucking work with the most goddamn romanic vows in history and then a kiss that quickly turned into Ben fucking his wife stupid. He’d make sure she smiled all the goddamn time, and then—at least in the fantasy—he’d fuck her full of babies. Homelander would be dead—fucking burned or dumped in the ocean or buried a thousand feet under—and She’d tell Ben she trusted him and loved him and wanted a family with him, so he’d give her that.

It would have to wait until after Homelander was dead. Ben knew Her, he knew she’d need a little more time to be ready for that, but—in this perfect world—she one day would be. In this perfect world She’d never be afraid again, and she’d cry about whatever normal people cried about, and Ben would make her feel safe enough to have a family. Ryan would visit them, that was obvious. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and MM would as well, because that would make Her feel even more loved. Even Butcher had somehow worked himself into this, and was at occasional dinners when they went back to New York to visit Violet. The only people that wouldn’t be allowed near them were Mallory and her mother.

It would be fucking perfect. She’d wake up next to him, and he’d surround Her with evidence of his love for her. He’d kiss her at every chance, and tell her he loved her wherever he could work it into the conversation. He’d let her boss him around all fucking day, and the moment the door closed behind them at night Ben would lock it and drag her into their bed. He’d fuck Her stupid, and she’d give him a blissful, happy smile, and that would be their whole fucking lives. Happy. Just fucking happy.

The most Ben indulged in these thoughts was when She was truly, fully passed out. When Her breathing was slow and her heartbeat was even, Ben would tell her in the dark. When he was certain she couldn’t hear, Ben would mutter to her all the ways he’d make her happy. How much he loved her, how she was so fucking beautiful and perfect and he’d never stop waiting for Her, because if there was even a goddamn chance his stupid fucking fantasy could be real he’d take it. She was worth waiting for. Ben loved Her, and one day he’d figure out how to make himself worthy of being loved by Her.

It’s how he spent every night now. Waiting for when she woke up in flames again, holding Her until she fell back under, and tracing his hands over her face until it was peaceful and all the tears were wiped away. Usually he’d fall asleep himself, savoring in the feel of Her body against his and the sound of her heartbeat, but tonight he couldn’t. Tonight all he managed to do was fucking watch Her in his arms, and try not to think about how he wouldn’t be at her side tomorrow night.

Then, as light began to leak through the windows, Ben’s phone rang.

It was an unknown number. She’d told him not to answer those, because if it’s not spam they’ll leave a voicemail, and if it is spam you’ll be telling them you’re an active number and you’ll get more calls. He didn’t fucking understand what that meant—She’d definitely tried to explain, and Ben had definitely gotten distracted by how her tits squished together when she crossed her arms—but She was always right about this shit, so Ben ignored it.

Barely thirty seconds passed before it rang again. Ben flipped the screen over, because there wasn’t a fucking chance in hell he was letting this wake Her up.

It rang a third time. And fourth. By the fifth, Ben was going to fucking smash his phone.

He couldn’t smash his phone. He was leaving in the morning, and if he smashed his phone he wouldn’t be able to text her.

On the sixth, Ben scooted carefully to sit against the headboard, made sure she was still comfortably asleep with Her head in his lap, and picked up the goddamn call.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,” he hissed, keeping a careful ear on her heartbeat against him. “But if you call me one more time I’ll fine you, cut off your fingers, and shove them up your fucking asshole.”

“Charming as always, Soldier Boy.” Stan Edgar's voice was clipped and bored, barely muffled by the static of the receiver. “But I don’t believe that’s a way to talk to an old friend.”

Ben froze, and the glass of the screen cracked in his grip. “How the fuck did you get my number.”

“I have my methods, but you shouldn’t concern yourself with them. I’d imagine you have bigger things to worry about.”

Ben glanced down at Her, daylight starting to dance across her face. He didn’t have time to entertain Edgar’s weird, underhanded fucking bullshit. “If you know I have other shit to worry about, why the fuck are you calling me.”

“I’d like to catch up. Surely, even within the chaos, you have enough time to pay me a visit.”

“I’m good. Too long a drive just to talk to an old fucking asshole.”

“As far as I recall,” Edgar hummed. “I am forty years your junior. And it is not only you I wish to see, so it is not your call alone to make.”

“If you don’t stop speaking in cryptic fucking bullshit-“

Edgar said Her name, and Ben's heart stopped. For a split second there was a ringing sound in his ears, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. He missed the rest of Edgars sentence.

There was a second of silence on the phone, and Edgar cleared his throat.

“Do you care to respond-“

“You’re not getting anywhere fucking near her,” Ben’s had, unconsciously, pulled Her closer. “I don’t care about our deal, she’s staying the fuck out of it.”

“Luckily, this is not within the confines of our deal. It is simply a request for some company, along with an invitation for a plus one.”

“I know how you fucking work shit, Edgar,” Ben watched Her shift slightly, and lowered his voice. “You can shove your request right up your tiny fucking dickhole, and swallow your own fucking cum when you beat your meat to get it back.”

Edgar chuckled. “I always forget how… poetic you are, Benjamin. In a better life, you were a mediocre reality television writer.”

“Call me Benjamin again, and I’ll drive upstate just to cut out your fucking tongue.” Nobody but Her was allowed to call him Benjamin. She always said it with some sort of unyielding care, no matter how angry her tone was. She said it right, in a way Ben hadn’t known was the correct way to say it until she’d grinned at him and said Benjamin, I give a shit about you. I adore you. I want you. Edgar said it like he was scolding a fucking child. Ben wasn’t a fucking child.

Edgar might have some sort of fucking chip in Ben’s brain, because his next words were amused, confident, and exactly what Ben had been thinking about. “Ah, I’d imagine that strikes a certain nerve, given the nature of your relationship with the only other person who addresses you as such.”

“You watch your fucking mouth-“

“It amuses me how oblivious you have grown to be. It may be the old age, but you have become downright unobservant.”

Ben scowled, and She rolled over against him, burying her face in his stomach. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re implying, Edgar, but if you called just to make pussy fucking request, then my answer is no and we’re done.”

“Is she with you?”

She hummed against Ben’s body, and he ran his free hand through her hair. “No.”

“I am afraid that I don’t believe you.”

“Then that’s real fucking shitty for you-“

“Ben.”

He froze, and looked down to find Her rubbing her eyes open, a fucking adorable frown on her face as she watched him. He didn’t know how to mute the call, so Ben held the phone high above his head and lowered his voice to hardly fucking audible. “Go back to sleep, Sunshine.”

She shook her head, slowly sitting up. “What time is it?”

“Early. Lie the hell down-“

“Who are you talking to?”

“We’re fucking talking-“

She gave him a flat look. “On the phone.”

He could lie. He could say it was Annie or Hughie or Ryan or Butcher, but she wouldn’t believe him—none of them called Ben, and only Ryan really texted him—and Ben had hit a very fucking annoying point where he was physically incapable of lying to Her. “Edgar. Go to bed.”

All the lingering sleep vanished from her eyes in a second, growing sharp in a way that would turn Ben on if this wasn’t so serious. “Why the fuck is Edgar calling you.”

“I’ll tell you in the morning-“

“Tell me now.”

He glared at Her. “You need rest-“

“Benjamin,” She hissed. “I am not going to get any rest while I know Stan Edgar is on the phone. Not when you still fucking owe him. Tell me what he wants, or I’ll grab the phone and ask him myself.”

“You can listen, and I’ll tell you-“ She started half climbing up Ben’s chest to try and grab the phone, and he snorted. “Fucking Christ woman, you know I could just sit on you and you’d have to wait.”

“You won’t though,” She muttered, trying to drag Ben’s arm down to where she could reach his hand. “Pussy.”

This was serious. This was really fucking serious, because Edgar was a genuine threat and now wanted Ben to walk Her right into his fucking lair. This was goddamn serious, because Ben wasn’t going to allow his shitty fucking decisions and deals that he’d made to protect Her in the first place put her in harms way.

It was incredibly fucking serious, and Ben need to get his head out of the gutter about how her hips were wiggling on his chest and her angry Benjamin, I’m going to kick your ass face was still beautiful. He needed to stop thinking about how she was the most amazing person he’d ever met, and about how much he loved Her, because it was making him fucking pathetic.

“If I give you the damn phone,” Ben grunted, and she paused to look down at him. “You have to put it on that speaker shit and calm the hell down.”

She nodded quickly, reaching her hand down to his eye level. “Deal.”

He was supposed to shake Her hand. She wanted Ben to shake her hand. But he was using one hand to hold the phone, and his other hand had developed a mind that was governed by Ben’s impulse of love Her, touch Her, take care of Her, and had wandered up to hold her steady on her waist. She hadn’t tried to move it—she was fucking leaning back into it—so there wasn’t a chance in fucking hell Ben was taking it away himself.

Ben handed her the phone, and tried not to act too fucking in love with Her as she slid down his body, holding his gaze the whole time. She hit a button on the screen, gave him a look that said you’re learning how to do this yourself later, Pretty Boy, and took a deep breath before she spoke.

“Edgar, why the fuck are you calling us at,” She glanced down at the phone. “6am?”

“So you are here,” Edgar’s voice was delighted. Ben wanted to smash the phone. “How delightful to speak to you again, it truly has been far too long.”

“And here I was, going to ask you to never fucking speak to me again.” She drawled. “I don’t think our relationship is as serious as you thought it was.”

“I’m wounded,” Edgar said Her name, and it sounded fucking wrong. “I thought we had a connection.”

“If by connection you mean you made me fight a bunch of man-eating sheep and I didn’t manage to kill you and make it look like an accident, then yeah. Sure.”

“Ouch,” Edgar chuckled. “I’d think you have much to thank me for. Would you have ever woken up our dear Benjamin without my advice?”

Ben could see the flash of anger in Her eyes. Whatever careful game she’d been playing with Edgar ended, even as her tone remained bored. “I like to think I’d gotten there myself eventually. Tell me why you’re calling.”

“As I was telling your companion, I’m inviting you both to lunch.”

She looked up at Ben with a frown. Lunch?

Pussy didn’t mention lunch. Said he wanted us to visit, and I wasn’t promised any fucking food.

Her nose wrinkled, you are shockingly literal sometimes, Pretty Boy, and her attention turned back to the phone. “Is this an invitation to lunch, or a you owe me lunch.”

There was a brief second of silence before Edgar answered. “Interesting. I didn’t expect you to be aware of our little arrangement.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

Edgar sighed through the speaker. “It is an invitation. There will be talk of the favor, but I’ve grown lonely. I think I’d enjoy the company.”

Ben scowled. “You can shove your company up your fucking ass-“

“Edgar,” She cut him off with a glare, and her voice was softer than Ben’s as she spoke, words slow and her brow drawn. “If you already have a favor picked out, why should we entertain you? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just tell us?”

She kept saying us. She kept talking about Ben as one with her, and if she didn’t stop soon he’d tell her he loved her right fucking now, with Edgar still on the phone.

“You are a truly phenomenal woman,” Edgar said Her name again, and Ben’s skin started to crawl. “There is not much that escapes you. I understand how Soldier Boy became so taken with you.”

“Yeah, I’m a real marvel of humanity.” Ben didn’t fucking love the way she said that, dry and monotone, like she fucking wasn’t. “Tell us what you want, Edgar.”

“Well, it helps if you think of this as a karmic act. If you are truly set on not making the short drive to speak in person, then I’ll cash in my IOU and that will be all. If you can find it in your heart and schedule to visit a lonely old man, then I might find myself in a better mood.”

She frowned. “A better mood? You want to be a little less of a cryptic bridge troll and a little more of a normal person?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to see me in person to see the extent of my generosity.”

“You can keep your fucking riddles in the dark, pathetic fucking hole you crawled out of-“

“Can we have a few days?”

Ben stared at Her. What the fuck are you doing.

We need to run this past the team.

We don’t need to run fucking shit past them, because we’re not going.

She sighed. I think we should. He can’t hurt us, and he knows a lot. Whatever generosity he’s talking about might help us.

“I can wait a day or two, if it would aid you in coming to the correct conclusion-“

“Great,” She cut Edgar off. “Mallory will call you. Don’t call us again.” She paused, glaring at the phone. “Bitch.” And hung up.

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell-“

“Please think about it.” She dropped his phone, holding his face between her hands. “We can wait to talk to everyone about it until after you get back home. Just really think about it.”

His answer was no. There was not a single universe where Ben was going to agree to put Her in danger like that. For something so fucking pointless, when she couldn’t fucking sleep through the night without losing her goddamn mind. The more he thought about it the more Ben was certain that this was simple fucking no. He would deal with this himself, and she’d stay far, far the fuck away from its line of fire.

But She was so pretty. She was watching him with a sharp gaze, and there was hair across her eyes that Ben wanted to move away, and her hands on his cheeks and jaw were warm. They fit fucking perfectly on his face, because She fit fucking perfectly against every part of him. Ben loved Her, and it was really making him a goddamn pushover. But it was worth it. It was really fucking worth it, because when he grunted and gave her a small nod, Her whole face lit up and she leaned in to give him one, soft, gentle kiss.

Ben was tired. Later, when he knew he was going to have to justify this to himself, he was going to remind himself over and over that he was tired. He’d been up all night worrying about Her, and so nobody could say a fucking word about it because all his resolve had been poured into care for Her, and his decsion making had been bound to take a hit. Ben was fucking exhausted, and that’s why when She squirmed slightly on his lap and teased her tongue along his lips, Ben let his control snap and flipped her over.

They’d made out since the gun range. They never stopped making out, and Ben was pretty sure that—if work and food and breathing and all that other pointless shit weren’t obstacles—he’d been happy spending the rest of goddamn time making out with Her. Pulling her up to his side on the couch, leaning over her in the hall, tugging her between his legs at the table.

This wasn’t making out. This was fucking eating each other. Ben was bruising Her mouth, biting her lips and running his tongue along her teeth, letting how her hands clawed at his back and pulled at his hair spur him on. Letting himself push her deeper into the mattress, using a free hand to grab and squeeze her ass as she wrapped her legs around his torso. She made a high, whining sound that sent something electric through Ben’s blood, so he did it again and let himself groan when she started to grind up into him. His knee ended up shoved between her legs, and when her head threw back Ben trailed his mouth across her cheek and down her neck, leaving wet open kisses and dropping his hips onto hers in an attempt to not rut against Her. It was all mindless and hungry and so fucking natural. This was where Ben was supposed to be. Above Her, against her, touching her and caring for her and taking every moan in his ear as fucking testament to how this was love. He fucking loved Her, and there was even the tiniest goddamn chance she’d love him back he’d stay right fucking here.

He stopped because he had to. Because if he kept going and She kept making perfect, musical sounds, he’d tell Her. Ben had already risen back up to her face, letting her pull his tongue between her teeth and growling into her mouth, only a second away from just telling her. From muttering I fucking love you down her throat and letting her swallow the words with another whimper. So Ben had to pull away, let her heavy breath trade with his, and just fucking pull himself together. Ignore his less than helpful dick and heart trying to control his body and only hold her gently. Trace soft, light hands over the parts of her body he was allowed to touch, and tell her he loved her like that.

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper, and when he opened his eyes hers were still closed. Her mouth was parted and swollen—he’d fucking done that, it was evidence of how much he fucking adored her—and her hands had stilled in his hair. She was so fucking beautiful, with the morning light on her face and her whole body relaxed, it might drive Ben insane. “I,” She took a long, unsteady breath. “I really, really adore you.”

He kissed Her again, and a long sound of content hummed from her chest. Ben moved up, kissing along the bridge of her nose, between her eyes, and on her brow. “I know,” he grunted against her skin. “MM and Annie will be able to handle Singer their fucking selves, it’s not like anyone’s going to like what I have to say-“

“Please don’t tell Singer to eat his balls or suck your dick.” Her voice was bored, but when she looked up at Ben there was a light behind her eyes that made his whole body relax. “It’s not very diplomatic.”

“I don’t give a fuck about diplomacy,” he muttered. “If Singer wasn’t such a fucking uptight pussy he’d just take our fucking word and give us the V.”

“And you can tell him that after we get the V. Until then you’re going to have to pretend to not want to kill him.” She paused, voice growing soft. “Please, Ben. Just try.”

He sighed, searching Her face for any excuse. Anything that he could point to and say here’s why I should fucking stay. Here’s a goddamn solid reason that I don’t have to fucking leave you. Something you won’t be able to argue with me about, something you won’t even try to argue with me about.

There was only one. And Ben wasn’t allowed to say it. He had to swallow his only plea of let me fucking stay and care for and love you because I’m going to go fucking mad with worry, because you’re not okay and I can’t help but fuck me if I’m not going to try and nod. He had to sit in the silence, still touching her, always touching her, and keep himself from giving more. Then he had to fucking stand up, and get ready. She made him shower—Ben made her keep the door open—and when he exited the bathroom she pushed past him with a large plastic bag in her hands.

“What the fuck are you-“

“You need toiletries,” She didn’t look over to Ben, still in the door, as she gathered his toothbrush and shampoo into the bag. “And I’m not letting you anywhere near hotel hair products.”

Ben turned to look back at the bed with a frown, and there was an open suitcase on the mattress full of half-folded clothing and his supe suit, a shirt and pair of pants set out for Ben to change into. When she came up to Ben's side, her voice was nervous. “I, um, you’re not good at packing. So-“

He grinned down at Her, reaching up to grab her chin and kiss her once, sweet and easy and fuck she felt perfect against him. One of Her hands reached up to grab Ben’s wrist and keep him there, and her feet shuffled to bring her further against him, tucking into his side. When Ben pulled back her eyes were wide, and there was a little of Ben’s saliva still on her lip. When his thumb moved to swipe it away, her heartbeat stuttered slightly, and Ben loved her.

“Where the fuck did you get a suitcase from?”

“My ass.”

He snorted, and a smile started to cross Her mouth. “Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben leaned down, careful not to drop his towel from around his waist as his hand moved to hold the back of her head. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“I couldn’t get your shield in there,” she whispered. “Why the fuck is it so heavy.”

He chuckled. “That’s kind of the damn point. And I can just fucking carry it, I think I’ll fucking live.”

She nodded slowly, gaze dropping down to Ben’s bare chest, and he felt his hand tense against her. She was fucking gaping at him, and her heart was getting faster, and fuck if she kept looking Ben with all that thirst and want he wouldn’t make it out the door-

“You should, uh, get dressed.” Her voice was breathless, and her grip on Ben’s wrist was growing tight. “You need to go soon.”

Ben kissed her nose, and stood up. He changed as she finished packing and put on the coffee—Ben ended up with a travel mug shoved into his hand—and they walked to the elevator with Her leaning into his side and Ben’s free arm over her shoulders.

They weren’t getting a send off. MM was waiting against the wall, flipping through a binder of Her plan with a backpack at his side, and Annie was nowhere in sight.

MM looked up when they stopped in the hall, giving Ben a short nod before turning to Her. “We’ll text you after the meeting. Shoot me a message if you need to add anything to this.” He tapped the binder, and she nodded.

“Where’s Annie-“

“Downstairs with transport. I was just waiting for Soldier Boy’s slow ass so we can get moving.”

Ben scowled. “It’s 7:55, we’re not even fucking late-“

“Doesn’t change that you’re the last motherfucker here.” MM shrugged, glancing back Her and saying her name a lot fucking nicer than he ever said Soldier Boy. “I can give you a minute, if you want-“

“Yes, please.” She moved in front of Ben, watching him carefully as she spoke. “Ready?”

“No.”

“Ben, please-“

“I’ll do this, but I’m not going to pretend I fucking want to-“ Ben cut himself off as she wrapped her arms around his torso, squeezing him with her face pressed against his body. Ben’s arms flew up without a thought, holding Her as close as he could, and he sat in the sound of her heartbeat.

“I’ll miss you,” She mumbled into his chest. “Be safe.”

“I haven’t left yet, I can still fucking stay-“

“No,” she sighed. “You can’t. But you’ll be home soon, and I’ll be here.”

“You’ll be here.” Ben was repeating it to remind himself. To make his body fucking listen to him, and use his goddamn sense to know that she’d be right fucking here when he got home. Still safe. Ben being gone for one fucking day wouldn’t put her in danger, she was a whole lot stronger than that. “Text me.”

She smiled against him. “You know how to text, grandpa?”

“If I don’t, you have no one to blame but your damn self, Sunshine.” Ben pulled back to look at Her, and his breath hitched a little when she smiled up at him. “I think I’ll fucking figure it out.”

“If not, you can always use text to speech-“

“He is not allowed to use text to speech,” MM snapped, having suddenly fucking appeared beside Ben. “I do not want to hear whatever horny shit this motherfucker is going to text you.”

Ben scowled. “I don’t even know what text to speech fucking is-“

“And you’re not going to learn.” MM glanced at Her. “We’ve got to go.”

She swallowed, and looked back to Ben. “Don’t kill Singer. Maybe yell at him a little, but don’t kill him. Try not to kill anyone, but if you have to don’t make a mess. I put a playlist on your phone for the drive, but if you get bored you can text me because I’m probably not going to do anything all day. Stick to my pitch, and stay safe, and be careful about what you say because I don’t really trust anyone but us. And come home, Ben, please come home as soon as you can-“

He kissed Her, long and gentle and careful, because he was starting to worry she might make herself pass out or get the bright fucking idea to come with them. “Your faith in me,” he muttered Her name, running a thumb over her cheekbone. “Is fucking astounding.”

“I do have faith in you, I’m just nervous, we need this-“

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m going to get the V, because we need it, and then I’ll fucking walk back to Jersey if I have to. I’d be faster than the damn car anyway.”

“Don’t do that,” She mumbled. “I don’t want to have to clean highway shit off your clothes.”

Ben snorted, and she smiled up at him. So fucking perfect.

I love you. Ben put it all over his face. He allowed all his adoration and affection and care for Her into his eyes, let his jaw relax and his mouth smile just enough to tell her. I fucking love you, Sunshine, and I’ll always come back. Nothing anyone does to me will ever make you lose me, because I’ll crawl out of any fucking hole or cave or lab or prison to get home to you. I love you.

She didn’t understand, because she was blinking wordlessly at him, but this was better than just fucking leaving. Ben kissed the top of her head, and—because he was fucking pathetic and wasn’t masochistic enough to resist it—brushed his lips against hers. He smiled down at Her in one last, desperate fucking bid to make her understand, and used all the fucking strength he had to pull away and follow MM into the elevator.

They weren’t taking the Pussy Mobile, because it had finally fucking kicked it after the Believe Expo and was rotting away in a government junkyard like it fucking deserved. Instead, Mallory had stuffed Annie, Ben, and MM into a goddamn minivan. Agent No-Gun was standing next to Annie when Ben and MM arrived in the garage, and was saying bunch of shit about routes and safety that Ben didn’t fucking hear, because he was throwing his shield suitcase in the back and climbing into the van. There wasn’t a goddamn chance he was going to be stuck in a middle seat, listening to Annie sigh or MM fucking fidget for the four hour ride.

To his surprise, nobody tried to stop Ben as he spread out across the back row. MM just glared at him and sat in the middle with a frown, and Annie gave him a small smile, leaning over her seat as Agent No-Gun turned on the engine.

Annie started to say a bunch of shit Ben didn’t hear—he was focused on his phone, trying to remember what the fuck a playlist was and how to access it—before mentioning Her name and making him look up with a frown.

“What the fuck are you saying?”

“Is she okay?” Annie sighed, watching Ben carefully. “She’s been a little, um, weird the past week. I’m not sure if the media is still getting to her, or something else that she doesn’t want to tell us about-“

“She’ll be okay,” Ben snapped. She wasn’t okay, but she would be. It might take a whole fucking lifetime, but Ben would stand with her the whole way. And he might not actively think of Annie as an annoying, whiny fucking bitch anymore, but she still didn’t get to know about the gun range, or the showers, or the nightmares. If She hadn’t told Annie about that shit, then Ben wouldn’t. His loyalty was with Her, and not a single goddamn place else. “I’m taking care of her.”

Annie’s voice was shockingly gentle. “I don’t think you’re not, Soldier Boy. I just wanted to know if I could help.”

Ben paused, narrowing his eyes at her. MM was still silent in his seat, and they had begun to pull out of the garage, but Annie’s eyes weren’t moving from Ben’s. Her heart was only a little above where it might usually be, and her face was genuine, so Ben grunted, “how the fuck would you help.”

Annie shrugged. “I’m asking you for a reason. You know her better than I do, I mean, you’re in love with her-“

MM slapped Annie on the shoulder, and her mouth snapped closed.

“How the fuck did you know that.” Ben hissed, body growing rigid. “I haven’t fucking told anyone-“

“Oh, you’re,” Annie blinked at him. “Sorry, I just thought you’d deny it.”

“How the fucking hell did you know-“

“It’s kind of obvious-“

“Annie,” MM grunted, glancing back at Ben. “We all fucking agreed-“

“The fuck are you talking about, you all agreed.” Ben paused, looking between Annie and MM’s tight expressions. “Who else fucking knows.”

“Hughie, Butcher-“

“Annie-“

“Come on.” Annie rolled her eyes. “Do you really want to be stuck in the car with him for four hours without answering his questions?”

MM scowled, but fell silent as Annie continued.

“Frenchie, Kimiko, and A-Train-“

“Fucking A-train-“

“He asked us what the hell was going on between you two.” MM muttered, shooting Annie a harsh look that made her sigh and nod. “And we told him.”

“Mallory doesn’t know,” Annie added. “But I think she’s guessed.”

Ben glared between them. “How.”

“You aren’t exactly subtle, asshole.” MM gave Ben another look he didn’t fucking understand. “We’d have to be fucking deaf and blind to miss it.”

“We kind of all put it together separately,” Annie’s face was weary, watching Ben like he might start ripping their heads off their bodies. It wasn’t a totally unfounded fear, not if they kept their observant shit up. “For me it was the meeting with Edgar. Hughie said he got it after Neuman.”

Ben’s head whipped to MM. “What the fuck told you.”

MM ran a hand over his face, still glaring at Ben. “When you made her call her sister.”

All that shit was fucking months ago. A goddamn lifetime had passed since all of it, and Ben had only figured it out himself after the Believe Expo. They said it was obvious, but She hadn’t seemed to get whatever memo that every other fucker on their team had. She’d have brought it up, She’d had talked to him about, because subtlety wasn’t exactly her greatest strength. She’d have told Ben if she knew.

“You pussies haven’t fucking-“

“Nobody’s told her,” MM was watching Ben carefully, and exchanged another fucking look with Annie. “That shit’s not our place.”

Ben had a lot of other fucking questions. Why nobody had decided to maybe fucking say something to Ben about this. How often they talked about it behind his goddamn back. How it wasn’t their fucking place, not by a mile, but while they were having this dumb as fuck conversation, what were their opinions on Her loving Ben-

Someone’s phone started ringing, cutting Ben from his thoughts.

“It’s Mallory,” MM muttered, giving Ben one last look. “Don’t be a fucking ass about this. We’ve observed something, against our will I might add, and she doesn’t know. That’s it.”

MM picked up—Malloy was an impatient bitch who had to ask about an ETA she could pass on to Singer—and Annie looked like she was going to say something. Her mouth opened and closed like a damn fish twice, before just shaking her head and turning back to her seat.

Ben’s phone buzzed in his hand before he could force Annie to contiune, and if his smile made him look like a fucking idiot when he saw Her face on his lockscreen, he looked downright moronic when he read the banner on the display.

When he’d gotten his phone, She’d entered her name into it. Just her name. No extra bullshit or annotations like the others, just her damn name. Ben hadn’t fucking stood for it. He’d tried to model his excellent revision after the other contacts, but the way to type a semi-colon was apparently a fucking secret that Ben wasn’t allowed to know, so he’d had to improvise. He’d deleted her name—you could wipe his memory and replace his brain, but some part of Ben would always fucking know her name, so he didn’t a fucking phone to tell him—and done the nickname and instructions.

2 messages from Sunshine, take care of.

Ben grinned, looking around the minivan to ensure nobody saw how fucking stupid he looked—although it might not matter anymore, since they were all apparently fucking invasive dickwads—and opened the messages.

You forgot your coffee.

There was a photo, a half-blurry picture of the mug She’d given Ben on their table. He wasn’t sure when it had left his hand between their apartment and the elevator, but it clearly wasn’t there now.

wut the fuckk am i sopossed to do abut it now

Ben turned his phone over, and it was a few seconds before it buzzed again.

Are you going to make any effort to spell?

He swallowed a chuckle. no

Please?

I can just not text you. That option is very much on the table.

u textd me firs

Ben paused, then added, i havnt beeen gon a fuckinh hour

Her response was immediate and Ben wasn’t sure how she typed so fucking fast. Shut up, or I’ll dye all your clothing pink and tape over all your baseball games while you’re gone.

do nut do that i havnet fuckingg watched thwm

If you make a modicum of an attempt to type in a way I can decipher, I won’t.

Ben rolled his eyes, and typed a little slower. whats a modicum. is it jizz

No, you horny ass. It means a small amount.

like modicome

That’s the exact same word, you just can’t fucking spell.

brat

You love it, cunt. And I don’t know why you even record the games, we can just stream them.

i dont trust the stream to be fucking right

Right??? About what?

game. its the principl Sunshine.

It’s a stupid principle. An old man principle. There was a pause, three tiny bubbles popping in and out of Ben’s screen, and then How’s the ride going? Has anyone killed anyone else?

Ben looked up at MM and Annie, still facing forward. no

Who’s driving?

lady suit

Ben didn’t get a response for almost a minute, and he’d just started to glare at the display when her message came through.

Do you mean Agent Cortez? The one you stole the gun from?

yes

That’s it?

u dont need two peopl to drive

I meant is that it for security.

apperently

Apparently.

shit the fuck up

Gross.

Ben snorted, and decided that this could be enough. He was happy to spend four hours in this horrible fucking minivan, because She’d still be talking to him. Her voice had stopped following him around a few days after she’d gotten home—he hadn’t heard it in over a week—but he’d had the real Her at his side. The Her he could touch and tease and grin at, and who would match everything he threw at her in stride. The Her he was allowed to look at and think I fucking love you. He might not be able to touch Her like this—through the phone and over text—but he could still imagine her bright smile with every message and pretend she was at his side, telling him about her day. About how since Ben wasn’t home to train Ryan, they were going to eat lunch together in the apartment. About how she was cleaning out the fridge—asking if he wanted another two tubs of strawberry cream cheese, because they were down to one and he tore through them in a day—and whatever TV show she was watching without him. She rarely took more than a minute to respond, and Ben never fucking looked away from his phone, so the hours passed easily.

He hadn’t even noticed they’d parked until the doors of the car opened, and it grew suspiciously quiet as MM and Annie left their seats.

“Soldier Boy?” Annie poked her head back inside, and Ben nearly threw a headrest at her on instinct. “We’re here.”

Ben looked outside the door with a frown. He’d been to the White House, and this wasn’t fucking it. This was a loading dock. “Where the hell is here.”

“Hotel,” MM called from somewhere behind Annie. “We’ve got an hour until the actual meeting, and I am not fucking leaving my clothing in the car. You better start hauling ass, or we’ll leave you in the car.”

Ben rolled his eyes, but grabbed his phone, climbed over the middle row and out past Annie, and grabbed his suitcase before following Agent Cortez through a gray door and up too goddamn many flights of stairs for there not to be a fucking elevator.

He got his own room. It had a nice rug, and a bunch of fucking shit paintings, and a large bed that Ben would not fucking be sleeping in. The sheets were too cool, and there wasn’t an imprint of Her body on one side or the smell of her shampoo on the pillows, so Ben would maybe sit on it, but that would be the extent of its function. He didn’t bother to take his shit fully out the suitcase—tossing his current clothing on the bed in exchange for his supe suit—but did plug his phone in with the stupid little white wire, reading the last text She’d sent.

Ryan wants to know your opinion on Frankenstein, if you’ve read it.

i had to read it in shcool. was ok. He paused, looking around the hotel room. we got to the hotel. fucking pussy singer is making us wait a hour.

Are you settled? Did you get to eat on the way? If not you should ask MM, he’ll probably have a plan for food.

As if he’d been fucking summoned, MM walked through the previously fucking locked door of Ben’s room.

“How the fuck did you get in-“

MM raised his hand, displaying a key card. “You settled? We want to go now, Singer might be able to see us early.”

Ben scowled. “Why do you get to just fucking walk in to my goddamn room.”

“Because I’m your fucking CO, and a hell of a lot more trustworthy. You’re only here because Singer’s nostalgic or some shit.”

“I’d go back right fucking now if you pussies don’t want me-“

“Nope.” MM looked around the room, frowning at the open suitcase before turning back to Ben. “You look fucking settled. Let’s go.”

Ben glanced back at his phone, sent her a quick text that they were going to the meeting, grabbed his shield, and followed MM back to the shitty fucking minivan.

Singer did not get them in early. They’d arrived at the White House—it looked the exact fucking same since Ben had been here last, expect with a fuck ton more computers—been sat in a random ass room with a table and paper cups of dogshit coffee, and waited for five goddamn hours. Right as Ben started to seriously consider standing up and just fucking finding Singer—they’d shoot him, he’d live, and everyone could go the fuck home—a lady in a gray skirt walked through the door and gestured for them to follow her. The did, into a room that looked the exact fucking same as the one they’d just fucking been in. The only difference was the five men and women in black suits and sunglasses, lining the walls around President Singer.

“Mr. President, Marvin Milk, Annie January, and,” the woman glanced at Ben with nervous eyes. “Soldier Boy are here.”

“I can see that Millie.” Singer sighed, gesturing to the chairs across the table. “You three sit the hell down, you’re makin me feel like a jackass.”

MM nodded, and dropped across from Singer with Annie to one side and Ben—after receiving a sharp glare—to the other.

“It’s good to see you again, Sir.” MM clasped his hands on the table, leaning forwards. “Thank you for meeting with us-“

“Don’t thank me yet.” Singer looked between them, eyes landing on Ben. “Soldier Boy, you look about how I expected.”

Ben scowled. “Why the fuck were we waiting for five hours.”

MM and Annie glared at him, MM’s mouth opening to probably tell Ben to shut the fuck up, but Singer chuckled.

“You should be lucky I’m entertaining this shit at all. Grace told me what you want, and I’ve got a few questions first.”

Annie nodded. “What do you need to know?”

Singer said Her full name, and Ben’s fists curled on the table. “She’s been making some risky fuckin gamble. Riskier than waking him,” Singer nodded to Ben. “Up. You willing to place all your bets on her willingness to play with fire?”

Ben shouldn’t talk. She’d told him to be diplomatic, and if he opened his mouth he’d tell Singer to shove his dick in his mouth and eat Ben’s fucking asshole. So MM got to answer.

“It’s all paid off before,” MM’s words were short. Neutral. “She’s the one who got Neuman out of your hair, and kept your constituents from going full fucking team Homelander.”

Singer hummed. “And what about the FBSA incident? I heard about how she got away from the tower, I’ve seen the footage of all those agents dropping down screamin. You think she’s stable enough to get back in the game?”

“She’s gotten a,” Annie paused, frowning. “Handle on her powers. She’s not a danger to anyone, and she’s doing a lot of work.”

“That wasn’t my question.” Singer leaned back in his chair, flipping his phone in his hands. “She’s managed to make a real mess of the public. We need to get some sort of direction with where to take this. Get her back in front of a camera, on the record about those Homelander accusations.” Singer shot Annie a look. “And next time, I’d like to be kept in the loop before you pull a stunt like that.”

“It was the fucking truth.” Ben’s words were hissed through teeth, and he channeled all his vulgar threats at Singer into a violent glare. “And until you actually fucking pay us, we don’t need to tell you shit.”

Singer narrowed his eyes at Ben. “She needs to fix what she broke-“

“She doesn’t need to do a goddamn thing. You put a camera in her face, I’ll break it.”

The suits around Singer were tensing, hands dropping to their guns, but Singer just shook his head. “You know, I’ve heard the rumors about you two. Didn’t think they were entirely true, sorta wanted to see for myself, but I also didn’t think I’d spend my career cleaning up media messes.”

“With all due respect, sir, Soldier Boy’s not wrong.” MM let out a long breath. “She’s not a threat, but I wouldn’t put her back into the public eye yet. There’s no telling what Sage and Homelander have ready for that, and she just underwent some real fucked up shit. She’s the reason we’ve got Homelander in a stall, it’s not fucking worth the risk of sending her right back into that motherfuckers arm for some good press.”

Ben wasn’t going to let Homelander anywhere fucking near Her, but didn’t get chance to shout that before Singer was sighing, rubbing his chin as he spoke.

“I’m willin to keep her on the bench for now, but I ain’t sure we’re going to be able to hold Homelander off much longer. I got guys in congress saying they want him as my VP replacement, and I can’t keep kickin that can down the road.”

“That’s what we’re here to talk about.” Annie glanced at MM, waiting for his small nod to continue. “I understand Mallory told you what we’re here to request, and we wouldn’t be asking if we didn’t think it would work.”

“Mr. President, you know as well as we do that Homelander’s a threat to democracy.” MM’s words were careful, slow. “All we need is one shot. Just one vial of V, and we can finish this shit for good.”

Singer scoffed. “You people keep sayin this will be our shot. That French Asshole’s weapon against Neuman was supposed to be our shot. Edgar’s farm up in Maine was supposed to be out shot. Soldier Boy was supposed to be our shot. But Homelander’s still fuckin running around. What makes this shot any different.”

“We’ve got the receipts to prove the V will put him under-“

“I’ve seen all your documents, Starlight.” Singer dismissed Annie with a hand, gaze falling to Ben. “Why ain’t you able to finish this, huh? Just fire at the laser eyed asshole, get it over with?”

“I’d like to see you do this fucking better-“

“Sir,” MM interrupted Ben with a glare, and Ben rolled his eyes. “This is a delicate situation. The V is the easiest way to get it done without any unnecessary death or destruction. It’s all we’re asking for.”

“You think I can just snap my fingers and make it appear?” Singer snorted. “It ain’t that simple. That V is fuckin miles underground, and you’re lucky I’m even saying we have it. On the record, it was destroyed three damn years ago. There’s not a chance we’re just givin you some-“

“How fucking stupid are you,” Ben drawled, deciding to fully ignore the glowers and sneers of everyone in the room, or the clicks of guns. “That you think we’d give fuck about your records or obstacles. You want Homelander out of the picture to keep your cushy fucking pussy job, this is the damn way to do it. Either that, or you can try and hold that star-spangled dickfuck down yourself while I take the shot.”

The room was silent, and Ben could fucking feel Annie and MM’s glares. Singer himself didn’t look too pleased, and Ben didn’t even bother to try and give a fuck. Not when Singer took a long breath, glancing down at his phone, and relented.

“I’ll need approval from my defense secretary,” Singer muttered, still glaring at Ben. “And some sort of collateral if you idjits can’t do your fucking jobs again.”

“Your whole fucking country is collateral, you pussy headed motherfucker.” Ben stood up, grabbing his shield from beside his seat. “We’ll do our job, you do yours and get us that fucking V.”

Ben marched out of the room, and waited just long enough for Annie and MM to scramble after him before following their previous path back to the minivan.

Nobody yelled at him about Singer. But it seemed less about Ben’s anger paying off, and more about a general distaste for the whole fucking situation. For how much of a bureaucratic ass Singer was being, not just doing what it took to kill Homelander. How all those pussies had to do was give them the V, far away from the actual fucking fight.

The ride back to the hotel was tense—Ben didn’t see why they couldn’t just fucking go home, but when he said as much all he got was a grunt about security from MM—and it was dark outside by the time they returned. When they got upstairs, Ben slammed his door with a mutter of night to Annie and MM, and dropped his shield on the floor with thoughtless clang as he stripped down.

He’d left his phone on the bed. It had made for a boring fucking five hours—he’d never fucking tell Her, but he’d read a book Annie had pulled from fucking nowhere in an attempt to entertain himself—and Ben turned on the screen the moment he crossed over to the mattress, reading 4 messages from Sunshine, take care of and swiping them open.

Good luck with Singer.

Try not to kill him.

Please tell me how it goes.

Make sure you get dinner.

Ben hadn’t eaten dinner. He’d get on MM’s ass about that later, after he texted her back.

singer is alive and talkig to cabnet for v

Her response was almost immediate. Oh, thank fuck. I’m proud of you, I really didn’t want to go on the lam.

why would u be a lamb

ON the lam, Pretty Boy. It means running from the law.

the fuck would make u run from the law

Because people aren’t just going to let you kill the president. There would be consequences.

Ben grinned at his phone. youd run from the governemnt for me

Don’t get too fucking smug. I’d beat your ass for MAKING me run from the government first.

but u wouldd

I would. Did you eat?

did u fucking eat

I did. I had dinner with everyone. It was hotdog night.

u saved me a dog

Nope. We have hotdogs in the fridge, you can microwave one when you get home.

youre so fuckigg mean to me sunshine

Fuck you. Just for that, I’m eating all the brownies Kimiko gave us.

whyd she give us brownies

Technically, she gave ME brownies. I was going to share, but you’re being an asshole.

brat

Cunt. Did YOU eat?

Ben paused, and sighed to nobody. i will

That’s a no.

i didnt fucking say no i said i will

But you didn’t.

shut the fuck up

Go eat.

you cant fukcig make me

Please eat, Ben. You need to just as much as I.

why

Because you’re a human person. Even with the V, human people need food.

ill eat the brownies when i get home

If you don’t promise me you’re going to go eat right now, there won’t be any brownies when you get home. I’ll give them to Butcher.

u woulndt

Wanna bet?

Ben scowled. i dont want to eat i want to talk

I’m going to bed, Pretty Boy. It’s late.

its ten

And I’m exhausted, we were up early and it’s been a long day.

what happpend

Worried about Edgar and Singer. Media is full of bitches.

ur oaky. Ben paused, starting to type out becaus ill come home right-

Her message came through. I’m fine. Promise me you’ll eat.

Ben glared at the phone, because he didn’t fucking believe her, but still deleted his offer and typed whatever

Ben.

swear it

Thank you. There was a beat, and then a second message. I miss you. Thank you for doing this.

i miss u ass well

Another beat. I miss your ass as well.

Ben snorted. He fucking loved Her. go sleep sunshine

I’ll see you tomorrow?

u will or ill fucking run to jersey

Just steal a car. I know you can.

i thought I wasnt supposed too

I’ll make an exception. Whatever gets you home.

ill be home toomorow. godnight beuaitufl

Ben put his phone down, fully dressing before walking down the hall to bang on MM’s door.

MM was glaring with bleary eyes when it swung open. “The hell you want?”

“Where the fuck do I get food.”

“Call hotel services, dumbass.” MM paused before closing the door, watching Ben with a tired, cautious expression. “You weren’t total fucking shit with Singer. And Mallory says they’ll have us on the road by 7am tomorrow. Be ready.”

The door closed, and Ben returned to his room to figure out how the fuck to call hotel services. It took him a whole damn hour, but Ben got shrimp, ice cream, and a real nice fucking robe that the CIA would be paying for. He picked up his phone, frowned at the banner of Message from Sunshine, take care of, and opened it up.

He thought he hadn’t read it right at first. He blinked a few times—he’d gotten wine as well because nobody appreciated him asking for coke—and crushed his phone in his hand when the words clicked. When they hit him with the force of a train.

Goodnight, Benjamin. I love you.

————————

You can’t sleep. You’d texted Ben goodnight two hours ago—you think, your brain is a little slow from exhaustion—but it’s too quiet, too cold, too dark to do anything but stare at the ceiling and drown in your own thoughts. Too lonely to do anything but worry and worry and worry about everything, and try not to cry.

You’re so tired. You’re home, you should just feel safe and easy and happy, but you’re just fucking exhausted. Your joy is still real when you smile at Ryan, and talk to Annie, and laugh with Kimiko. All your love is still so strong and eternal, circling your head and bringing your every thought back to Ben. It’s painful, how much you love him. How you can’t stop breaking, or wanting him, or missing him. He’s been gone for barely twelve hours, and you miss him. Your eyes are drooping, and your brain is foggy, and all you can do is miss him.

The exhaustion is all in your head. It’s all stemmed from the stress of what if Singer says no to the V. Ben said he was running it past his “cabnet”, but what if they say no. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep fighting Homelander forever, it’s going to kill you. This needs to be over, it needs to be over now, you can’t fucking do this anymore. You’re not strong enough to do this anymore.

Weak.

You’re home. What matters is that you’re home. You can’t feel anyone—it’s been a week of the pills, one in the morning and one in the night, hidden from Ben because you’re still not ready to tell him—or sleep a night without blood haunting your dream, or spend an hour without glancing at your phone and seeing another story about your life.

People are still putting together your “relationship” with Ben. You’d told Annie everything—at least, everything that wasn’t how Ben made you moan and how you loved him so much it made you a little bit of an idiot—and she’d relayed it all as instructed. You woke Ben up to kill Homelander. You became friends with him, and you made each other promises about never going back. You lived together, and had a complicated relationship. You’d chosen the words carefully, ignoring Butcher’s eye roll and Annie’s sigh, and reminded everyone that this was technically Annie’s point of view. This was what she could’ve observed without your input, and what she’d say. And now, all across the internet, more and more timelines and breakdowns of the Anomaly and Soldier Boy’s relationship are popping up. A lot of them are paired with timelines of you and Homelander.

All of them make you feel sick. Even if they buy Annie’s words and denounce Homelander, they still say things you don’t want to hear. You’re obsessive. In love with Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy’s in love with you. It’s a toxic relationship. You killed people for him. He was killing people for you. It was unrequited on your side. Unrequited on his side. It’s a great American love story. It’s star crossed. He’s probably going insane without you. You didn’t love him enough to go back to him. You’re not worthy of him. Even with Starlight’s claims about your powers being far greater than Vought let on, you’re still weak. Weaker than Soldier Boy. Weaker than Homelander. Your greatest advantage is your feminine allure, because you’re a whore, and you’re weak.

You’re so fucking tired.

Homelander had avoided a direct response to the stories about you and Ben. Sage had entirely denounced Annie’s claim within two days, calling them all blanket lies and propaganda meant to manipulate the public, but Homelander had just agreed. Said they were looking for you, trying to recover you, that he loved you and missed you and would kill whoever had taken you from him.

You keep having nightmares about that as well. Where the blood is splattered across your skin, and Homelander is holding Ben’s heart in gloved hands—red, maybe covered in blood, you can’t tell—and you lose him forever. You burn and burn and burn, and sometimes Homelander dies, but Ben always dies. You always lose him, and have to live for the rest of time with a hole in your head and a heart that doesn’t really beat right anymore.

When you wake up, Ben is always there. Holding you and rubbing soothing patterns onto your skin, muttering words of comfort into your skin and surrounding you with his warmth and the smell of pine. It always calms you down, seals up another crack in your body as you believe him just a little more every time. You’re home, and that’s what matters. You’re here, in Ben’s arms, and everything is going to be okay. You’re still broken, but he’s staying, and you’re all that matters.

Ben won’t touch you, but you’re going to be okay. He keeps tensing and pulling away whenever you try to give him more, but he’s still here. Still holding you in the shower, still kissing you and staying at your side, but not touching you.

You wish you could feel him. You wish you could understand why he won’t touch you. Being afraid that the hunger in him had simply had a quiet, wilting death when he saw how broken you were, and now he gives a shit about you—adores you—but doesn’t want you. He doesn’t love you, he hasn’t loved you, but now he doesn’t want you either. You don’t want to make him do anything, not if he doesn’t want to, not while he’s staying, but you wish he would just touch you.

He won’t. You’re weak and broken, and even as you’re healing you’re just so tired. You can’t control yourself, can’t finish this, and you’re fucking tired. You’re not strong, unconquerable, and zealous with anger like Ben, or Butcher, or Kimiko. But you’re not forgiving and determined like Hughie and Annie and MM. You can’t give them anything like Frenchie or A-Train, and you’re not innocent like Ryan. You’re guilty of blood sticking across your body, but you’re too tired to do anything about it, and you don’t have it in you to kill Homelander with your bare hands, but you don’t have the patience or resilience to wait longer.

You need this to be over. Homelander dying won’t set that thing still flailing in your gut back into place, or stop the nightmares forever, but you’ll stop looking for him in shadows and being a little afraid of the open sky. You’ll be able to make yourself strong enough to tell Ben you love him, and force yourself to be okay when he says no.

You’ve spent the whole day missing him. Everything keeps rounding back to how you miss him. How the bed is too big without Ben snoring on top of you, and how the sheets and pillows smell like him, and how there’s still an indent of his body on his side of the mattress. You’d led a normal day while he was gone, doing laundry and texting him and trying not to be too pathetic about how much you love him. Spending the day with Ryan and talking about Ben like a normal person, trying to clean a little and not letting your hands linger on his coffee mug or shirt, watching TV and not looking at the empty space next to you.

Trying to focus on dinner, and not worry about Singer, or why the meeting was taking so long.

“Why did they have to go to DC?” Ryan had asked you over the table, speaking through a mouthful of relish and ketchup and mustard and every other condiment in the dining hall. “Couldn’t Singer have, maybe, uh, called-“

“Ryan,” Butcher had grunted. “Chew and swallow. She ain’t goin nowhere.”

Ryan’s eyes had widened, and he’d given Butcher an apologetic look as he closed his mouth.

“I don’t know,” you’d answered, poking at your hotdog with a finger. “Singer probably wanted some evidence that we cared about this enough to make the trip. It’s not too far, and we need the V, so it’s not worth arguing about.”

“I thought, um,” Ryan had coughed slightly—he’d swallowed a little too fast—and given you a nervous frown. “I thought you got V. Hughie mentioned you were still at the tower for V. To, um, kill my dad.”

“Hughie, lad, the fuckin hell did we say about keepin it on the low-“

“I’m sorry!” Hughie had shrunken from Butcher’s glare, face growing red. “I just mentioned it, and Soldier Boy said it first-“

You’d frowned. “Ben said what?”

“He said you wouldn’t want to lie to Ryan, and he’s the one mentioned that the V would help us kill Homelander-“

“I’m not upset about it!” Ryan had jumped in as Butcher’s glare at Hughie became lethal. “I was just curious, don’t be mad at Hughie or Ben-“

“It’s okay, Ryan.” You’d sighed. It was only 7pm, too early to have a bloodbath in the dining hall. “I’m not mad. Butcher might be mad, but he’s a little bitch baby.”

“Fuckin watch it, Love-“

You’d ignored Butcher, and watched Ryan carefully as you spoke. “I was at the tower for V. But I couldn’t find the right kind, so now we need to look somewhere else.”

“The right kind?” Ryan had frowned. “What, um, what kind was there?”

“The V Ben and I have,” you’d explained with a sigh. “I don’t know what it would do to a normal supe, but it’s essentially useless in any format on Homelander.”

“You did not happen to keep it when you returned, non?” Frenchie had leaned around the table, looking at you hopefully, and you’d shaken your head.

“It got destroyed on my way back. It’s gone.”

You’d been lying. The V was still in your underwear drawer, hidden next to the suppressants and taunting you in the silence. Ben’s phantom was gone, his Thing in your chest gone with your empathy, and it was just you and thoughts of weak. You miss Ben, and you’re weak, and you need this to be over. ‘

Homelander has to die. He hasn’t earned taking up your life like this. Your life is supposed to be you and Ben, warm and safe. You keep trying to get lost in a fantasy on Ben’s hand in yours, living in a house in Rome where there’s grass outside and sunlight all around you. Laughing with him and kissing him and never thinking about Homelander again. Giving him everything you have—even if he never loves you—and just being happy. No more gods. No more wars. No more blood or dirt on your hands or under your nails. No more impossible, difficult fucking choices. Just you and Ben, together, with him grinning down at you and peace everywhere in the world.

You’re exhausted. You can’t sleep. You need this to be over. And after another few hours, it makes you sit up and cross the room, makes you open the drawer and take out the V. The small vial turns over in your hands, the text of Project Anomaly, Trial 6 slightly faded, and the green liquid within it completely useless to finish this.

Your feet carry you downstairs, and down the silent halls with the vial still in your hands. They take you to the dining hall—a few generators and appliances casting it in a low ligh— and over to the table. There are almost twenty in the whole room, but everyone had come to a silent agreement that this was the table. Where you eat with everyone, where Ben presses his thigh to yours, and where plans are made.

You have a plan. It’s not a good plan—Ben would hate it, but he’s in DC and can’t stop you—and yet it’s all you can think about in the dark. Ending this. Really, properly ending this.

It takes a little while. Thirty or forty minutes of humming into the empty room and letting pine and strawberries and vanilla fill the room with an invisible warmth, waiting to see if your guess was correct.

Then the door swings open, and Butcher freezes in the hall as your eyes meet.

“The bloody fuck are you doin’ here-”

“We need to talk.”

Butcher scowled, stepping into the dining hall but not moving across to the table. “We ain’t got shit to talk about-“

“Yes,” you sigh. “We do. Please just sit down, Butcher. It won’t take long.”

He looks you up and down, huffs, and stalks over to the bench, dropping across from you with a glare. “How’d the fuckin hell you know to find me here.”

“Ben said you don’t really sleep,” you shrug. “He said you always have terrible bags under your eyes, and your heart goes a little too fast, so his bet was, and I quote, ‘the fucking pussy is either on a bunch of drugs he’s not sharing with me, or he’s sleeping less then I do’. And I guessed you wouldn’t want to wake up Ryan, so I took a gamble. And I was right.”

“I ain’t able to believe I backed you up on wakin him when you gave your fuckin pitch.” Butcher mutters. “Shoulda killed it in the first month when you got all fuckin chummy with the cunt.”

“Yeah, I’m sure our friendship is really hard for you-“

“I don’t give a flyin fuck about your friendship,” Butcher snaps. “I’m pissed with myself for lettin it get this far, losin my teammate to being in fuckin love with Soldier Boy.”

Your mouth falls open, and you can hear the blood in your ears. “I, um, I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“Save it.” Butcher rolls his eyes, giving you a bored look. “We all fuckin know, you make disgustin heart eyes at him every damn day. I’m just sayin, you twats start makin mini-supes, I am not takin responsibility for them killin their nannies.”

“What do you mean we all know?”

“All the Boys,” Butcher shrugs. “A-Train confirmed it-“

“He wasn’t supposed to say anything-“

“We already fuckin knew. And nobody’s told Soldier Boy, so keep your bloody head on your shoulders.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “He, he still doesn’t-“

“Nah, he’s a fuckin idiot. You both are fuckin idiots.”

“Hey-“

Butcher drawls your name, giving you a flat look. “I put it together at Tek Knight. We all been gettin it for far too fuckin long, and you’re real bloody stupid for someone who can fuckin feel people’s emotions.”

“I’m taking the suppressants,” you snap. “Specifically so I don’t make Ben feel what I do.” You take a long breath. “I can’t force him to love me. It’s not my call you make.”

“I don’t give a fuckin dick or tit about what you’re doin it for,” Butcher gives you a long, strange look. A frown without cruelty or bitterness, like he’s trying to figure something out. “Just don’t get all fuckin piney over him when it’s your own fault he don’t know.”

You scowl, and swallow a sneer of he doesn’t know because I can’t lose him. I love Ben more than should be physically possible, and he’s too important for me to be selfish and manipulative to make him love me. You came here for a reason, and you’re too tired to fight—really, properly yell and shout and swear at—Butcher. So you shake your head, glancing down at the V in your lap, and look back up at Butcher. “Can we please just talk about why I’m here?”

Butcher shrugs. “Floor’s all fuckin yours.”

“I,” you take a deep, heavy breath to slow your heart, and force yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes. “I want you to do it.”

“Do fuckin what-“

“I want you to kill Homelander.”

Butcher stares at you for a second, for once at a loss for words. “The bloody hell would make you want that.”

“It has to be you,” you mutter, fingers tapping faster and faster on the table. “This has to be over, and it has to be you. Ben is going to blast him, and you’re going to shoot him. Right in the head, with a normal, boring gun. He doesn’t get to have me burn him alive, have Ben or Kimiko bash his head in, or have Annie send him flying and break his spine. He doesn’t get a good death. He doesn’t get to be a martyr, or a legend. He’s going to die like a fucking person.”

“I ain’t-“

“Butcher,” you whisper, and don’t bother to hide the exhaustion and pain from your voice. You need him to do this. Butcher is a piece of shit, and has given you hell since you’ve met him, and he needs to be the one to kill Homelander. He’s the only one who might understand this. Understand why Homelander shouldn’t be killed in a way that matters. That Homelander doesn’t fucking deserve that. “I want you to do this. I want Homelander to realize he’s lost, that we beat him, and then I want you to kill him, and for this horrible fucking shit to be over.” You choke slightly. “I just want this to be over.”

You think he’s going to try and resist you. You think Butcher is going to choose to be generous at the worst possible moment, and tell you that the killing blow is yours. That you’ve suffered the most at Homelander’s hands, and should get to watch the light leave his eyes. But you don’t want to. You’re past revenge and fury and blood. You’re just tired. All you really want now is to burn in Ben’s arms, to bury your head in his chest and burn and burn and burn until you’re not afraid anymore. Until the heat has fused all your cracks back together, and Homelander’s never able to hurt you again.

But he doesn’t. Butcher just nods once, eyes never leaving yours, and grunts, “you got a deal. That it?”

“One more thing.” You hold up the V, glowing slightly in the soft light of the breaching morning. If Butcher is surprised you have it, you don’t see it on his face. “This is the V in me. The V in Ben.” You place it on the table in front of Butcher, watching him carefully. “You can use it on yourself, and become the thing you’ve loathed for years. You can use it on me, and I think it might kill me. If it does, Ben will kill you. You can use it on Ben, and make him stronger. You can do whatever the fuck you want with it, as long as you do it. As long as you, Butcher, just you, make the choice and live with the fucking consequences.”

You stand up, and leave Butcher silently in the dining hall. You’ve said what you need, and Ben will be home soon. You’ll be able to fall into his arms and sleep. Until then, you’ll just have to make yourself busy.

There’s the laundry you forgot to fold last night. Ben’s underwear and socks that you’d left in the dryer, because he’d texted you about the meeting and the relief of it going well had slammed a wall of exhaustion into your brain. You dump everything in a basket, and carry it upstairs. It’s boring, but it’s better than just waiting.

Your phone is face up on your bed when you enter the bedroom, and it lights up with a text as you close the door.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

We’re headed back, ETA around 10.

Soldier Boy broke his phone somehow btw.

And the meeting went well, just in case he didn’t get a chance to tell you.

You text back a thumbs up—you’re honestly shocked it took this long for Ben to break his phone—and leave the phone face up on the bed as you fold laundry. You manage to kill fifteen minutes with this, because while Ben has a truly abysmal amount of clothing, your brain is moving tragically slow from a lack of sleep.

Coffee. You need coffee. It will kill another five minutes, and you might actually manage to stay awake until Ben comes home. You can put on the coffee, and make a sandwich, and hum to yourself as you drink, just to practice making lights and shadows bend around you. Ten minutes.

Ben doesn’t fold his clothing. When you return upstairs and open his drawers, that much is obvious. Pants and shirts have been tossed mindlessly into drawers, and underwear and socks are mixed together without thought.

That’s another thing to do. Fold Ben’s clothing. Simple and tedious, keeping you awake and your mind on your hands instead of clinging to the silence. The feeling of you, just you, the only one to blame for how cold and tired you are, not strong enough to get through this alone, but you are alone, and you’re so tired-

Clothes. Fold all of Ben’s clothes. Take them out of the drawers—pants and shirts first, they take up the most space and the least time—fold them, and return them. Then you can pair the socks and organize his underwear, and-

You pause, frowning at the almost empty drawer. There’s three stray socks, a pair of boxers, and sunglasses. They’re not your sunglasses, they’re green and don’t have the little Soldier Boy symbols on the ear pieces, but they’re the same style. Your sunglasses had broken anyway, and these might just be Ben’s, but they’d been hidden. Ben didn’t hide his things. His razor was on the bathroom counter, his shoes were scattered around downstairs, and his mug was at the front of the cabinet. Sometimes he just left it out, because he’d fucking be using it tomorrow anyway.

And, even if Ben did hide things, an underwear drawer was an incredibly odd place for sunglasses. You’d just dismiss it as the glasses falling in the drawer, but they look carefully placed, wrapped in the boxers like they shouldn’t be seen.

They’re just sunglasses. Sunglasses that look just like the ones that had been broken when Homelander took you-

Far in the back of your head, something starts to ring in your brain. Nobody had told you that your sunglasses had broken. You hadn’t seen them since you’d gotten home, but that could’ve just been a coincidence. Sage could’ve gotten rid of them in the tower, or Ben could’ve lost them somewhere in the months where you’d been gone, but they’d been broken. Ben’s phantom had told you they’d been broken in the fight with Homelander, and you’d told him that you’d liked those sunglasses because they reminded you of him.

These ones looked the exact same as the broken once, save for the colors. Simplistic black frames—no patterns or symbols—and a dark shade of green that matched the Soldier Boy suit. Almost exactly the same hue, a slightly darker shade.

You have a theory. A weak, flimsy theory that makes you carefully place the sunglasses back in the drawer and run downstairs to your computer. It’s not really based on anything, all your evidence is speculative—Ben’s allowed to be a weirdo who hides sunglasses in his underwear drawer—but you have to check. Just so you don’t go insane, you have to check.

Between you and Ben, there’s only the one Jane Smith email account. Which means there’s one amazon account, and you can check the purchase date of the sunglasses. It takes a second—your hands have changed from going too slow to going too fast and losing efficiency in your frantic movements—but you find the receipt, and the date. Late May, nine days after the Believe Expo, which means four days before your escape. When you’d started testing your empathy on the Deep.

The same day you’d talked to Ben’s phantom about the sunglasses.

It could be a coincidence. It’s technically possible that it’s a complete, total coincidence that doesn’t mean anything, let alone what you think it might mean. What your brain is starting to draw together. That, towards the end at least, whenever you spoke to Ben’s phantom, his Thing would grow stronger. That you’d been able to feel him there, feel that extra sense in your body that told you Ben. Ben is near you. He’s across the bridge or in the bathroom or down the hall start to go haywire when you were alone in Homelander’s apartment. Where Ben couldn’t have possibly been.

You’d just missed him. You’d just driven yourself insane the torture of being trapped at Vought and the sickness of missing Ben, and the longer you were gone the more you’d needed that small escape of Ben’s voice in your head. Telling you that you would come home. That there wasn’t another option, because you were coming home because you were strong and you’d fucking get through this.

But you’d missed Ben yesterday. Geographically he’d been even further than when you’d been at Vought, and you hadn’t heard his phantom. It had grown silent, gone with his imprint in your chest. The imprint that was bombed with empathy, that grew back with it as well. The imprint that had appeared after the Believe Expo, after you’d seen Ben, held him and had your every thought reduced back to its natural pattern when he touched you. Had everything be Ben. Ben, I love you.

The phantom had grown stronger after that. Louder, more persistent, full of stranger conversations and rattling Ben’s Thing inside you when it spoke. But it had just been from missing him. You’d see him and it had made you miss him all the more. Ben’s Thing in your chest might be the empathy, but the phantom was just an echo of your love. A result of how he’d become a vital part of you, how you loved and loved him, loved talking to him and laughing with him and hearing his voice say Brat and Sunshine and fucking breathe and shut the fuck up and I love you-

The phantom had told you he loved you. The phantom had been incredibly persistent about how Ben loved you. Which was evidence that it isn’t what it might be. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you. Ben doesn’t love you.

It doesn’t feel like a real sentence anymore. It’s running around in your head—Ben doesn’t love you, he doesn’t, he just doesn’t, Ben doesn’t love you—and it doesn’t feel right. It’s a fact—it doesn’t need to feel right, it just is—but now it’s become only noises that make your heart contract and your own love wail. You love him. You love Ben so, so much, and all it’s done is drive you mad. You just want him to love you, and the phantom is made of your want and love, so it indulged you and told you Ben loved you.

He doesn’t.

Unless this is what you think it might be, Ben doesn’t love you. If it is what you think it is, then-

You have to know. You have to know now, whoever is driving him home needs to drive faster because you might be wrong, but you might be right. And no matter which one it is, you need to know right fucking now.

There’s about two and a half hours until Ben opens the door. You spend most of that time making a list. Writing down every conversation you’ve had with the phantom, just to be sure. To go in prepared, and know what you’re looking for. You fold the socks and underwear when you’re done—twenty minutes—and decide to leave the sunglasses in the drawer. No leading questions, no steering Ben towards the possible truth. Thy hypothetical truth, that’s going to make you sound insane if you say it aloud, but that’s feeling less and less implausible as you’re forced to wait.

You don’t feel Ben when he comes home. You’re going over the list, rehearsing in your head, and you hear him. Even through the compound’s soundproof walls, you hear Ben stomping down the hall, stopping outside your door, and banging on it.

He’s shouting your name. Not yelling, shouting. Over and over again, until you stand up and let him in.

Ben almost falls on top of you, and there’s something wild in his eyes. His hair is messy, there’s slight bags under his eyes, and his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried his teeth are going to break. He’s scanning you up and down, one hand gripping your arm like you might vanish, feet planted apart and body towering over yours like he’s ready to defend you from something.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben’s voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“We need to fucking talk.”

You swallow. “Yeah, we do. But I’m first.”

“The fucking hell you are, I need to-“

“Ben.” Your voice is firmer than even you’ve heard it, and Ben freezes. You’d feel bad, but this is important. Ben’s home, and—as much as you want to figure out why he looks like a feral animal—you need to know if you’re right. “I’m first. Sit down.”

He scowls, but follows you to the table and drops in his usual chair, glaring up at you. “You get seven minutes, then it’s my fucking turn.”

You nod, grab the list—crinkling it between your hands with a slow, grounding breath—and start at the top. “What food do you want on your birthday?”

“Is that what’s so goddamn important-“

“Answer the question, please.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, my birthday was last month-“

You have to push past that. Later, after you figure this out, you’ll have time to yell at Ben about his birthday and why you weren’t made aware of it. Right now, you’re on a time limit. “Benjamin, if you don’t answer the fucking question-“

“I don’t know, fucking burgers! Burgers and cake! Are you done, can I fucking talk-“

That wasn’t as helpful as you’d hoped. Burgers and cake is an incredibly predictable answer for Ben to have, so you push on. “No. How many states can you name?”

“I don’t fucking know, I don’t keep track of that shit. I’m not like you and Ryan, it’s not all fucking fifty, but I can name a damn few-“

You’ve never told him you can name all fifty. Not to his face. “What does manifest destiny mean?”

Ben scoffs. “Are you giving me a fucking pop quiz-“

“Benjamin-“

“It’s the fucking nationalistic belief that Americans had the right to go west, and should exert the means to do it. Is that it? Can I say my goddamn thing-”

You have to glance at the paper to be sure, but that’s practically word for word what you’d written. What you’d told Ben’s phantom. “What type of porn does the Deep watch?”

“Tentacle, you’re the one who fucking told me-“ Ben pauses, his eyes narrowing. “Why the fuck are you asking me all these damn questions.”

It takes a long, heavy breath to get the last question out. “Have you been having nightmares again?”

“Some. Why the fuck does it matter, we both have nightmares-“

“What have they been about?”

Ben doesn’t answer immediately. His jaw ticks, and his eyes on yours start to peel you apart. “Blood. Fuck ton of blood and smoke.”

There’s more. There’s something Ben’s leaving out, but right now you don’t care. You’re past being subtle, or thinking about anything but you’re right. You’re almost definitely right, and there’s only one last question to ask.

“Why are there sunglasses in your underwear drawer?”

His scowl deepens. “Why the goddamn hell were you in my underwear drawer-“

“I was folding laundry. Why.”

“Gift.” He grunts. “For you. Replacing the old ones.”

You feel a little lightheaded. “What, what happened to the old ones?”

“Broke when Homelander took you.” Ben pauses, and you think his gaze might be burning into your skin. “If you don’t start making some fucking sense about what you want-“

“While I was gone,” the words start to vomit out of you, frantic and uncertain. “Did you ever, I don’t know, hear me? Hear my voice, talking to you? Or, I don’t know, feel me, when I wasn’t there? Like there’s no way I could’ve been there, logistically, but you were still hearing me-“

Ben snaps your name. “Maybe I did, but I fucking missed you. It’s not some big goddamn news story, and since you’ve been back I haven’t heard shit-“

“Why did you get kicked out of the dining hall?”

“What the fuck are you-“

“Benjamin.” You take a long, deep breath. “Last week, why did MM kick you out of the dining hall?”

“I told you already, I got hard and he’s a fucking uptight pussy-“

“What made you hard?”

Ben goes completely rigid in his seat. “Don’t fucking worry about-“

“Were you thinking about me? About how you’d want to fuck me?”

“How in goddamn hell-“

“Because I was thinking about it,” you whisper, forcing yourself to hold Ben’s gaze. “That morning, before you got home, I thinking about how you’d fuck me. You said you’d prep me, then missionary, then from behind, then I’d ride you, and you told me condoms don’t work on supe jizz. You told me-“

“What the fuck do you mean I told you.”

“Your voice told me. In my head, I was talking to you. I’ve been talking to you. In the tower,” you swallow. “I’d talked to you all the time. In my head. And I-“

Ben grunts your name. “Whatever you’re trying to say, say it.”

“I think I can read your mind!” The words sound stupid when you say them. You sound fucking crazy, but you’re right. “Or like, speak to you through your brain? I was doing it for a while, then it got really weird after the Believe Expo, and I think it’s because you put something in me-“

“Put something in you-“

“I don’t fucking know, Ben! I’m not a scientist, I just know that there’s been this thing in my chest, right here,” you jab a finger at the area near your heart, and Ben’s eyes widen. “And it feels like you, and it’s gone right now because the empathy is gone, but-“

“What the fuck do you mean the empathy is gone.” Ben’s words are low, and his glare is searing right through you. “It’s part of you, it can’t just up and fuck off-“

“I, um,” your nails start to dig into your arm as you hug your body, the list balled up in your hand. “I’ve been taking a suppressant. A pill. It, um, kills the empathy, so I can’t use it.”

“A suppressant.” Ben stands, eyes never leaving yours, voice rising to a shout. “Are you fucking insane?”

“I’m fine, it’s-“

“You’re not fucking fine! Nothing about this is fucking fine, that’s a part of your goddamn body! You might as well be chopping your fucking arm off-“

“My arm would grow back, just like this-“

“It would still fucking hurt you! Why the fucking hell would you do something so fucking stupid, why the fuck wouldn’t you tell me-“

“I’m fine!” You scream, and smoke begins to rise from your fingers. “I fucking fine, Ben! This is helping me! I just, I can’t fucking control it, I don’t know how-“

“I would’ve fucking helped you!” He takes a step forwards, glare rooting you in place. “I’d do what the fuck you needed to help you control it, but you didn’t fucking trust me-“

“Of course I trust you!” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I fucking trust you with my life, but this isn’t about you-“

“Then why wouldn’t you fucking tell me, I’d have told you it was fucking stupid and insane, because this is fucking stupid and insane-“

“Because I’m fine-“

“You’re not fucking fine!” Ben roars your name, and you swallow. “You’re keep waking up fucking screaming, and you can’t fucking shower alone, you’re not fucking fine, stop saying you’re fine-“

“I am!” You shake your head frantically, gaze dropping to his chest. You can’t look him in the eyes right now, you’ll break. “I’m really fine, I’m just tired-“

“Because you haven’t slept a goddamn night peacefully in a fucking week!” Ben’s voice is strained, like he’s in physical pain. “Did it occur to you, even fucking once, that maybe cutting off your arm over and fucking over would hurt you?”

“I don’t care!” Your voice is losing its anger. You’re just so fucking tired, you don’t want to fight, you want to start crying, collapse, just fucking rest. “I don’t care if it’s hurting me! I deserve it! I’m hurting everyone else-“

“Are you fucking stupid-“

“No!” You can’t really hear anything over the blood pounding in your ears, over the cold starting to climb into your lungs. It’s hard to breathe. “I’m hurting people, Ben! I’m broken and afraid and weak, I can’t control myself because I’m weak and I can’t make you weak as well-“

“You are not weak-“

“I am! I’m weak! I can’t just get fucking control over my own body, and I’m so tired, and I can’t fucking do this anymore! I can’t keep fighting Homelander and being useless. I’m not like you, I’m not strong enough to do this-“

Ben’s still a few feet away, but when he says your name it rolls through your body. Pushes past the cold and grabs your insides, forces your eyes to his. He looks like something is hurting him, the wild glint in his eyes now tangled in with something bright and furious and hot. “You are not fucking weak. You’re the furthest goddamn thing from weak. You’re fucking alive. You fucking survived. You did something idiotic and so fucking selfless and goddamn impossible, and you lived. You are fucked up and perfect and the strongest fucking person in the world.”

The snapped off thing in your gut starts to wrap around your heart. “Then why won’t you touch me?”

He pauses, mouth open and closing once before he grunts through teeth, “what the fuck are you talking about.”

“You won’t touch me, Ben.” You’re done screaming. You’re choking on something, and every word is strangled and soft. “You stopped touching me after the shower. If you don’t want me, you can just tell me-“

“Of course I fucking want you, stop being insane-“

“Then why-“

“I touched you and you fucking broke,” he snaps. He’s done yelling as well, but somehow this hurts more. Ben’s voice is low and heavy, and it’s dropping something into your lungs. “I touched you once, and you goddamn fell apart. You keep saying you’re fucking fine, that Homelander didn’t do anything, but I touched you and it hurt you-“

“You didn’t hurt me,” you breathe out, and the world is blurry. “You couldn’t hurt me, Ben. You could never hurt me. I just, I can’t feel you and I hate it. It’s horrible, but I want you to touch me. Please,” everything is far away. Your tongue, your head, your thoughts and throat and mouth are all second to Ben, across the room. So close, not close enough, never close enough. He could never be close enough, and he still doesn’t understand. “I, please, I want you to touch me, Ben. I’ve never wanted anything more that I want you, I’ve never loved anyone more than I love you-“

You don’t hear your own words until after. You don’t register what you’ve said until Ben’s closed the space between you in one step, until he’s grabbed your face with firm hands, until his mouth is crashing onto yours and it’s all Ben. Ben, I love you.

He’s everywhere. He tastes like coffee and salt, and his touch is desperate. He’s falling onto you, groaning into your mouth when your lips part, invading your mouth with his tongue and teeth and spit, angling your head back to give you more. Your hands fly to his wrists, trying to make sure he’s real. You can’t feel him, but his pulse is heavy under your grip, and he’s so warm, and even as he bites your lower lip his hands are careful and gentle on your face. You’d said it, you said it for Ben to hear, and his touch is still reverent. He’s still holding you like you’re holy, confusing every part of your body as he deepens to kiss into something almost brutal—unrelenting and fervorish, devouring and starved with swallows of every sound that leaves you and his tongue in your throat—but his hands on your face remains adoring and gentle. Fingers tangling in your hair, a thumb tracing over your cheek while the other drops to carefully tilt your head back further.

When he pulls back, Ben’s forehead falls to yours, and you’re both silent. Trading ragged breaths and he traces over your swollen mouth with a light touch and his eyes, and you watch him. When Ben’s eyes finally meet yours they’re blown out and almost feral.

“Don’t take the fucking meds again,” he mutters, gaze stripping you apart before he adds, “please.”

You’d missed this morning’s pill. Thirteen hours would be up soon. And Ben is real and sounds like he’s pleading, so it’s easy to give in. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and pulls back. “You need to sleep,” he holds your gaze, even as he draws back up to his full height. “You’re tired.”

This is the worst possible time for your body to listen to Ben more than it listens to you, but the world starts to fuzz with exhaustion, even as you protest. “Ben, we need to talk-“

“We will. After you get some goddamn sleep.”

“It’s only eleven-“

“Did you sleep last night?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Did you fucking sleep, Benjamin?”

“No. So I want some rest, and I’m not doing it without you next to me.”

“But-“

“Trust me,” he grunts. “Just fucking trust me. We will talk about it, I fucking swear, but you need to rest first.”

You take a long breath, and nod. Ben doesn’t wait for you to open your mouth before he’s picking you up, marching up the stairs and into the bedroom, laying you carefully on the mattress before climbing over you and tugging you into his chest. Sleep is crawling into your head—the warmth of Ben and the steady rise and fall of his chest making your head quiet and everything easy—but it’s still too bright to close your eyes, so you roll over and bury your head in Ben’s body.

“What was your thing?” You mumble into his skin, still just a little too wired from the fight to fall under. “We didn’t get to it before I, um…”

Ben’s chuckle makes your whole body grow loose. “You texted me.”

You frown. “I texted you all day, Pretty Boy-“

“You texted me that you love me.” He mutters, and a hand starts to run through your hair, soothing your brain and keeping you against him as your face flushes.

“Oh.” You try to pull yourself closer to his body, hoping you can fully hide the soft nerves in your voice. “I, um, I was tired. I must’ve typed it and, uh, sent it without thinking.”

“Did,” he pauses, voice low and tense. “Did you mean it.”

“Both times?”

He snorts, and you smile against him. “Yeah, both fucking times.”

“Yes,” your voice is a breath, words muffled against him, but you know Ben hears because his hands on your skin freeze. “When, in our heads, when you said it-“

“I meant it.” He mutters. “I’ll always fucking mean it.”

You nod, hands curling into his shirt. “Okay. Good.”

“How long until that stupid fucking pill-“

“Soon,” you whisper. “I don’t know why we can’t just-“

Ben grunts your name, his hand on your back starting to rub small circles that drag you further down. “Trust me. Get some sleep.”

He’s lucky you love him. If you didn’t, you’d get a little closer to murdering him every time your body elects to override your brain for Ben’s words. But he says sleep, everything fades into pine and warmth, the sound of Ben’s heartbeat near your head lulling you easily into sleep.

Blood. So much blood. All there is in the world is blood, filling up your lungs and overwhelming your heart. You don’t know where it’s coming from—don’t know how to stop it—and it’s sweeping over you like a hurricane. Blood on your hands, in your throat, metal on your tongue and red in your vision. You can’t breathe, and you’re screaming for Ben but there’s a smoke far, far above you that’s keeping him away. You can hear him roaring your name, see his figure somewhere around you in the liminal world you’ve been trapped in, but when he reaches for you the blood drags you further down. No matter how much you struggle and flail and scream, it’s just blood.

Blood, parting away as something cold and blue starts to walk towards you. Grabs you by the neck and yanks you up to watch it. Evil and cruel and no. No. No no no-

You’re screaming when you wake up. There’s something around you—not the blood, this is warm and safe and right—but you can’t really hear what the deep sounds echoing through your head are trying to tell you. It hurts, it all hurts. Your head is cracking open, your heart is aching, your mouth feels like sandpaper, your muscles are sore and your skin is itching and your blood is trying to leave your body because this hurts, this is all so painfully cold save for the pounding of something warm in your chest. Something grounding you and keeping all the fear and screams of unfair, so fucking unfair in your body. It’s full of ardor and it’s bloody, but not the blood that chokes you. Blood that feels like yours. That feels devoted and sharp and furious, that’s made of adoration and hunger and love.

It’s everything. This thing is powerful and focused and wrathful, aimed and attuned to every single part of you. It’s making the world sharper, and everything feels like it has a purpose. There’s nothing that doesn’t exist to aid what the thing serves, and everything glows when the thing is fed. It’s starving, it will never not be starving, it will only grow more and more hungry, but the hunger isn’t fed by taking. It’s fed by giving, by working and worshiping and caring for something perfect. All that matters is the perfect thing—it fits so well with the beat of the powerful thing—because it infects everything with light. Nothing is ever dark when the perfect thing is tended to, and it’s not easy to tend to, but it’s fucking worth it. The powertful thing lives in your chest, and it’s not yours, but it belongs there. It’s content and happy there, and it riots when you make a small sound. A set of words that you don’t really understand right now, but you need to say. Everything is still coming back to you as your blood returns into your body, but you need to keep saying the words.

The ringing in your ears finally fades, and you can make them out.

Ben. Ben, I love you.

“I love you too, Sunshine.” A deep voice—it might be the only one in the world that matters—rolls from the warmth around you into your chest. “Sleep.”

It’s Ben. Ben’s around you, holding you like you’re sacred, and you’re still so tired, but you can feel him. His Thing is alive in your chest, and you know what it is. Ben’s love. Raw and obvious and everything. Burning in you, with you, for you. Ben loves you.

“Ben,“ you mumbled, and his Thing hums. “I’m-“

If you say sorry, I’m not fucking you in the morning.

Rude.

You love it.

I do. You sigh against his skin. I love you.

I love you as well. Ben’s voice, inside your body and everywhere around you, is right. This is right. Ben loves you, and you love him, and nothing has ever made more sense.

And, right before you tuck yourself further into his chest, right before you fall back into peaceful, restful, safe sleep, you can breathe.

End Note: We have officially completed the slow burn. I welcome you to the rest of the story: a goddamn wildfire. They’re about to fuck so nasty, you guys don’t even know. Call them Tinashe the way they’re about to freak.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, 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

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marilynthornhilllover · 6 months ago

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I know that you love me, you don't need to remind me,

Emily. P x Jennifer. J x Fem!Reader

Warning: talk of drug consumption, reader is high, mood swings, use of guns (weed) , bad flirting, mommy kink, praise kink, teasing, cringe kiss etc .

A/n: I saw that new jennifer and emily episode where Emily was high and they were so cute! Had to make a fic😌

It was that quite long awaited time of the year where criminal agents are given two weeks off from work. You were beyond exhausted but nevertheless was very happy to finally be able to take off your FBI vest and feeling relieved that you won't have to be picking it up for another week or so.

You soon realized that you literally didn't have plans arranged for the upcoming two weeks ahead, or even tonight. Everyone was pairing up as they packed up their office stuff and headed out. Spencer and Derek laughed and gave eachother a high five as they made their way downstairs to sign out while Emily and jj were already giggling about some random joke as they continued to pack up.

You nervously decided to walk up to them standing in the corridor like a shadow making sure not to seem creepy— but maybe you were doing the opposite. Ever since you joined the team, yes you did make friends but no one ever went the extra mile to offer to hang out with you. Only Emily would now and then eat lunch with you at her desk.

Jennifer wasn't bad either, she did offer to help you with a case file once, you went over to her house which you complimented her for the cozy interior, and yes the boys were also good to you but on a employee holiday like this no one was paying any attention whatsoever to you. They already plans of their own.

You on the other hand, had none, all you were gonna do was shower, eat, sleep and repeat for the next week or so. Nothing productive, not as if you had anything to do either. Prentiss and Mantegna had insisted that someone help you with case files so its not as if you have a major cade to crack over the holiday.

You were as free as a bird and your energetic self needed something to reinforce that energy into. If you could have went on a cruise for two weeks you definitely would have.

Emily scoffed at Jennifer's joke before turning around and spotting you cuddled up in the corner like a little mouse. She tilted her head to the side before approaching you with a warm smile.

" hey hon, you got any plans for the holiday?" She asked chewing a piece of gum that she had been for the entire day — somtimes you wonder if any flavour at all is still existence in it.

" uhh nope, but I'll sure my couch has plans for me though" you said sarcastically and of course she laughed, because Emily laughs at anything and everything which you did find cute. Emily always made sure that she kept everyone at a level where they felt at their absolute best when around her.

She was never mean to anyone really. Always funny, ambitious, smart and talented she was everything. Sometimes her aura was just too high, but she was always still approachable and not prideful.

Emily was like one of those drugs that you couldn't stop using because it feels too good, and when you do take it, it altars with your entire brain function and chemistry.

And speaking of chemistry, that was something you and Emily had alot of. Everytime her eyes made contact with yours, you felt as if your body was thrown into the deepest pits of hell. You'd get shivers everytime she passed you or called you a pet name. You'd go completely weak in your knees when she made the littlest amount of psychical contact with your skin — it was absolutely ridiculous just how easily she could get under your skin.

Or the time when you were making coffee in the kitchen and she needed to grab something from the top shelf and she moved you by putting her hands on your hips, with her chest pressed so closely against your back with face by your neck.

Emily made you question things. You knew you always had a thing for older women, always, since highschool and it never seemed to go away. And Emily was exactly your type, you just weren't sure if she felt the same way in return and you didn't wanna ruin the amazing friendship you both had by letting your stupid emotions and hormones get the best of yourself.

" well I'm sure you'll find something to entertain yourself, JJ and I are hooking up at her place tonight for snacks and a movie" she placed hands on her hips are she turned to look at jj who was texting away on her phone before turning back to you. You gaved her a akward smile, before a breathy nervous laugh escaped your mouth.

" hooking up huh" you saw as her eye brows quirked before a sly smile came into evidence on her face and quickly glanced at Jennifer who was now angrily texting before taking a step closer towards you, closing the the last gap space that was there. Her body heat and perfume over took your senses making your breath hitch.

You pressed your palm against her chest sneaking a quick glance at jj and the camera above. Emily was looking at you with a teasing smirk, she leaned down besides your ear and whispered.

" do wanna hook up with me as well?" She pulled back to see the reaction on your face and just as she imagined it was absolutely priceless. She chuckled before pulling away completely.

" oh my God emily would you leave poor y/n alone, let's go already" Jennifer said with a tint of exhaustion and annoyance her voice. Emily chuckled before gently caressing your cheek. The both women waved you goodbye before departing and going their way.

You sighed before picking up your bag and leaving, you locked your office door and went home. You did decided to walk with a few case files home and evidence objects to keep yourself busy during the holiday to stop yourself from going insane from the intense boredom you were prone to have.

— — — —

Emily and Jennifer had just sat down and were about to enjoy their late afternoon with wine and salt and vinegar chips when a continuation of loud knocking could be heard on jj's front door. Both women looked at eachother with utter confusion on their faces — the weren't expecting anyone. Jennifer decided to get up and go check the door, Emily following closely behind with her hand placed tightly on her gun.

The door bell soon started ringing along with the knocks which triggered Jennifer even more. Unlocking the door Jennifer threw it open, not caring what stood on the opposite side of it, after all emily was ready to protect her best friend at all cost, even if it meant shooting someone in their foor.

" if I had my way I swear I would—" as soon as she saw you she stopped talking, her eye brows quirked as she squinted her eyes to make a better appearance of your face in the dim moon light. Emily let out a soft sigh when she saw you but quickly went back into a state of worry at the same time.

Now you had both women wondering what you were doing at their house.

" y/n? I didn't know you were coming over, did Emily invite you?" Jennifer turned around hoping to get a confirmation nod from Emily but she shook her head and pursed her lips, letting her know she was just as confused as her.

" Well aren't you guys a bit rude, aren't you gonna invite me in?" You muttered but before they could react you let yourself in. You carefully walked down the long fancy corridor switching off some lights on your way because they made your eyes burn, making your way to the living room area, having knowing your way around jj's house since the last two times you were there.

You stumbled over the coffee table and landed right onto the sofa, face first with a soft groan. You dropped the ziplock bag of cheese puffs you had brought onto the floor.

She walked up to you and you and sat beside you on the couch, she picked you up by both your forearms and made you look at her.

Both women side eyed eachother, both in desperate need to know what on God's green earth was going on. Jennifer leaned against the wall to further scrutinize you. Emily on the other hand was just worried how you got here on your own with no car or phone.

" hey y/n sweetie are you..... drunk?" Her voice sounded like when water got into a phone speaker and you tried to play a song— you couldn't understand it. You rubbed your eyes and glanced at the table to which your face instantly lit up when you saw the salt and vinegar lays chips.

You grabbed them ferociously then took out some chopsticks you had stuffed in the back pocket of your jeans and started eating the chips. At this point both women were flabbergasted, mouths open, jaws dropped. Jennifer took a deep breath before she turned around and went to her fridge to grab you a drink to help you sober up because it was crystal clear that you were beyond drunk, drunk was an understatement.

" what time is it?" You suddenly asked putting the chips down and dusting off your hands.

" time for some hydration, here you go" Jennifer said as she passed you a bottle of cold cranberry juice. Once again your face lit up like a child on Christmas day.

" ohhhh, it's got what plants crave!" You exclaimed. The look on Jennifer's face when you said that was priceless as Emily silently continued to look at you with a completely blanket stare.

You placed the bottle of juice at the side of your head as if it was an ice pack and burped. You cleared your throat before speaking up again.

" have you guys seen that movie! Idiot city!.... wait city Idiot... wait... yeah" it's like your body was replaced with a child's and this called for huge concern. Emily sighed heavily and took the bottle from your hand.

" Idiocracy?" Jennifer whispered and you nodded.

" I knew I liked you! Ohhh, I and on my way here I saw a cat jumping off your house roof then it turned into a dog and flew away as a mosquito" you said before the loudest laugh took you over that you almost started crying.

Emily whispered " oh good lord" before she shook her head, Jennifer was still completely and totally lost for words. Jennifer had a feeling that being drunk would not cause someone to behave like this— well of course she knew, she's a profiler. She had a feeling you were high, but she didn't want you to act out and she would need proof for Emily because knowing her she wouldn't believe for a minute you would do drugs.

" umm y/n what's in the bag?" Jennifer asked and your eyebrows quirked, you placed your finger at you ear urging her to repeat even though she was so damn close to you.

" What's in the bag" she repeated as she dragged her words this time. You shrugged.

" I don't know what time the supermarket closes" emily stood up and walked towards to kitchen to grab her phone, you had the agent stressed. Jennifer just took it upon herself to grab the bag of " cheese puffs" before she walked towards emily.

" look I know you may not believe but I have a pretty good feeling that, that girl right there is literally the profound definition of what we call high" emily scoffed.

" Oh come on, she probably had too much wine I mean weren't we just about to drink wine as well?" She restated trying to convince Jennifer, but honestly to this rate she just couldn't, Jennifer was already convinced from her own opinion.

" emily elizabeth prentiss which wine do you know makes someone this drunk?" Jennifer asked, emphasizing on the last two words of her sentence. Emily shrugged before looking back at you, who was now sniffing the air every two seconds like a curious dog. Jennifer rolled her eyes before opening the bag of cheese puffs and taking a sniff.

She gaged before pulling away quickly.

" this smells like straight up weed!" She swiftly turned to let Emily have a sniff, to which Emily pulled away as well. Jennifer closed the bag and turned it around where there was writing in black. " DO NOT OPEN, CONTAINS CASE 101 EVIDENCE".

" you ate the case evidence! Oh my god!" Jennifer looked like she was going to erupt like a volcano and her high pitched tone of voice was making your head hurt and ears ring.

" I was hungry, and I didn't know that they were edibles" you whispered as you squinted your eyes since it was getting harder to see. Jennifer looked at you in disbelief as she turned to Emily for back up. Before Emily could utter a word Jennifer was already furious.

" Emily, don't even! She basically ate the entire bag!" She shouted. She saided pacing the room with her fingers gently massaging her temple to calm her.

" what are we gonna tell hotch, or even worst David" Jennifer covered her face with her both her hands before leaning over the kitchen counter.

" Well I mean, she probably just ate the backup stash, it should be fine, we should really be worrying about is her health" emily muttered scratching her head. Jennifer looked up at emily as her jaw dropped.

" your defending her?!" Emily raised her hands in defense but before she could reply Jennifer took the chance.

" I seriously cannot believe you right now!" Jennifer once again, started pacing the room, this time even more quicker.

" Oh come on jj, what are the odds that people make silly mistakes like these?" Jennifer stopped, and looked at emily with wide eyes.

" Well with the odds as high as her I'd say zero!" She said angrily before picking up her phone.

Emily sighed before looking over at you who was now eating the chips and gnawing your teeth wildly making crumbs fall all over the place. In a way Emily felt bad for you, mostly pity because she knew what you did was down right stupid but Jennifer was being a tadbit too harsh on you in your current position — knowing you couldn't properly comprehend the situation or what was going on.

" ok I'll take her home and we can speak to the team about this tomorrow when y/n is a better state of mind, ok?" Emily said in a reassuring voice. Jennifer sighed in frustration before biting her lip and nodding approvingly.

Emily carefully picked you up off the couch and wrapped her arm around your waist as she insisted to take you home safely. Her body warmth was comforting and her perfume was like a lullaby putting you to sleep this time. You melted in her embrace as she took you outside.

Your vision was blurred and the cold air on your skin — although you had a jacket on, was making you shiver. Seeing this emily hugged you tighter. She opened the door to her wagon and assisted you into the passenger seat and putting on your seat belt for you. You looked at her, she looked like one of those ancient paintings,the ones you can't withdraw your eyes from, the Renaissance ones.

You weren't sure if maybe it was the drugs or the hormones that came after taking the drugs but you felt the need to kiss emily, your eyes flicked down to her lips that were slightly parted as she concentrated on getting the seatbelt to adjust to your liking. Her smooth skin and wrinkled lines that ran across her forehead and eye line area, her little cute eye bags from all the hard work she does.

You couldn't resist the urge, she was a drug, she was your drug. You licked your lips and leaned in. Your lips connected with hers in a slow soft kiss. You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to enjoy the moment. Emily didn't pull away, she was surprised yes, but she didn't pull away. Emily couldn't cover up the feeling she felt for you but she also didn't want to take advantage of your drunken state.

Taking it that she was enjoying it as much as you, you tried to force your tongue into her mouth but that's when she pulled away. Your brows furrowed and for a moment the drugs may have returned your common sense and you realized what you did — what you were trying to do. And soon the embarrassment and cringe settled in.

" sorry, oh God I'm so stupid!" You whispered as you fought back tears, you covered your face with both hands and started sobbing. Emily sprinted around to the drivers seat to comfort you. She gently peeled your hands away from your face, holding your palms in hers she caressed them with her knuckles softly. You sniffed and shook your head in denial before looking out the window.

" hey, sweetheart look at me please" her voice was as soft as an angel and so gentle as if you were something valuable that could be broken, that's something you loved about emily, she was so comforting in all circumstances, no matter what. She placed her hand under your jaw and turned you to look at her. She stared at you with her cute Bambi eyes so filled of love, and she so badly wanted to say " I love you" but she knew you wouldn't be able to comprehend them.

" look y/n, i wanna— kiss you back but I can't. That doesn't mean I don't want to, I just want you to be able to give me your full sober concent." She spoke as slowly and clearly as possible so you won't misinterpret anything.

" and your not stupid, we all make mistakes my love. Once I accidentally— well I got drunk the morning of my Law exams and failed them, and that did set me at a disadvantage for my career but I still made it into this job" she continued to rub your knuckles and wip every tear that fell from your eyes.

" and this joke takes y/n, but it also gives.... it gave—" she took a deep breath before exhaling heavily. " it gave me you." Hearing these words made your heart flutter souly. Your little smile came across your face which emily mirrored.

" now, my sweet girl, my I take you home?" She spoke in a old French accent waving her hand a fancy motion, You both laughed until you were out of air. after the laughter died down She chuckled and placed a hand on your thigh squeezing the tender flesh which made your breath hitch.

The drive home was long but certainly not quiet at all, you and Emily blasted high 2000s music all the way until she arrived at your home. You knew there was gonna be alot to discuss the next day but you should be fine once you have emily by your side.

#law and order svu #criminal minds #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #fypシ゚viral #fanfic #love #tw drugs #smut fanfiction #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #billie eilish #slow burn #kisses

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r04dk1llx2 · 9 months ago

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Begging For It *ੈ✩‧₊˚

This came to me suddenly, out of absolutely nowhere, so enjoy it.

Pairing: Clapton Davis x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1.3K

Summary: You get to peg Clapton Davis. That’s it. That’s the story.

Tags: GN!reader (use of ‘mommy’ is the only gendered term), Dom!reader, Sub!Clapton, pegging, strap-on penetration, anal, nipple clamps, vibrating cock ring, whiny Clapton (as usual), premature ejaculation (he’s touch starved and horny be nice to him), praise, degradation, overstimulation, thigh-highs, very brief choking, average early 2000s teenager room setup, don’t talk about the fact that Ayesha didn’t produce music in that timeframe…

The harsh moonlight from your open window shines along his skin, illuminating the thin sheen of sweat covering his toned body. You were balls deep in Clapton Davis, the schools resident jackass.

“f-fuuuuck—! don’t stop-!” Your room is entirely filled with his moans, even drowning out the sound of the Ayesha Erotica track that he had playing on your speaker. Clapton was never one to be quiet.. being in bed with him was no different.

You thrust slowly, holding his hips as he groans into the fuzzy pink pillow beneath him. He looked entirely fucked out, his hair messy and stuck to his forehead, his necklaces tangled and his shirt pulled up to expose his chest, not to mention the black thigh highs you convinced him to wear for you. You gently pull at his hair, forcing him to look back at you.

He’s already drooling, long eyelashes fluttering as he looks back at you with a dumb grin, the chain connecting the nipple clamps you had put on him earlier jingling each time you push into him.

“Feels good, doesn’t it, pretty boy?” You purr, his hole clenching around you as soon as he hears that nickname. He nods frantically, lips parted slightly as he lets out a sharp whimper.

You pick up the pace, causing him to loose balance as you slam into him. He’s panting, a total mess beneath you as you bring your hand to hold his head down against the bed, your other hand reaching down to pump his painfully hard cock.

He yelps, hips bucking into your fist as soon as you make contact with his length. His thighs tense, his muscles showing under those sheer black thigh highs.

“Ghh—! m-mommy—!” He sobs, babbling incoherently, completely dumbed down by your dick. He whines loudly, eyes rolling back as you slam into his prostate.

It only takes a few more thrusts against his sweet spot for him to moan, his dick twitching hard in your hand before immediately shooting a load out against his stomach, coating your zebra print sheets in the process. He was never one to last long, got himself too excited and worked up.

He cries out, panting hard as you continue to move, only slowing down enough for him to catch his breath. He’s insatiable.

“Already cumming so soon, baby?”

“M’sorry—“ He pants, still rocking his hips back against you. “Please- keep going— need it-“

You nod, slipping your cock out as you turn him onto his back. He looks.. embarrassed, completely flushed, but turned on.

“Good boy… think you can cum again for me? Make your mommy proud?”

He nods pathetically, his hips rolling against the air, desperate for contact again. You grin down at him, reaching down to grab the chain connecting his clamps, tugging at it, watching his expression contort in a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Fucking whore. Of course you’d be more than happy to cum again.” You spit, snapping the elastic of his thigh highs against his skin. He lets out a choked sob, tears pricking in his eyes from the overstimulation. “Stay there.”

You briefly get up, rummaging around the bedside drawer before pulling out a bright pink ring. You hold it up, waving it teasingly infront of his face as you climb back ontop of him, kneeling between his thighs.

“You know what this is, don’t you, baby?” You hum, watching his pupils dilate.

“u-uhm… a cock ring..?” Clapton stammers, nervously biting his lip. His cock twitches from the thought of you using it on him alone.

“Mhm.. that’s right. This one vibrates, it’s gonna keep you nice and hard while I fuck you.” You murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his thigh, slowly slipping the cock ring onto his hardening dick. He whimpers, cock twitching at the sensation, a small bead of precum already forming at his slit.

“God, you’re such a slut…” You scoff, grabbing the bottle of lube that had been set aside on the end of the bed, pumping a generous amount on your hand before stroking yourself. Once you’re fully coated and lubed up, you guide his hips up and press back against his ass, feeling it immediately take you in.

He groans once you slide back in, knowing you hadn’t turned on the vibrating function to his cock ring just yet. His gaze meets yours, full of lust and a twinge of anticipation in those big puppy eyes.

“Mommy…?”

“F-fuck- what? you want that turned on already? are you that desperate to cum again?” You grunt, slowly pumping in and out of him, sweat already forming on your brow. He nods, looking a little embarrassed.

You sigh, a small smirk escaping your lips before you press the side button of the ring, feeling it vibrate to life. Clapton whines, hips bucking again as you hold his thighs, thrusting harder. He already looked close.

With how loud he is, you can barely register the music that’s still filling your bedroom, as if you could even think of anything aside from Clapton at this point. He looks so pretty… lips soft and puffy from earlier, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, a deep blush covering his freckled cheeks.

“Fuck me harder- p-please-! feels s’good—“

He’s begging again, how cute. You oblige, ramming deeper and deeper into his ass, the bright pink of the dildo connected to your strap-on sliding in and out of his pretty little hole, how he managed to take this much up the ass? No clue, but you weren’t one to judge.

After a few moments of listening to him babble incoherently, you turn up the vibrations on his cock ring, causing him to sob out in pleasure. His cock looked pathetic, all red and overstimulated, but still rock hard and leaking everywhere. As if he didn’t already leak all over this bed, you’ve got to wash those sheets later..

You reach down to grab his throat, applying just enough pressure to make him see stars as you fuck him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. You feel his legs wrap around your torso, the sensation of his thigh highs rubbing against your sides as he pulls you in closer.

“Cmon, Clapton… cum for me, be a good boy and cum” You pant, leaning in to kiss him, darting your tongue out to wet his painfully chapped lips. He almost instantly complies, parting his lips so you could deepen the kiss, letting your tongues dance as you thrust harder and harder into him.

He whimpers and moans into your mouth, stifling himself as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You hear his voice go up an octave, and his legs begin to tremble, his nails digging into your back as you feel a sudden sensation shoot up against your stomach.

You pull back, a string of saliva connecting your lips as you hear him panting heavily under you, his eyes shut a his mouth still slightly open.

“Good boy… Such a good boy..” You whisper, peppering soft kisses along his jaw, slowly moving down to his shoulders. You let the ring continue to vibrate, but pull yourself out slowly, eliciting a high pitched whine from the pretty boy underneath you.

“mmhh- fuck— t-thank you, mommy—“ He breathes out, slowly opening his eyes, a mess of sweat and tears covering his soft skin. You wipe his cheeks, smiling softly down at him.

“mm-hmm.. of course, baby, I love yo—“

Knock. Knock.

“Y/N?? Did Clapton come over? You know we don’t want your friends over this late at night!”

Suddenly, a knock on your bedroom door, accompanied by the voice of.. who you could only assume was your parents, of course it was your parents, you haven’t moved out yet. You stare down at Clapton, his eyes were wide, and frankly, so were yours. You can barely make out the words over the mix of music and the vibrating of Claptons cock ring..

“oh fuck-“

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dazedandconfused-15 · 6 months ago

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Heaven's in your eyes (Part 3)

If you guys like it, I would greatly appreciate a reblog, it helps spread this fanfic around🫶

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Hawkins is dull and lonely, especially after your mom abandoned your family, leaving you even more isolated amidst school rumors. Already shy and with few friends, you find solace in your solitude—until Billy Hargrove, the intriguing new boy from California, comes into the picture. To your surprise, Billy seems to seek you out, finding ways to talk to you despite the odds. Never in a million years would you have imagined forming such an unexpected bond with someone.

Link to: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 4

@tatumrileyslover @littlenosoul @nocturnest Part 3 is here!!

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You weren't sure how things would go with Billy after that night. Technically, you still owe him for the day at the museum, There are parts of Hawkins he hadn’t seen yet. Plus, you hadn’t talked about when or if you’d see each other again outside of school. So, it's a surprise when the following week, as you're grabbing books from your locker, you feel a presence behind you—the warmth of someone's body lightly brushing against your back. You look up and see a hand resting on your locker. Turning around, you met his curious and slightly amused eyes.

"Oh! Hey, you scared me…”

"I saw that," he replies. "Am I that ugly?"

You stay still, feeling the cold metal of the locker against your back, aware that some students are probably watching you. But Billy doesn't seem bothered by this; if anything, he seems indifferent. He's wearing the same black leather jacket he lent you the other night, over a partially unbuttoned black shirt. He knows he’s not ugly, and you know he’s teasing you. But his closeness throws you off, and you can’t find the words to play along. You stumble over a nonsensical and incomplete sentence. Meanwhile, he takes the books from your hands and moves his hand away from the locker, finally giving you space, and it feels like you can breathe again.

"Physics?" he asks, looking at the first book on the pile in his hands.

"Uh, yeah." You turn to close your locker, taking the opportunity to pull yourself together. "It's my first class, actually."

"Sweet. I'll walk you there."

"Oh, okay. Thanks." You struggle to hide your astonishment as you walk toward the classroom with him beside you.

And during the following days, he does the same. He makes it seem so natural that it slowly becomes routine for you. In history class, he sits next to you. During lunch break, you sit at the table at the back of the cafeteria. He always sits at a table next to Jason Carver, Chrissy Cunningham, and other popular jocks, but between bites of food, he always gives you a look. Eventually, at the end of the meal, he always gets up from their table and comes over to sit beside you. In history class, he always sits next to you. Strangely, Tommy Hagan makes no comment. After the first few times, the rest of the class seems to get used to it.

When the history teacher assigns the paired presentation on "The Role of Propaganda in World War II," the teacher lets you choose your partner. Billy and you are already sitting next to each other, so it’s automatic that you’ll work together. Part of you doubt he would choose to work with you if he wasn’t sitting next to you, but you decide not to think about it too much. You don’t mind the idea of working with him on the project. He offers to work on it at his place the following Saturday, as his dad and stepmom are in California for family matters.

It takes you twenty minutes to reach Cherry Lane. Billy’s house is about halfway there. His navy blue Camaro is parked out front, and as you approach, you see him on the opposite side of the car, rubbing a sponge against the back window. It’s warmer than usual, and he’s wearing a white tank top with basketball shorts. He notices you approaching and greets you with a nod, a cigarette clutched between his lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you greet back. You see a young red-haired girl walking past Billy. She has a skateboard under her arm, baggy jeans, and a short-sleeved T-shirt. She sees you, momentarily startled, and slows down, her blue eyes scanning you with detachment. Billy walks in the open garage, leaving you alone with her. You greet her with a hesitant wave of your hand, introducing yourself.

“I’m Max,” she replies. She must be Billy’s stepsister. He mentioned her a couple of times.

“Did you bring the books?” Billy returns with a bucket of water, setting it down beside the car.

You lift your linen shoulder bag slightly, indicating that your books are in there.

You feel Max’s eyes on you. Her blue eyes soften slightly, and she seems to recognize something. “You’re the girl who called last week, right?”

"Yes, that's me," you nod with a small smile.

Max nods in acknowledgment, silently. She then sets the skater down on the ground. “You’re the first one who comes over to actually study.”

An embarrassed smile breaks out on your face at her innuendo and you look away, feeling your cheeks heat up. The image of Billy with a girl while...no, you can't think about it.

“Piss off, Max,” Billy grumbles around his cigarette as he squeezes the sponge over the bucket, then jostles it twice to get rid of the water before scrubbing the windshield.

Max rolls her eyes, but steps on her skateboard. She gives you a small smile. “See you.”

“Bye, Max.” you watch her skate away along the road.

“And don’t go too far,” Billy calls over the roof of the Camaro.

For a moment you get lost watching how the muscles of his back move under the tank top as he rubs the side of the car sponge.

“Almost done.” he calls over his shoulder.

“You’re taking good care of it.” you observe as you approach the car, your hands tucked into your back pockets.

“You bet your sweet life I do. This baby cost me a good amount of money.”

“When did you buy it?” you lean against the tree near the uneven stone steps leading up to the entrance of his house.

Billy takes the cigarette from between his lips, puffing some smoke into the air. “I was sixteen. Worked at a garage near my house for a couple of years before that. The owner found her after being on the hunt for months. She had roughly 10,000 miles on her already and was a little banged up. So, I had to use my savings and kept working there for a few months to pay for the repairs.”

He puts the cigarette back between his lips and pours the bucket of water over the car, washing off the soap. Then he takes a few steps backward until he’s next to you as he takes in the newly washed car.

“Not bad, huh?”

“She’s really pretty.” you confirm with a nod.

You've never been particularly enthused with cars, but you must admit that Billy's Camaro stands out in Hawkins. Moreover, the care he takes of it only enhances its shiny navy blue colour.

“Just like you.”

You turn toward him, caught by surprise by his comment. As you do, he’s just taking the cigarette from his mouth after another drag, his eyes revealing a faint warmth that’s hard to perceive, blurred by the seemingly bored look his long lashes give him. But you see it. Even if for a second, you see it. The smoke curls lazily around him.

He luckily saves you from any clumsy answer, jerking his chin toward the house. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

You hum while nodding in obligement, walking toward the house so he can avoid your flustered expression. Billy follows closely behind you, resting his hand on the back of your neck as you walk up the stone steps. He’s been doing that quite a few times. It’s nothing crazy, not an open hug or anything, but to you, his touch makes your heart glow and fills you with a comforting warmth. The house has a front screened porch, where two plants in a pot rest on the floor. You spot a grey rocking chair on the right side.

“I like it.” you say. You wish you had a porch.

“Yeah, sometimes Max sits over there to read.”

It’s a simple house, you notice, with modest furnishings. You both walk into Billy’s room, and you take in your surroundings. It’s a simple room. Apart from his bed, a few pieces of furniture, a mirror, and a wardrobe, there are things distinctly him that give the room character and warmth. Hanging on the wall are posters of bands like Metallica and Mötley Crüe. You also notice a stereo with two speakers. On the fireplace, there are some books.

“You brought it with you?” you ask with a smile, pointing to a yellow surfboard fading to green, leaning against the wall.

Billy sits on the bed, leaning his back against the wall. “Yes. It was out of the question for me to leave it in Cali.” with a wave of his hand, he invites you to come and sit next to him.

You sit gingerly on the bed, books on your lap as he pops a piece of chewing gum into his mouth and offers you one. You take it, thanking him. Sitting so close, the warmth of his body seems to transfer directly from his thigh to yours.

“Are you gonna go back?” you ask, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You pull your pencil case and a notepad out of your bag.

Billy snorts. “Hell yeah. I’m not staying here.”

It shouldn’t, but his statement stings a little. At the end of the school year, he will leave. After all, it was a foregone conclusion. There’s nothing to keep him here; his home is in California. He never told you specifically why he moved here. You had asked, jokingly, if his parents wanted "a change of air," and he had replied, ‘Something like that,’ without adding any explanation. So you had not pressed the issue any further. You learned that about certain things, Billy did not feel like talking. He clams up even more. If he wants to, you decide, he will open up to you.

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Might work during the summer to save some money, though.”

“There’s a garage downtown.” you offer, remembering what he said earlier.

“I was thinking more about the pool. Heard they pay very well.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. Heather works there during summers,” he says, grabbing the history book from his bedside table and putting it on his lap.

“Heather Holloway?”’ you ask, your finger lingering along the edge of your notepad.

There is only one Heather at school. Billy must be talking about her. She’s a pretty girl who comes from a good family. Her dad owns the Hawkins Post. She’s got it all.

“Yeah, you know her?”

“Oh, not directly. But yes, I know her. Her dad is pretty respected in town.” you bite your lip, fighting the urge to ask how he knows her. Are they friends? Did he date her? Is he still dating her?

You conclude it's none of your business, and thinking about it makes you feel weird. So you change the subject, finally opening the book and proposing to start working on the project. In between, you see Max walking past his room from the open door, her skateboard under her arm. After an hour of working, Billy stretches and a yawn escapes you. He lights a cigarette, inspiring a long puff of smoke, and titls his head up, looking at the ceiling. When he exhales, he also seems to sigh with relief. You realize how much smoking seems to be a way for him to relax, a need.

“When did you start smoking?” you ask before you can stop yourself. Then immediately rush on adding “If you don’t mind me asking”.

“Must’ve been fourteen.” he says, “A friend of mine, Wayne, had been smoking for a year or so. Tried from his cig’ once, never went a day without smoking from there.”

You hum pensively.

Billy lolls his head to the side, a lazy smile plastered on his face. “You must think I’m fucking up my health, huh?”

“No, no.” you shake your head. Then you reconsider. “I mean…yes,” at which Billy starts laughing, a low gravelly laugh. “But, I know it must be hard to stop too, once you start. I can’t know, I’ve never tried.”

A second later, his cigarette appears in front of your eyes. He arches an eyebrow at you, looking at you expectantly.

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Ah, come on. It’s not like you’re gonna get addicted after one drag. Live a little.” he gently nudges your thigh with his.

You look at the cigarette with a mix of curiosity and hesitation. You've always wanted to try it, not because you want to start smoking, but just to confirm if it tastes bad so you can put the thought to rest.

“Okay. Just once, though.” you gingerly take the cigarette from between his fingers, holding it awkwardly and feeling as if it might fall off any second. You bring it to your lips, feeling his eyes on you.

“Take it slow.”

It’s easier said than done. As soon as you breathe in the smoke, the end of the cigarette burning bright orange wildly, your lungs get filled with an unbearably burning sensation. You feel on fire. You can’t breathe. You start coughing non-repeatedly, your vision going blurred.

Billy laughs again, taking the cigarette from your fingers as you try to fill your lungs with air. “Jesus, I said to take it slow.”

Your face turns red from the effort, and your eyes water. You can't help but glare at him briefly as tears escape, your nose scrunching in disgust. He reaches out with his other hand, cups the side of your face, and gently brushes your tears away with his thumb.

“Breathe, now,” he says between chuckles.

“I don’t like it. It’s gross.”

You say it both because you mean it and because it keeps you grounded under his touch. When he settles back against the wall, your heart keeps hammering against your ribcage.

"You're cute," he says before taking a drag, as if he's talking about the weather, and it only makes your flush an impossibly darker shade of red.

After he finishes his cigarette, Billy asks if you're hungry. You both head into the kitchen, and you sit at the table while he makes tuna sandwiches. He tells you it was the first thing he learned to make for himself when he was younger, back when his father used to work late before marrying Max's mother. He had to fend for himself. Over time, he learned to cook more dishes, especially when his father and stepmother were away for the weekend or running errands. A few years ago, he started weightlifting, which motivated him to learn even more about cooking. Despite all that, he still enjoys tuna sandwiches. Billy puts the sandwiches in the toaster and serves them to you on plates. As you take a bite, the taste of pickles and mayonnaise gives it an extra kick. It's delicious.

“Hey, can you make me one too?” Max emerges from the hallway, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Billy looks up from the cutting board he’s chopping pickles on as he makes his own sandwich, scowling at her. “Make it yourself.”

“Come on, you know I’m not good at this.”

“Well, you better learn how to make it. It’s a fucking tuna sandwich, not rocket science.”

Max sighs, almost exasperated. "Fine, you stubborn ass. I’ll make it myself, but don’t cry to me when your precious pickles are all gone."

Billy looks up, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Hey! Language," he chides, pointing the knife in her direction, as if he hadn't sworn himself just a moment ago. He then gestures toward the empty chair beside you. "And sit down, if you want me to do it.”

Max quietly sits down next to you, a cheeky smile plastered on her face. Billy mutters under his breath, resuming chopping down the pickles.

“With loads of mayo, please.”

You’ve never seen Billy in a step-brother role before, and the dynamic between them is intriguing. You're suddenly curious about their relationship and how it has evolved since they first met.

“You’re lucky I’m even making this for you,” he grumbles, spreading the mayo generously on the bread.

“This is really good.” you say, pointing at your sandwich.

“Yeah, Billy’s tuna sandwiches are rad.” Maxine approves. Then she shrugs. “He's an asshole, but if there's one thing he's good at, it's cooking.”

“Woah, thanks Maxine.” he ironically says. “Really portraying me well here.”

You chuckle softly under your breath as Max ignores him, carrying on. “Can I go to Family Video later? I need to give back the movies.”

“Later when?” he asks as he assembles her sandwich. “We gotta work on the school project.”

“Like, in an hour?”

“You’ll have to wait ‘till I drop her home.”

Max huffs. “C’mon, Billy. I can skate there, it’s mid afternoon.”

“Ain’t no way I’m letting you go there on your own. It’s on my ass that Neil will be then.”

“I’ll be back before they’re home!” she tries again. “And I’ll bring back some good stuff.”

You watch as Billy sighs heavily, walking in silence over to the table and setting Max’s dish in front of her. Then he points his finger at her, looking at her hard. “I’m warning you. If you’re not back here by four we’re gonna have a serious problem.”

Max mutters something along the lines of “Yeah, jeez, okay” as Billy walks back toward the counter.

He shoots a mildly warning look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting sharply. “And you better bring back some good stuff this time.”

Max gasps in outragement. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“It was crap.”

Max turns toward you. “Have you watched Children of the Corn?”

“I don’t think I have.” you say. “What’s it about?”

“It’s a horror movie.”

“Oh. I don’t really watch horror movies.” you smile sheepishly. “Too scary, I can’t sleep for months then. I’m more into comedies or romances.”

“Those aren’t bad once in a while.” Max agrees. “We mostly watch horrors, but sometimes we happen to watch romances too.”

“You watch rom-coms,” Billy stresses out, as he adds the tuna-mayonnaise mix to his toast.

“Please. How many times did you stay on the couch until the end?

“That’s because the NBA played later at night.”

Max arches an eyebrow in disbelief. “Oh, really? And what about all those times you pretended to get a snack from the fridge, and I caught you hanging around in the hallway, peeking at the screen?"

“Are you eating or not?” Billy cuts her, “Tic tac, shitbird. You better hurry to the videostore before I change my mind.”

It’s hard for you to hold your laugh. You look down at your plate at your half-eaten sandwich, hearing him approaching with his plate.

Max huffs loudly, standing and grabbing her plate. “Whatever. See you.”

She waves at you before disappearing in the hallway.

“See you, Max.”

Billy sits down beside you with a sigh, taking the spot where Max was just sitting. He immediately starts eating his sandwich, and you notice he eats much faster than you. You try not to let your eyes linger on his biceps as he leans forward to take another big bite, crumbs falling onto his plate. You repeat to him that his sandwich is really good, mentioning that when you make it at home, it’s usually dry and tasteless. You just don’t know how to combine the right things, and it gets boring.

“She seems to care about you a lot,” you observe as you both finish eating, referring to Max.

Billy rubs the back of his neck, a sigh leaving his lips. Then he leans back on the chair. “Yeah. Things weren’t, ah…things are better now.”

“You didn’t get along at first?” you tentatively ask.

“Yeah, not really. Moving together was tough. But I was a dick back then.”

“You?”

You can kind of see it, but the person he’s shown to you is the opposite of what he’s describing.

“Believe me, sweetheart.” he shakes his head, a rueful smirk on his face. "I'm no saint now, but you're lucky we didn't meet when I was younger.”

“I’m sure you didn’t have it easy.” you offer.

“Well, Max didn’t either. Her dad doesn’t give a crap about her, her mom only dated assholes before my old man. Then she meets him, thinks she hit the jackpot, turns out he can compete against all of the previous ones together. They really found each other.”

“Is she bad?”

Billy shrugs. “Nah, just weak. And Neil has his way easy with weak people. He found the right woman to mold between his hands like he wants to.”

You listen to him attentively, your hand supporting your head as you rest your elbow on the table, facing him. Neil must be his dad. There’s always some distance, and coldness in the way he speaks about him. He never once referred to him as his dad.

“It must’ve been hard for her…” you recognize. “Especially being that young.”

Billy stands, grabbing the three dishes as he grimaces. “Yeah, I was so wrapped up in my own anger that I completely overlooked that,” he says as he drops them in the sink, and then starts washing them. You stand up and bring him the two empty glasses. “Just didn’t want any of that crap. Moving in with these people I’ve barely seen a couple of times and act like a happy little family. Fuck that.”

“Then the move…” you supply.

"Then the move. Blamed her for all of it. Especially for the move, when in reality the whole thing was my fault. But yeah."

Your eyes fall on his hand, noticing the harsh way he’s scrubbing the glasses with the sponge. You wonder what happened. What caused the move? What could Billy have done? You don’t want to press on it further, realizing how you could easily touch a sensitive nerve.

“Well, you seem to take good care of her. And I see how she looks at you.”

You could swear for a moment he's caught off guard, almost uncomfortable. Then he sniffs, drying his hands with a towel, his eyes wandering outside the kitchen window. "Yeah, trying to make up for all of it. It’s best to stick together in this crazy house."

There is something about all of this that puts you on edge, makes your skin prickle. Something unsettling is happening in this family. There are subtle but numerous hints you pick up on in your interactions with Billy. It's a month later that you uncover the ugly truth.

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A couple of weeks later May finally arrives, bringing longer days and warmer weather. You can already breathe in the summer air. The trailer park seems a little less gloomy now, with trees in bloom and green grass. In the evening, you hear crickets singing from the open hayloft in the kitchen or your room. On clear, sunny weekends, you and Billy go to Lovers Lake. It's not warm enough to swim yet, but you lie on the shore or on one of the deserted docks. You often do your homework or read while Billy smokes a cigarette or dozes. Your relationship has progressed; you feel much more comfortable around him. Though you don't know each other completely yet, you've gone out enough times to welcome the occasional silence, which no longer frightens you. Slowly, you feel yourself shedding layers of your shell. You think you can consider yourselves friends.

You were supposed to hang out that morning. He was meant to come over to study at your place before heading to Lovers Lake as planned. However, today, the familiar rumble of the Camaro doesn't show up. After a few hours of hesitation, you try calling his house. A man answers, presumably Billy's dad, and informs you that Billy is not home. The rest of the day passes in anxious waiting, but Billy never arrives. You try to push away thoughts of the worst-case scenario, but as the hours drag on, those fears keep creeping back. By Sunday, still no word from him. Billy has always been the opposite of what you expected—he never ignored you at school, never stood you up. Yet now, your fear seems to be materializing. Perhaps he's grown tired of you and found more captivating company. You wonder what you could possibly offer him. You're not as interesting or outgoing as his basketball team friends, nor do you provide the same entertainment as the high school girls he's dated, or might still be dating. Perhaps he's realized that after delving beneath the surface, there's nothing particularly captivating about you.

At dinner, your dad notices something is bothering you and asks what's wrong. You barely touch your plate, feeling like an amoeba. But he's dead tired from his factory shift, and you don't want to burden him with your worries, so you lie and tell him that you're not feeling well. Later, he rises from the sofa, gives you a kiss on the head, and advises you not to stay up too late before retiring to his room. Despite the sound of the TV in the background, you feel lonelier than ever, and the resignation settling over you is almost worse than the whirlwind of emotions you've experienced all day. Hours pass, and you start to doze off curled up on the sofa, the movie you started barely catching your attention. Then, you're jolted awake by the roar of a familiar engine outside the trailer. It's as if a shot of adrenaline has pierced through your lethargy. You sit up abruptly, heart racing, straining your ears to confirm what you've heard. The noise ceases, prompting you to hurry to the door, moving slowly to avoid disturbing your sleeping dad. Your heart skips a beat when, through the window, you spot Billy's familiar silhouette in the dim light cast by the bulb outside.

When you open the door, Billy seems momentarily surprised to see you. As if he didn't expect you to open it so promptly. But then that expression is washed away by his usual smirk.

“You sure were waiting for me, huh?”

You stifle a gasp of horror at the sight of his bruised and battered face, instinctively bringing your hands to your mouth to muffle any sound that might wake your father. To say he's in a bad state would be an understatement.

"Oh my God, Billy."

Closing the front door softly behind you, you step out into the night air, standing in front of him, your concern palpable.

"Good to see you too," he jokes, but his playful expression fades as he realizes his attempt to lighten the mood isn't working.

"Oh God..."

You draw closer, taking in his state. There’s an angry bruise around his left eye, dark purple and almost black, with hints of red and blue around the edges, swollen and puffy. Traces of dried blood linger around his nostrils, and his nose is swollen, the bridge as purple as the area under his eye.

"It's fine," he says.

"Sorry... can I just..." setting aside your shyness, you gently take his face in your hands, tilting his head slightly backward. You won’t fail to notice his small wince as you do so. His lip is cut and swollen. "Does it hurt a lot?"

“Nah. It’s okay.”

"What happened?" you ask softly as you brush his chin with your thumb, almost afraid of causing him further pain.

Billy doesn't seem concerned at all, contrasting with your likely alarmed expression. He looks almost unfazed, the corners of his eyes crinkling into his usual amused expression.

"Got into a fight with a guy. He was just drunk, and I was there."

You frown in confusion. "Were you... at a bar or something?"

"Yeah, I uh...at the pub downtown. Just happened to cross paths with him. He thought I was looking at his girl or something."

"A major dick," you mutter under your breath, your eyes still scanning his cut. It looks deep, like the blood struggled to stop flowing. There's still some dried blood on his chin.

Billy chuckles, then after a moment, he speaks quietly, "Yeah, a major dick. Got him good, though."

“You didn’t clean it. It’s going to get infected, I’ll quickly get…”

“S’fine, really.” while exhaling a sigh through his nose, his hand encircles your wrists, prying yours gently away.

You lower your gaze to his hands to examine the damage there. But that’s when you notice it. His knuckles are completely fine. There isn’t a single cut on them.

“Billy…” you hold his hands, then look at him.

He seems to pick up on what you’re thinking because he pulls his hands away, scratching his nose with his knuckles, acting as nonchalant as ever. You notice how his hands seem to twitch, like he’s got this nervousness he can’t shake off. As if he’s itching for something. Itching for a smoke.

“I’m gonna clean it when I get home. Wanna go to the quarry? I’ve got some sweets Max forgot in the car earlier,” he suggests, nodding towards the Camaro parked behind him at the beginning of the trailer park. It's likely he didn’t want to wake anyone, especially your dad, given how late it is.

“But…”

“Sweetheart. Please,” he cuts you off. You freeze in place at the harsher tone of his last word. Billy sighs, running a hand through his curls. “M’sorry. Can we just not talk about it?” he looks tired, but not physically tired—mentally tired. You can sense the exhaustion in his gaze, a silent plea underlying his question.

A twist forms in your stomach as the reality sinks in. It confirms that something very wrong, something dark, is happening in his life. You begin to reflect on how you might have overlooked the signs. You feel the urge to ask him if the person causing him harm is who you suspect. You want to help him. But you push down those thoughts and emotions.

“Okay. Okay, of course,” you softly say. “Can I just go and grab the first-aid kit before we leave? Please.”

Billy clenches his jaw and looks away. You can see how hard this must be for him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel like he can't be vulnerable around you.

“All right.” he finally says.

After quietly retrieving the first aid kit, you get into the car with Billy. You’re not too worried about your father waking up since he sleeps like a rock, and it’s a Friday night after all. The car ride to the quarry is unusually silent. You try to break the ice by asking Billy how the basketball game went a few days ago or how Max liked the movie you recommended the last time you saw her. However, Billy responds with noncommittal short answers, clearly not fully present in the moment. Something must be weighing heavily on his mind. Sensing his mood, you decide to fill the silence by sharing what you’ve been up to lately. You mention that your father's co-worker, Wayne Munson, who lives in the trailer right across the street, came over for coffee the other day. Wayne has a son who’s a year or two older than you. You’ve never really talked to him, as he tends to keep to himself, but he seems nice enough. Now that the weather is warmer, you often see him sitting on the porch of his trailer, either smoking or reading a book. He always greets you when you walk by or take out the trash. You know he struggled in school, having flunked twice in his senior year, but he graduated last year and now works as a mechanic downtown. Talking about the mechanic job seems to catch Billy’s interest. You remind him of the conversation you had a while back when he mentioned wanting to work as a mechanic during the summer. Billy starts to loosen up and tells you that he plans to stop by the car shop in the next few days.

On this warm night, the air is balmy and filled with the earthy scent of blooming wildflowers and fresh foliage. As he has a couple of times before, Billy parks the car near the edge of the quarry, just where the thick line of trees begins. Gravel crunches softly under the tires, the only sound of the quiet evening.

The towering trees cast shadows blurred in the moonlight, their leaves rustling softly in the warm breeze. Before he can say anything, you open the first-aid kit on your lap and gently shush him when he objects. As you gently clean the dried blood around his nostrils and the cut on his lip with an antiseptic wipe, Billy winces slightly but doesn’t pull away. You then apply a bit of the antibiotic ointment to the wounds to prevent infection. Finally, you use a gauze pad to gently dab at the bruised areas, careful not to press too hard. Throughout the process, Billy remains mostly silent, his eyes closed, occasionally taking a deep breath. The temperature feels good outside, so once you’re finished you both get out of the car. Billy rounds the car and sits on the ground with a wince, resting his back against the side of the car. So you do the same. You stand in front of the quarry. Under the pale light of the crescent moon, the quarry walls loom like ancient sentinels, their rough surfaces casting long, mysterious shadows. The water at the bottom of the quarry is a dark, mirror-like expanse, reflecting the twinkling stars above.

"Here," Billy says, holding up some green candy canes along with a pack of cigarettes. It looks different from his usual pack of Marlboro Reds, but you don’t think much of it initially.

"What flavor is it?" you ask, taking one of the candies from the packet.

"Must be sour apple."

As you begin to chew, the taste of apple indeed invades your taste buds. From the corner of your eye, you see Billy pull a cigarette out of the pack, then hear him swear.

"Shit." Billy curses. "That's a candy. Didn’t even notice it."

You see the candy cigarette between Billy's fingers and an amused chuckle escapes your lips.

"Don't worry, it's an easy mistake. Guess even tough guys can mix up their vices sometimes."

That makes him snort a quiet laugh, and even if it’s without a real smile and it’s short-lived, you managed to make him laugh a bit.

Billy leans his head against the metal of the Camaro, his hand holding the lighter dropping to his thigh. "They must be in the car."

He must be referring to his cigarettes. You remain silent for a few seconds, contemplating whether to offer to go get them for him. You look at his tired profile: eyes closed, head resting against the car, throat exposed, Adam's apple slightly prominent. Looking at his bruised face makes your stomach twist with concern, your heart sinking. At least his wounds are clean now. You feel the urge to reach out and brush aside the curl that falls over his eye. But you don’t. Instead, your gaze shifts to the quarry.

“You’ve been really smoking a lot, Billy.”

Your words slip out quietly, as if afraid of disrupting the fragile balance of the evening. You’ve observed Billy smoking ever since you met him. Lately, though, you’ve noticed how his fingers are more often occupied by a cigarette than free of it. You’ve seen his nervous fidgeting in class—how he jitters his knee, taps the rubber end of his pencil on the desk, scratches his stubble with his knuckles, and frequently shifts position in his chair. And now, whenever you’re together, he’s pulling one out from his pack at least once.

Billy opens his eyes slightly, glancing at you. He sighs and looks away, his expression hardening a bit. "Yeah, well, it helps," he says gruffly, but there's a hint of something softer in his voice. "Don't worry about it. I'll cut back... someday."

He sees the probably worried look on your face. He’s so young, and he smokes already this much. You don’t even realize how you’re worrying at your lip.

“I’ll try and slow down, alright?”

You nod hesitantly as he offers you a cigarette candy that you take.

“Just ‘cause you can't stand the smell of smoke.” he teases you, his eyes sleepy and slightly amused.

“What? I…that wasn’t…” you stutter, feeling embarrassed he caught you. “That’s not why I think you should stop! It’s for your health…”

“But it bothers you too,” a grin forms on his face as he reaches out, and before you can stop you he pinches right above your knee, making you jump and squeal in surprise. He’s learned how ticklish he makes you, and he’s never stopped teasing you with it ever since. l “I know you do.”

“Stop! Stop it!”

“You alway scrunch up your nose like it’s the most disgusting thing in the world.”

“Stop it, okay!” you try to free your leg with a high-pitched laugh as he tries to pinch you again. “You’re right, I hate it! Hands off, now.”

You push his hand away as he finally relents, trying to catch your breath. Billy shakes his head in amusement. He tugs at his candy stick with his teeth.

“Knew it,” he says.

You simply take another candy from his hands, avoiding his gaze as he chews on his. You’re hyper-aware of how flushed you are now, embarrassed that he noticed. You didn't want him to realize that his smoking bothered you.

“I haven’t even realized I do that…” you then say, breaking through the quiet.

“It’s kinda cute.”

His comment makes your heart race and your face flush even more. You glance down, fiddling with the wrapper of the candy in your hand. “Thanks”, you mumble softly, barely audible.

“You sure as hell would make a good nurse.” he mumbles then, shifting his position, wincing a bit and you notice how he brushes his hand over his left side. “All caring and everything. You took care of my wounds pretty well.”

If it wasn’t for what he just said, you would ask him if he got hurt there as well. You try to mask your embarrassment with a casual shrug. "I don't think I'd like being a nurse," you say, managing to keep your voice steady. "Too much pressure and responsibility."

Billy nods, taking your words in stride. "Fair enough," he says. "Then what would you like to be?”

You let out a soft sigh, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the question. "I don't know," you admit, staring down at your hands. "It's hard to figure out."

"Tell you what, it’s pretty simple," Billy says. "What do you like?”

You lift your eyes from your hands, a bit surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

Billy pops another candy in his mouth. “See, I like cars and I’m pretty good at working on them. So, I know I’m gonna be a mechanic.” he lazily gestures at himself, then at you. “What do you like?”

You ponder his question for a moment, thinking about the things that bring you joy. "I like to take pictures," you say finally. "Especially portraits of people. Capturing their expressions, their emotions... it feels special."

"Then you should be a photographer," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

You smile at his straightforwardness, feeling a warmth spread through you. "Maybe," you say, considering the possibility.

Billy leans his head back against the car. "You know, the guy I was working for in San Diego once told me something," he says. "He said that at the end of the day, it's simple. You need to find something you like and you're really good at, then make it your job. That's how you'll make it in life."

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. "That makes sense," you say softly.

Photography has always been your favorite hobby. Until recent dramatic events, you used to do it a lot. You have a lot of pictures in the drawer of your desk. Billy tells you he wants you to show them to him sometime. He also says it’s a shame you stopped and that you should start doing it again. You haven’t spoken specifically about your mom leaving yet. You’ve noticed he’s very sensitive about it, careful not to push your boundaries. He’s never asked questions. However, tonight he simply tells you that if photography makes you happy, it’s important to not give up on it, as passions have a way of pulling us through hard times. You realize how Billy has a way of making things simpler, of helping you see what's important. And in that moment, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for his presence in your life.

You stay at the quarry until two am, and it’s when you start yawning repeatedly that Billy says it’s time to go. Sitting in the car, despite the warm weather, feels good as the night has gotten chilly. You feel sleepy, but nonetheless, you continue to think about the current situation. You don’t want Billy to go home, there’s something that makes you feel on the edge, you want to talk about it with him so bad but don’t even know how to approach the subject. Despite that, sleep starts to take over you, but once halfway through the ride to the trailer park, a brownish silhouette crosses the road in front of you.

“The fuck.” Billy floors both the clutch and the brakes, and you’re thankful for having your seatbelt on. Your body slams forward and back again, and you hit your head against the headrest for the impact.

A deer, froze into place a few seconds before, rushes toward the the other side of the road, running wildly and disappearing through the trees.

“Ouch.”

Billy heaves a loud sigh. “God…frickin’ stupid forest.”

Your heartbeats slow down as you recover from the surprise, your hand feeling the back of your head.

“Yeah, we have lots of them here,” you mumble.

“Jesus.” he looks then at you. “You alright?”

His hand comes up, touching yours so you drop it. He gently rests it on the back of your head where it still throbs. It’s warm and big. He literally could crush you if he wanted to. But his touch is soft.

“It’s fine.” you squeak, the sudden touch making you burn.

“Hurts a lot?” he mutters’, his thumb petting the skin at the nape of your neck.

“A little bit. It’s gonna pass.”

“Alright.” he relents after a few seconds, then pushes on the gas again.

The remainder of the car journey passes in silence. Billy stops exactly where he had stopped before, the headlights briefly illuminating the 'Forest Hills' panel before he switches off the engine. Darkness envelops you, blending with the night's silence and the quiet of the car. You're not quite sure what to say. You're uncertain how to bid him farewell. Truth be told, you have no desire to say goodbye to him. The last thing you want is to let him go, sensing that he will likely return to danger as soon as you step into the house.

"I'm sorry," he says, breaking through the quiet.

You turn toward him, confusion and surprise evident in your expression. "For what?"

"For standing you up."

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not though.” you can see him shake his head from the corner of your eye. “That was a dick move. Could’ve at least called you.”

Turning your whole body towards him, you lean against the passenger seat. Now that a couple of hours have passed, his eye is swollen and darker.

"Billy, it's okay. Really. I know you..." you hesitate, then look down at your hands, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. You try to find the right words, careful not to touch the subject again, especially not to delve into details. "I know you weren't at the pub earlier."

At these words, Billy turns his head and looks away, towards the window. Sensing his discomfort, you hurriedly continue speaking. "And that's alright. I don't need you to explain yourself to me. I get it. I just want you to know that I know.

Tentatively, you extend your hand towards his, resting on the shift gear. Holding your breath, you anticipate a possible rejection.

“And I understand."

Billy doesn't shoo you away but remains as still as a statue, his elbow resting against the window, his knuckles against his mouth. Your heart tightens as you imagine the pain hidden beneath the shield he wears, the horrors he must have endured so far. Just as you begin to release the pressure on his hand, preparing to withdraw, Billy sighs and turns his hand palm up, slipping his fingers between yours and squeezing. His touch is warm, sending an electric signal throughout your body, causing your heart to leap. Reassured by his welcoming touch, your thumb caresses the back of his hand.

“I know we haven’t known each other for long,” you say softly, careful not to disrupt the fragile connection between you. “But I care about you. And I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Billy rests his head against the headrest, his eyes closed. He squeezes your hand. “Thanks, sweetheart.” his voice is low and gravelly, as quiet as yours.

You stay like this for a moment, perhaps him relishing in the weight lifted by your confession, and you in his acceptance of your attempt to bridge the gap between you.

“I should go now.” you whisper, glancing at the house, though that’s the last thing you want to do.

Billy releases his hand from your grip and then reaches for his pack of cigarettes in the center console, his gaze avoiding. “Yeah, it’s late.”

“Will you be okay?” you ask him.

“Yeah, don’t sweat it.”

Even as you look at him, Billy avoids making eye contact with you. He takes a cigarette, lighting it up, the flame piercing through the darkness and briefly illuminating his bruised face. It's as if he's peeled back one layer too many for his liking. You understand this, though it leaves you feeling distant from him. You miss the warmth he usually radiates. Quietly accepting the situation, you purse your lips and reach for the door handle.

You glance back at him, failing to lock eyes with him as he exhales the smoke whilst tilting his head back. “Try to rest. And…uhm, call me if you need it. Please.”

Billy merely nods. “Yeah. Night.”

As you walk toward your house, the chilly night air envelops you, and you try to shake off the feeling of helplessness and emptiness that grips you. You're still trying to wrap your head around it, to accept the extent of his condition. It's kind of a shock.

As you hear his car door slam, you turn back to him.

"Did you forget something?" you ask, keeping your voice low as he approaches, the cigarette dangling between his fingers.

You don't understand his actions as he draws closer and closer, and for a second your body tenses, until he reaches out and pulls you toward him. It’s only when you’re pressed against his body that you realize he has his arms wrapped around you. Speechless, you allow your arms to encircle his neck, his face nuzzling into your neck, his breath mingling with your hair. You can sense the weight of unspoken words in the fierceness of his embrace, his forearms pressing against your back. Standing on your tiptoes to meet him, you ease the strain as he's slightly bent over you due to his height. But it doesn’t last long, so you simply allow yourself to be engulfed by his tall figure. You hope he can't feel how fast your heart is pounding against your chest, but at the same time, you find yourself not caring. Relief washes over you as the distance he had put between you earlier dissipates into the night air. And it feels good. You could easily get used to all of this. The butterflies in your stomach, the profound happiness as he’s everywhere, around you, against you. You realize that you could stay like this forever, and the thought scares you.

After what feels like an eternity, yet somehow not enough, he finally pulls away. Your hair is tangled with his, and with a gentle touch, he first separates his from yours. Then, with the same hand, he carefully sweeps your hair behind one of your shoulders. With his other arm releasing you, he taps the cigarette with his finger to release the ashes. His eyes carry a sleepy gaze, and this time you're certain they're sleepy in every sense of the word. Nonetheless, they bore into yours with the same overwhelming intensity.

“You sleep tight, okay?”

You nod a couple of times, still speechless and unable to function by his proximity.

As you watch his retreating form and assured stride, you feel your heartstrings pulling more strongly towards him with each step he takes, as if he's carrying your heart with him.

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xcherryerim · 6 months ago

Text

˖⁺ ⊹୨ Love Across Time ୧⊹ ⁺˖

Assistant Josh x (gn) Teacher reader

There's so much trauma in my life. I've been so cold to the ones who loved me, baby. — Out of Time by The weeknd

SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | +18

Backstory: Josh, a time traveler and savior of the world, has found himself stuck in the early 2000s and has become a teacher's assistant. Despite his best efforts to keep his distance from you, the teacher he is assisting, Josh finds himself irresistibly drawn to you. leading Josh on a journey of self-discovery and romance as he tries to navigate this new timeline.

The classroom was filled with the sound of students chattering. The hum of conversation and your voice fills the air, punctuated by the occasional clatter of papers and the shuffling of chairs. A faint scent of coffee and ink permeates the room, mingling with the soft glow of fluorescent lights overhead.

You were In front of the board, carefully going over the lecture, trying not to leave any detail behind. Next to you, there was your assistant, Josh, seated on the desk.

As usual, he paid attention to the lesson as if he was one of the students. He bit into the base of his pen, eyes scanning the board and its content, eventually landing in your hands. Admiring the softness and delicate moves they made.

Consumed by his pent-up desires, Josh's mind drifted, painting vivid scenarios where your skilled hands explored his body, tracing the contours and caressing every inch he craved.

Is not that Josh didn’t have game, on the contrary, multiple staff members and students flirted with him from time to time, but he fully decided to be celibate.

Did he hate it? Of course, years, or to better say, centuries ago, he was a sex god in ‘Heven’, and now he is forcing himself to not have any type of intercourse. He didn’t want to get attached to someone.

It would be hard to explain the traumas and adventures he gained from saving the world with Wolf and Tiger. He didn’t even attempt to make friends, he was too scared to slip up things from the future to a person living in the year 2002. He was way too fearful of the repercussions. What if he ends up in those TV shows about crazy people, or even worse, a mental institute?

So, he found comfort in spacing out, imagining a retro (to himself at least) suburbian life with you, never daring to get too close.

He shifted his head, the motion accompanied by a deep groan, the weight of his unfulfilled desires bearing down on him. An innocent student's gaze caught him off guard, snapping him out of his reverie, a reminder that the world continued without regard for his internal struggles.

‘Did he notice? Did he… read my mind? Well, that’s embarrassing.’ He thought.

With an awkward cough, Josh stood straight and adjusted his gray polo, trying to remain calm. His eyes drifted to the white clock on the wall and gave you the subtle signal that it was time to end the class.

“Alright class please remember, this is our last lesson. The final is tomorrow, so I beg each of you to study so you can pass the class.”

At your final announcement, you turned your head to the side, seeing Josh’s cheeks turning a rosy shade of pink as some of your students approached him with gifts. Some students handed him letters, and gift bags, while others brought food and candy.

The assistant mumbled his thanks, feeling a mixture of gratitude and self-consciousness as he accepted each gift. His body language was noticeably reserved, with his shoulders hunched and eyes darting around the room as if wishing to disappear into the background. Despite his shyness, he managed a small smile for each student who approached him, clearly touched by the gesture.

As the last student handed over a small gift and bid farewell, you found yourself walking up to your assistant. Your eyes lingered on the array of gift bags, specifically the soft pink one with a bow. A bitter taste filled your mouth as you tried to mask the annoyance you felt.

"Looks like you're quite popular," you quipped, forcing a smile.

“Oh no. They were just being nice.” Josh's index finger tapped into the bag you had your eyes on, filling in the awkward silence as he bit his lip.

Josh wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words. His dirty mind conjured up fantasies of what he could do to you, right there in the classroom, but he quickly dismissed them. He was just an assistant, after all. Yet, he couldn't stop his eyes from trailing up and down your body, taking in every curve and every inch.

“Well.” You said, “Let’s go to my office.” With that, you cleaned the board, before gathering your things and walked right next to your assistant.

Once you entered your office, he shut the door behind you, the sound echoing in his ears. He couldn't help but notice how the room felt like a shrine dedicated to you. Pictures, certificates, and awards decorated the walls while your desk was clean and organized.

Seated across from you, fidgeting in his chair, the tension in the room clear. A wicked grin spread across his face as he imagined sliding his hands up your thighs, feeling the warmth of your skin beneath the material of your underwear. The thought made his pulse race, and he couldn't help but shift in his seat to adjust himself discreetly.

Professional decorum clashed with the urge to act on his fantasies, but for now, he managed to keep up the ruse. He began grading the papers, nodding to himself as he read through the work.

Ever since the work party he was forced to go to, things have been awkward between you both. That night was the most he ever spoke to you, his drunk self slipping stuff he probably shouldn't have said, but he was lucky enough that both of you were out of your minds that night.

So out of your minds that, you almost kissed before Josh pulled away. Yes, it was bad, and he felt like an asshole, but it was for the better, and you knew that too. However, Josh still holds onto the thought you might like him back, and he's happy with that.

Your gaze lingered on the bags of gifts, trying to guess what they had inside. His eyes followed yours, smirking before you spoke.

“What’s in the bag anyways?”

"Oh, just the usual," he replied nonchalantly, reaching for the pink ribboned bag.

He pulled out a small box, the sweet aroma of strawberries and chocolate wafting through the air. "Strawberries," he began, lifting the lid to reveal the fruit coated in chocolate.

“At that point whoever gave you that should just confess to you already.”

You knew how your comment came across as that wasn’t your intention but who gives a gift like that to an assistant? No one unless they have ulterior motives.

Your snicker and roll of your eyes piqued his interest, and when you suggested that the students could just confess to him, he couldn't help but feel flushed with excitement. Your reactions hinted at something more than just the silent professional interest agreed upon, and he couldn't help but hope that you were feeling something akin to his desires. That this was meant to be, that maybe, just maybe, he will get his happy ending after all.

Josh's confidence soared as he plucked a strawberry from the box, savoring its sweetness, and allowing the chocolate to melt on his tongue. He relished the moment, exaggerating his sounds of pleasure, intentionally teasing you with the sensual display.

As his lips wrapped around the fruit, you couldn't help but feel a surge of heat spreading through your body, your ears reddening with each tantalizing moan. The way he held your gaze, a mischievous glint in his shiny brown eyes, only served to grow your desire.

Leaning closer to your desk, Josh held another strawberry out to you, beckoning you with a grin, "C'mon, you deserve it.”

You hesitated for a moment, shaking your head, the lingering resentment and unease preventing you from accepting the strawberry.

Josh, undeterred, approached you, his steps confident as he took a position directly in front of you. One arm rested casually on your desk, while the other extended the strawberry tantalizingly close to your lips.

His proximity left you feeling uneasy, a mixture of nerves and arousal warring within you. As he offered you the fruit once more, he repeated his invitation, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Enjoy the fruits of your labor," he whispered, his voice a seductive caress.

Your body trembled under the weight of his gaze, the challenge he laid before you clear as day.

"Josh..." You mumbled under your breath, your gaze meeting his, and you could see the hunger in his eyes. It mirrored your internal turmoil, the pull towards him growing stronger by the second.

Your indecision was evident, and Josh could sense your struggle. “C’mon,” Josh smirked, drawing even closer, the chocolate-coated fruit dancing on your lips. "Be good and take it for me."

You swallowed hard, a wave of nerves washing over you, before opening your mouth obediently to accept the offering. You nibbled at the strawberry, trying to eat it slowly and maintain your composure, avoiding direct eye contact.

However, Josh was having none of that. He grasped your chin firmly, tilting it upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze.

"That's it." He encouraged the satisfaction in his voice. His eyes lingered on you, committing the scene to memory, as the evidence of his arousal strained against his pants.

With bated breath, you slowly withdrew your lips from the strawberry, the lingering taste of sweet fruit coating your tongue. A pang of jealousy flared within you, knowing that this delight was originally meant for Josh.

An uncomfortable silence settled between you, both of you unsure of how to proceed. In Josh's mind, he wrestled with the turmoil of his desires, the allure of crossing this boundary he made for himself proving too powerful to resist.

Closing the gap between you, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss gentle, sweet, and innocent. As your lips parted, you could taste the remnants of the strawberry and chocolate within, a sensory delight that left you breathless.

Josh's hand cradled the side of your face, his touch both comforting and arousing. Simultaneously, he unzipped his pants, his arousal apparent and urgent. The realization of his intentions sent a shiver down your spine.

Just as you began to contemplate what would come next, Josh nipped at your bottom lip, causing a startled, wanton moan to escape your lips. His mouth trailed along your jawline, sending shivers rippling through your body like wildfire.

With trembling hands, you pushed Josh away, your voice wavering as you stammered, "Josh, this is wrong."

His expression blank, he tilted his head, clearly surprised by your refusal. "Because...", you hesitated, exhaling deeply, "we're coworkers and you're my assistant."

Undeterred, Josh leaned even closer, resting his hand on the desk. His doe-eyed gaze bore into you, pleading and disarming.

"I understand that, but...", he began, "there's only a one-year age difference between us. You started teaching here two… or three years ago, and I joined the training program a little over a year ago. It's not a significant gap."

His intensity increased as he brought his face nearer to yours, his hand tracing the collar of your shirt. His gaze flickered between your neck and your lips, laden with a potent mixture of desire and determination.

"And I really want this."

As if reading your indecision, Josh offered a tempting proposition, "You know, since your students think I was so helpful and even gave me gifts... don't you think I also deserve a gift from the teacher?"

Feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin, you were unable to ignore the raw appeal of his pleading gaze. A crippling combination of logic and desire, acknowledging that you were both consenting adults, threatened to break down your defenses.

Despite the fear and accelerating adrenaline coursing through your veins, you found yourself nodding, giving the green light. With unwavering resolve, Josh seized the moment, his lips seeking out the vulnerable expanse of your neck, nibbling hungrily.

As his hands deftly unbuttoned your blouse, you held tightly to the armrests of your chair, feeling the faint sting of the impending. You allowed him to indulge in his desires, silently acknowledging that he had harbored these feelings for quite some time by the way he was acting.

Lost in the spell of Josh's nearness, you were only vaguely aware of the commotion as papers and pens met the floor, the sound eclipsed by the tempest of emotions coursing through you.

Josh's movements, purposeful yet controlled, lifted you gently, depositing you on the desktop with a tenderness that matched the fervor in his eyes.

He stepped back, the hunger in his gaze unapologetic, as if you were the rarest gem in existence, a treasure coveted above all others.

“You are so beautiful.” He breathed out.

Licking his lips nervously, Josh closed the gap between you, his kiss tracing the curve of your shoulder as his hand continued to explore your body. Moving downward, his lips trailed along your chest, and ribcage, and finally reached to your thighs.

Meeting your gaze with a smug, self-satisfied smirk, Josh murmured, "You know... you deserve a good treat too."

His hand trembled as it snaked its way to your waistband, hesitating for a brief moment before liberating you from the confines of your garment. All that remained now was your underwear, a thin barrier between you and the intense desire simmering between you.

A pulse of anxiety shot through your veins. Was this right? The thought of having your hot assistant intimately nestled between your thighs seemed both appealing and alarming.

“You don’t—“

Before you could voice your uncertainty, Josh preempted your concern. "I want to," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"I want to so... so badly," he confessed, his lips dampening the fabric of your undergarments, betraying his eagerness.

You felt the vibrations of Josh's soft chuckle reverberate against your skin through the thin, damp fabric, causing your back to arch involuntarily.

“Stay still, alright?" he ordered, gripping your hips firmly. His teeth nipped at the edge of your underwear, sliding it down your legs with ease.

The overwhelming combination of pleasure and nerves left your body trembling, an involuntary reaction to the intensity of the situation.

Letting go of you, Josh moved to one of the desk cabinets, retrieving a ruler. He lifted the object, bringing it to eye-level with you.

"Told you not to move. Let's try that again, okay?" His commanding tone, paired with the unconventional implement, caught you off guard.

What had once been a modest, shy coworker now stood before you transformed into an irresistible embodiment of sexual desire. Your mind reeled at the sudden transformation, struggling to process how this turn of events came to pass.

"Okay... sorry," you stammered, your voice betrayed by the turbulent mix of excitement and nervousness.

Josh's reassuring words washed over you, "Shhh, it's okay." His lips found their way to the warm expanse between your thighs, trailing soft, wet kisses. The tender intimacy of his actions sent shivers coursing through your body.

Anxiety crept into his voice as he hesitated, "I—," his confession hung heavy in the air. "I haven't done this in decades... I mean years!" He cursed himself under his breath, eyes meeting yours with pleading vulnerability.

"Sorry if I'm not as good as you'll want me to be," he apologized sheepishly before resuming his exploration, his mouth filled with the taste of you.

Arching your back, you reveled in the pleasure of his skilled ministrations. Winding your fingers in his damp hair, you gently tugged, and a moan escaped his lips. Encouraged by his response, you pulled harder, grinning wickedly.

"Mmh, yes, please! Fuck. Pull my fucking hair, please."

The sound of footsteps in the corridor startled you, a surge of panic sending shivers down your spine. Frantic, you forced Josh's head further between your legs, the urgent need for silence overriding any other considerations.

"Shhh, shh!" you hissed, glancing towards the door, pleading for divine intervention to conceal your transgression.

Josh's focus, however, was entirely on the task at hand. His muffled words were swallowed by a fervent desire to savor the taste of you. A trail of saliva clung to his chin, a testament to his relentless enthusiasm. His mouth, lips, and tongue worshiped you with the desperation of a man starved for affection.

His whimpering, praises, and wet, slurping sounds filled the room, each moment amplifying the crescendo of pleasure. The realization of his prolonged abstinence did little to quell the heat emanating from your core.

On the brink of ecstasy, your legs trembled with the strain of resisting the imminent climax.

"J...Josh?" you called out, gently tugging his hair to draw his attention away from his task. His face, glistening with perspiration and droplets of saliva, met your gaze, his eyes gleaming with an intensity borne from devotion.

At that moment, you found yourself smitten by his earnestness. "Can we try something different?" you asked, unable to resist the curiosity kindling in your psyche.

A smirk spread across Josh's face, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he nodded in affirmation.

Positioning you, he laid your back against the wooden surface of the desk, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you watched him hastily attempt to remove his pants. The task proved more arduous than anticipated, eliciting a small chuckle from you.

Josh's breath hitched, "You're so hot, fuck," he muttered, his hand stroking himself as his lips pressed a searing kiss to your entrance.

Teasing you mercilessly, he moved his hips, the tip of his erection teasing your slick opening. You whimpered in frustration.

"Stop being a tease," you demanded, annoyed and embarrassed by his playful torment.

"You're right, sorry," he admitted, flushing a deep shade of red. "I've, I—" He groaned, cursing under his breath. "Fuck."

Josh's gaze held yours, sincerity etched into his features. "I like you. I don't think I ever liked someone like this before. You're so hot and smart, I love your voice, how you explain stuff to me without making me feel like an idiot and your humor." His smile was tender, genuine.

"I love your laugh too, even if you hate it. And, fuck, I've been... I imagined us like this but not, not like this, like this, you know?"

His brow furrowed, lips biting into his bottom lip. "I ruined it, didn't I?" Concern lurked beneath his words.

You chuckled, reaching out to trace your fingertips along his cheek, "Yeah, and you were so good at keeping the dominant role earlier." Admittedly, you found his vulnerability endearing.

"I like you, and I've thought of this too," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest with every whispered syllable.

Your tone shifted, growing more serious, "To be honest, that gift pissed me off."

Josh's reaction to your accusation was immediate, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "The strawberries? Yeah, I could tell."

His admission confirmed your suspicions, and with a playful scoff, you retorted, "Asshole."

You beat his shoulder lightly with feigned aggression, laughter echoing through the room.

"Out of all the gifts I’ve gotten tonight, no, out of all the gifts I’ve had, ever," Josh began, "you're the best one.” He said before thinking deeply. “Well, no, you're the second. The first one was when I got a signed DVD of Star Wars, Episode Seven: The Force Awakens."

Confusion clouded your expression, "Episode seven?"

Josh stammered, realizing you wouldn't comprehend the reference to a film that, for you, was lightyears ahead.

"Uhm... forget it. I was joking since you know." A nervous laugh followed his retreat. "Anyways, where were we? Oh, yeah, fucking! Uhm.”

Time to reveal he was from the future, his adventures, saving the world, and landing in 2000—it was a story better suited for the future.

Josh seized the moment, thrusting into you with urgency. The distraction worked, the sudden invasion of his sizable girth stealing your breath.

It took a moment for both of you to adjust to the sensation, the newfound closeness offering a liberating sense of.

"You're tight," Josh reed with unbridled pride, his hands capturing your wrists in a firm grip. "I'll start," he promised, granting you a brief moment of surrender.

A nod from you signaled your consent, allowing him to begin the rhythmic thrusts that filled you with his length. Pain, sharp and undeniable, punctuated the sensations, but the pleasure outweighed the discomfort.

"Fuck," you cried out, teary eyes meeting his.

"Hold onto me," Josh commanded, his voice raw and insistent. Your nails dug into his skin with a vengeance, and the resulting grunt of satisfaction was the only response he needed.

The intensity of the act, coupled with the nearness of your bodies, left you at a loss for words. "Like that?" he inquired, and though the question seemed redundant, the sensation of his cock stretching you open left you incapable of verbal acknowledgment.

The room was suffused with the erotic symphony of skin slapping against skin, heavy breathing, and the occasional grunt or moan. In this dance of passion, the unspoken understanding between the two of you spoke volumes, every thrust cementing the bond between you.

"Let me go faster, please," Josh whined, craving the release that only complete surrender could offer.

You whimpered, uncertainty lacing your response, "I don't... I don't think I can handle that, Josh." The creaking of the desk mirrored the strain of the moment.

Desperation colored his voice as he pleaded, "Please, please. I'll be good, you'll like it. Please."

In response, you groaned, "Fine. Just because we need to finish grading." Despite the flimsy excuse, the promise of gratification following the completion of your task hung in the air.

A triumphant grin spread across Josh's face, "After that, you can have me as much as you want," he promised, holding you firmly as he thrust deeper, his cock filling and emptying you in a rhythm of pleasure and longing.

The edge of climax ebbed closer, winding its way through your veins. You found yourself pressing your head into his neck, biting him unintentionally.

"Mmh, gonna cum," Josh warned, his orgasm imminent. With a powerful surge, he filled you, the warmth of his release enveloping you.

Exhausted, the two of you stood there, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Disheveled and sweat-drenched, you looked at each other, the weight of the moments heavy in the air.

Recovering enough to speak, you fumbled for the right words, "Let's uhm..." Your voice trailed off, replaced by an awkward suggestion, "Let's get grading, shall we?"

You climbed off the desk and started gathering your clothes from the floor, Josh following suit as he laughed softly. Dressing hurriedly, you both resumed your roles as teacher and assistant, submitting to the mundane task before you.

…

The day of the final exam dawned, and as you explained the rules and addressed student queries, your concentration wavered. Two students, oblivious to your displeasure, engaged in hushed conversation while you spoke.

In a moment of synchronized understanding, you locked eyes with Josh, who wasted no time in addressing the situation.

He strode towards the offending students, leaning casually on their table. "Guys, please keep it down," he requested softly, the authority in his tone leaving no room for argument. With a single nod, he continued to monitor other students.

Once he moved away, the culprits exchanged glances, one of them whispering, "Did you see the hickey or am I crazy?"

The other nodded, unable to deny the evidence of their own eyes, replying, "I saw it."

The students' curiosity piqued, and their gazes shifted between you and Josh, zeroing in on your choice of clothing: turtlenecks on an otherwise scorching day. The unspoken implications danced in their minds.

“They slept together!?”

Crossing your arms, you fixed your gaze on the offenders, your voice dripping with sarcasm, "Care to share with everyone?"

Embarrassed, they quickly retracted, "No. Sorry." Giggles threatened to escape, but they struggled to suppress them, the cat now firmly out of the bag.

One student voiced her thoughts aloud, "Why does the class get interesting on the last day?" A sentiment echoed in the covert smiles and furtive glances shared by those around her.

#I haven’t wrote anything over 2 months give me a break pls #josh futturman #josh futterman x reader #josh futturman x reader #josh future man #josh futturman smut #josh futturman x gn!reader #josh futturman x you #josh futturman headcannons #mike schmidt #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #mike schmidt smut #clapton davis smut #billy burn smut #josh hutcherson #jhutch #jhutch1992 #mike schimdt x reader

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joshs-big-toe · 1 year ago

Note

you HAVE to write a fic of billy from burn, i beg youusdjfsudfjskdksad

A Quickie to Relax

Heyyyyyy. Again, sorry this took so long. My winter break kinda sucked and I just had no motivation to do anything. I am finally back at it, and have more motivation and yeah thank you for being patient with me! I have another fic coming after this as a little present, so be ready for a Derek Danforth fic! There is going to be an overflow of those coming. Anyways, I love you all who support me and I hope this story lives up to some of my others!

CW: smut, f!reader, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, dom!billy, semi-rough sex, mentions of firearms(promise that aspect has nothing to do with the sex)

Word Count: 1,505

“Come on Billy, I don't think this is a good idea,” you mumbled as he parked outside of what seemed like an abandoned gas station. The night was cold, an eerie tone filled the air as rain sprinkled down from the cloud-ridden sky. Billy turned to you, setting his jaw in place.

“Y/N, you know the shit I’m in? You said you would do this with me, why are you backing out now?”

“I just…” you hesitated for a moment, thinking before you spoke next. “I just think we may be… Lowballing it with a gas station that looks abandoned.” His face lit up from headlights of a car pulling into the closest gas pump. His eyes showed an emotion you weren’t able to quite put your finger on. You out your hand on his cheek, running your thumb along his cheek bone. “I love you, Billy, but this is fucking stupid. Why can’t we just get out of here, run away and forget about those stupid bikers?” He turned his head away from your touch, a visible frustration setting into his expression.

“You… You don’t get it, y/n. They’ll kill me if I dont get them that money, you fucking understand that right?” He stared at the front doors of the gas station. “I can’t not do this,” he turned his head to look at you. You stared back into his eyes, wavering concern covering your face. He shook his head. “y/n-”

“Billy, I can’t do this. I think we should just drive and start over-”

“No, y/n, no!” he shouted, hitting the steering wheel. You jumped, his eyes darting toward you, seeing the obvious discomfort that him shouting gave you. “Jesus, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He grumbled.

You hesitantly lean over the seat, pulling his chin to look at you. “Let me,” you mumble, bringing him closer, your lips grazing against his as you spoke. “Let me help you out there, Billy, maybe clear your mind a little?” You felt him shift in his seat, sighing against your lips before you pressed yours against his. Your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling of his hand resting on the back of your head taking you by surprise. His tongue pushed into your mouth, you groaning at the sensation. He deepened the kiss, pulling you closer to him, his breathing becoming more erratic as the seconds passed. You groaned as his free hand groped over your tits, the heat filling your core with arousal.

“Get in the back,” he growled. “Now.” You didn’t hesitate, stumbling over the center console and falling onto the back seat. You giggled as he followed suit, landing on top of you, crashing his lips into yours again. His mouth parted slightly, giving you the chance to push your tongue into his mouth, making him groan against you. He pulled you down to where your back was laying against the back seat. “I need,” he panted, fumbling with your jeans. “Need to get this shit off.” You bit your lip as you watched him unzip your jeans, swiftly slipping them off. He looked at you with a hungry expression. You smirked, opening your legs wider for him. “I can see,” he mumbled as he got lower down, his hot breath touching your core. You shuddered as he hooked his finger around your panties, pulling them to the side. “I can see how wet you already are.” His tongue attached to your clit, a low groan escaping his lips. Your back arched as he moved his tongue into your opening, tongue-fucking you. You grabbed his hair, tugging at it softly. A soft moan escaped your lips as you leaned your head back, bumping against the door.

“Fuck, Billy,” you managed out. His actions became quicker. He grabbed at your thighs, running his nails down them. You moaned, pushing himself onto as much as you could, pushing your thighs against the side of his head. You felt the heat building in your lower belly as Billy attached his tongue to your clit again, relentlessly sucking and nipping on it. His hands grabbed at your hips, borderline suffocating himself as he pushed you further onto his face. He pressed his lips against your clit, sending you over the edge, your body jolting as waves of pleasure ripped from you. Billy did not wait long before sitting up in the seat, unzipping his jeans and pulling them down enough for him to take his cock out, spitting on his hand and stroking himself a couple times before pulling you onto him. His grip on your hips tightened as he pushed into you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. A hit of frustration hit your mind at the lack of being able to see him, not to mention sucking his dick. You moan as he stretched you out, your head falling onto his shoulder. He began to rock your hips against him. Tremors of pleasure ran through you with the friction of your clit rubbing on his pubic bone.

“Fucking so wet for me,” Billy mumbled into your ear. “You know just how to take care of me when I get worked up, huh?” He was breathless, but did not stop his own movements of pushing his hips up onto you. You whined at the aggression that was hidden in his movements, but fuck you loved seeing this side of him. He removed a hand from your hip, bringing it up to hair, pulling you back to you could look at him. His nose and cheeks were a shade of red and his mouth was slightly open. “Look at you, all fucked out already and I haven’t even gotten to cum.” You began to speed up your movements, making him suck in a breath of air before letting out a loud groan as he leaned his head back onto the seat.

“B-Billy-” you moaned out. His movements were sloppy as he trailed sloppy kisses down your neck.

“Y/n, oh fuck y/n youre so fucking good,” he breathed out. “You take my cock so fucking well, such a good fucking girl.” Heat rose up in you again as you felt his dick twitch inside you, telling you he was close too. He pulled your head back by your hair as you grinded on him, attaching his lips to your neck and sucking at a sensitive spot that send you over the edge. You didnt get much chance to ride your orgasm out before he pushed you off of him. “Fuck,” he groaned, grabbing his cock squeezing it. “Put that pretty mouth of yours to use, now wouldja?” You contorted your body to where you were holding onto him. He grabbed your hair, turning it into a makeshift ponytail, pushing you down onto him. He threw his head back as he stuffed your mouth, thrusting up into you, abusing your throat. You groaned onto him, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. He was so fucking big, but you liked the rough treatment he had with you. Without warning, he held you down onto his cock, the tip pushing against your throat making you gag. He groaned, body confusing as you felt him cum. You took it all, not wanting any to escape your mouth. You pulled off of him, gasping for air. He grabbed your face in his hands, looking you over for a moment. He wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. “Was that too much?” His aggression had turned to concern in an instant. You shook your head, getting your breathing back to mostly normal.

“H-hot,” you managed out. He smiled, grabbing your jeans off the floor of the back seat, helping you back into them before planting a kiss on your forehead. You watched him pull his jeans back up, buttoning them before reaching into the front seat and grabbing his backpack.

“Are you ready?” He smiled, clearly less stressed than he was before.

“You are positive that this is going to be okay?” He reached into the bag, pulling out a gun and tossing it over to you. You looked at him, eyes wide. “What the fuck is this, Billy?”

“It’s not loaded, don't worry. If they feel threatened, they are more likely to comply. You groan, stepping out of the car and tucking the gun into the back of your jeans. You threw your jacket on, thankfully covering the bulk of the gun. You shook your head, looking at Billy over the hood of his car.

“You are literally so stupid for this, you know.”

“It’s life or death.”

“Or 5 years in prison.”

“Well, I guess.” He shrugged, shutting the car door and walking behind the car, planting a kiss on your cheek when he approached you. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You took a deep breath, putting your hands in your jacket pockets as you closely trailed Billy, following him into the gas station to go through with your plan.

#josh hutcherson #josh futterman #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt imagine #josh hutcherson fanfic #josh hutcherson smut #billy burn #billy burn x reader #derek danforth #derek danforth smut #peeta x reader #thg peeta #josh futturman smut #josh hutcherson x reader

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freak-accident419 · 10 months ago

Text

Strange Honey

Billy (Burn 2019) x GN!Reader

Summary: One night at a bar, you meet a very mysterious man with a burn on the side of his face. As the tense and strained person you see him as, you decide to offer him some ease, giving the wannabe cowboy one hell of a ride.

Word Count: 2.4k

Content: 18+ Smut, MDNI, gender neutral reader, Billy the wannabe cowboy, penetration (unspecified genitals for reader), oral (male and reader receiving), swearing, reader being referred to as ‘pretty’ and ‘slut’, unprotected sex, drinking

(A/n: PLEASE PLEASE listen to this song, it’s not only by small, indie band but it’s also just so fitting!!: 60s western cowboy vibe and horniness, it’s an amazing fit—just trust me!! Also I want it to be implied that the Melinda SA scene never happened prior in this fic, otherwise Billy would have some sort of PTSD that would probably not make him ready for anything sexual for a long time :( nevertheless, i hope you enjoy!!)

The moment he walked in through those doors, he instantly became a mystery. Someone you have easily became infatuated with by just the mere sight of him.

Sure, his getup was quite tasteless—the denim on denim and subtle cowboy boots that screamed ‘wannabe cowboy’—but that wasn’t what really captivated you, despite the additional charm of his pretty eyes and lips; it was the red, tender burn occupying an area of skin on the right side of his face.

He lets out a gruff sigh of exhaustion as he sat one stool away from you at the bar, incoherently grumbling his order to the bartender. You observe him for a while, before getting his attention by whistling softly at him. When he turned to look at you, it allowed you to see him from a closer distance from before, and your eyes slightly widened at the clearer sight of his burn.

“Holy shit, man. You look like hell,” you scoff, raising your glass of liquor to your lips, taking a short, yet calculated sip. “The fuck happened to you?”

He looked at you with a displeased scowl, probably offended by your reaction. “I don’t wanna fucking talk about it,” he replied bitterly in a low mutter.

Only amused, you chuckle playfully. “Rough night?”

He nods quietly in agreement as the bartender gave him his drink. Bourbon, you assumed. “Alright,” you begin. “So what’s a handsome thing like you doing in a shithole like this?”

You finally saw a smile—or perhaps a smirk—creep onto the corner of his lips. You could tell he was quite flattered by the ‘handsome’ comment. And that smile only reinforced it, proving your point even more—he was incredibly attractive. “To drink,” he answered, finally looking up at you. He was exceptional at keeping eye contact. The way his brown eyes bore into yours enhanced your intrigue for him.

“To forget?” You assume, raising an eyebrow. He nodded a yes, offering an amused and knowing grin. He liked you. “Well… Bourbon’s not gonna do shit for you in this case.”

You call over the bartender. “Another firewater, please, for the gentleman,” you tell, then looking back at the man with an alluring smirk. “On me,” you wink. “I’m Y/n, by the way.”

“Billy.” He let out a pleased chuckle, already fascinated by you. “Sorry, ‘firewater’?” He asked with a curious, blank face.

“It’s just liquor.” You scoff playfully, “And you call yourself a cowboy?”

“I never—”

“C’mon,” you snicker teasingly. “The jacket? The shirt? The jeans? And the fuckin’—fuckin’ cowboy boots?” You scoff as you look at him up and down. Checking him out, almost. “The belt buckle, however, is very impressive.”

The charming, brown-haired man grinned with a self-satisfied huff under his breath. He looked to the bartender as he abruptly gives him the drink you ordered him, then looked back at you, the slight curl of his lips still intact. “So what’s your whole deal then, hm? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing in this very shithole?” He asks, referencing back to your cheeky question.

“I’m, uh… I’m also here to forget,” you pursed your lips then smirked as you answer him. The man shrugs in response and grabs his drink.

“Well, then. To the shitty events that led us to this shitty bar,” he raised his glass and then you raised yours.

“Cheers,” you mutter amusedly, and the two of you take a swig of your drinks.

Billy nearly choked on it as he scowled immediately, looking down at his glass with humorous contempt. “What the fuck is this shit?”

You felt your throat burn acidly, yet also gratifyingly as you gulp down your liquor, giggling at the sight of him. “Firewater,” you replied as you heard him mutter swears of complaints to himself.

“Yeah, no shit,” he retorted scornfully, “It’s strong as fuck.”

You raise an eyebrow, preparing to tease him. “You sure you’re a real cowboy?” You scoff with an endearing grin.

“Seriously? You’re still on about that?” He says in disbelief, yet he enjoyed the conversation nonetheless. “What, do I need a red bandana and a cowboy hat—”

“You definitely need a cowboy hat,” you chuckle. “That’s exactly what you’re missing.”

“So I need the whole getup?” He raises an eyebrow. You nod. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He was so attracted to your smile.

“Okay, so like… even a lasso?”

You laugh. “Of course. You can’t just be all hat and no cattle.”

He snickered under his breath. “I’m guessing I’m gonna need a horse as well?”

You pursed your lips, laughing once more. And he was addicted to it. “Hmm, a horse? Yeah, not so much,” you reply dismissively.

“Oh yeah? Isn’t that, like, standard cowboy criteria?” He huffs, staring into your eyes curiously, which reminded you again of his immaculate eye contact. “Why not?”

You take a confident swig of your firewater, feeling the burning sensation in your throat linger, licking your lips and returning his gaze…

“I know something else you can ride.”

* * *

He pushes you against the wall, hands under your shirt moving up and down your sides frantically as his his lips move roughly with yours. The confined atmosphere of the motel room was extremely hot, and you weren’t sure if it was from all the friction that you and Billy produced or the shitty, cheap air-conditioning. After all, you two were in a rush, drunk from arousal, and desperate for each other’s bodies. And because a dirty bathroom in a shitty bar deemed to be too unsanitary for your taste, you found the nearest motel.

“Hell,” you mutter into Billy’s lips hotly. You felt him grip onto your hips and start to grind on you, using the wall as a leverage as he rolled his hips onto yours. He muttered a curse as the friction of his jeans against yours had satisfyingly aggravated you both. The two of you whined from the grinding until you pushed him off of yourself, shoving him hard against the wall and going down onto your knees.

You begin to unbuckle the belt that you earlier regarded as impressive, due to its authentically cowboy-like quality, then unbuttoned and unzipped his tight, light-wash jeans, dragging it down to his ankles as well as his boxers. His cock sprang out immediately after you pulled down the cloth, and you held in a moan, admiring the sight.

“Fuck, Billy,” you breathe in awe, helping him step out of the clothes that were previously sitting at his ankles. You look up at him once—again, he was graceful at eye contact, and you could easily read his desperation.

You began to smear his precum around his slit, bringing out a small whimper from him. You start to hear him panting once your hand is around his dick, pumping at a slow pace. Then, his eyes rolled up to the back of his head in pleasure, letting out a sigh of arousal as the tempo of your hand increased.

You kept your hand at the base of his cock as you started to leave kitten licks on his sensitive pink tip, Billy eliciting sensual hums until your mouth eagerly welcomes in his head. He lets out a soft groan as your lips are around him, sucking the head as your hand moves up and down to stroke his shaft, your other hand resting on his thigh for support.

He bites back a moan as he choked out your name, and you feel his hands on your head once you move your mouth further down as far as you could. Now, you let both of your hands grip onto his porcelain hips for better control, your head bobbing up and down his girthy cock.

“M-mm, fuck, Y/n, you’re s-so fucking good for me, fuck,” he rasped, gripping onto your hair, letting his fingers tangle in the messy strands. Your cheeks flush as you increase your suction around him, finally hearing him moan, his vocals echoing in the empty motel room. “That’s it… yeah… fuck…” His volume increases once you fondle his balls, caressing him with your palm.

You feel yourself lose control of the entire situation as his hold on your hair tightened, him beginning to thrust his cock into your mouth, practically fucking your throat. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you look up at him, nearly gagging on his dick.

“G-god,” he mumbled, using both hands on your head to practically use you as if your mouth was his own personal fleshlight. His moans began to increase in volume as you heard pathetic whines of desperation—but you couldn’t say anything, of course; you were the one spurring muffled moans, choking around his cock.

“Shit… Shit—I’m—fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he breathed heavily, increasing his pace until he came, spilling his white, bitter fluid in your mouth, choking on his seed as you struggled to swallow it all—but you did.

Without giving either of you time to catch your breaths, Billy manhandled you, grabbing onto you and throwing you down on the squeaky, cheap mattress that the motel had to offer. He nearly ripped off your pants and your underwear along with it, moving his head between your legs and holding your thighs onto his shoulders. You felt the cold metal of his golden ring on your skin as his hands squeezed your thighs. You moaned out his name as you felt his tongue work on you, sucking and licking at your flesh.

“Ah—f-fuck—Billy!”

Your hips jolted at the sensation of his mouth pleasuring you, your knuckles turning pale as you grip tightly onto the sheets below you. His tongue moved down to prod at your hole, wetting it before his tongue would enter, making you release a prolonged, high-pitched whine. Almost instantly, he replaces it with a finger, pushing the digit in and out steadily, not hesitating to add another, the pace of the thrusts increasing until he finally pulled them out, watching you whimper from the loss of touch.

He quickly removes your shirt, lifting it off from above, and after taking off his jacket and throwing it to the side, you frantically unbuttoned his shirt, getting him out of the sleeves until the two of you were both completely naked.

He held you down once more on your back aggressively, sitting on his knees with his hands on the mattress between your head, a thin, silver necklace dangling above your face that hung from Billy’s neck. Your cheeks were flushed red and you panted as he lined up his body with yours, and finally eased his cock through your entrance. And once he was perfectly in, that was his signal.

He thrusted his hips quickly into yours, shoving his dick inside of you deeper with every snap of his hips, abusing your hole. His loud grunts easily transitioned into whimpers to full-on moans, hearing a couple of ‘fuck’’s and ‘oh god’’s. But you—you were even worse. You were under him, being fucked into the mattress, crying, screaming, and babbling. You were sure that the other guests of this motel could hear you from the thin walls, alongside the noisy bed creaking.

“Love how you’re taking my cock… Just look at you,” he muttered before letting out a high-pitched whimper and continuing his movements. “Feel so fucking good around me.”

His hands move down to your hips, digging his nails into your skin as he pulled you to his dick, thrusting even faster and deeper than before. Your soft whines were rhythmic, synced with each motion that his hips gave. You enjoyed the delicious sensation of him stretching you and your walls, tightening around him flawlessly. His shiny, silver necklace continued to sway above you, swinging with each rapid, harsh thrust.

You abruptly yank onto that thin chain, pulling him down to meet your lips. He moved his soft, wet lips with yours passionately and fervently, your tongue exploring his mouth, dancing with his. His thrusts never faltered as he kissed down to your jaw then to your neck, even nibbling and sucking in areas to give you hickeys.

You breathe heavily as you felt your body being flipped, Billy using his strong hands to move you onto your stomach, the side of your face being pressed onto the pillow. Then he pushed into your hole once again, one hand on your hip and the other on the top of the wooden bed frame, gripping it tight as he began to move. The bed squeaked again, its sounds mirroring the motion that took place on it. You were afraid he was going to fucking break it.

“O-oh! F-fuck! Don’t—Don’t fucking stop!” You cry desperately in between heavy breaths.

You were nearly drooling on the pillow as you moan loudly, Billy pounding you forcefully from behind, on top of you as if you were a fucking horse—he was a cowboy, alright.

“You like that? Hm? You like having my cock inside of you like this? Fucking slut…”

You began to feel his rhythm falter, his body gradually giving out with stuttered hips and abrupt, deep jerks inside you, panting and moaning heavily, his face flushed and sweaty.

“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” he groans, the erotic sound of skin slapping against skin only increasing as his nails begin to dig deeper into the bed frame, fucking into you as if you were a lifeless sex doll, practically using you. But he had respect for you, of course, feeling pleasured entirely by your body and noises.

“M-me too,” you whine, clenching onto the white bedsheets beneath you, feeling a knot in your stomach slowly begin to unravel.

Billy persisted to slam his hips vigorously against your ass, ramming his thick cock inside of you as the two of you moaned desperately, your vocals arousing each other as well.

“I-I’m—I’m gonna cum,” he mutters.

“Fuck—me too—I-I’m—”

“Fuck!” He whines.

And finally, with one last, strong thrust of his hips, he came deeply and heavily inside you, his warm, white fluids painting your walls, spurting selfishly yet generously deep inside of you. A loud, lewd moan escaped his pretty lips as his eyes shut tight, focusing on all the pleasure and release that he just received.

And not even a second later, you followed, crying out his name and cumming around his length, clutching the blankets and feeling full and filled completely with his semen.

Billy collapsed beside you, and the two of you laid there, panting heavily and catching each other’s breaths, all fucked out.

“Well, yee-haw, motherfucker,” you mumble amusedly to yourself, retrieving your pants to grab a cigarette from its pocket.

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urmomahahahaha · 8 months ago

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I’m sorry but whenever I see Josh Hutcherson smut where the characters like rough asf I js remember he’s a 5’5 silly guy that looks like the sweetest guy on earth and you guys are making him call you a dirty whore

#josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson smut #josh hutcherson x reader #Derek danforth #peeta mellark #mike schmidt #fnaf movie #mike Schmidt x reader #derek danforth x reader #billy burn #josh futturman #josh futterman x reader #josh futturman smut #mike schmidt smut #peeta mallark x reader #peeta mellark smut

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cuteskunkz · 9 months ago

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╭──────────.★..─╮

One Night With You

╰─..★.──────────╯

(Mike Schmidt x Reader)

Summary~ Mike is a very touch starved man. He spends all his nights at work and the daytime caring for Abby if not sleeping. He hadn't been with a girl since his junior year, making him feel like a total loser. The amount of times where Mike went back and forth with his inner thoughts, convincing himself that he was the problem was getting pretty intense and it was clear that he just needed a night out to clear his mind and prove those thoughts wrong.

You've been a "dancer" for the past few months at the downtown strip club, just trying to make ends meet. There was a tough competition working against you. You were new to this line of work whereas the other girls had been in the game for a while now, but you kept pushing on desperately. How else were you going to make rent or keep the lights on? The nights were slow and building a consistent flow of clientele proved itself to be a challenge, that is until one night when you meet a new guy outside of the nightclub.

Tags~ Stripper reader, Mike is a SIMP!!!, lowkey enemies to lovers but not really, no smut (YET...)

Note~ This took me much longer than I thought since I've been super burnt out of writing lately, but I hope you guys enjoy! As always if there's anything in particular you would like to see in chapter 2, please lemme know

⊱✿⊰

Mike felt confused with the lack of responsibilities and errands to run on this warm summer night. Abby was off at a sleepover and Steve finally hired a second night shift worker, leaving him all alone with his reoccurring self doubt introspections. Dude gets one night for himself and simply cannot think of a single thing to do to pass the time. He laid there in his bed tossing and turning unable to fall asleep. He jolts up feeling frustrated with himself, "Ughh... just fall asleep already bro..." He shifts around in his bed and grunts, "I can't do this-". He sits up and sulks his way into the living room, plopping down on the couch. Mike pulls out his phone and begins to scroll.

He isn't really the social media type but had made an anonymous instagram account a while ago for mindlessly scrolling. After what seemed like hours, Mike stumbles across a video of you. You were practicing a routine for the club, twirling and moving seductively. Mike felt himself grow larger in his pants and put the phone down in shock. He stares up at the ceiling in disbelief, damn you really got him feeling this type of way this quickly? He looks down at his lap and feels helpless. He wrestles with his feelings for a while and ultimately picks his phone back up to look more into you.

He clicks on your account and "researches" a bit. There's multiple videos of you practicing, photos of your skimpy outfits, and the most captivating selfies he's ever seen. One of your posts has a location tagged in the top corner, "Deja Vu Showgirls". He looks further into the club, finding that it's not too far from the pizzeria. "Fuck it. Why not..." he whispers to himself. Mike ensures he's well groomed for the occasion. if you're there he wants make a good impression. He showers, dresses in the best outfit he can come up with, and slaps some product in his hair. He finally felt content with his appearance and hopped in the car.

You weren't surprised to see another night play out typically. Maybe 2 or 3 cheap lap dances and a couple short sets up on the stage for less than 50 bucks. This clearly isn't working for you, at this point you've spent more on outfits and shoes than you've made while working here. An older gentleman walks up to you reeking of alcohol and cheap cologne, you couldn't help but gulp at the thought of providing your services for him. Yeah you were a stripper but you still had standards that made doing your job successfully hard at times.

"Well aren't you something?" he slurs while damn near tipping over from intoxication. You sigh and snap into your persona. "I'd hope so, this outfit ain't cheap y'know!" you reply in a flirtatious tone. You grab him by the hand and lead him to a booth, preparing for the worst. He starts groping on your sides which makes you shudder. Maybe this place isn't for you after all. "H-hands off baby.... Use your eyes and focus on me" you redirect with confidence. Times like these made you wish someone could just scoop you off your feet and save you.

He drives to the location with his heart pounding out of his chest. He'd never been to strip club before so Mike felt nervous even making his way closer to where you have the slightest chance of being at. He pulled into the parking lot and shut his car off abruptly, taking deep breaths to calm his nerves. "What if she isn't here? I don't even know the girl why am I acting so fuckin' weird about this.... I really need to get out of the house more" he thinks to himself while gripping onto the steering wheel. After a few mental pep talks to himself, he finally musters up the courage to get out and make his way in.

Just as he goes to push the door to the club open, you storm out with eyes welling with tears. Mike stumbles back a bit not wanting to startle you. You're holding your pricey Pleaser heels in hand, walking barefoot and trying your best to keep it together. All you want is to curl up into a ball and quit at life. You thought that creepy dude would cheap out on a dance, not grope and hurl insulting names at you for rejecting his advances! You look up from the ground and lock eyes with a man you've never seen before. He's cute... too cute to be wasting his time at some dingy place like this.

"Can I help you?" you snap at him with a shaky voice. It was hard not to notice the concerned look on his face. "No I'm-" he stutters before you promptly cut him off. "Leave me the fuck alone then." His face goes pale hearing you say this, he didn't even get a chance to meet you yet and he feels as if he already blew it. You pace towards your car and pop the trunk, filling it with the all the contents of your locker. You pick a T-shirt out of your duffle bag and drape it over your revealing outfit. His presence is burning a hole into your back so you swiftly turn around to meet his gaze.

He walks over slow and bashfully. There's a pink tint to his cheeks and he can't keep his hands still out of anxiousness. "Dude are you good?" you ask. He looks as if he's going to break a sweat, "Yeah... I'm good. Are you though? You looked pretty shaken up back there." You assumed he was just another guy looking to get lucky with a dancer after a shift change. "Look, if you want to get some action, walk your ass into the club. I'm not who you're looking for" you reply. His stomach drops hearing your voice. It was one thing to see you for the first time, but to hear your voice even if it be out of anger made Mikes head spin. He didn't want to sound like a complete creep stalking you out to your job for a closer look but you were exactly who he wanted.

"That's not why I'm here. Fuck- look... To be totally honest, I'm not a strip club type of dude. I just- I saw a video of you on instagram and I was- y'know... impressed by your talent and beauty." Typical response coming from a man trying to bring a stripper home for the night you think to yourself. "I'm not shocked by your reaction. You realize that's what I hear like- 10 times a night, right?" you say with a sarcastic tone. He seemed a bit more genuine with his words than the others but men will do and say anything when they're in need of a quick fuck. "Not that type of girl sir. Try one of those cheap hookers down the road" you point down the street and close the trunk.

"Please... I know how this sounds, believe me I know how dudes are but-" He sighs and continues, "But I don't have a lot of experience with girls so- I thought coming here... to meet someone new would help" he says looking very serious, almost to the point of desperation. If he weren't so damn handsome you'd turn him down in a heartbeat but something in you is screaming to give him a chance. He seems to be telling the truth and damn is he starting to fluster you with the whole innocent act. "Fine. I'll give you my number but don't you dare think about blowing my phone up." You scribble your phone number into his palm with a pen from your bag and blow him a kiss while getting in your car to drive away.

Mike smirks and waves at you, watching you drive off into the distance. "That was easier than I expected...huh..." he whispers. He gets back into his car and texts you, already so eager to see you again. The message reads:

Hey it's Mike, the guy from earlier. You doing anything tonight? I could take us out to a bar or something? :)

His cheeks start to blush again from imagining you two hanging out. He desperately craves a deeper connection with you but doesn't want to come off as too interested off the bat, it could scare you off for all he knows! His phone dings and he reads it:

Shitttt I'm free as long as you're gonna be on your very best behavior!!

⊱✿⊰

*Read part 2 and part 3 here!*

It might take me a bit to get part two posted, but I'll try to give you guys as many updates as possible!!! Keep in mind I am a new writer. This is my third fic put out so far :))

#josh hutcherson #mike schmidt #mike schimdt fanfic #mike schmidt x you #fnaf movie #josh futturman #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt x reader #peeta mellark #jhutch #fanfic #burn 2019 #billy burn #Spotify

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billys-slutcherson · 8 months ago

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Thank you for the love and interactions on my Billy fic! I have been so busy today, it is so nice to see people sharing!! 🫶

#burn 2019 #josh hutcherson #billy burn x reader smut #billy burn 2019 #billy burn x you

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joshfutturman · 6 months ago

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"like you were made for me" 18+

oneshot - soft dom josh tries his best to talk you through it, but he can't stop whimpering and moaning. (1.9k words) pairing - josh futturman (future man) + gn!reader tags: porn with no plot, doggystyle, soft!dom josh, pre-established relationship, gender neutral reader, penetration, kissing, no use of y/n, dirty talk, pre dick swap ig lmao, whimpering and whining, praising, creampie, petnames.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

he slips inside of you and lets out something between a moan and a whine, his firm grip on your hips tightening. you're splayed out on his bed, ass up, face down in his blue sheets. you watch eagerly over your shoulder as he pushes inside of you with a slow thrust. his eyes are on you, mouth forming an 'o' shape as he tries to steady his breathing.

your brows knit together, feeling him ease in, letting a moan slip of your own as he fills you so perfectly. "fuck, baby. . ." you whisper through another moan, trying not to clench around him - you know he won't last if you do.

josh mutters something under his breath, a small pep talk to himself as he loses himself in the feeling of you so tightly wrapped around him. "you feel s-so good. . ."

he eases out, and then back in, slow thrusts that have your back arching in the hopes of him going impossibly deeper inside of you. josh continues his sluggish pace, trailing a hand from your hip to the small of your back, pressing his palm down on your warm skin.

"t. . . takin' it s. . . so wel- fuuuuck. . ." josh melts against you. with each thrust he loses himself deeper into you, his throbbing cock begging for release. . . begging for more of you. he's so hard he swears it almost hurts.

and you smirk, knowing he can't even form complete sentences because of how good you're making him feel. "what was that, babe?" you chirp.

he gasps, furrowing his brow with his eyes tightly closed, "you're such- such a good- oh fuck. . ." swallowing thickly, he tries again, "you're- mhfff..." a whimper cuts him off, that sweet, sweet whimper of his. you could listen to it all day - the way it drips from his lips like honey.

you know he's trying to talk you through it, desperate to praise you and lavish you with sweet words but he just. . . can't. something about the way you feel, the intoxicating feeling of being inside of you, his cock pumping in and out at a lazy pace, he's falling apart already. just as he always does.

"keep talkin' to me, baby. . ." you whisper encouragingly, propping yourself up on your elbows as you keep your eyes on him, completely mesmerised by the intricate shift in his facial expression with every thrust.

he nods, josh would do anything you asked, anything. "mhm, you. . . you like that?" he hums, trying his absolute best. opening his eyes, he notices you looking back at him and another whimper falls from his lips as he locks eyes with you.

slowly, you nod - and then he picks up the pace in response, making you flinch a little at the sudden increase of pleasure. but you keep your gaze locked on his, silently encouraging him.

"you take me so. . . so well. my cock- hhhhf. . . fits perfectly inside of you," he whines, the words coming out before he even has a chance to think about what he's saying. both of his hands return to your hips, "oh fuck, j. . . just like that. . ." josh's eyes trail down to watch himself disappear inside of you.

you moan, eyes closing over as he attempts to form sentences. it's so hot, so cute, how he completely falls apart for you as soon as he slips inside your tight hole. he wants to make sure you feel good, that you feel taken care of, even if he can't even form one complete sentence.

"that's it. . . t-takin' my cock like a good- mhhhhf!" josh groans, head tilting back as his mouth falls open. he huffs into the air, his grasp on your hips growing tighter as his fingers dig into your flesh, "holy fuck!" he cries out.

biting your lip, you tense up, holding back any praises of your own - you want to make him feel like he's the one in charge, the one guiding this, even if you both secretly know that he's a mess at being in control most of the time. the praising can come later when he's pumped you full of his cum and is falling asleep on your chest.

you feel it pooling in your belly, that familiar urge, the overwhelming pleasure threatening to wash over you. the way josh's face is trembling, you can tell he's close too.

he feels almost feverish, his temperature rising as his dick glides in and out of you faster and harder. he doesn't just want you, he needs you, and he feels this every time you fuck. he can't think straight, mind focused on the sensation of his dick throbbing against your tight walls. small praises tumble from his lips, calling you pretty pet names as thoughts of you cumming around him clouds his entire being.

the intensity of his thrusts increases, causing his bedside table to shake, and his collection of precious figurines threatens to topple to the ground. but he doesn't care. he's too lost in you to care. how can he care when you're taking him so good like that, making all those sweet noises and looking over your shoulder at him the way you are?

"y. . .you gonna cum for me?" he gasps suddenly, attempting to sound dominant, and failing, his voice high-pitched and shaky.

but fuck, it still gets you. it's hotter that he's trying and failing. that boy is a loser, and that's what makes you want him so fucking badly.

"yes. . ." you groan with a nod, gripping his sheets as he pushes you forward with every thrust, his bed creaking under the pressure.

josh grins a little, mouth half open as he struggles to keep his breathing steady. he's feeling brave. hesitating for a few moments, he finally speaks, "say please."

your eyes snap open, looking up at him over your shoulder in surprise. his words cause you to clench around him, fluttering at his attempt at a commanding tone.

shit, that was kind of hot.

". . .what?" you blurt out.

he swallows hard, "i-i said, say please. . . and. . . i'll let you cum," josh bites his lip. it's too much. he can't stay upright anymore. his body hunches over yours, wrapping an arm around your stomach as he pistons into you with renewed vigour, one hand planted onto the bed for support.

"holy shit, josh," you whisper, praising him with your tone of voice alone, "please. . ."

"oh fuck. . ." he whispers into your ear, feeling his dick twitch at your pleading. he plants small kisses behind your ear, sloppily. "that's it, you're so. . . hhhf- so good for me. . . takin' my dick so well. . ."

his words combined with the way he's quickly thrusting into you has you close, so fucking close. he's pressing down against you, hardly able to keep himself upright as he fights back his own release. at this angle, he's sliding deeper, going harder.

"you're so. . ah, tight," josh pants, breath ragged in your ear, "keep. . . keep moaning for me."

and you do, body lowering until you're flush against his sheets, cries dripping from your lips over and over. "baby, i-"

"shhh, i know," josh coos, breath hitching, "just c- ah. . . fuck. just cum for me. . ." his tongue hangs from his mouth in concentration, tilting his head down to suck and lick against your neck messily.

the combined sensation of his wet tongue lapping desperately against your neck and fucking you like it's the last time he'll ever see you has you seeing stars. you claw at the sheets, gripping them into bundles in your fists, knuckles turning white. you can't hold on much longer, and neither can he.

you try to hold back, you really do, but suddenly he's whispering into your ear again.

"gonna take- hhhmmf. . . gonna take my cum baby? nice and deep?"

holy fuck it sends you spiralling over the edge, taking him by surprise. you're moaning and writhing, hips rolling backwards in an unsteady rhythm in an attempt to meet his faltering thrusts as you spasm around his hard cock.

his moans pick up, higher pitched, more a whimper than a moan, practically crying into your neck as he feels you clench around him over and over. he tries to speak, but more pathetic little noises roll off his tongue instead, sending you further into your orgasm.

"you- f. . . feel so fucking-. . . ah, ah, fuck!"

and you feel him - his dick twitching inside of you, cum coating your insides as he continues to thrust in a fading rhythm, desperate to fill you, to give you every last drop. you can hardly take it, the sensation bringing your pleasure to a whole new level as you squirm.

those pretty little noises he's making against your neck, they're heavenly. he always sounds so pretty when he cums, a symphony of whimpers and pleadings and gasps. it makes you want to make him cum over. . . and over. . . and over. . .

as his thrusts eventually begin to stall to a halt, he peppers sloppy wet kisses along your neck and shoulders, a silent thank you. his breath comes out in puffs against your skin, pressing his forehead to your back as he reluctantly pulls himself out of you with a hiss, eliciting a short whine from you.

josh sits up, trailing fingers through his now damp hair, his messy curls falling gently onto his forehead. he admires you below him, shoulders rising and falling with each breath you take. he traces his fingers along your spine, a soft, loving smile falling upon his lips.

you open your eyes, finding his as you turn over onto your back, placing your hands on his plush thighs on top of you. "well . . ." you begin to say.

"did i do good?" he perks up, smiling as he leans down, inches from your lips. his eyes sparkle, seeking praise as his eyes dance across your features.

you can't help but let a soft chuckle escape you, "so good, better than good."

he mirrors your chuckle, inching forward to capture your lips in a deep kiss as he giggles. you wrap your arms around him, relishing the way he desperately steals the kiss from you after you cum, every time you have sex.

"so. . ." he mumbles in between kisses, a smirk evident in his voice, "the. . . best?"

if your eyes were open, he'd see you roll them, "yes," you smirk, "the best."

josh basks in silent victory and you can feel the way his smirk widens through the kiss.

pulling back, you speak up, "but if you ever make me say 'please' to cum again, i'll kill you," you smirk, a joking tone.

his eyes lock with yours, a cheeky grin on his lips. "as if you didn't love it. . ."

"fuck you," you grin back.

josh can't help but laugh, raising an eyebrow, ". . . again?"

you pause, "this time, i'm on top."

his eyes widen, practically twinkling. he nods so hard and so fast that you worry he might hurt his neck. "yes." josh replies quickly, "please."

fuck, how was he so fucking cute? even better too, that he looks even cuter when you fuck his brains out while on top.

"roll over then." you command.

he salutes you and rolls over onto his back obediently, "aye-aye captain."

what a fucking dork. you love him so much.

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

‧₊˚ dedicated tags: @helen-on-earth @fatinhadesiners06 @boonam @sun-spider13 @laurrrelise @sammygirlism @sleepyhutcherson‧₊˚ ily all sm!! thank you!

.・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・. .・。.・゜✭・.

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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Me, reading more and more smut the further we get into the story: I’m studying. I’m improving my craft. It’s for the people. Chapter Title from Coming Down by Halsey

Word Count: 23k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have a revelation. Nasty fucking smut. Just so much smut. And usual warnings.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

This was bad. This was really, really bad.

You loved him.

You loved Ben.

You totally, completely, wrathfully and comfortably loved Ben.

That’s what this was. This eternal feeling of need and want and safety. Love. For Ben. Infinite and indestructible love. No way around or over or under it. No way to talk or twist yourself out of it. You loved Ben. With every bloody and broken part of you, you loved Ben. You burned because Ben was there. He didn’t even have to burn with you, because that’s how strong your love was. You would burn for him, and it would be an inferno that carried you both. He would burn with you though, because he was an idiot. Your idiot. Your idiot, because you loved him.

It had pushed so close to the surface, when Violet had almost said it for you. That you only silently communicated with people you loved. But you’d rationalized. You’d been doing that with Ben for months now. Love had nothing to do with it. You just understood each other. That was all it was. Not love. Just the implicit knowledge that Ben had you. Got you.

Then he’d held you again. He’d moved you and danced with you, still touching you so gently. He had been everything around you, the song, and the rhythm, and his chest rising and falling as your head had pressed into it. And it was all so painfully obvious that it was love. You loved Ben.

You loved his stupid face. His stupid, handsome, stoic face that starred in your dreams. It was a little mean, actually, that he was so attractive. That his jaw was sharp and his lips were full and his eyes were pretty and green and boundless. It would be unfathomably easy to just get lost into his eyes forever. So easy it was downright cruel. Nobody should be allowed to have eyes like that. To look like that. But Ben did. When he slept his face would grow slack and peaceful as his lips parted and his hair fell across his face, and you’d always need to brush it away so it didn’t have a chance to wake him. When he was focused his brows would knit and his eyes would grow intent, and you’d always need to be the thing he was watching and picking apart. When he scowled at stupid things his nose scrunched slightly and all the lines on his face deepened, and you’d always need to run a hand over them until he smiled again. Because Ben’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen. It was so rare, because he’d wink and smirk and grin all the time—and it would always make you want him more—but his smile was rare. The wide, toothy, carefree smile that made his whole stupid face happy and brighter than any star. And when he laughed with his smile, he might as well have just shot you. It would make your heart stop, ruin and implode your world, and spill your heart out of your chest faster.

Nobody’s laugh had ever sounded as powerful and consuming as Ben’s. He made a lot of sounds that drove you insane—grunts and moans and snorts and low growls that always moved through you—but his laugh, his real, full laugh, was like a song. Full and deep and loud, filled with genuine amusement and digging into your brain. It moved mountains, it parted oceans, it made you warm and happy and love him so much more. Impossibly more. Because it meant he was happy, and he was the most handsome, idiotic, amazing person in history when he was happy. And it made your whole world solid and clear to feel his joy, made you feel just a little more real yourself when it was you making him happy. When he laughed at your joke or completed a task you’d set for him or you did something for him. Just for him. To make him happy. You’d do anything to make him happy. If he was happy he might stay with you, so you’d do anything. There were frighteningly few lines you wouldn’t cross for him. You’d be more worried about it if you didn’t trust him so completely. If you weren’t full of so much faith that Ben wouldn’t throw you across those lines, or even bring you anywhere near them. You wouldn’t love him if you thought he would. He might not love you, but he understood you, and understood what things you’d never do. And you’d make that enough. You make him staying with you and caring for you and keeping you safe worth his time. You’d keep holding his head and healing his PTSD, even when he bitched and moaned about not needing it. Because he was noticeably less paranoid, more often at ease. He didn’t have as many nightmares anymore, you didn’t feel the drums pound inside him when someone said Russia or sleep. It was the very least you could do for him, when he chased away your nightmares just by existing in your orbit. By surrounding you with his body and smell and making you fly out of your mind with desire, chasing away every shadow in the night and stifling every hateful part of you.

He was everywhere around you. Everywhere you looked was just Ben. Everywhere you looked would always be Ben. That was one of the more detrimental parts of living with him, was that every corner of your home was Ben. The fridge was full of strawberry cream cheese and the freezer had three pints of malt vanilla because he’d tear through one in a day. There were apples instead of oranges on the counter because oranges were a goddamn disgusting ass of a fruit. The carpet in your bedroom was there because Ben asked for it, and the bathroom had a razor because Ben needed to shave. His shield rested at your bedroom door, and there was a page bookmarked in your cookbook for pancakes. His clothes were mixed in with yours, so even when you wore one of your shirts they smelled like him, and when you showered you had to stare at his half-used shampoo that was evidence. Evidence Ben existed here, with you.

He was woven all through the world as well. You saw Ben everywhere in the world. You’d look at the map of the United States hanging in the dining hall and frown at Florida. You’d eat lunch with Annie, and she’d serve you strawberries and your whole body would start to search for him. You’d glance out a window and see the sky and a voice in the back of your head would go Blue. Pussy fucking color. You’d never be able to go outside again. Because you’d look at the grass and the trees and the bushes and only think Ben. Ben’s eyes are green like that. You’d never be able to do a lot of things again, especially if you lost him. Nobody would be allowed to address you, because it would just make you think that Ben had said your name better. The sun would have to stop shining because sunshine wouldn’t be allowed to exist anymore, and everyone would have to stop swearing because nobody would do it as well as he did. And nobody would touch you again. They wouldn’t do it like Ben did it. They wouldn’t wreck you just with hands on skin or names hummed into mouths. If someone held you, it wouldn’t be like you were holy. They wouldn’t be everything.

It wasn’t healthy. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t healthy. But you didn’t care. Healthy was a privilege. Healthy was for people who budgeted out their months and worked semi-stable jobs and had been born half-sane. Healthy was for people you could get their heart broken and have enough of themselves left to heal it. Healthy was for people who had a heart that was capable of remolding to fit in place with a new, different one after the heartbreak was over. Your heart was for Ben. It didn’t fit anywhere else. It could either be in your chest, or in his hands. It wouldn’t survive anywhere else. You’d survive without Ben. If you lost him, the world would keep spinning and your heart would keep beating and you’d heal after a very, very long and lonely time. But that would be it. It would just be you. No one else. If Ben left you’d let him and mourn it for the rest of your life, alone. If he went back to sleep, you’d burn everything to wake him up, and not just because you’d promised. Because you wanted him awake and happy and holding you. You wanted him. You needed him. You loved him.

And now you have to live with that. You’d have to learn how to love Ben like this. In this way that sat in your brain and made everything clear as your whole body was wrapped in some kind of cocoon, some sort of shield that kept you warm and alive because you loved Ben. You have to learn how to love him in this infinite way and never let it show.

You’ll keep going like you have been. Because you’ve loved him for a long time, if you think for just a second about it. You don’t know when it began, and you’re a little afraid to search for the exact moment where it became something of no return. The turning point, the moment that made your thoughts and feelings about Ben change from understanding and friendship into love. Horrible and loud and glorious love. Because it feels a lot less recent than it probably should be. It doesn’t feel like something that happened last week, or two weeks ago, or even a month. If you concentrate and comb through the past maybe you’d find when this became love, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it feels old. It feels like it’s something ancient that was dormant and now will never stop raging inside you. Just because you’re aware of it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t strong and fixed like this before.

So you’ll love him like you have been. Because you have been. Nothing needs to change because you have been loving him in secret for a while, it’s only just no longer a secret from you as well.

The only difference is now that chorus of Ben that runs through your brain all the time is followed by I love you. You wake up the morning after Violet’s visit, with Ben’s body heavy and secure over yours—his head pressed into your neck and his snores reverberating through your bones—and your mind goes Ben. Ben, I love you. You lay there for a while, waiting for him to wake up because you could. You had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the man you loved, letting his hands drift in sleep to the hem of your shirt and his legs tangle thoughtlessly in yours. To let your brain go Ben, I love you over and over until he made that small grunt that always preceded his waking.

Ben’s eyes open slowly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes, and even those are pretty. You’d never stood a chance.

“Mornin,” he grumbles, and you smile at him.

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Already, acting normal is not going well.

“Benjamin?” He drawls, smirking up at you. “The fuck did I do to earn a Benjamin this early in the day?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, pushing your knee up into his gut. “It’s your name. Am I not allowed to call you your name?”

“Not when I’ve barely opened my damn eyes.” Trying to knee him was fully ineffective, because he's completely unaffected and now your calf is brushing against his half-hard cock. And he’s still looking at you. “You only call me that when I’ve pissed you off. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Ben, I love you. “You’re doing something, right now. But I was just saying your name.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Then say it again.”

“What?”

Ben grins, shifting up on his arms and hanging over you. His face only a slight movement from yours. “Say my name again. My full name.”

“Why-“

“Because I want to hear it when you’re not mad at me for some shit reason.” His breath is moving from his mouth into yours. “Say it.”

You swallow, his lust sitting somewhere with your own in your chest and throat, but still manage to say, “Ask nicely.”

“Brat.”

“I’ll never say your name again-“

He kisses you, sloppy with his tongue falling into your mouth and his hand coming up to cup your face. He’s groaning your name, and his voice is so deep and he smells like pine and his body is warm and he tastes like mint-

You push up on his chest, gaping at him slightly. “Did you fucking brush your teeth?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“No, you brushed your teeth!” You grin at him, feeling the closest thing you’ve ever felt to embarrassment course through him. It’s sore and hot, crawling along his skin as he avoids your gaze. “I can taste it, Benjamin, so don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I wasn’t goddamn going to lie to you.”

“Because you’re not a pussy.”

“Because I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“But you brushed your teeth?”

Ben’s still glaring at you, but there’s nothing cold or sharp behind his eyes, or in his body. You can feel more of a sour annoyance, like he’s mad he got caught. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You whack his chest lightly. “Are you just not going to admit it? Or am I going to have to get up and check your toothbru-“

You choke on your words as Ben drops back to your neck, sucking a line up your jaw.

“Ben-“

“I fucking brushed my teeth,” he growls into your ear, and somehow it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you happy now?”

You want to say yes, or very, or Ben, I love you, but all you can manage is a strained, desperate sound that’s half-sigh and half-moan.

“Good. Now say my name and I’ll-“

You’re moving so fast to grab Ben’s face and pull him back against yours that whatever he was about to promise you is lost in a groan down your throat. You don’t care, because it can’t be better than this. It can't be better than Ben over you, his hand kneading the skin at your hip and his teeth making your lips swell. It can’t be better than the heat of him around you, the power of his hunger in you.

It’s so easy to moan, “Benjamin-“

He’s gone, hauling himself off of you in a second, so fast you can’t grab his arm and yank him back down.

“You asshole-“

“If you had let me finish my fucking sentence,” Ben grins down what’s meant to be your murderous glare but—based purely on his amused expression and teasing tone—is more likely a pout. “You’d have heard the part where I’m making you breakfast now.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you grumble. “Get your ass back down here.”

Ben hums. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“There she is,” he leans down, pulling you up just enough that he can kiss the top of your head. “That’s how you always fucking say it.”

Before he can draw back up again, you grab his wrist with one hand, pushing your jaw up into the air to try and move his mouth to yours. He lets you, kissing you far too sweetly for the thirst to be overflowing like this, for the ache between your legs to be growing painful.

When Ben moves away once more, he presses another kiss to your forehead and all your thoughts become clear. It’s only Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Pancakes?” He mumbles against your skin, and you nod.

“Of course I want pancakes, but you-“ His mouth is gone again, hands still holding your face as he draws to his full height. “Ben-“

“I’m going to pick you up.” He says firmly, watching you carefully. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move. Towering over you, waiting for you to prompt him. You nod, and the rough feeling in his chest pulses slightly as his arms drop under your knees, pulling you up into him.

“I hate you.” Your tone, quiet and gentle, isn’t convincing. Your movement isn’t convincing, arms wrapping around Ben’s neck and body leaning into his hold.

He chuckles, “No, you don’t.”

And you don’t. You love him. But you still glare at him, and revere in the complete concrete safety of Ben touching you. The strength of his body, the power of his resolve coursing through your bloodstream. The way you barely jostle against him when he walks down the stairs, how carefully he sets you down. How—once the coffee is brewed—he pours your mug first and places it in front of you. Shooting you a sharp glare when you start and stand up to help him.

“Get your fucking ass back in the chair, Sunshine,” he snaps. “I can cook my goddamn self.”

“I know,” you walk over to his side, holding his glower with an overly sweet smile. “But I want to cook with you.”

He’s still frowning, looking you up and down. “Why.”

“It’s fun,” you shrug. Ben, I love you. “You get mad at some really stupid shit. I’ve never seen someone snap a bowl in half before, I didn’t know you could snap a bowl in half.”

“It was broken already,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t fucking mixing the batter.”

“That’s not how bowls work, and you know it.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get the milk or sit the hell back down.”

You smile at him, wide and light, and start to turn to the fridge. You don’t even take a step before Ben’s hand catches the top of your arm and spins you around, his lips crashing into yours in a long, needy, marked kiss. Walking you back into the kitchen counter, going and going until you’re breathless and moaning his name.

He smirks against your lips, sucking slowly on your top lip before moving away. Staring at you with the lust shining in his eyes. The lust and another, louder, fiery thing that’s roaring somewhere near his lungs. He says your name, voice hoarse, and you think it might kill you. “You’re a real fucking pain in my ass.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can really tell how hard all this is on you.”

He groans, because your words were carefully chosen. “Fucking hell-”

“Is there a problem, Pretty Boy?” You smile at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He kisses just the tip of your nose, and your whole body sings. “Get the milk.”

“Cunt,” you mutter under your breath as he walks away, and his laugh echoes through you. Ben, I love you.

This will work. You’ll love him like this. Keeping your lines set in stone rather than sand, because as much as you need him to walk back over to you—to pick you up again and just fuck you—you can’t. Knowing you love him made it easier to not chase after him, easier to stop yourself from giving him everything as you were now certain he couldn’t return it. But it made you want everything so much more. So you had to keep your head on your shoulders, and let him call you beautiful and kiss him until he was hard and you were wet, and never let it go further. You can love him like this. And it will be fine.

You master it, over the next three days. You get in stupid fights about nothing—Ben uses an abominable amount of toothpaste per brushing for someone who probably hasn’t done any sort of dental care in almost a century—and they either end with you winning, Ben’s tongue down your throat, or some combination of the two. And your brain always goes Ben, I love you, and you turn it into a whack of his arm or a wordless moan into his mouth or against his skin. You snark at him, and he chuckles and teases you, and instead of climbing on top of him and grabbing his face in your hands and screaming Ben, I love you, you make him laugh. You savor the sound as it fills the apartment, and squeeze your thighs together because everything this insufferable ass of a man does turns you on. It was a problem before, and now it might be starting to actively hinder your life. You’re training with him—Ben has insisted you learn how to coordinate fire in with your combat so you don’t rely wholly on your power, saying any supe worth their goddamn salt can do more than just party tricks, Sunshine—and your task is to knock him down.

It’s not going well.

“You did this better when you hated me,” Ben taunts, side-stepping you again.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs. “Maybe I will, once you’ve earned it.”

You scowl, lunging at him again. This time, when Ben doges, he moves right into the column of flame you’d risen in his path.

“Fucking Christ-“ He jumps away, shooting you a glare and snapping your name.

You don’t let him keep going, rushing another wall of flame at him. You’d learned to control the temperature—hot enough for Ben to feel, not hot enough for it to burn—and he takes a stumbling step back.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he’s grinning now, fists up. “Keep it coming, at this rate you’ll get me down by April.”

You flip him off, wrapping your hand in fire and throwing a punch right at his stupid, handsome face. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you Pretty Boy.”

He fakes left, the fire shooting up to block him in the wrong spot when he ducks right, under your arm. You recover fast, but Ben’s already grabbing you by the hook of your elbow, pinning you against his chest.

“Those are some big words,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as his arm snakes around your waist. “For someone who can’t even land one damn punch.”

You angle your head back and kiss him. Rough, sudden, and harsh. It catches him off guard, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn and jump up. He catches you as your legs wrap around him—you knew he would—and growls into your mouth as your hands pull at his hair. You keep going, Ben matching every bite of his lips with a bite of yours. Every groan you pull from him makes him harder and harder against you, makes his hold on you like steel and his hunger start to burn in your body. You lean your chest forward slightly—still holding his mouth against yours—and he moans. Ben moans, and your whole plan almost goes entirely out the window. The only thing that keeps you on track is the fact that if you don’t move now he’ll moan again and not a thing in the universe could stop you from fucking him.

You shove down on Ben’s shoulders, your whole body going up in flames. It does the trick, and Ben loses his balance just enough for you to push harder. Make him drop down to the floor as you straddle his chest, grinning triumphantly at his adorable, befuddled frown.

“I win.”

The disbelief and shock dies in Ben fast, and suddenly the hunger is bigger. Everything in him is bigger. Hunger and affection and a strange feeling that makes you light-headed and giddy.

“Dirty fucking trick, beautiful.” He says, smiling widely up at you as his hands find your hips. “Don’t think that’ll work on the average opponent.”

“Worked on you,” you say smugly, and the feelings somehow grow in him. In you. It makes you blink, your whole body consumed by it, and you don’t see or feel Ben grab your wrists until it’s too late and he’s flipping you over.

He’s above you, he’s everything, and nothing in you wants to try and get him away. You’d won already, and even if you hadn’t you can’t think of a way out of this. Not when his face is so happy, not when you can feel all of him. His body and his desire and his care.

“Fucking brat,” he mutters, mouth lowering just over yours. “Too smart for your own damn good.”

“You love it,” you mumble. I love you.

Ben snorts, and your whole world is just that sound. Content and moving through and around you. Just Ben, kissing you until your back is arching off the floor. Picking you up and dropping you both on the couch, going and going until you’re both out of breath. Then just touching you. Thumbs tracing circles on your skin, head resting against yours, all just Ben.

You look up at him, and he’s watching you. He’s always watching you. You don’t ever want him to look away. You move your hands up into his hair, palms pressed against his head, and his brows raise.

“I feel goddamn fine,” he drawls your name. “You don’t have to keep fucking doing this.”

“You had a nightmare last night,” you glare at him. “I decide when I stop doing this.”

Ben scowls, but doesn’t move your hands away. Sulking as your grip tightens and you set to work. You’re grateful for it, because his nightmare had scared you. It had been the first in a while, and while he hadn’t fallen into the drums and exploded, the pain he’d felt was still sitting in your bones. The strained sounds of suffering and fear that he’d made were rattling around in your head. It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. Ben wasn’t made to make those sounds. So you’d keep doing this until he never had to make them again. It wasn’t hurting you at all anyway, you felt fine. Were shadows a little darker in corners and sounds a little louder at night? Maybe, but you were fine. And this wasn’t about you. It was about Ben.

It was about how soft his hair was in your hands, and how handsome his face looked when it was relaxed. It was about making him keep looking at you. All the time.

“We have dinner in an hour,” you say after a while, mostly to try and drown out the song in your head of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“I know,” he grunts. “It’s the same time every fucking night.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut up.”

“What, not looking forward to Butcher’s nightly interrogations about if we’re fucking yet?”

Ben smirks at you. “You’d think he’d realize that the moment we start fucking we’d stop coming to dinner.”

“We’d still go to dinner-“

“You wouldn’t leave the bed for a week,” his voice is low, taunting, and your nails start digging into his scalp. “Longer if you wanted.”

Ben, I love you. “Someone’s real cocky.”

“And one day,” he winks. “You’ll find out why.”

You snort, even as your whole body starts to feel like putty. “Okay, Pretty Boy.”

“Are you fucking doubting me?”

“No,” you scoff. “Before we met, about 85% of the things I heard about you were that you were an asshole manwhore. I don’t think I ever doubted that you could fuck.”

“An asshole manwhore?” Ben scowls. “Who called me an asshole manwhore?”

“I think that asshole manwhore was Butcher.”

Ben grunts, “fucking pussy.”

“If it helps,” Ben, I love you. “You are an asshole manwhore. But you’re also the most aggressively caring person I’ve met.”

“Aggressively caring?”

“You give a shit about me. More than anyone ever really has. In a very violent, mean, asshole manwhore way.” Ben, I love you. “But it, it means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” Ben grumbles. “And of course I give a shit about you. It’s not like you don’t give a shit about me.”

“Yeah but that’s not my point-”

“Sunshine, just take the fucking compliment.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Asshole.”

Ben winks, still watching you. So full of lust you might pass out from it. “You need to shower.”

“You need to shower.” You mutter, and he grins.

“We could do it together-“

“Fuck off,” you mutter, face heating and eyes moving to stare at his forehead. Looking at him right now—with his face alight and the hunger and want painting his every feature—would be counterproductive. “Once I’m done with this you’re showering, without me, and then we’re going to dinner.”

“You’re going first.”

“Ben-“

“I take longer showers than you,” his tone is firm, and you can feel his eyes on you. “So your options are going first and having warm water, or going second and freezing your beautiful fucking face off.”

“But-“

“You could always just shower with me,” he continues, and your eyes drop back to his against your will. They’re bright, and so green, and boring right through you in a way that makes you think he can see your thoughts. See the way your whole mind is just going Ben. I love you. “Eliminate the damn problem altogether.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, and Ben chuckles, pulling your hands down from his head.

“Then you should get a fucking move on,” he says your name, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t want to be late to our stupid dinner, do we?”

“Cunt.”

He kisses your knuckles, and your whole brain is Ben. “Brat.”

You shoot him one last glare as you stand, and try not to let your whole body feel cold without him as you climb up the stairs. You turn the shower handle so steam fills the room and the water is scalding. It doesn’t hurt, heat never hurts anymore, but the sensation still exists. You know it’s hot, you know it burns and would’ve hurt before, but now it just feels good. It would’ve, once, been used to wipe your head clear of him, used to chase the thoughts of Ben away into the water and down the drain at your feet. But now it just amplifies them. You don’t know how long you can keep this up, when everything Ben does is like a river that sweeps you up into him, that’s started to smooth rules you’d carved into stone about not going everywhere with him. It’s only been three days. Three long days of knowing you love him. How you managed this before you knew is a mystery, how you didn’t know for so long is even more baffling. Maybe it’s because you didn’t understand that love could feel like this. You’d been in love before, sure. And it had swept you away and made you smile, but it had never been a part of you. It had never been something that felt bigger than you, something that was only building and building by the second. You’d only fallen in love after sex, after months of casual dating and messing around until it grew deeper. You think you might have loved Ben before he even kissed you. You think you might love Ben until the universe is wiped away in fire.

You think the fire might be yours. You think what might destroy the universe is this love for Ben, pouring out of you until it’s everywhere and still only a fraction of what he is.

And it’s only been three days.

You’d had forty-five minutes when you’d entered the shower. Wallowing in the fog and warmth of the water might’ve taken up five. Ben took half-hour showers, but you could cut it down to twenty-five if you really got on his ass about it.

Ten minutes was more than enough to get yourself off.

The good thing about the rain showers was that they were relaxing. The bad thing was that there was no removable shower head to work with, but you could improvise. You lean back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the floor as you arch your hips, angling them so that the water falls right between your thighs. You move your fingers down slowly, and part the lips of your pussy so that your clit is exposed to the air and the stream of the shower lands steadily against it. The effect is immediate, your whole body seizing for a fraction of a second at the sensitivity before you adjust, completely relaxing against the wall. All your thoughts are wrapped in the steam, wrapped in the sensation of the heavy beat of falling water on your clit, and you don’t even try to stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

Ben. If you were a little weaker—or stronger—it could be him doing this. He could be holding you up against his muscled chest instead of you leaning against tile, it could be his rough hand squeezing your breasts instead of your own, and he could be devouring your high, needy sounds into his body. Holding your chin up so he can lean over you and kiss you until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Wrapping his arm over your hips to keep them from bucking as his hand dives between your legs. Rubbing large, strong fingers over your clit in a fast, mind-numbing pace and rhythm. Head lowering so he’s sucking on your neck as he moves down, down, down and plunges inside you, palm still bumping your nerves as he moves in and out at a brutal pace. Going and going until you’re screaming his name, muttering filth and praise against your skin, bringing your over the edge-

Your legs almost give out when you cum, and as your wits return you realize your own fingers have stilled inside you, and your throat is aching. You were screaming his name.

Any hopes that he might not have heard are dashed when you exit the bathroom and Ben’s sitting on the bed, smirking at you.

“Have fun?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, walking around the bed to where your phone is plugged in.

“There better still be hot water-“

“If there’s not,” you glare at him. “Then maybe you won’t take a year to shower. For once.”

He winks. “You’re real mouthy for having just been screaming my name, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.”

“I could’ve. If you’d let me in the damn shower.”

“Well I didn’t,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So haul ass.”

He leans across the bed, grabbing your forearm and yanking you down with a yelp. You land right in his lap, and the lust in him is so strong that, combined with how your whole body is still alight from your orgasm, you don’t even think to squirm away as he kisses you until you’re grinding against his thigh.

“This fucking needy already?” He hums, nipping at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll have to make it two damn weeks.”

I love you. “Benjamin, you dick-“

He chuckles, gently rolling you off his body. “The moment you say the word, my dick is all yours.” Ben smirks at your slack expression, kissing your cheek before growling in your ear. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.”

When he stands and walks into the bathroom, leaving you panting slightly on the bed, you realize this is going to kill you. It’s only been three days, and this love for Ben is going to kill you.

How some people do this for years will never cease to amaze you.

Nobody’s caught on yet. Tonight, just like the past three nights, dinner will be weird, but normal weird. The biggest thing that changed was two nights ago, when Ben called Annie Annie instead of Starlight for the first time. The reaction had been similar to the switch from Cocksucker to Hughie, with everyone starting slightly in their seats before rushing to continue the conversation and gloss over the change. You’d asked him, later that night when you’d returned to your room, what had done it.

“Done what?” He’d grumbled.

“Don’t play stupid, Ben-“

“I don’t know what you’re fucking taking about.”

“Yes, you do.” You’d narrowed your eyes at him. “What made Annie earn name privileges?”

He’d glared at you, but grunted, “She’s not being a damn bitch anymore. Finally got off her fucking high horse.”

You’d nodded and dropped it, but didn’t miss the way he didn’t glare at Annie when she talked to you anymore. Now, as you walked into the dining hall with his arm hanging over your shoulders, he even gave her a curt nod when she smiled at you, and no rush of angered protectiveness surged through him.

Annie had asked you, the day after Violet left, how the meeting had gone. You’d been standing downstairs at the doorway, and Ben had been upstairs, but there was no way he hadn’t heard. Annie’s voice had been slightly hushed, and the door had been closed, but Ben had the ears of a moth. You’d told him that once and he’d shaken his heard, grumbling about you being a too fucking hot for a walking encyclopedia. But he did. He heard everything. There was no way he hadn’t heard Annie.

And he’d called her Annie that same night.

When you drop across from Annie and Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko are nowhere to be seen—despite a jacket you recognize to be Frenchie’s tossed on one of the seats—and MM and Butcher are shuffling over from the kitchen doors.

“Where’s-“

“Kimiko’s making Frenchie listen to some songs she just found on Spotify.” Annie smiles at you with a shrug, and you smile back. “It’s a lot of J-Pop and showtunes.”

“If it’s Kimiko showing them to Frenchie, he’ll love them.” You lean slightly across the table, Ben sitting silently at your side with hand resting on your lower back. “What’s on the menu?”

“I dunno, we just got here.” Hughie cranes his neck to look at Butcher and MM. “Hey guys-“

“Pizza.” MM sits next to Hughie, angling his plate for display. “They got Hawaiian, pepperoni, cheese, and broccoli.”

You nod, starting to rise from your seat, but Ben pulls your wrist slightly. “I’ll get it.”

“Okay, can you get-“

“I know what you fucking want.” He mutters, and you blink at him.

“Really?”

“We have pizza every damn Friday,” Ben shrugs, standing. “You always chose the same thing.”

He stalks past Butcher, still standing with a scowl at the head of the table, and pushes roughly through the doors.

“He’s, uh, he’s right.” Hughie’s staring after Ben, a small frown on his face. “They do give us pizza every Friday.”

“Like we’re fuckin babies,” Butcher’s holding his plate with white knuckles, glowering the two remaining seats. Next to Annie, and next to you.

“Babies don’t eat fuckin pizza, Butcher.” MM mutters. “It’s bad for their guts, and they can’t chew it.”

“It’s more like we’re teenagers,” you nod. “My high school cafeteria definitely had pizza Fridays.”

Annie hums. “Actually, mine did too.”

“That makes three,” Hughie takes a large bite of his pizza, a little cheese hanging out his mouth, and you all look expectantly at MM.

He sighs. “Mine did as well.”

“Well ain’t that just bloody fantastic for all you.”

“Butcher,” Annie sighs. “Just eat your pizza or go sit alone.”

This happens every night. Butcher stands at the table, making jeering comments until someone—usually Annie or MM—tells him to sit and eat, with them or by himself. He always sits down, usually next to Hughie or MM, sometimes next to Frenchie, once next to a very stiff bodied Ben and once next to a wide-eyed Kimiko. Never next to Annie. Never next to you.

You think tonight will be the first night he sits alone, right up until he’s marching around the table and sitting down at your side so aggressively it shakes the bench. The shocked silence only lasts a second before Hughie jumps frantically into a conversation about some movie he and Annie watched last night at MM’s suggestion, you and Butcher both refusing to look at each other.

The kitchen doors swing back open, Ben reappearing with two plates in hand. His eyes narrow when he sees Butcher at your side, a scowl overtaking his face. The fuck is he doing?

Sitting, apparently. Your shrug is so small that anyone except Ben wouldn’t have caught it. Don’t say anything about it. I think he’s like a reverse Tinkerbell.

Ben raises his eyebrows. The fuck does that mean.

If you give him attention, he dies.

Snorting, Ben sits back at your side, and you grin at him as he slides your plate in front of you before dropping his hand to your thigh. Letting it rest there as you glance at his serving—five slices of pepperoni—and then yours. He’d gotten it right, and you blink up at him.

He frowns. What?

Ben, I love you, is what you want to tell him. You even know what that face would look like. A full smile, all teeth and joy, with your eyes shining with all your love for him as you just look at him.

But you only give him a smaller smile, still happy, but not everything. Thank you.

Don’t. He squeezes your thigh, rolling his eyes. Never fucking thank me.

You wish Ben would let you thank him, but a small part of you knows it’s a mercy he doesn’t know he’s giving you. You’d never stop thanking him if he didn’t get all grumpy when you did. You’d thank him for every stupid, handsome smile and every brush of his skin against yours and every teasing jab that meets and spars with yours. You’d thank him for holding you under the table for the whole dinner, Butcher eating at your side without a word. You’d thank him for leaning back slightly when Kimiko sits at Annie’s side so you can talking to her in sign about the music she’d been showing Frenchie. You’d thank him for staying silent and grounding when Butcher launches into a briefing, despite everyone’s glares.

“Grace says Edgar’s almost ready,” he’s looking around, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they’re listening. “We got a plan for when he makes good.”

“A plan?” Annie frowns. “Can you be more specific-“

“No.”

You’d thank Ben for rolling his eyes at you. Fucking pussy probably doesn’t even have a fucking plan.

I’m sure we can improvise. You shrug, and he scowls.

You always have to improvise. If they want you to keep fucking improvising for them, they better start paying us both what we damn deserve.

You raise your brows at him. We? When have you ever improvised for them?

This whole plan was my goddamn idea.

That’s a plan. It’s the exact opposite of improvisation.

Brat, Ben grins at you. We’re a package fucking deal. They want your services, they pay us both.

You wrinkle your nose at him. I did not agree to that.

I go where you go, beautiful. Ben winks.

You’d thank him for the flush of your face, and the smile you have to physically fight off your face.

You’d thank him for clearing both your plates when Butcher’s doing the same so you don’t have to be alone with Butcher beside you, and you’d thank him for bringing you back a fistful of chocolate when he returns from the kitchen with his own full pint of ice cream. You’d thank him for holding your hand all the way back to your apartment, and up the stairs, and into bed. You’d thank him for kissing you until you’re scraping at his back, and for doing that annoying thing where he tells you you’re tired and you suddenly are.

You’d thank him for staying—at your side—every day, every time you so much as saw him. You’d thank him for humming terribly as you drift off to sleep, you’d thank him for the way his heart pounds softly against his chest until the world is dark and peaceful.

The world had taken a turn. You’d been somewhere that was full of sunlight and life, Ben holding you against him, and suddenly it was dark. So dark you couldn’t see your own hands. Your body is lit in flames and it’s somehow still so very dark. And cold. There’s wind and it’s freezing your skin and guts, even as you burn. You call for Ben, your voice turning from nervous shouts of his name into screams. Loud, panicked screams for Ben to find you, to shout back and tell you he’s there, that he’s okay, that he’s searching for you as well.

There’s only silence, your name swallowed in a vacuum of the cold darkness. And it’s silent and cold for so long. So very long where you’re burning and can’t find Ben. He’s in danger, you know, you can feel it. Something’s keeping him from you, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t be roaring for you to return to him. And he’s in pain. You’re certain he’s in pain. Ben is in pain, somewhere in the dark, because you can feel something ripping you open and flaying you alive and drowning you. Something is drowning you. Something is drowning Ben. And it’s all you can feel, for a long, long time, until a voice sounds through the world, screeching in your ears.

Run.

You’re gone. You’re sprinting through nothing and it’s like falling. There’s no end, and it’s so fast, and where’s Ben. You have to go faster, you have to find him. You have to crash into whatever that’s doing this, causing this pain, and destroy it. You have to find it, you have to find him, and you can hear something. Breaking through the fire around you and your own screams for Ben, there’s something running at you. Behind you. Faster than you, gaining pace, a cruel cackling sound that’s becoming louder and louder.

There’s a light. Far away there’s a warm light that’s growing and growing with drums. Loud, heavy, bloody drums. It’s Ben, chest alight as the drums become all you can hear. He’s facing you, and the danger behind you is closer, closer, closer as Ben grows brighter, brighter, brighter.

The danger tears past you. It’s not going for you anymore. It’s headed for Ben. Faster, and the drums aren’t loud enough, and there’s a fraction of a second where you could’ve held it back. Where it ripped through the space between you and Ben and you could’ve struck it down. You could’ve redrawn its attention to you.

But Ben is doing what you should’ve done. His eyes lock with yours, right as the danger hits him. And suddenly there’s nothing, not pain or danger or drums or any sign that Ben was ever there. Just cold nothing.

The world floods with light.

Fluorescent, blinding, painful light. Everything smells like hand sanitizer and the air is too clean. Artificial.

When you can see again, everything in you dies.

You’re back. You’d swore you’d never to go back. To this white room with the too bright lights and everything deep cleaned so there’s no proof. No proof you exist. You’re just another decoration in this horrible, horrible place.

It’s changed though. There’s no longer a steel door with a small slat that meals were once pushed through. There’s nothing. Not even glass. You could just walk out, right into the lab.

The white room and the lab had been different though. You’d never existed in both at the same time. And this lab isn’t the same as yours. At the surface level, it’s an identical copy with bleached floors and a lot of tools that make your blood run cold. But the vials are all full of nothing. Just air. There’s a large one, connected to an IV that doesn’t run into a body, but a tube.

A large, metal tube. More like a box. With a single clear panel that’s just too high for you to look into. You don’t need to though. When the box shakes slightly, something in you pulses and thrashes against your chest and you know. When the box is still, and the thing dies out a fraction of a heartbeat, you know.

Ben is there. Asleep in the box. And you’re burning everything to try to get him out, but the box isn’t even shaking again. It’s still and silent as you scream, and it echoes through the ashes and smoke around you. You’re burning the world and everything between it, but Ben is still asleep. Gone.

You hadn’t been smart enough. You hadn’t been fast enough. You hadn’t done whatever it took, and now Ben was gone. You’d failed him.

You’d failed Ben.

You’re still burning when you wake up. You’re still screaming when you wake up. Your voice is hoarse, your throat feels raw, but you can’t stop screaming. The world is on your back, pushing down on your shoulders and snapping your spine in two. You’d failed him, you’d lost him, and now Ben was gone-

“I’m right fucking here,” the most familiar voice in the world moves through your body, saying your name, but all you can think is Ben. He’s gone.

You’d lost him.

“You didn’t lose me,” it’s the same voice. Low and forceful. “I’m here,” it’s saying your name. You need to listen, because it’s making your name sound important. Like it’s the only thing in the world worth saying. “I’m right fucking here.”

That’s Ben’s voice. As you’re coming down you know it’s Ben voice, because he says fucking like that. You think his voice was built to say fucking, with the spitting sound on the f and the deep growl of the uh. The speed at which he tears through the king.

Ben’s here. You didn’t lose him. He’s here. Suddenly you can feel him all around you, and it’s not just the feeling of his resolve like a shield around you that’s pulling you back down. It’s him. It’s just Ben. It’s the heat of his body, the way he’s holding you with real, strong hands. It’s the sound of his voice, and the rumble of his heart where you think your head is pressed into his ribs. It’s the smell of him. Pine and vanilla and Ben. All Ben. Real, with you, not gone.

Your screams turn into sobs, and your breathing grows faster until you’re lightheaded. Until gentle, calloused hands are on your face, pulling you back from where you’ve buried yourself.

Ben’s face is drawn, focused, and the frown on his face isn’t at you. It’s for you. You can feel the way in which his anger is blowing, and it’s up and around and everywhere until he can find something to turn bloody and beat to a pulp. But for now he’s holding you. Searching your eyes for his answer.

“Fucking breathe,” he says your name again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sob again, hands flying up to keep his on your face. In case this is another lie. In case your mind is truly that hateful and would do this to you again.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” He hisses. “You need to know that, Sunshine. I’m never going anywhere without you.”

Your breathing slows, and the blood pounding in your ears with it. Soon it’s just Ben. You and Ben.

He must read it on your face somewhere—that you’re here, in your mind, without the fear and panic—because he kisses your brow, still holding your face as he speaks. “What happened.”

You shake your head. “Just a nightmare.”

“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since damn Neuman.”

He’s right. You’d had bad dreams, one or two, but not nightmares. No fire had torn through this room before, Ben hadn’t had to bring you back from some sort of ledge on this mattress.

“I don’t know where it came from,” you whisper. “I’m sor-”

“No apologies.” He pulls your face up just a little further. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. “I’m okay.”

Ben grunts, thumb drawing circles on your cheekbones. “Swear it.”

“Promise.” You pause, looking up at him. Ben. Ben, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t fail you. I can’t fail anyone, but if I fail you it’ll destroy me and the world. “Ben?”

He hums your name, and you run your hands from over his to hang off his forearms.

“You trust me?”

“Of course I fucking trust you.”

“Can you promise me something?”

Ben grunts. “What.”

“I don’t know what Butcher and Mallory are planning,” your voice is still choked, and it hurts to speak. But you keep going. You have to keep going. “But if it falls through, I need you to promise that you’ll let me do what I need to do.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Ben’s hold on your face tightens, and you swallow.

“If whatever Butcher and Mallory have-“

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’s irritated. You can hear it in his voice, you can feel it on his fingertips. There’s something else, the bitter thing has wrapped around his throat, combined with something bellowing inside his chest. “What the fucking hell do you mean what you need to do.”

“To finish this,” it’s painful to look at him. It’s painful to see his jaw clenched and mouth frowning when he’d been gone from you, even if it hadn't been real. It’s painful to see the intensity of his gaze when you’re asking this of him. “To do what needs to be done.”

“What needs to be done?” Ben hisses. “If you don’t speak more fucking clearly, I’m not promising you shit. If you’re talking about your god awful plan-“

“I’m not,” you squeeze his arm, and he relaxes slightly. The bitter thing becomes easier to breathe through. “Just, what I need to do.”

“That's not nearly goddamn clear enough.” Ben says your name, and his voice is becoming strained. There’s gruff pain to it, like someone is trying to claw out of his airway. “What will you possibly fucking need to do.”

You can’t answer. Because you don’t know. You don’t know what the plan is, how it could go sideways, what will need to be done. You’re not even certain you know if you’re talking about the mission or not. But you need to be able to do it. Whatever it is that needs to be done, you have to do it. You have to be able to keep Ben here, you have to save Ryan Butcher, you have to kill Homelander, this has to be over. You’re so tired. Whatever needs to be done to just rest, for the world to rest, you need to be able to do. And you can’t let Ben stop you, or hold you back. You can’t let him take all the danger for you, it’s not fair. You love him.

But you can’t say that. So you say, “I don’t know.” No lies. “But I need you to promise me you’ll let me do it.”

“No, I’m not promising that when I don’t fucking know what-“

“That doesn’t matter,” you’re begging now, head shaking frantically between Ben’s hands. You don’t care. He needs to give you this, he needs to understand and promise. “It doesn’t matter what it could mean, Ben. I just, please, I need you to promise, please promise-“

He pulls you forward. Back into his chest until the drum of his heart makes breathing easier again. When he speaks, his voice is everywhere. Around your body and making a home in your brain. “It fucking matters. It always fucking matters. I’m not promising something fucking stupid like that.”

Your hands fist against his shirt, word muffled. “Please. I need, Ben, please.” You’re not crying anymore, you’re trying to climb into him. To keep the safety and everything of Ben around you, even as you push. “I need to help, I need to help, I can’t be useless, I need to help and it needs to matter-“

“Shut up.” Ben has one hand in your hair, one wrapped around your back and resting on your hips. It’s the way he’s holding you so diligently—as if this is his whole purpose, to touch you—and the way his voice and body are wholly devoid of anger, and how it all makes your brain clear to Ben, Ben I love you, that makes you fall silent and let him continue. “You matter. You’re helping more than any other fucking pussy in this damn building. And you are the least useless person I have ever fucking met. So I’m not promising that.”

You pull your head back through sheer force of will, because you need to look at him. Even if it’s painful. “Please.” You could use a favor, you have a few left, but it needs to be Ben that promises. He needs to understand, you need him to mean it. “Please, Ben. I need you-“ a sob wracks your body, and you almost leave the sentence there. You need Ben. You love him. “Promise. Please promise, I need you to promise. Just this,” you tug at his shirt, and your body is smoking. When you pull back his skin is redder, but he hasn’t flinched. Only holding you, only watching you. “Just this one thing. I’ll never ask you for anything again. Please.”

He stiffens. For the most horrid, long moment of your life, you think you’ve shown too much. You think you’ve said the thing you’d promised not to say, found the line you’d been trying to toe so carefully. That keeps him beside you and never wondering why you’re clawing so desperately to do so. You don’t know which part of your pleas were the thing, which part turned your cards around for him to see and which card is going to be the one that makes you lose him-

“Fine.” His words are through gritted teeth, and you can see the tick of his jaw, but he’s nodding once, roughly, and you know you haven’t misheard him. “I promise.”

His voice is so hollow. You’ve never heard Ben’s voice hollow before, and it’s wrong. “Swear it?” You whisper, because you need him to look less like a statue. You need him to move with a chuckle or a frown or an eye roll.

You get a small twitch of his mouth. That’s enough. “Fucking swear it.”

“Thank you,” you breathe. And Ben doesn’t stop or correct you about it. He lets you burrow back into his chest, pulling you up a little farther so he can shift back against the headboard. Your head lies somewhere between his ribs and stomach, arms around his torso, and he just stays there. Real and solid, and you’re no longer sure whose heart is pounding. You just know it’s steady, and that Ben is here.

He holds you until the sun rises, and well after. You don’t want to move, you can’t move, so Ben just holds you. Holds you until you tug at his arm and ask quietly for coffee. Then he kisses the top of your head and hauls you up from between his legs to against his chest.

“I’m going to carry you,” he grunts, and you just curl further into him.

When he sets you down on the couch he kisses the top of your head before walking to the kitchen, and you sink into the cushions. You don’t know how long he’s away—away meaning five feet away, shuffling loudly around the kitchen—but only when he returns to the couch, sinking into the spot by your feet, do you realize how cold you’d grown.

“Thank you,” you mumble as he passes you a mug of coffee.

“Don’t.”

You smile softly, staring at the dark liquid in the cup. “Are we doing fire later or-“

“You are not fucking training today,” Ben snaps, and you look up to find him glaring at you. “Or doing your stupid brain magic.”

“Brain magic?” Your smile feels a little more real, and you’re not going to fight with him about training or healing. You’ve battled with him over more pointless things, but you’re just so tired. So you’ll just tease him, pushing and pulling with him about nothing.

Ben gives you a flat look. “What would you call it, smartass?”

“Healing.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You give a small giggle, and Ben’s whole face is still stoic, still drawn, but there’s less tension along it. “Grumpy old man.”

“I said shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.”

The speed at which Ben sets his own mug on the coffee table and climbs over you is truly remarkable. “You know very well,” his voice is gruff, the weight of his hunger crashing through you. “That I am not a fucking old man.”

“Well,” you hum, grinning widely up at him. “Just in terms of chronology, you are an incredibly old man-“

It’s amazing how good he is at this. How Ben is so easily capable of dragging you up from the worst pits and holes of your own head and throwing you into this thirst. How fast he can make your mind go from spinning and finding every nook and cranny or your life, your self, that is evil and hopeless, to just singing Ben. Ben, I love you. It’s why you don’t fight back when he falls onto you, his arm around your waist pulling you up into him and his mouth destroying your whole body in the most amazing way. He’s only against your own lips for a second, and the moment you open for him, moaning his name, he’s gone. Biting and sucking along your jaw, and your neck, up to your ear to tug it between his teeth, then down to your collarbone. Going until the sounds rising from your throat aren’t Ben or please or fuck, but only incoherent whines. Then he’s back on your mouth, and you give everything back to him. Your hands in his hair, your legs wrapped around him as you grind up, and your tongue running along his lips. Trying to get him as impossibly close as you can without crossing the line.

You say it. You know somewhere in the haze, your brain still slightly hazy from the pain of the night and your will weakened by all of him, you say it. Ben, I love you. It comes out a high, breathy whimper, but you know that’s what it was supposed to be. You know he doesn’t pick up on it, because nothing in him changes. He doesn’t waver or push further, he just goes the same as he had been. Letting you try and devour him as he does the same. So you moan it again—this one from somewhere deeper in your chest—because you’re allowed to say it like this. You’re allowed to say Ben, I love you, when it’s just another plea for him that he can’t understand the power of. Just like how you’re allowed to try and make him part of you when there’s not a chance he will be.

He hisses your name into your mouth when you yank his hair hard enough for his head to move up. His beard scratches along your cheeks and lips, but it’s Ben, so it’s everything. And he lets you drop down to his neck, lower, biting into his shoulder slightly. You don’t break skin, you’re not that strong, but he groans against your ear as your teeth scrape his skin and that’s enough. It’s more than enough—it’s the whole world—when Ben starts to knead at your skin under his hands, and he’s still making sounds that echo through your blood and bones. It’s everything, when he pushes you further down, down, moving his mouth back to yours and burying you between him and the sofa. Safe. Strong. Real.

Ben. Ben, I love you.

He’s hard. You can feel him bumping against your lower thigh, and it makes your moans louder. It makes your legs tighten around him, trying to move him up into you without you telling them to. You find another thing you’d thank Ben for, when he stops this for you. It makes you feel a little empty, but he doesn’t leave. He just drops his lower body down, pinning you to the couch so that you can’t keep bucking up into him. Resting his forehead against yours until your breath is steady, and your brain can manage to control your body.

“Better?” Ben mutters, and you blink up at him. It is better. Everything is better now.

“Better.” You whisper, and he nods. “If we’re not training today, what-“

“I need to clean my shield. We’ve got dinner with the Pussy Brigade. I have to shit. You said we’d watch something called The Mummy a few nights ago. And you have your stupid fucking lunch with Annie and Hughie.”

You grin at him. “In that order?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he kisses your nose, and you think this might destroy you more than anything else could. How easy this is. To love him, to let his voice move through you and settle your nerves. To let him just touch you all the time in the most simple and boring and mind-numbingly good ways. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.”

You push up on your forearms, grabbing Ben around his neck and pulling him down to you one last time before he can stand. One longer, gentler kiss, where neither of you are trying to take it further, take it right up to the edge. Just kissing him because you love him, because you can. Because he’s real.

Ben carries your mugs up into the kitchen, and you climb up the stairs, allowing yourself to turn back and look at him once. The most attractive, stupid man you’ve ever seen in your life. Glaring at the mugs as he dumps the now-cold coffee in the sinks. Turning on the sink to wash them with so much force you’re surprised the knob doesn’t snap off. But still doing it. His handsome scowl and rough movements not stopping him from doing it. You love him. You love Ben so much. It’s everything. There’s been blood on his hands and darkness in his head and life that should be unforgivable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s become the most dependable, insufferable, important person in your life. Not when you love him like this. Not when you know he’s trying. In his own angry, violent, and sullen way, Ben is trying so hard. You’re not sure why he’s trying, or if he even knows he’s trying, but he is. He’s washing the mugs without you asking, because that’s what he does. Everything for you, without you needing to ever ask. And you’ll never stop loving him for it.

Annie’s early for lunch today. She collects you around eleven, mentioning that she and Hughie have something planned for the afternoon as Ben opens the door, snapping at her that she's too fucking early. You tell Ben to let it go—you’ll be gone the same amount of time regardless—and he does his angry, half-pouting frown about it but kisses you lightly and sulks upstairs.

“Something?” You tilt your head at Annie as you walk down the hall.

“What?

“You and Hughie have something planned?” You almost nudge her shoulder like you would with Ben but stop yourself. “Did you just not want to tell Ben, or is it-“

“My mom.” Annie says softly, staring down the hall. “She agreed to visit last week. Mallory’s bringing her today.”

“Oh, shit.” You want to hug her. She looks like she needs some sort of comfort. So you give her your most reassuring expression, holding your hands behind your back. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “I mean, I asked her to come. But I haven’t talked to her since-“

“Firecracker.” Something clenches around your heart. Something that is all bones and burnt flesh.

Something grabs your wrist, and you freeze. Anxiety and tension and exhaustion run through your body—it’s different from your own—and you realize it’s Annie’s. She’s touching you on purpose.

When you look at her, she’s watching you carefully. You blink at her, eyes wide, afraid to move. Afraid to ruin this and make her let go.

“I never thanked you for that,” Annie’s voice wasn’t joyful, but it was lighter. Even as the anxiety tightened around your skull.

“For what?”

“Killing that bitch.” She gives you a small, close-lipped smile. “I don’t ever really condone murder, but if anyone deserved it, she did.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you say before you can stop yourself. You’re not a sadist, this might be a test, maybe Annie’s not really grateful but trying to see if you’re remorseful. “It was an accident.”

“I know. I’m still thanking you.”

“Oh.” You swallow, trying not to give the emotions you can feel through Annie’s hand any attention. “You’re welcome.”

Annie nods, and just before she lets go something like relief spins through her.

Hughie made pancakes and eggs. Well, Hughie tried to make pancakes and eggs. He burnt the eggs, twice apparently, so now it’s pancakes and a fruit salad. It’s still good—you add honey to the fruit, as well as strawberries and syrup to the pancakes because you’re a masochist and miss Ben—and sit at their dining room table. Annie brings out hot chocolate, and it’s comfortable. Especially after Annie tells Hughie you know about her mom visiting, because any nervous tension dissipates into the air and it’s fully, genuinely comfortable.

All three of you silently agree not to talk about family, because none of you have amazing relationships with your mothers, Hughie’s wound from his father’s death is still open and fresh, and fear still occasionally grips your heart that Homelander will find Violet and use her against you. So, you talk about frivolous things instead. Annie and Hughie want your opinion on a hideous throw pillow Hughie bought. You burn it, and Annie laughs as Hughie sighs, grinning as well. You debate with Hughie about Billy Joel songs, because his love for the man makes him blind to the fact that We Didn’t Start the Fire is just a truly terrible song. You win by pulling out a video of Billy Joel himself echoing your point, and Hughie throws his hands up in mock exasperation. Annie asks you if you need any help buying decorations for your apartment, or continuing to decorate, full stop, given your roommate—she hesitates before labeling Ben, and you don’t blame her in the slightest—not exactly being the most aesthetically oriented man in the world.

“Ben’s actually been shockingly helpful,” you shrug. “He chose the rug in our room, and aggressively vetoed plates with his face on them.”

Hughie gapes at you. “Plates with his face on them?”

“Limited Edition Soldier Boy Dining Set, manufactured and sold by Vought International,” you grin, and miss Ben more. This is really becoming a problem, that you get this dopey just thinking about him. “I thought his jaw was going to break.”

Annie and Hughie exchange a glance, and Annie says slowly, “What, what exactly is going on with you guys?”

“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’re just hoping you can get out of this conversation if she’s not willing to say it.

“You live together, you sleep in the same bed,” Annie watches you carefully, and it’s an active effort to hold her gaze. “You kiss-“

“Make out,” Hughie corrects. “I’ve never seen two people make out like you two do. And that’s how you make out in front of us.”

“Well-“

“He’s right,” Annie cuts you off. “You make out. And do heart-eyes at each other all the time. But you’re,” she pauses, looking to Hughie for help.

“Not fucking?” He offers nervously, and Annie nods, turning back to you.

“You’re making out, but not fucking.”

You glance between them. “Is that a question?”

“Kinda,” Hughie mumbles. “It’s just confusing to see, if you’re really not fucking.”

“We’re not.”

“Okay,” Annie sighs. “But you do get how that’s a lot more confusing, yeah?”

You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you do it loud enough Ben will hear and come save you from this conversation. “It’s complicated. We’re just, we’re not fucking.”

“And he’s,” Annie frowns. “He’s not-“

“No.” Your voice is a little harsher than it maybe needs to be. But it feels appropriate. Ben wouldn’t do that. “He’s not. I mean,” you bite the inside of your mouth, searching for the words. “I was surprised as well. I still don’t fully understand why he’s not trying to get me to do more. But, I don’t know. He’s not.”

“I’m not,” Hughie says, so simply for how both you and Annie are looking at him. Like he’s grown a third head. “What?”

“What are you talking about?” You frown. “You’re not what?”

“Oh, uh,” Hughie blinks at you. “I’m not, I’m not surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“It’s like,” Hughie looks at Annie, likely for aid, but her expression is just as befuddled as yours. “It just makes sense to me. I dunno.”

“What makes sense to you?” You push, because you need to know what he means. What he’s trying to say, in case it’s what you think.

“I mean, in all this fucked up shit,” Hughie stumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seem to get each other. In a weird, kinda gross way. I think Soldier Boy would give you the moon if you asked for it.”

Annie nods cautiously, and suddenly you’re the only one still lost in this conversation. “You’re right, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to that deal with Mallory if it was just like, physical.”

“Deal with Mallory,” you say, looking between them in jerked, half-controlled movements. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“When we brought him to make the deal with Edgar,” Annie frowns. “And Mallory told him that-“

“You don’t know,” Hughie cuts Annie off, scanning over your frown and overly tight posture. “I don’t, I don’t think he told you.”

“Told me what.” Your voice is rising into panic. “What didn’t Ben tell me?”

“Um, I don’t know if it’s our place-“

“We agreed to stop pushing you into dangerous positions, like Tek Knight’s club.” Annie’s voice is blunt, but her face remains hesitant. “If he stayed in line.”

Something cold is freezing your bones. Everything’s a little blurry. It’s a labor to speak. “Or?”

“Um,” Hughie takes over for Annie, even as he looks at her reluctantly. “He’d go back to sleep? That part wasn’t our idea-“

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you stare ahead into nothing. Everything is becoming sharp, your blood is rushing hot and wild through you, and you’re regaining control over your thoughts. And all of them are circling around the same thing.

“I need to go,” you stand, pushing the chair back. “Thank you for lunch, and uh, good luck with your mom.”

Annie calls your name after you, but you’re gone. There will be time for guilt later, and you’ll apologize for your abrupt departure. Right now it’s about the thought in your head, pushing up your throat so violently that you’re yelling it the moment your door slides open, before your even fully through it.

“Why would you do that?!” You almost scream into the apartment, before you can even see him. “Benjamin, why the fuck would you do that?!”

He sits up from the couch, just a handsome, stupid head frowning at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

You stalk over to him. “What fuck possessed you to do that? To fucking agree to that?!”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-“

“Mallory!” You’re screaming now, and he’s standing up, glaring at you. You hold your line, you’ll continue to hold it until he explains. “Why the fuck would you agree to that?”

Ben’s shouting your name, and if you weren’t so blinded by your anger you’d focus on the strain in his voice. “You need to stop speaking in fucking riddles! What the fucking hell has got you losing your damn mind?”

“They’re going to put you back under!” You’re hugging into yourself, nails digging your skin. “If you step out of line Mallory and Butcher are going to put you back under!”

“That was always fucking true-“

“No it wasn’t!” You think you might start to cry. You can’t pull rank. “That was never true! If you stepped out of line I would handle it! I would make the call! That was the whole fucking point! Why didn’t you fucking tell me-“

“What the fuck could you have done?!” Ben snaps, and you can see his fists clench as he marches around the couch to tower above you. “It wasn’t a fucking secret! And I wasn’t going to step out of their stupid goddamn line-“

“But why would you do that?” You scream, refusing to touch him, even to shove him. If you touch him you’ll crumble. “Why would you agree to let them threaten that just to keep me away from stupid fucking shit that doesn’t matter?”

“It matters more than anything.” He growls. “Stop fucking saying that it doesn’t.”

“No, it really doesn’t!” You feel so small. You’re caving in, shattering in a way that’s worse than when he didn’t care, when this was about trust and not about losing him. Ben being taken away from you. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to do that!”

“That’s real fucking easy for you to say, Sunshine!” Ben roars. “You don’t have to fucking watch you break. Again and again over the worst fucking plans in the world when those fucking pussies throw you to the goddamn wolves and in front of their shitty fucking trains! I have to! I’m the one that has to watch you be fucking afraid!”

“But why would you do that,” you’re definitely crying now. But you keep screaming, even as your voice becomes raw. “I’m always fine-“

“Because it fucking kills me! You are fucking everything to me, and every time you break its the worst thing I’ve never fucking seen!” You don’t think your heart is beating anymore, not as his voice grows louder. “Because I can never just fucking fix it, and you always break. And I mean it more than you can possibly fucking imagine when I say that I will do whatever it fucking takes to keep you safe! I’d rather go back to Russia right fucking now than just stand aside like a fucking pussy and let you keep breaking!”

Ben’s face contorts, and you think he’s only just realized what he’s said. What it means. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t walk away, and you won’t pull rank.

“Do you think,” you hiss through tears, fear building and morphing into some sort of love-born fury. “That it wouldn’t fucking destroy me if you went back under? That I wouldn’t do fucking anything to get you back to me?”

“That’s not fucking the same.”

You almost laugh. “It’s the exact same-“

“No, it’s not.”

“I adore you, Benjamin!” you scream. “Every good, and bad, and ugly part of you, I fucking adore you.” His whole body stills, and you keep going. You say everything but the thing. “And I made a promise as well. I might not be going back to Homelander, but you aren’t going back under. You’re not burning without me right there, by your side. It is the exact fucking same, because you are fucking everything to me!” You take a deep breath, trying to bring yourself down as your words become pleading. “There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I’d destroy them all to keep you awake. To keep you here. So don’t say it’s not the exact fucking same.”

You can feel him. You’re not touching him—you're still trying to cave into your own body—but as the last words hang in the air you can feel Ben. This is hunger, not thirst. This is something rioting around and clawing out of your chest, not the love that’s resting for him in your head. This is Ben, not you.

This is Ben and you. Together. He’s not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re everything to him and he’s everything to you.

Ben. Ben, I love you.

You almost say it. You’re seconds from saying it. It’s going to fall out of you and the only way to stop it is Ben. And you lunge at him just a fraction of a second before it’s too late.

He catches you. He always catches you. And when you slam your lips into his, he doesn’t hesitate.

This is different. This kiss is different. You can’t distinguish Ben from you anymore. Touching him has completely razed whatever remainder of a line existed, and now it’s just us. It’s you and Ben inside your body, even if everything around you is Ben. Kissing you with his tongue and teeth, pulling your lip into his mouth, making deep sounds from his throat that make you grind against his muscled torso. Sounds spurred by your hands pushing him further into you by his jaw—his beard rough against your fingers—and pulling at his shirt until the only space between your bodies is two thin stretches of fabric. One of his arms was secured below your thighs, holding you up with a hand on your ass, squeezing and making you moan into his mouth. The other is holding you under your own arm with a hand on the back of your neck, fingers pulling light at your hair. Touching you with a reverence. Always with a reverence, a furious care that makes you feel safe. Always with an attentive fire and ardor running through your blood. Ben’s blood. Someone’s blood who you can taste on your teeth because you think you might have bitten his tongue slightly, but Ben didn’t pull back or flinch so now there’s a slightly metal flavor that mixes and fades with Ben. Salt and coffee and strawberries and Ben.

You need more.

Whatever he’ll give you. You’ll take it. You’ll take every single part of Ben he’s capable of offering and plant them in you, grow them and tend to them until he pulls them out so that the roots remain. You need him. You love him.

“Ben-“

“All the way?” His words roll through your body, down and into your core.

You only whine into him, and suddenly he’s moving. Walking backwards, mouth never leaving yours. Holding you tight enough that you can’t continue to rub against him, looking for friction. You’re desperate for it, the sounds escaping you growing louder and louder as his steps offer you something, and then giving a needy, long moan when you manage to adjust just enough to bump against his cock. Still in his pants, hard and long. Then Ben spins, slamming you between his body and the wall, hoisting you up by his hold on your ass and thighs so your faces are level. At some point you’d begun to scrape at his back, and he chuckles as you start to grind against him once more.

Ben’s holding your face firmly, angling you for his mouth to devour yours, grinning against your lips.

“What do you want, beautiful.”

You run your nail back up between his shoulders, unable to break skin but trying to sink into him. “Please.“

“Please what,” even as he teases you, Ben’s never separating from you. You’re not sure how either of you are breathing, whether the lightheaded feeling is from Ben or just lack of oxygen. If it’s the way all your air is trading between your lungs and Ben’s, or the way he’s started to rut up into you. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. But you have to use your words.”

“Ben, just-”

His head drops down to your neck, finding the one soft spot that makes you whimper and focusing all his efforts on it until your grip on his hair is tight, your sounds a string of pleas. Then he moves up, right to your ear. “Beg. Say my name and beg and I’ll give you the fucking world.”

“Ben,” You look down at him, and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for what you see. He’s staring at you, and every part of his face is alive. His lips are parted, and his eyes are almost black, and he’s relaxed. Full of lust and hunger but so completely at ease in every feature of his handsome face. “Please.”

“Please what.”

“Fuck me.”

A low growl escapes him, and his cock twitches against your thigh, but he still doesn’t move. “Whole thing.”

“Benjamin,” You grind back against him. “Fuck me now.”

That snaps something in him. Ben’s mouth crashes back into yours, and he doesn’t even have to push before you’re opening for him. Nipping at his upper lip, letting him take whatever he asks for. Anything that keeps him doing this, dropping a hand down and back up through your shirt. Ben’s hand is dropping down and back up through your shirt. Squeezing your breast once, then—when you make a high sound—leaning away from your mouth and doing it again. Then once more, running his thumb over your nipple slowly, so focused you’d think he’s doing surgery.

He looks back up at you, watching him, breathing heavily with a little bit of droll falling from your mouth. “You like that?”

You nod, head pushing back against the wall when he does it again. “Ben, you ass-“

“That’s not very fucking nice, Sunshine.” He leans forward, pushing you further into the wall and bringing his lips just over yours, moving back every time you try to bring him closer. “Manners.”

“Fuck you,” the moan from your mouth is captured by his, sucking it down with another whine into him. “Ben-“

“You never begged,” he says your name against your mouth, moving against your breast once more. “Fucking beg.”

“Cunt-“

“I’ll get there.” He chuckles as you buck into his chest. “But you have to tell me that you want this.”

Somewhere in the daze of Ben’s hands and his mouth and the power of him, your love for him somehow grows again. Becomes something purer and more sweet than it had been.

Ben, I love you. “I want this,” you breathe. “I want you.”

He grunts, and he twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before starting to run his hand slowly and lightly down your stomach.

“Ben, please-“

Your words become a strangled whine when Ben bites your lower lip gently at the same time his hand drops into your shorts. Palm pressing against the ache through your underwear.

“Ben-“ He starts to rub in circles, fingers dancing lightly against your slit through the fabric. “Fuck-“

“You have too much clothes,” he mutters, and you moan.

“Too many-“ He pulls his mouth away, and you bury your head into his shoulder. “Ben-“

“Fucking smartass,” you can hear the smile on his voice, feel the amusement running up his spine and colliding with whatever is bouncing around his ribs. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, you asshole-“

Ben kisses you again, and your protests turn into a long noise of want. He chews at your lip for a second before moving away once more. “I’m taking off your shorts. I can do it fast or careful. You don’t get both.”

“Please-“

He presses his hips back with a groan, forcing you to stop grinding. “Words.”

“Fast-“

The choice had barely left your mouth when Ben was ripping them off your body. Tossing them on the floor without a thought before looking back up at you. Raising his brows in a silent question as his hand rested between your thighs, over your underwear.

“Yes,” your nods are frantic, bordering on pathetic. But he’s so close. “Ben, please.”

He runs his hand over you once, still not just doing it. “So fucking wet, just through the damn fabric.” he smirks at you. “All for me, brat?”

You whimper, trying to drop all of your weight into Ben’s hand as you clench around nothing. He knew what that word would do, there’s no way he didn’t. Not with his smug expression and the way he won’t let you bring his lips back to yours. “Cunt-“

“Answer my damn question,” he growls your name. “Or I’m not fucking you.”

It’s a bluff. You know it’s a bluff because you can feel how vast and insatiable his hunger is. You know it’s a bluff because, as good as a liar Ben is, he’s rock hard against you and keeps bucking up when you kiss his neck. You don’t call it though. You just meet his eyes and hiss, “It’s for you, Ben. Now are you going to fucking do something about it?”

You see Ben’s grin for only a second before his mouth is pushing your head against the wall with the force of his kiss. You feel him tear off your underwear in one, fluid movement, and the cold of the air has barely hit you before his hand is back. And everything is just Ben.

He’s teasing you. The base of his palm is bumping against your clit, but never for more than a second. His fingers are running between you, over you but never in. You’re going to kill him. You’re going to wipe that smug and cocky grin you can feel against you off his perfect, handsome stupid face-

“You think I can make you cum just like this?” Ben hums against your lips, pulling his head back just a fraction. “Without even properly fucking touching you?”

“Fuck you, Benjamin.“

“I know you want that,” he drawls your name, rolling his palm one firm time, and your hands start to scratch across his neck and shoulders. “But you need to tell me if you think I can make you cum on just my fucking fingers.”

“Cunt.”

“That’s what I’m asking. Do you think I can make your pretty cunt cum here, without even fucking you like you deserve?”

“Like I-“ Ben pushes one finger in ever so slightly, and stills it completely. You take a long breath. “Fucking dick. Like I deserve?”

His lips bruise against yours, and his palm fully presses against your clit. Rubbing once, twice, fingers still not moving. “Like the beautiful fucking brat you are. Until all your fancy words are just my name and you’re so fucked out you couldn’t even think to be worried about dumb fucking shit. Until you’re fucking stupid.”

His finger sinks all the way in, and you press your forehead against his, arms fully wrapping around his neck. “Do that.”

“Fucking words, Sunshine.” He growls, pulling out slowly, and you shake your head desperately against his.

“Ben, please-“

His finger pushes back in, fast, and you don’t know if you moan or scream or whine because Ben is eating any sounds that leave your mouth. Moving his finger faster and faster until you’re trying to chase it when he pulls away, his deep groan rumbling through you when your thighs brush against his cock, still in his pants because life is unfair.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he grunts, moving his head down in sloppy kisses to your neck. “Want some fucking more, beautiful?”

“Fuck, yes-“

He latches onto your neck—sucking in a way that would leave a mark if either of you were capable of being marked—and just as the second finger pushes in his palm finds a pattern. A steady rhythm that turns whatever remaining sanity you had into just Ben. Ben, I love you. You impossible asshole, you’re everything in the fucking world. Ben.

He’s not letting you over the edge. Every time you get close he slows just enough and rises back to your mouth. You might have been here for a lifetime, or just a millisecond, but it’s all just Ben. Hissing your name against your skin and making everything just good. This is so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why did you ever deny yourself Ben when he’s making everything so good like this. So warm and easy and so fucking good.

“You're so fucking tight,” he hisses in your ear, and you try and tug him closer by your legs. Try and make his dick just brush against you. “Think you can do three?”

You cannot do three. You think three might kill you in the best possible way. Ben’s huge, his hands are rough and broad like every other insufferable, amazing part of him, so three would make you explode. But he’s watching you with so much hunger, so much adoration as you pant and whimper his name, and he’s still not just fucking you, so three will have to be a suitable substitute until he stops toying with you. You nod, and he chuckles against your skin.

“What did we say about words-“

“Just fucking do it, Benjamin, now-“

You are going to die. This love for him is going to kill you, and the murder weapon will be the way he’s finding every single thing that makes you scream his name like he’s been studying for it. How his fingers get so deep in you and find that spongy, electric part every single time he plunges back in. Crooking against it for just long enough to make you moan before yanking his hands back down and pressing his palm against your clit until you're keening, before repeating in all again. You’re going to turn into just flames that sing the same song of Ben over and over.

“Want to fucking cum?” He mutters against your lips, and you whine again, high and needy and barely a breath.

“Ben, yes-“

“Beg.”

“Asshole-“ you choke on your own words, because he’s going faster, it’s all going faster, and you can’t think of anything outside of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Fucking beg.” His words echo through your body, and you’re vaguely aware of smoke rising around you. But he’s not stopping, if anything there’s a vigor to him now. A brutal, rough pace that’s just one move away from making you find release. A move he won’t make until you ask for it.

Dignity is overrated. Dignity is for people who don’t have Ben making them feel like the whole world is just him, touching them like he’s touching you and groaning their name like he’s growling yours.

“Please, Ben, please.” You make yourself look at him fully, hungry and cocky and watching you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s so handsome and stupid and Ben and you love him- “Fucking please-“

Any sounds or screams or moans of Ben are captured in his mouth when he presses you so far back against the wall with a kiss you think you hear it crack. When he twists his fingers in you and his palm draws one long, heavy circle over your clit and everything is reborn inside you. It’s just Ben, Ben, fire and life and love and Ben. Your orgasm hits you like a train, your vision going white and your hands trying to pull Ben further against your body. He’s still in you, fingers resting inside you as you clench around him, palm rubbing slowly against you until you fall back to earth, back to him.

You blink at him, mouth hanging open and all of your mind and body completely made of love and need for him. Everything is full of Ben. There’s a thick cloud of smoke through the room, but he’s so close it doesn’t matter. You can see him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His whole face is made of—if you know anything about him, and you do—devotion. Ben pulls his fingers out of you slowly—never breaking his gaze from yours—leaving you empty and sensitive and trying not to just start grinding against where you can still feel him, somehow harder in his pants. Then his fingers rise into his mouth, and he sucks on the wetness still falling off of them, and any attempt at control is gone. His gaze is lidded as he tastes you, and you start trying to pull him down to you with scrambling movements against his neck.

He doesn’t budge, only grinning at you as you whine again. “Fucking needy, beautiful.” He brings two fingers—the same ones that had just been in his mouth—to brush against your mouth. Pressing them lightly until your lips part. “Taste.”

You let him push his thumb into you, and you become a woman on a mission. Sucking and licking at his fingers until you can feel him twitching against your thighs, going with a fervor until he’s groaning and pulling them away with a pop. When you lean forward to kiss him gently he lets you, taking every moan you give him with a squeeze of your skin under his hand and a trace of your cheekbones with his fingers.

When he rests his head against your shoulder, you’re both breathing heavily and Ben’s words are hissed against your skin.

“I’m going to fuck you for a whole year,” he grunts your name, rutting up against you. “And I’m going to make you fucking scream and beg for two.”

You’ve never been more on board with a plan in your life. You’re going to tell him. You shouldn’t, not when it might make this go away, not when you just got this, but you want to. You want him to know that when he fucks you for a year the only thing you’ll be thinking is Ben. Ben, I love you. You want to be able to moan it into his mouth and against his skin and around his cock and scream it when he makes you cum, in a way that he can hear and know about.

Your mouth falls open, your hand moving to his face to pull him up to look at you, and the door to the apartment bangs open.

Ben’s faster than you, but in your defense most of your thoughts and instincts are being covered by the daze of your orgasm. He doesn’t drop you or turn you, but slides you down his chest and twists you around so your arms are wrapped on his torso, your feet back on the ground. When he whips around you realize he’s blocking your half-naked body from view, keeping you secure against him with a hand on your forearm. Stupid, handsome, perfect, safe fucking man.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben barks, and you lean around him to see Butcher in the doorway, smirking at the scene before him.

“Well, Gov,” Butcher drawls. “I was coming to congratulate you on your awful fuckin plan working, let you know Edgar delivered, but now,” he winks at you. “I’m just chock full of other questions.”

“How did you get in?” You ask with a frown. “Only I have a keycard.”

“Mallory unlocked all you cunts doors for me,” Butcher shrugs. “We got a meetin, I’ve been sent to collect you since you weren’t answering your fuckin phone.”

You flush, because your phone is indeed long forgotten somewhere near the couch. “Can we have five, please?”

“What, only five?” Butcher’s mocking smile turns to Ben. “You that fast, gov? Because I can give you ten if you wanna take care of your,” his eyes flick down. “Problem.”

You can feel Ben’s anger, and tighten your grip around him until he looks at you. Don’t kill him, please.

Why the fuck shouldn’t I.

You give him a small smile. Murder is a crime. Also, it’ll ruin the mood.

Whatever, Ben rolls his eyes, but you can see the tug of his lips, feel the amusement dart through him.

“You two done?” Butcher snaps, and you both look back to him with frowns. “Care to have an out-loud conversation, share with the fuckin class?”

“No.” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “Are we meeting in the cafeteria?”

Butcher nods with a grunt, and you sigh.

“Can you please leave so I can get dressed?”

“I’m waitin outside, and if you two horny twats aren’t outside by then I’m coming back in.”

“Fine. Go.”

Butcher slams the door behind him, and you squeeze out from behind Ben to start to run upstairs and put on clothing that isn’t completely destroyed. You pause though, doubling back to Ben and pulling his face down for one last, long kiss.

“We’ll fuck later,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts. “Thank you.”

You yelp as Ben picks you up, carrying you up the stairs in long, quick steps. “Stop fucking thanking me.”

You smile at him, all teeth and joy because you fucking love him. “Make me.”

“Brat,” he snorts, kissing you again as he lowers you onto the bed. “Keep it up and I won’t let you cum again.”

“You don’t let me do anything.”

“You’re real fucking sure of that,” he taunts, marching over to the dresser to toss you a new pair of underwear and sweats. “But you sure were goddamn begging me less than ten minutes ago.”

“Cunt,” you mumble, catching the clothes. You don’t have a good comeback, because your brain is still a little addled, and you can see that Ben’s still hard, and nothing about his deep voice and word is making you less horny.

“You love it.” He stops above you again, watching with heavy eyes as you pull the clothing on.

I do. I love you, dumbass. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben laughs, pulling you up the moment you’re dressed. “Later. Later we can shut each other up as hard as fucking possible.”

“Deal,” you whisper, because he’s holding you so lightly and close to his body and it’s not helping. “Ben?”

He raises his brows at you, a small frown on his face. You think he can hear the nerves in your voice. “What.”

“Edgar-“

“We’ll make it work.” He says firmly. “Whatever it is, whatever stupid shit Mallory and Butcher are planning, we’ll make it fucking work for us.”

“You promised-“

“And that won’t fucking matter, because we’ll make it work.”

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, tangling his fingers between yours. You feel him everywhere now, all the time—the clenching in his chest and around this throat and the sour taste of it—and that might be something to worry about later. But for now you just want to touch him. “Please. Just say you promise.”

He sighs, jaw ticking, but nods. “I swore it. I meant it. But that doesn’t fucking mean-“

You kiss him, and every part of his body falls into yours as the grip against your hands loosens. When you pull away, smiling at him, he’s looking at you with that same devotion. “Thank you.”

Ben grunts, slinging his arm around you as you walk back downstairs. Kissing the top of your head once, and this is right. This is you and Ben and it’s right. It’s everything, and he’s yours. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything and now, for whatever amount of time he’ll give you, you’re his.

—————

Ben had learned there was a hierarchy in the promises he made Her. There weren’t many—neither of them threw around those words with ease or carelessness—but his promises of staying here and no more lies were secondary to keeping her away from Homelander. There was nothing as fucking important in the world, and that meant that Ben would let Her do what she needed to do—like he’d promised—but not if it meant she went back to Homelander. He’d have done anything to keep Her safe before, he’d have gone back under if it meant she’d be free, and now Ben was fucking certain he’d goddamn die before he lost Her like that. If he had any fucking say in anything at all, nothing was ever going to break Her again. If she tried to throw herself in front of him to take whatever bullets Homelander or Mallory were aiming at them, Ben would be faster. He’d move to let them hit him first.

He’d let Butcher hit him with a goddamn bomb to keep Her safe. Because She was fucking perfect, and Ben wasn’t going to allow anything to hurt her again. She was leaning into him as they walked to the dining hall, and Ben might have to take a detour to the bathroom to get himself under fucking control if She kept tugging and tapping at his hand around her shoulder. Her hair was still messy, and her lips were still a little red, and Ben could still fucking taste her, lingering in his mouth. And that was his shirt. She was wearing his fucking shirt, and holding his hand that had just been inside her, and chewing the inside of her mouth that had just been screaming his name. The Thing didn’t need to tell Ben She was perfect. He had fucking eyes, and a fucking brain. And a very hard dick that was becoming slightly painful, straining against his pants for Her. For Her beautiful face and the perfect sounds she’d made when she came. On his hand.

Ben didn’t have to hold himself back anymore. He didn’t have to keep waiting until She was keening against him and moaning his name before ripping himself away from her. Before he came in his jeans from just the feel and taste of Her mouth like a fucking teenager. He could fuck Her, she’d let him fuck her, and he was going to. Ben was going to fuck Her so hard and good that she might stay with him and keep looking at him forever. He was going to make Her cum until she said Ben, I adore you again. Until She told him she wanted him again.

That had made the Thing roar inside of him. Her perfect, breathless, needy voice telling him she wanted him. Nothing could take that away from him now. She fucking wanted him. People had wanted him before. Countless forgotten pretty faces had wanted Ben. But none of them had been perfect. And none of them had said it like She had. They had wanted the power of him, they had wanted Ben to fuck them and give them more than he cared to. All those pretty faces had wanted to be the one’s on billboards and red carpets with him, to fuck Soldier Boy and be a good enough fuck that he decided to keep them. When She said he wanted him, it wasn’t just to fuck her. There had been something that made the Thing climb into Ben’s brain and consume him in Her voice.

She wanted him. She wanted every part of him. She had every part of him, She’d had it for what felt like a lifetime, and he’d never have taken it away from her. When She one day left Ben, she’d take every part of him that was worth a fucking thing with Her. And no one else would ever get to have him, not like She did. Not like he was going to give Her. Ben was going to fucking worship every perfect part of Her, until he could maybe ask her to stay with him and there was a single goddamn chance She might say yes.

Every member of the Pussy Brigade looked up when they entered the Dining Hall. Butcher had marched in brisk, pissy fucking steps ahead of Her and Ben, and apparently hadn’t been just bitching when he’d grumbled that everyone was just waiting on them.

“Is everything okay?” Starlight was watching Her, under Ben’s arm, nervously. “You weren’t answering your phone-“

“The cunts were fucking,” Butcher snapped, stopping next to Mallory at the head of the table. “In the middle of the goddamn room.”

Ben bit his tongue, because She has to handle this. He needed to hear what She told her pussy fucking team, so he could figure out what she wanted from him.

“It’s our apartment, you ass,” She glared at Butcher. “It’s not like we were in the hallway.”

“So you admit you were fucking, Love?”

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some dickwad fucking cunt interrupted us.”

“But,” Cocksucker looked between them nervously, not fully meeting Ben’s eyes. “You were going to fuck?”

She sighed. “This really doesn’t feel like an important conversation to have right now.”

“It’s not,” MM grunted. “I’m already gonna to need to wash out my fucking ears. Any more and I’m going to have to cut them off.”

Ben disagreed. He thought they all needed to fucking know, that this was the only conversation worth having right now. Ever. She wanted him, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. But She shot him a small look, important meeting, don’t be a fucking idiot, Pretty Boy. And Ben let Her pull him onto the bench.

Later, he’d fuck Her until she screamed so loud everyone could hear it, hear his name and Her moans falling out of her perfect mouth.

“Can we get started?” Mallory stood—arms crossed with a thin scowl—at the head of the table. “Or do you need another ten minutes to discuss your sex lives?”

“Jesus, no.” MM snapped. “Just fuckin talk, Grace.”

“Stan Edgar sent files over to me last night, and we’ve just finished clearing them for use,” Mallory launched into her explanation with the most monotone, boring voice Ben had ever fucking heard. “Butcher and I have been working on a plan-“

“What are the files?” Starlight asked, raising her hand like a damn child. “Will they work?”

“They’ll work a fuckin charm,” Butcher winked. “They’re everything we could’ve bloody asked for, times two. Keep goin, Grace.”

Ben felt Her relax slightly against him, along with Butcher’s eyes on them both. Cold, tense, but not mocking. For once in his goddamn life, the pussy seemed to have some sort of mind to not be an instigating piece of shit, and he was better for it. Ben would’ve thrown a stray plastic fork into Butcher’s eyes and ripped off his dick if the asshole had said even a single fucking detail of Edgar’s files. A single detail about Her.

“Thanks to Marvin,” Grace gave MM a small nod. “A-Train has agreed to clear a path for us into Vought tower. We’ll ensure Homelander is away, dealing with something else, and retrieve Ryan Butcher.”

Ben could hear the tapping begin, and covered Her hand with his.

She looked up at him with a frown, What’s wrong?

This is going to fucking work. Ben held Her gaze. You’re going to be fine.

She smiled at him, and every time she did it like that—gentle and comfortable—the Thing doubled in size. I know.

“How are you going to get Homelander away?” Cocksucker asked with an anxious frown. “I mean, this might not be quick and if he arrives back at the tower-“

“Frenchie,” Butcher nodded at the French Prick. “Will be causing a diversion.”

“By diversion,” Starlight said slowly. “You mean-“

“A massive, glorious fucking explosion.” The French Prick grinned. “It will be impossible for the Homelander to ignore.”

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Her lean forward across the table, shaking her head. Why the hell was she talking. Why could Ben hear her damn thinking. What the fuck was she planning-

“No?” Mallory asked, looking at her with slight curiosity. Saying Her last name in clipped words. “Please elaborate.”

“He’s on alert, right?” She looked around the table. “After Neuman, he won’t just fall for something like that. Especially not with Sage whispering actual coherent thoughts in his ear.”

“Maybe,” Mallory nodded, still looking at Her. Ben needed Mallory to stop looking at her like that. Like she was a fucking toy. “But it’s our best bet, and we’ve already lost too much time to waiting for Edgar.”

“I have an idea-“

“No,” Ben cut Her off with a grunt. He knew what type of ideas She always had. Mallory and Butcher always knew what type of ideas she had. Genius, stupid fucking ideas that always worked—so everyone went along with them—and always put her in the line of fire.

“No?” She glared at him. “What do you mean no?”

“You lost your idea privileges a while ago, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “So no.”

“Oh, fuck you Benjamin.” She kicked him under the table and looked back at Mallory. “Ignore him. I have an idea.”

Ben gave Mallory his most menacing, violent scowl that the woman knew signaled he wanted to kill someone. But she ignored him, giving Her a nod. “Go on.”

“He’s looking for me. Let’s show him what he wants.” She took a deep breath, and every fiber of Ben, from the Thing to his brain, was telling him to shut Her up now. Before she said what he knew she was going to. “Let’s show him me.”

The room was silent, and blood was roaring in Ben’s ears. He glared around at the Pussy Brigade daring any one of them to speak.

MM was the idiot who volunteered for Ben to kill him first.

“The hell you mean show him you,” MM said Her name slowly, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be agreeing to it was the only thing that kept Ben rigid in his seat.

“Bait,” She answered, quiet and soft and Ben was going to kill someone- “Offer him me. Draw him out to a fight to get me. He’ll go, and he’ll leave Ryan behind. He didn’t want Ryan to meet me until I was-“ She made a small choking sound, and that was it.

“No.” Ben said firmly, daring anyone to fucking disagree with him. “There’s not a chance in fucking hell you’re doing that.”

“You’d go with me,” She looked at him with wide, sharp, desperate eyes. “Please, Ben. It would work.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter if it would work. They,” Ben jabbed a finger at Butcher and Mallory. “Swore you weren’t doing stupid fucking dangerous shit anymore.”

“We did promise him that,” Starlight says Her name gently. “Promised you. That’s, doing that’s too far. Too risky.”

“It would work,” She was pleading, and if Ben didn’t know better he’d think she fucking wanted to die. “You wouldn’t be giving me to him. We’d escape. We’d go in public, Homelander would see it, we’d keep him there until Ryan was out, and then we would escape.”

“How?” MM frowned at Her. “The motherfuckers got X-ray vision and super speed. He won’t just lose you in a crowd.”

“He won’t lose us. We’ll,” She paused, fingers tapping under Ben's hands. “We’ll call him. We won’t go in public, for a fight, that was dumb. We’ll call him, tell him I want to meet him, play right into his fantasy. Annie and Hughie will come with us, because he can’t kill either of them without ruining the narrative. We’ll keep him there until Ryan’s out, then Frenchie will do the explosion. We’ll play it off as a mistake, bad timing, and he’ll go to investigate. By the time he realizes what’s happened, we’ll be gone."

“That’s still a dumb fucking plan,” Ben growled Her name. “What if he doesn’t go. What if he tries to fucking take you.”

She looked at him, Her beautiful face so sad and determined. “He won’t.” I won’t let him. You won’t let him.

“It’s a good idea,” Mallory mused. “Where would you meet him?”

“Old Starlight Fund,” She turned back to the group. “Ben will call him. He’ll take a call from Ben. And then I’ll take the phone and tell him I convinced you to let me see him.” She looked fucking sick—her heartbeat panicked in her chest—and it made the Thing twist inside of Ben. Made Ben sick. “But that you won’t let me meet with him without you there.”

“The Starlight Fund was where they wanted that first meeting,” MM said to Mallory. “And it’s right fuckin across from the tower. He won’t think we’re trying anything in his backyard.”

“We’ll vote-“

“No!” Ben almost roared. “You fucking pussies goddamn swore-“

“Ben,” Her voice was gentle, too fucking gentle. To perfect and kind for this goddamn fucking bullshit, for how fast her heart was inside her. Trust me. Her face pleaded. Just please trust me.

This is fucking insane, Ben glared at Her. Even for you, this is a fucking stupid, insane plan.

You promised. She flipped her hand under his, folding her finger between his. You promised me you’d let me do what I needed to.

You don’t fucking need to do this.

Yes, She gave him a small smile. I do, Ben. You know that. Please.

Ben cursed himself in every vulgar, lewd and angry way he knew. “Fine.” He grunted aloud. “But if anything,” he hissed around the table. “Goes fucking south-“

“It won’t, Gov.” Butcher winked at him, but there wasn’t anything crude or sneering in his voice. “We’ll get you both home in time for a nice fuckin dinner and dessert.”

Mallory sighed. “Ready to vote?” After several nods from around the table, she continued. “All in favor?”

Her hand shot up just as fast as Butcher’s, Kimiko’s close behind them and the French Prick’s right after. For one long second, Ben watched MM frown at Her. Studying Her, before looking at Ben and narrowing his eyes. He looked back at her—hand high in the air and feature determined—and MM’s hand went up. Five fucking idiots in favor.

“All against?”

Ben raised his hand, and She glared at him. Benjamin-

I won’t fucking stop you, Ben glared right back. But I’m not in any form of goddamn favor for this shit.

She sighed, and Ben glanced around the table to see Cocksucker and Starlight both raising their hands with him. Three people who seemed to give a single shit about Her.

Too fucking little to stop this.

“Alright,” Mallory nodded. “We’ll move tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Hughie blinked. “Don’t you, uh, need to plan-“

“We wasted too much fuckin time, Lad.” Butcher shrugged. “A-Train’s ready, we move tomorrow.”

“Are we fucking done here?” Ben grunted, and barely saw Mallory’s nod before he was standing, hauling Her up with him, and marching out of the door. He heard her call some goodbyes—running after him with Her heartbeat unsteady—and pulling Ben’s arm until he slowed down.

“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, and he shook his head. He wasn’t, he was furious with himself. For being a weak fucking pussy who was allowing this to happen.

Nothing’s going to hurt Her, he reminded himself, reminded the Thing to try stopping it from tearing his tissues and guts apart. No fucking thing is allowed to hurt Her. I’ll be there. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep Homelander away from Her. Even if she hates me for it.

“Then can you look at me?” She pleaded, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He glared down at Her, and felt a twist in his stomach at the desperation in Her eyes. “I’m sorry-“

“Don’t,” he snapped. The only thing worse than Her being sad and weak and broken was Her apologizing. Thinking she was a problem for him, and not the most perfect thing in the fucking world. “I’m not fucking mad, Sunshine. I’m just-“ He ground his teeth, pushing the words out between them. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know you do,” She took a small step forward. “But it’ll be fine. I promise.”

It would be fine. Because Ben wasn’t going to allow it not to be. So he just picked Her up into his arms—if She kept moving so hesitantly and tentatively around him he’d fucking explode—and carried her down the hall. She didn’t push against him or protest, only wrapped Her arms around his neck as Her heartbeat slowed.

“Ben?” She asked, voice muffled by where she’d pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning against his skin.

“What.” He glanced down at Her—perfect face turning up to him—and the Thing clenched inside him at her nervous expression. “Are you-“

“I’m okay,” She shook her head slightly and Ben grunted, unable to hide his stupid relief. “I, um,” She swallowed. “Do you-“

“Spit it out,” he muttered, hunching slightly so She could scan the badge. She’d needed that—needed not lose Herself in a spiral of her too quick head—because she nodded, fingers scratching light against the nape Ben’s neck. She took a deep breath, and Ben turned to push the door with his back.

“Do you still want me?”

She was the smartest fucking person Ben had ever met. She was a goddamn genius, it was insufferable and impossibly fucking hot how smart she was. How clever she was, how well she understood other people. Which is why Ben snorted aloud, because for the brilliant woman she was that was such a stupid fucking question.

“Ben-“

“Of course I still fucking want you,” Ben scoffed, walking up the stairs. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I’ve wanted you through a lot of your stupid plans, another one isn’t going to make me stop fucking wanting you.”

Nothing could make me stop wanting you, Ben’s head hummed in time with the Thing. If I ever stop wanting you, it’s because I’m fucking dead.

“Oh,” She mumbled, and Ben wished She would just look at him so he could figure out what she was thinking. “Good. Is that why-“

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben drawled Her name as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Ben glanced down to find the saddest look he’d ever witnessed on Her face. If the Thing wasn’t fucking whining at the sight of it, he might have been smug about her looking so morose at the idea of not fucking him. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben grabbed her chin, gently with a firm hand. To make Her look at him. “Because I want to take time when I fuck you. I want to make you scream and make it hurt when you sit down. And you need to be able to walk with full damn mobility tomorrow. So later. When I can keep you in bed for a decade without anyone fucking interrupting.”

Her heart sped up, and Ben smirked at her. “You started with a week,” She told him, even as she leaned into his hand. “Then it became a year. Now a decade?”

Ben winked. “If you want a century, just fucking ask, beautiful.”

“Cunt.”

“Brat.”

She looked over him, eyes resting where Ben knew she could feel his dick straining against his pants. “What about hand stuff?”

Ben snorted. “I’ll allow it."

“Oh, well if his majesty allows it-“

Her words turned in a yelp as Ben tossed Her onto the bed, grinning down at Her. How fucking perfect she was, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes that were so soft. For him. Right now, every part of Her was for Ben.

He started to lean down, planning to move across the bed until he over Her. Test what different sounds She would make in a bed instead of against a wall. But She sat up before he could, crawling across the blankets with her perfect fucking ass in the air. Drawing up on Her knees when she reached Ben at the foot of the bed, smiling at him with all such an ease and adoration. She adored him.

Ben grabbed Her face between his hands, her back straightening as she grabbed at his shirt. Yanking him closer. Ben attacked her mouth, revering in the way it fit so well against his, the way she tasted like honey and chocolate and Her. That taste of Her he’d gotten early, that wasn’t sweet but strong. The best thing he’d ever had on his tongue, a little weaker in her mouth but still there. The proper fucking taste of pussy. Of Her. Ben didn’t think he could live without it now that he’d had it.

But there would be time to deal with that later. Right now everything was Her. The way she moaned into his mouth, and one of her hands tracing down Ben’s chest to palm him through his pants.

He pulled back with a grunt of Her name. “You don’t-“

“I want to,” She chased his mouth, but paused. Look up at him with some sort of apprehension that made the Thing itch. “But if you don’t-“

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Ben snapped. And he was going to add something about this not being about him right now. Something saying how this was about Her, about making her understand how perfect she was and making her scream his name again. But She nodded with a hum, and squeezed Ben through his pants and suddenly that really didn’t fucking seem worth saying anymore. He’d say it later. If She wanted this—wanted him like this—he couldn’t deny her. Ben wouldn’t be able to deny Her his whole fucking brain or heart or lungs if she asked for them. And what type of fucking pussy would he be to deny the most perfect woman in the world his cock.

“Off, please.” She nodded to his pants, and Ben almost chuckled because she could’ve called him every vulgar name under the sun and he still would’ve taken his pants off. A please was in no way damn necessary.

“Fine,” he pulled down his pants, watching Her carefully as his boxers followed. “But after this, beautiful, it’s my fucking turn.”

She swallowed, staring at Ben’s dick—now fully exposed—and Ben had never felt so smug in his fucking life. A lot of women had been impressed by him, but none had looked at him like that. Like they needed to touch him. Ben had never needed to touch them. Not like he was pretty sure he’d have died somewhere in the next few seconds if She hadn’t looked back up at him—with parted lips and a flushed face that Ben needed to burn into his eyes so he’d never stop seeing them—and kissed him so eagerly that he groaned.

Then She started touching him, and Ben realized he had been right. As he tangled his hands in her hair and started buck into her hand—trying to keep his mouth on hers so she would catch every sound she was causing him to make like he’d eaten hers—Ben knew this would kill him. She would kill him, because nobody should be allowed to so fucking perfect in every possible way. Nobody should be capable making him feel like this with just their hand, just by stroking him and somehow finding such a painfully good fucking pace. Nobody should be allowed to read him well enough that they adjusted for every rut of Ben into their hand, to make him feel like he was high. But She could, because she was perfect, and was trying to kill him. She had to be, or she wouldn’t be pulling back to look at Ben like she was, with something so deep and impossibly caring in her eyes as she pulled him apart. He was supposed to look at Her like that. She was the one supposed to be wrecked. Ben didn’t get wrecked.

But it’s not like She liked listening to him. Or allowing him to just follow the rules he’d set for himself decades ago. Every single thing Ben had known and understood she’d destroyed, then rebuilt, just by smiling at him and never wavering. Like she was now.

So Ben buried his face in Her neck—finding the spot that he knew would make Her feel half of what he felt—and started to fuck her hand. Faster, faster until she moaned, and he grinned against her.

“When you’re done,” Ben started to kiss up Her neck until he was growling in her ears. “I’m going to make you scream. Got it?”

She nodded, and the small sound she made just made Ben go faster.

“You’re so fucking good,” he kept talking, because Ben hadn’t missed that every time Ben spoke She’d fall a little further into him, her free hand tugging at his hair. “Your hand’s fucking made for this, beautiful.”

“Ben-“

He grinned. There it was. If anyone tried to say his name again—in a way that wasn’t breathless and passionate and falling from their mouth—he’d rip their tongue out. “So fucking perfect.” He pulled Her closer, one hand cupping the back of Her head and the other kneading at the soft skin of her stomach, arm fully around her waist. She squeezed him just fucking right, and Ben hissed against her skin. “Fucking perfect. Too fucking good at this, too fucking beautiful, too fucking-“

She turned Her head, moving Ben to her lips, just as she moaned down his throat and made one, long movement—nails running lightly against his balls with another squeeze—that did it. Ben groaned Her name into her wide, perfect mouth, swearing as he jerked forward. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back, just stayed exactly where Ben needed her until the bare parts of her legs were covered in cum. Ben’s cum. On Her.

Ben kissed Her roughly, waiting right up until she whined to pull his mouth away slowly. Panting slightly, he kissed the top of Her head and waited for her to look up at him.

“My turn.”

He didn’t wait for Her to speak before leaning over her, moving her down until she was flat on the bed below him. Letting her grind against his chest and wrap her legs around him, moan his name and claw at his hair and back, for just long enough to build Her up and up. Ben moved his hands down from her face to her thighs, squeezing once.

“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, and the only sound better than that was what followed it. “Ben.”

He gave Her one last, wet kiss, and dropped down to the edge of bed, kneeling on the floor and using his hold on her thighs to pull Her forward. As Ben hooked her legs over his shoulders—tossing her underwear and shorts away into some corner of the room—he saw Her sitting up on her elbows, frowning down at him.

“We said hand stuff, Benjamin.“

He raised his brows at Her. “Do you want me to stop?”

”No, but you’re cheating-“

Ben didn’t give her an opportunity to keep talking. He’d have a long time—if he was lucky—to listen to Her talk about whatever she fucking wanted. Right now he needed to make her scream.

It was almost immediate. Ben dove forward, sucking on Her clit one long time, and she whined, high and loud.

“Fuck, Ben-“

That was good. He liked that. Ben liked everything about Her, but that—the sound of Her feeling good with his name—was one of the fucking best things he’d ever known.

She needed to do it again. He needed to find every way she could do it. This was his fucking job now. Everything else could fucking wait until she came all over Ben’s face, until she felt so good she’d never be in danger of breaking again.

So Ben set to work. Sucking and licking and goddamn eating Her alive. Tracing rough patterns with his hands against her thighs and ass, bracing an arm over her hips to keep her still. To allow Ben to fuck her with his tongue until the taste of Her, that real, powerful taste was drowning him as she screamed his name. He’d die for this. She wouldn’t have to kill him because he’d give everything to keep Her like this forever. To keep her blissfully whining and moaning, to make her never have to feel fear again because she was too busy being tended to under him. For there to be even the slimmest fucking chance that She’d want him to do this forever. Want him forever.

For now, though, Ben would settle for this. He’d settle for him being the one who made Her squirm in this moment. Ben got to see this, Ben got to cause this. Right now She adored him, right now she wanted Ben. Nothing else. Just Ben.

So he’d give Her everything he had.

He focused fully on Her clit, puffed and red, and dedicated himself to it. Pulled it into his mouth until her screams turned to breathless begs and sounds that might be Ben’s name—tangled with other noises he didn’t understand—and then let his teeth brush it, groaning against Her at the same time. She managed to scream one last time—hoarse and deafening and the most amazing sound in the fucking world—as She came. Squeezing around his tongue as Ben lowered to taste it all, as she pushed up into his face to give him it all. Back arched off the bed and thighs trapping Ben against Her as if he was so much of a fucking pussy idiot he’d even damn think to try and leave.

When She was done—shaking and breathing heavily as she relaxed fully around him—Ben rose up, wiping the remaining wetness clinging to his beard with one hand. Watching Her, pulled apart and reaching for him, just him. So thoroughly wrecked at his efforts, heart hamming against her chest. So fucking beautiful.

Ben started to walk to the bathroom—quickly pulling his pants back on—but She made a needy sound for her throat that made him pause.

“Are you-“

“Where are you going?” She whispered, and Ben felt the Thing rip inside of him. Torn between making Her smile and taking care of her.

“Getting a towel.” He grunted, still rooted in place. “Need to clean you up.”

“No,” Her voice was hoarse, and she was starting to sit up. “I’m fine, just stay-“

That won the war inside of him. Ben crossed back to Her in two long steps. Dropping next to her on the bed and rolling her onto his chest. Lying with her until her heart slowed, her breaths became easy against him.

“Ben?” She whispered into the air, the room having fallen dark at some point. Ben hadn’t noticed really, unable to be fucked to pay attention to anything but Her, against him. Safe and happy and warm.

He hummed Her name, and waited for her to continue.

“When it’s over, I’ll go with you.”

Time stopped. Everything stopped. Nothing fucking mattered except Ben knowing exactly what She fucking meant. If it was what he thought—fucking hoped—she meant. “With me?”

“Wherever they send you off to, when this is done. I’ll go with you.”

Ben nodded slowly at nothing, trying to act like he was unaffected. Like the Thing wasn’t bellowing and scraping at his ribs and brain, trying to tell him something really important, make Ben tell Her something important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was-

“If you, um, if you still want that.”

He blinked, glaring down at Her in the dark. “Did I ever fucking tell you I didn’t?”

“No, but you haven’t said anything-“

“You’re coming with me,” Ben said, firmly. She wasn’t allowed to think anything else, not if She wanted this. Wanted him. “Nothing in the world will goddamn stop me taking you with me, not if that’s what you’re choosing.”

“I chose that,” Ben could feel Her smile against the base of his neck. “I chose you.”

The Thing needed something. Something earth-shaking and impossibly fucking vital for Ben to know if he was going to keep living. Something She had to know or Ben might explode.

“I’ll let you fuck me on the beach,” She hummed, and Ben just decided to ignore the Thing. She was more important. “And in the ocean and in a bed and wherever else you want.”

“Wherever I want?” Ben chuckled into the dark. “Dangerous fucking promises, beautiful.”

She yawned, and Ben kissed Her head as her voice turned sleepy. “That’s the point, Pretty Boy.”

As She pulled herself further into him—breathing turning slow and body relaxing further under Ben’s hands—Ben said Her name softly.

“Yeah?”

“If this doesn’t work,” Ben said slowly. “I want to fucking leave anyway. If we don’t get the kid, me and you are gone, Sunshine. We’ll go wherever you want, and we’ll go together. Somewhere with a beach for me to fuck you on, or somewhere in the mountains so you can scream even louder. But we’ll be gone.”

She sighed, but didn’t protest. Ben had expected Her to push back—tell him they had a job and responsibility and had to finish this—and even as he’d thought the words he’d known she’d tell him no, but she didn’t.

“I’ll think about it,” She said after a long, silent minute, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was Her or the haze of the sleep overtook her only seconds later. He didn’t know if she’d even remember him asking, or was just too tired to try and convince him that they couldn’t just leave.

But Ben decided to believe Her. To allow himself to think that she’d really consider it. Either way she’d go with him. No matter what, she’d stay with him. That was all that fucking matters.

It was the steady beat of Her heart, paired with the lingering taste of her and sound of Her wanting him, that allowed Ben to sleep soundly through the night.

End Note: I’ve made the unprecedented and totally out of left field executive decision to make Ben a top. Crazy. I’m sure this is really shocking news, but we’ll get through this like we always do. Together and horny.

Leave a comment, if you want! Any and all thoughts, feedback, jokes, and predications are always welcome, and will make my day. Also I'm thinking of giving you guys a playlist? Idk lemme know if that's something you'd want. Thank you so much for reading, and see you soon <3!

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