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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 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!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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

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marilynthornhilllover · 5 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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dazedandconfused-15 · 4 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.

------------------------------------------------------------

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.

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove smut #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x you #stranger things smut #dacryphilia #slow burn #stranger things fic #billy hargove x reader #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #eddie munson #80s #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove x female reader #billy stranger things

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r04dk1llx2 · 7 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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joshs-big-toe · 11 months ago

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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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xcherryerim · 5 months ago

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˖⁺ ⊹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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freak-accident419 · 9 months ago

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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 · 7 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 · 8 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 · 6 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 · 5 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 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 20 - Forget to Fall Down

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I love you guys <3

Chapter Title from Northern Downpour by Panic! At The Disco

Word Count: 25.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You're home. 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 19 - Chapter 21

There’s a soft blanket across your body and a hand in yours that you’d recognize as Ben’s if you were in a grave, and you know you’re home. You can’t really remember how you got home—there’s a blur of screams and pavement under your feet, and a ghost of something in your ear telling you where to go—but you know you're safe. You can hear Ben’s snores and feel a comfortable weight pressing near your stomach, and it tells you that you’re safe. You’re exhausted, you feel like something is numb in your blood, but you’re warm. Ben’s heat is radiating across your body, and the blanket is trapping it in your chest. And, most importantly, you’re not alone. Ben was here, you were home, and you’d never have to be cold and lonely again.

You open your eyes slowly, because everything in you is still foggy and trudging through mud but you have to see Ben. Just look at him. Make sure he’s real.

The room is dark, all the lamps off with the door closed. You blink a few times and try to raise your free hand to wipe away sleep from your eyes, but there’s an IV in it that’s sore to pull on. And you can’t move your other hand, wrapped up in Ben’s, so you just keep blinking and squinting until nothing is blurry. You have time. You have all the time in the world to wake up, because you’re home.

Dawn is breaking, and everything is cast in a golden glow. You’re in a cot, just a little more comfortable than a hospital bed, and there’s no blood on your body. Everything is clean, and there’s a half-empty paper cup of coffee on a table next to you, the rim of it wrinkled and a little torn. The blanket—green and fluffy—seems to be moving in a wind from under the door, and Ben’s head is resting against it. Resting against you.

Ben.

He’s passed out, breathing steady and face peaceful, but he’s here. He’s pulled up a chair up to the side of your bed, one hand holding yours near his face, and the other one splaying out and up to your head with fingers tangled in your hair. His lips keep brushing against your knuckles when he lets out another grunting snore that rolls through your bones, and the way his face is half squished against your body makes your heart flutter slightly. He’s slumped over in a position that shouldn’t be comfortable—his back is hunched and he’s half out of the chair beneath him—but he’s knocked out. Those are his deep sleep snores, and he’s dead weight on your body. When you squeeze his hand once, just because you can, all he does is make a low noise and slump further into you. The room smells like him—pine and coffee and salt drifting around the air and soothing your head—and his thumb drifting across your hand in his sleep in small, mindless circles. His hair is falling across his eyes—if your arm wasn’t still trapped by the IV you’d brush it away—and his face is cast in the shadows of the morning, and he’s everything. You smile, even as a small lump forms in your throat, because he’s warm, and safe, and pretty.

He’d grumble and bitch if he could hear you, but he’s so pretty. With his face smushed into your stomach, his eyelashes fluttering when he shifts, and his jaw twitching when you squeeze his hands again, Ben’s beautiful. You love him, so fucking much.

You feel your breathing start to grow unsteady, and suddenly the most important thing in the world is that Ben looks at you. You almost let yourself sit in it and let him sleep—he looks so peaceful and you can see the gray-purple bags under his eyes—but you’ve missed him. You’ve missed his touch and smell, you’ve longed for it, but they’re not enough. You need him to look at you, to see his smile or frown or the furrow of his brow on his face. You need to hear him. He needs to say your name, or call you Sunshine or beautiful or brat, or just anything as long as he says it like him. Deep and faking annoyance, meaning every single word he says. He needs to say you’ll be okay. The longer you’re awake the more you can feel those cracks on your body and mind, the more you’re overwhelmed by where they’d broken open at the end. Ben needs to say you’ll be okay, because he wouldn’t lie about that. If Ben says you’ll be okay, if he tells you you’re home and safe, you’ll really believe it. If he wakes up you’ll feel him again, and you have to feel him. You need to feel all his concern and care and adoration in your body, to make sure it’s still there. You can’t feel his Thing anymore, but he’s asleep. You can’t feel Ben because he’s asleep, and when he wakes up everything will be good again.

It takes effort to open your mouth and speak, your throat dry and not moving fast enough. But you need Ben to wake up.

“Ben.” You’re whispering. He looks so calm, and you’re so tired, so you can’t do more than whisper. “Benjamin.”

A low grunt escapes him, and you shift under him just enough to jostle his head. You’ll have time to apologize—and hear Ben tell you to shut the fuck up and never apologize to him—for is later. Right now you need him to wake up.

“Ben,” your voice is a little steadier, but still quieter than you want. “Please, Ben, please wake up.”

His face twitches, eyes fluttering slightly, and you still can’t feel him. You need to feel him.

Your voice is growing louder, getting higher and more panicked as your heart picks up. “Ben, please,” you sound almost hysterical, trying to tug at him but you’re so tired. “Benjamin. Ben, please, please wake up-”

His eyes shoot open, finding yours immediately, and your words die in a choked sob.

You’ve never seen Ben move so fast. In a second he’s up from your body, up from his chair, and sitting on the cot at your side. His hand in yours never lets go, the other moving behind your head and gently pulling you up to his chest. He’s so warm, and you can feel his every breath as he whispers your name. His voice is low and hoarse, just barely audible over your crying and the sound of his heart, but it’s Ben. That’s how he says your name, that’s how you always want him to say your name. Like it’s the most important word in the world. He’s surrounding your every sense, his body firm under your hands and his smell soothing your head. He’s big and warm and Ben. He’s everywhere.

You can’t feel him. The part of him that belonged to you is gone, and he’s touching you but you can’t feel him.

Some feral instinct of no takes over your body. That’s not your Ben. You can always feel your Ben. He’s the only one that’s supposed to touch you and hold you and say your name, and this fucking imposter is doing it all right—your stupid heart that’s only for Ben even thinks it’s him—but you can’t feel him.

He’s still holding you, carefully and reverently like your Ben would, but you can’t fucking feel him. You can’t feel anything but no. Something is trying to trick you, trying to make you feel so safe and warm and no. Not real.

It’s not a dream. You try and push the imposter away, but he’s strong like Ben is and all that happens is you shriek in pain as the IV pulls at your arm. The fake is trying to talk to you and ease your fear, but you just want Ben. You want the real one to appear and pull the liar away and pick you up. You can’t fight anymore, you’re so fucking exhausted and this is so cruel. This painful and fucked and you don’t know why Sage is doing this to you—making you think you were home—but it’s not real and you’re going to break because this is torture-

Ben’s voice is saying your name. The imposter is trying to calm you down as you make strangled sounds of protests and try to escape his hold. He’s pulled you away from his body, his hands are cupping your face, and he’s holding you right. His hands on your face are calloused and his tracing the same patterns your Ben does, and it’s not real.

He says your name again, and you can barely hear him through panic clouding your head. You have to go, this is so cruel because your heart is trying to make you just fall forwards into the imposter but your brain knows it’s a lie. It doesn’t matter how he smells like pine and how he’s touching you like you’re holy, or how his voice has all the right inflections and his body molds perfectly against yours. You can’t feel Ben.

This time, his voice is louder. Almost desperate as he repeats your name, and your evil body responds to it. Makes you listen to him as he speaks.

“You’re from Boston, and you lived in New York, and now you live with me in fucking Jersey.” He’s just saying facts about you. Facts Sage knows. “We lived in a safe house, because you’re too smart for your own fucking good and decided to wake me up. You’re the most powerful supe in the world, and you got the idea that you could fucking control me.”

These are all just facts, Sage could’ve just fed the liar a script-

“You were right. You’re right about most things, and good at a lot of shit, but you can’t fucking cook. Nobody taught you how.” His voice is urgent, and you stop screaming. These are more specific, things Sage could guess but doesn’t know. This maybe Ben must pick up on why you’ve stopped trying to claw his hands off your face, because he stops naming facts and begins to list off things about you. About who you are. His voice grows louder, clearer, but you still can’t feel him.

“You call coke cocaine, say shit like braggart and macabre and unbecoming, and you swear like a fucking sailor. You love music, you have the voice of a goddamn siren, and you tap Moon River when you’re getting emotional. I’m not allowed to call you emotional, because it’s tasteless. You hate your mother, because she’s a bitch, and you hate advertisements because they prey on people’s insecurities. You fucking love people. You got a PhD because you’re fucking brilliant and love people.”

You’re breathing a little steadier. You want this to be real, you’ve never wanted anything more. But Sage still could’ve just figured you out-

“You think everything is amusing, and you help everyone, even when they’re fucking pussies who don’t deserve it. You taught me how to use a phone, and the first photo in my library is one you took of my shield. You made it my lockscreen, and taught me how to change it if I wanted to. I made it a photo of you watching a movie, because you looked hot in it. You’re hot all the time, but when you’re doing something you love you’re brighter than the goddamn sun. And you loved watching that stupid fucking movie. And I loved watching you.”

Your brain is still hazy, and all his words sound right. But you still can’t feel Ben, and you’re so tired-

“You call me Benjamin, and old, and grumpy, and I let you because you’re fucking everything to me. You think your three best qualities are your dumb as fuck plans, your tits, and your ability to put up with my shit. You’re wrong, because your plans always hurt you,” his voice is almost strained, and you want to make it happy. “Your tits are perfect but all of you is perfect so they don’t fucking count, and you love putting up with my shit. You think it’s funny.” I love you, your traitorous heart is siding with maybe Ben. I love you. Ben, I love you. “Your real best qualities are that you’re smart, and kind, and you have the best fucking pussy of all time.”

Your body is leaning into him. You’re not strong enough to stop it, not when you need this to be real. This has to be your Ben, or you’ll shatter.

“When you’re ready, I’m going to fuck that pussy wherever I want. You said I could, as long as we’re together, because my dick is yours and you chose me. When this shit is over, we’re going to go to Rome, together. We’re going to go to Rome and open an escort business and you’ll be the pimp and I’ll be your muscle and fuck you everywhere. You burn, I burn, Sunshine. You’re never going to burn without me again. I won’t fucking let you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry. “But I don’t let you do anything.”

The world clears in your head. You can see Ben watching you, and it’s Ben. You still can’t feel him, but nobody else would know those things but your Ben. Your hands are still fisted in his chest, smoke rising from your knuckles and nails, but this is Ben so there’s no fire. He’d let you beat at his chest and kick up into his gut because he’s Ben, and you couldn’t hurt him if you tried.

“Ben,” you whisper, falling forward until your brow is pressed to him. “Something’s wrong. I can’t feel you.”

“I know,” His voice is gruff, deep. Ben’s. He’s real. “They gave you some sort of drug to stop it. The French Prick said it would help you. He’s clearly a fucking idiot.”

You huff a dry laugh, shaking your head in his hands. “That’s rude, Benjamin.”

“I don’t give a fuck.”

“I know.” You smile at him, and his mouth twitches slightly. He’s here. “Hi.”

He sighs, eyes fixed on yours. “Hi, beautiful.”

“I missed you.”

“I know,” he mutters. “I missed you, too.” He falls silent after that, just watching you. You’re just holding each other, your body having moved itself into his lap and one of his arms long dropped to circle your hips and keep you there. And this is your Ben. Nobody else is capable of looking at you like that, nobody can fake the way that Ben’s eyes on yours always pull you apart, and how it’s so strangely comforting. They could look like him and say all the right words and hold you the right way, but only your Ben sees you. And they couldn’t fake that.

“I’m sorry-“

“Shut up.” He grunts, and you can’t help your small smile. “Never fucking apologize to me.”

“I tried to scratch out your eyes, Ben.” You mumble. “That feels like it warrants an apology.”

“Well you didn’t fucking manage to, so shut up.” He pauses, scanning your face. When he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “You’re okay.”

Not a question. You giggle, and probably look insane—his scowl tells you that you do—but you missed him. You missed Ben so fucking much. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “I’m really okay. I just,” you sigh. “I’m tired. I’m-“

“If you say you’re sorry again, I’ll kill you.”

“I’d like to see you fucking try-“

Ben kisses you. It’s slow, soft, and careful. Like you might turn into ash or smoke if he makes the wrong move, and you still can’t feel him but he tastes like coffee and salt and Ben. This is him, his tongue tracing your lips lightly and his hand running through your hair. His arm around you holding you tight against him, his hand on your waist kneading at your skin.

When he pulls back, you’re smiling. This is real, you’re home and Ben is here, so you’re smiling. There will be time for shadows and pain later, right now Ben is here.

He looks like he wants to say something. His eyes are narrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his hand has moved down to trace the line of your cheekbone. You need to tell him you love him. Ben’s looking at you like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen, and you’re sharing his breath, and he’s so warm and strong and Ben. He hums your name, and you’re going to tell him. Even when you can’t feel him, he's everything, and in the haze of sleep and Ben’s presence it really feels like a good idea because he has to know you love him.

The door bursts open, and Ben’s whole body wraps around you. Pull you into his chest and his arms steadily, gently cage you there. His shoulders hunch down, like he’s trying to push you into his body, and his roar rolls through your ribcage.

“What the goddamn fucking hell is wrong with you pussies?! You can’t just fucking barge in without a goddamn warning-“

“Our apologies, sir. We heard a disturbance, and wanted to check on the patient.” You don’t recognize that voice, but Ben’s grip on you has loosened slightly, enough for you to know that Ben knows them. That he’s decided you’re not in danger.

“She’s fine,” Ben snaps, and you start to try and wriggle out of his grip. “Get the fuck out.”

You poke at his chest, because the stupid bear of a man won’t budge. He’s looking over his shoulder, not even flinching when you pinch his arm. “Ben, let me go.”

Ben’s glare turns down to you, and he’s so close and handsome and Ben and you need to get a fucking grip. Love is making you an idiot.

“No,” he grunts, and hauls you slightly further up his chest. “Shut up.”

“Fuck you. Let me go.”

“I said-“

“Please, Ben. My arm hurts.”

It’s not technically a lie, the way he’s moved your body puts the IV at a weird angle that’s sore and stinging, but you say it because you know he’ll listen. His eyes dart down to where the IV is stuck in the crook of your elbow, and he’s scowling as he lets out a long sigh.

“Fine.”

His arms grow just slack enough for you to move your head back and peek around him, seeing a skinny man in scrubs standing at the door.

“Hi.”

The man blinks, gaping at you. “You’re awake.”

“Fucking obviously,” Ben mutters. “I could’ve told you that, I should be the goddamn doctor-“

“You’d be a terrible doctor, Ben.” You pull back to grin at him, and you see something soften in his glare when your eyes meet. “You have no bedside manner.”

“Bedside manner is for pussies-“

“I should, uh,” the man is still in the door, staring at you with wide eyes. “I should go get Director Mallory. She said to tell us when you were awake-“

“Do not get Mallory,” Ben snaps, twisting around to meet the man’s eyes. “Get a fucking doctor, you dickless ass, so we can go the fuck home.”

You punch his chest, and he looks back down with a scowl as the man scrambles away with a frantic nod.

“I’m fine, Ben. You don’t need to bully the nurse.”

“I wasn’t fucking bullying the nurse-“

“You’re a big guy, Benjamin.” You sigh, leaning back into him and letting his body muffle your words. “You’re scary. That guy looked like he was going to piss his pants.”

He grunts. “You’re not scared of me.”

Not a question. You’ll always answer.

“No,” you smile up at him. “But I could kick your ass if I wanted to. And you wouldn’t hurt me, so there’s nothing to be scared of. But most people don’t know how much of a big softie you are-“

“I am not a fucking softie-“

You kiss him this time. You move your hands up to his jaw and tug lightly, and he lets you move him down. Back against you. You hate not feeling him—really feeling Ben in your body—but this is still everything. Even without the stone resolve wrapping over your muscles and head, or pound of him against your ribcage, he’s still Ben. And that’s more than enough. Him touching you and meaning it will always clear your head, and he’ll always fit perfectly against you, and he’ll let out low grunts and groans that make everything easy. Ben will always be warm, always keep you safe, and when he pulls away from your mouth his eyes will always watch you. His forehead will keep pressing to yours, and his hands will keep making you feel good, and his voice will keep rolling through you when he speaks.

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

Ben kisses you again, and he’s still being so gentle. Even when he deepens it, pressing his tongue against your lower lip in a silent request, he’s going slow. Holding you lightly against him, groaning in a way that’s driving you a little insane but not growling. Not hauling you up against him and biting at your neck until you start to grind against him. You wish you could feel him. If he’s worried or angry. If he’s not just laying you down on the bed and fucking you because you’ve only just returned and something is still snapped and flailing weakly in the muscle of your chest, or because he doesn’t want you anymore. Because he’s waiting for you to move, so he knows you won’t freak out again if he tries anything, or if he’s seen how you’d broken and decided you were weak. Not good enough for him, too human for him to waste time on.

But Ben wouldn’t do that. He would always want you. He might not love you, but he wants you. And he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do, doesn’t give people things out of obligation. Ben likes that you’re kind, that you’ll always be a little more human that the V should allow.

Still, a mocking, sadistic voice echoes in your head. Too human. Too weak.

Ben’s hand drifts up your body, brushing against your ribs, and your head goes clear. He can still do that. You can’t feel how solid and immovable he is, how his touch is filled with adoration, but you can know it. It’s not in your blood, but it’s in how he’s sucking on your upper lip and his teeth are brushing against your skin. It’s in how—even with touches that are a little too soft—he’s holding you in a way that you can feel every movement of his body, and it’s all firm. Assured in his place against you, never hesitating to move you a little closer, never pulling back for air because this is more vital.

Someone coughs, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. His hand on the back of your head holds you steady where he wants you, dropping his mouth to leave a wet, sloppy kiss at the base of your neck before rising up your jaw, your cheek, your brow. Leaving a trail along your face before finally pressing one, heartbreakingly light kiss on the top of your head.

“Excuse me,” someone with a tight, croaking voice is speaking from behind Ben. “If the patient has woken up, I need to speak to her.”

Ben pulls back, rolling his eyes at you as he responds. “Fucking talk.”

“May I see-“

You wiggle yourself upwards, using your free arm to pull on Ben’s neck and peek over his shoulder. The doctor—standing hesitantly in the doorway—cuts himself off, staring at you in surprise before shaking his head and entering the room.

The doctor stops at the side of your bed, and Ben still doesn’t let you go. You try to twist around in his arms, to face the doctor while remaining pressed into Ben’s chest, but the IV tugs at your arm and a small sound of pain escapes your throat. That makes Ben move, picking you up carefully so he can adjust his own position to be at the head of the cot, lowering you between his legs and keeping one arm wrapped around your torso. The doctor watches with a wide-eyed, nervous expression before coughing again and grabbing a clipboard that’s been hanging on the wall.

He says your name—your full, real name—confirms your birthday, and begins to read off the clipboard. “Super-abled female. Primary residence, redacted. Powers, regenerative healing factor, empathy, pyrokinesis, and redacted. Occupation, redacted. Emergency contact, William Butcher-“

“What?” You frown, feeling Ben tense around you. “Why is Butcher my emergency contact?”

The doctor shrugs. “I’m just reading what I was given, ma’am. If you would like to change it, we can do that when you’re discharged. Speaking of which,” his eyes narrow at the clipboard before looking up to you. “We will need to run some tests before allowing you to leave, and Director Mallory will have to approve the removal of your IV.”

You sigh. “What kind of tests?”

“While you’re here I like to get your vitals, and I’ll have to ask you some questions about the events leading up to, uh,” the doctor shoots a quick, anxious glance above you, where Ben’s chin is resting on your head. “Your admittance.”

“I, um, I don’t really remember much-“

“That’s common for events of emotional distress such as yours.” The doctor scratches at his ear, looking between you, Ben, and the clipboard. “We just need to gather as much information as possible. While there’s been no sign of physically inflicted harm, given your situation and history we’ll still need to ensure mental stability-“

“Okay.” You try and curl further into Ben and he gets the silent message, squeezing his hand on your thigh and rubbing circles against your skin. Your whole body relaxes into it, and you nod at the doctor. “What do you need to know?”

��Um,” the doctor’s eyes fall to where Ben’s touching you, and you’re too tired to be embarrassed. Ben’s touching you, and he’s big and warm and safe, and it’s making breathing and speaking easier. The doctor can deal with it. “Just, try and recall anything you can.”

“Anything?” You repeat, and the doctor nods. “Anything about…?”

“What got you here.”

You nod slowly, but when you try to think about what happened after Homelander had left all you see is blood and all you feel is cold. “I, um. I really don’t know. I figured out that my empathy power could reverse, so people could feel me, and I tested it to make sure. I was just, I was exhausted and alone, and whenever I touched people they’d fall over.” Your nails are digging into Ben’s arm, and he doesn’t flinch. Only pulls you closer. “I, um, I was looking for something in the tower, a weapon against Homelander, and I found it.” The part of you that had broken when Homelander kissed you grows painful, and your voice becomes strained. “I figured out a way to get Homelander away from the tower, and I just ran. I don’t, I can’t really remember what happened after, but I think I just kept running until I got here.”

The doctor frowns. “When you arrived, you were covered in blood. Do you remember if anyone tried to hurt you-“

“No,” you whisper. You remember that. All the blood on your hands and under your feet and dried against your face, even when nothing was burning anymore. Blood in your hair and metal on your tongue and red splattered across your clothes-

Your clothes. The stained pants and shirt you’d left the tower in, the pockets you’d been keeping the V in.

Where are your clothes.

You turn around, grabbing the collar of Ben’s shirt and ignoring the pain shooting through your arm. Your clothes.

“What-“

“Ben,” you cut him off with a frantic shake of your head and a high voice. “Ben, my clothes. Where the fuck are my clothes. I need my clothes-“

Ben says your name with a frown. “I changed you out of them, you were covered in fucking blood and dirt-“

“Where did you put them,” you pull yourself up to his eyes level, holding his face between your hands. “Ben, where are my clothes-“

“Annie took them up to our apartment,” his hand moves off your thigh, circling around your wrist. Holding you still. “They’re just up in the fucking apartment. We can clean them, or burn them, or whatever the fuck you want. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. Your clothes are up in the apartment, the V in is your clothes, and Ben says it’s okay. You fall forwards, pressing your head into the crook of his neck, and you’re okay.

The doctor’s pencil is scratching against paper, and you don’t bother to look at him. You don’t think you could pull away from Ben if you tried, because it’s safe here. Ben’s hand is running through your hair, and you can feel every rise and fall of his chest with his breath, and you’re safe here. He won’t leave. You love him, and he won’t leave.

“I’d like to order a psychological evaluation,” the doctor is saying, and you just nod into Ben’s body. “And I’m going to recommend to Director Mallory that you remain out of the field until it’s completed and you’ve been approved.”

You hum and acknowledge, and when Ben speaks you can feel every word in your bones and gut, soothing any lingering fear.

“She doesn’t need a fucking shrink.” He snaps. “She needs to go home and rest.”

“It will just be a brief session, to make sure there’s nothing to worry about. Given the, um, nature of her time away, we’re required to ensure there was no deeper trauma inflicted. She may as well be fine, but it’s just precautionary-“

Ben’s going to shout at the doctor. You can hear his heart picking up where your ear is pressed to his body, his body has gone rigid, and when you look up his jaw is clenched.

You almost reach up to pull his face down to yours, but his gaze drops down to yours with a frown before you even move.

There’s not a chance in fucking hell we’re staying here another night-

It’ll be an appointment, Ben. We’ll go home, and come back for an appointment. Or they’ll come to us, we do live here. You offer him a small smile. And the longer you yell at the medical professionals, the longer we have to stay here.

He rolls his eyes. I’m not fucking yelling.

You were about to.

Shut the fuck up.

Not until you promise to calm your ass down.

I am fucking calm.

You give him a flat look, vaguely aware that the doctor had long fallen silent. Really.

I’m calm as shit. I just want to take you fucking home-

I am home. You lean forwards, resting your chin on his chest. You’re here.

Ben’s glower vanishes in a second, and he’s watching you with an expression you can’t understand. It’s familiar, but if you’re supposed to be able to read it, you can’t.

He doesn’t look away when he speaks. “Fine.”

“Um, sir,” you can see the doctor in your periphery, frowning at Ben. “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to speak on her behalf, considering you’re not family or given power of attorney. Technically you shouldn’t even be here-“

Ben’s head shoots up, his scowl returned in full force, and you have to speak before the doctor gets his head bashed in.

“It’s fine, he’s okay.” Please don’t make him leave. “It’s um, he’s right. I’m fine with a psych eval. I just, can I ask how long I have to be here?”

When you lean back to watch the doctor’s reaction, he’s staring at Ben with a frozen expression. “We, um,” the doctor swallows. “Director Mallory needs to speak to you first, then you’ll be discharged. Vitals can wait, I think.”

“Can you please go get her?”

The doctor nods, retreating backwards. “Yeah. I can.”

“Thank you-“

The doctor slams the door closed as he leaves, and you glare up at Ben.

“Benjamin.”

He’s still glaring at where the doctor had disappeared into the hall. “What.”

“I told you to stop bullying.”

“I didn’t even goddamn say anything-“

You snort. “You were looking at that guy like you were going to rip his head off.”

“He was going to try to make me fucking leave you-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “He couldn’t make you do anything. And he was technically right, you’re not my relative or emergency contact, so you probably shouldn’t be here. That’s policy at most hospitals.”

“This isn’t a real hospital,” Ben mutters. “All their policies are made up dogshit.”

“Well, all policies are made up dogshit. They’re all just fake, hyper-specific corporate law.” You grin at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“What, so I’m not allowed but fucking Butcher would be-”

“I’m going to make you my emergency contact, Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “But not until you stop being a fucking man-child.”

“I am not a man-child-“

“Then stop throwing a temper tantrum.”

He’s still glaring at you, but it’s for show. You know that glare, where his brow is furrowed and his mouth is in a frown, but his eyes have nothing but content affection in them. “Brat.”

You smile at him, and it’s a real smile. There’s teeth and joy and comfort and your cheeks hurt a little bit, but it’s the only pain you’re feeling because you’re happy. Ben’s here and you’re happy. “Cunt. I can still keep Butcher as my contact, so don’t test me.“

Ben’s eyes narrow. “That’s not fucking funny.”

“It’s a little funny-“

This kiss is harsher. Still not rough, but desperate. Full of want, Ben groaning your name down your throat and his tongue pushing a litter further than before. His nose bumps yours, and when you don’t pull away he goes deeper. Nipping at your lips until they swell, pulling your tongue into his mouth with a low sound from his chest that makes you whine at start to climb up to get closer. He grins against you, and his voice is in you.

“Fucking like that, Sunshine?” You nod against him, and he does it again. “Use your words.”

“Yes,” you’re breathless. He’s barely touching you, but all your air has been pushed into his body and you have no desire to take it back. “I like that.” I love you.

“More?”

You nod, and Ben moves to your ear, kissing right below it before growling against your skin.

“Fucking words-“

“More,” you mumble, lowering your head into his shoulder. “More, please.”

Ben hums, and your whole body shivers. “Try again.”

“You’re such a fucking asshole-“

“You’re into it.”

You shake your head, trying to clear it from only thinking Ben. Ben, I love you. Please, Ben, I love you. “I am. But I’m a little fucked up.”

He pulls away, and you almost whine again. You barely manage to swallow it, trying to pretend it doesn’t kill you that you still can’t feel him. He’s looking up at you—sitting halfway on his torso—and you love him. You love that he’s here, and touching you like you didn’t break or leave, and smirking at you as you start to grind onto him.

“I like you a little fucked up.” He says, and you can’t swallow your next whine as he squeezes your ass. “But I’m also not fucking you here.”

“Ben-“

He drops his arms down to your hips and holds you carefully up his body as one hand snakes up, below your shirt, and keeps you steady against him as he flips you both over. Pressing you down into the mattress, and kissing you into the half-plastic cot pillow until you whimper.

“I’m not fucking you here,” he says your name again, and you can only nod. Anything that keeps his voice rolling through you, keeps him around you. “I’m going to fuck you, and when I do you’re going to say my name, and moan, and cum all fucking over my cock and hands and face. But not here. Not until you’re okay.”

You are okay. You’re still broken and tired, but you’re okay. Ben’s here, and safe, and warm, and you’re okay. You should tell him, you should tell him you’re good, he’s here so you’re good, but it will come out I love you. If you try to talk to Ben right now you’ll say Ben. Ben, I love you. Ben I’m fucked up and broken but it’s all good because I love you, and you’re here.

You can’t say you love him. You’re awake now and you know that you can’t say you love him. You’re not ready for him to say he doesn’t love you, you’re not strong enough to live through that right now, so you can’t say you love him. All you can do is surge up and grab Ben’s face, feel him in every way you can with your empathy numbed, and let him groan into you. Let him guide your arms back down so that the IV doesn’t pull at your skin, let him make your head clear with just Ben. Kissing your and invading your senses in the best possible way. Here and real and Ben.

“I missed you,” you hum the words into his mouth, and hope he hears the underlying song of I love you. Ben, I love you. “I really fucking missed you.”

His head lifts up, pressing a kiss on your forehead, words muttered against your skin. “I missed you too, Sunshine. Don’t ever fucking do that shit again.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and mean it. You’re exhausted, and a broken piece of you is still shifting around inside your body. You won’t survive doing that again. “I won’t.”

Ben nods, and draws back to watch you. Eyes scanning over your body, picking you apart and searing into every single part of you. You’ve never felt safer.

“Fucking swear it,” he grunts, and you don’t hesitate.

“Promise.” You smile at him again, and his whole body relaxes. “I’ll never leave you again.”

“You didn’t fucking leave me,” Ben mutters. “I lost you-“

“You didn’t lose me,” you reach your hands up, ignoring the sting of the IV. This is more important. “You’ll never lose me, Ben.”

He nods, but doesn’t move. “Good.”

You can’t feel him. You wish you could feel him, because he’s saying something else. There’s something in his voice that you’ve heard before, but it’s stronger. Almost everything in his tone is filled with the one part of him you don’t understand. That big, focused thing that had lived in your body. That was him, that you can’t feel anymore. You want it back. You want all of him, but the IV is still in your arm and you can’t have it right now. So you just smile at him. You smile at Ben, and it’s the simplest thing in the world.

I love you. Ben, I love you.

His eyes are dropping back to your mouth, and you hope he just fucks you. You’re tired, and this bed is uncomfortable, but if Ben’s hand moved just a fraction lower on your hips and if he kissed you like that again, there wasn’t a single thing you wouldn’t let him do to you. When he looks back up at you his eyes are blown out and dark, focused on you as his hips drop and his cock presses against your inner thigh, and you need him. You need him to stop being such a misguided noble ass and just touch you when you’re broken. You need someone to pull this stupid fucking IV out of your body so you can feel Ben, and he can take you home and fuck you.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters your name, and you make a small weak sound. “So fucking good and beautiful.”

“Ben-“

He cuts off your plea of his name with his mouth, with one long, sweet kiss. This kiss is sweet. It’s not to shut you up or make you moan, it’s just to kiss you. To make you sigh and smile against him when he hums your name, when his hand reaches up to brush hair from your face.

“Whole thing,” he mutters. “Say the whole thing.”

You couldn’t deny him, even if you wanted to. He’s tracing his thumb across your jaw and dropping his mouth to kiss the spot only he knows about, and you love him. You’ll give him anything.

“Benjamin,” your voice is unsteady, and you can hardly focus over his gentle bite on your skin. You’re going to say it. He’s not moving back to shut you up and he’s touching you like you’re holy, so you’re going to say it. “Please, I-“

He rises back to you. Kisses you with a hand cupping your cheek, and grunting your name in a way that makes your whole body melt. “I fucking adore you,” Ben mutters, pulling back to look at you with a devotion on his face that makes nothing else matter. “You know that I adore you.”

You nod, not even mad that he’s telling you, because he’s right. You know that Ben adores you. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean, so you know he adores you.

But he doesn’t love you. So all you can do is smile at him and make a small sound of affirmation.

“I know, Ben.” You lean further into his hand. “I know.”

He nods, and his mouth opens. Probably to make you promise that you know, or say something else that both heals you and makes you love him more. Makes you certain you will never be able to tell him that you love him.

The door opens, and you’ve never been more grateful for how noisy, boundary-lacking, and aggressive your team is.

It’s everyone. You can’t see over Ben’s body, but the clamor as they push in from the hall into your room is impossible to miss. You can hear Hughie’s apologizing as he bumps into people, and Annie’s shout of his name as something falls down near the door. You can hear Frenchie’s snort, and if he’s here Kimiko is as well. That’s MM telling everyone to sanitize their hands, and Butcher’s scoff at the very idea.

That’s Mallory’s voice, raised above the commotion as she snaps at you and Ben.

“I think everyone would appreciate it if Soldier Boy would get off the bed so we can talk.”

You giggle at Ben’s sour expression, and he rolls his eyes at you.

Why the fuck do they all have to be here.

We won’t know unless we ask. You don’t even have to talk, Ben, you just have to get off of me.

No.

You can still touch me, but I need to see everyone. Please.

You pout at him, and his eyes narrow. This is fucking dumb.

Yep. Move your ass, Benjamin.

He grunts, and instead of rolling off your body he sits up and pulls you with him. His gaze is focused on your arm with the IV, shifting so that the tube doesn’t keep pulling at your skin and only settling when he’s found an angle that he deems suitable.

When you turn your head, you were right. It is everyone. And they’re all staring at you. Even Butcher’s expression is uncharacteristically careful, no mocking words about how you’d just had Ben pinning you to the bed, or snide comments about you still being folded into his chest, comfortable in his lap.

“Hi,” you mumble, feeling your face heat. “It’s, um, it’s good to see you guys-“

“Are you okay?” Hughie blurts, looking you up and down like bruises and scars might suddenly form on your skin. “We’re really sorry about, um, kind of everything-”

“I’m fine.” You smile at him, and pinch Ben’s arm when it tightens around you. You are fine. “And none of that was your fault, you don’t need to apologize,“ Ben snorts, and you pinch him again. Harder. “It’s really okay, Hughie. I’m okay.”

Hughie nods, but still looks unconvinced. “I mean, I’m still sorry. This really fucking sucks, so I’m sorry-“

“She don’t want your apologies, Lad.” Butcher drawls, and Hughie turns red. “They ain’t gonna help shit.”

You can’t look up at Ben, because you can picture his that’s what I’ve been fucking saying face in your head. Instead, you give Butcher a dry smile. “Don’t speak for me, dick-face. And why the fuck are you my emergency contact.”

“Well, it was either me or MM,” he shrugs. “And I drew the short straw.”

You look to MM for confirmation, and he gives you an apologetic look. “We didn’t really know you. And then once we did, we had bigger fuckin fish to fry than updating contact info.”

“Well, I’d like to update it now, please.”

MM nods. “I can have the doctor get the papers. We have to put Ryan in the system anyway, we’ve been kicking that can down the road way too fucking long.”

“Is he okay?” You look around the room nervously. “I know you got him out, but-“

“He’s good,” it’s Ben that answers, and when you tilt your head back to look at him he’s watching you with something soft in his eyes. “He’s doing fucking fine.”

You blink at him. You’ve been talking to him?

You asked me to.

You nod, and smile at him. Thank you.

Ben frowns. Don’t.

“We’ll have time for catching up later and doing that later,” Mallory’s voice isn’t cold, but it’s firm, and when you look at her she’s scowling. “We have a few things to go over before I approve your discharge.”

You feel Ben squeeze your waist—you think he’s reminding you he’s here—and you nod at Mallory. “Okay. Go.”

“Later, I’ll want a fully detailed debrief of your time with Vought,” Mallory starts, and you sink a little further into Ben. Let the heat of his body and the smell of Ben roll through you. “Right now I need to know about your escape.”

“I already told the doctor, I don’t remember-“

“Not how you got here,” Mallory shakes her head, and you blink at her in confusion. “I already know that. The whole world is talking about how you got here. What I want to know-“

“What do you mean,” you probably shouldn’t have cut Mallory off—not with how she’s glaring at you—but you can’t remember anything and suddenly nobody will meet your eyes.

Annie says your name softly, looking at you with a sad expression. “How much do you actually remember?”

“I, um, I found the V. It was the original formula-“

“That won’t work.” Mallory cuts over you, and your words choke in your throat. “From what we understand, the V in both you and Soldier Boy is completely neutral to Homelander.”

You blink at her, your voice small. “What?”

“She’s right,” MM sighs, rubbing his face with a shake of his head. “The papers in the lab said he'd be immune to and unaffected by it. Would be like injecting the fucker with saline.”

You shake your head. “There wasn’t anything else. He only had the one vial-“

“We’ll keep fucking looking,” Ben grunts, rubbing circles on where you’re gripping his arm. When you glance down you realize smoke has started to rise from your knuckles and palm, but Ben hasn’t even flinched. “We’ll figure it out. You’re fucking staying here.”

“That might not be an option-”

“Shut the fuck up, Mallory.” Ben snaps, his arm pulling you closer, body hunching down like Mallory might try and take you. “She’s not doing your fucking dirty work anymore-“

“I’m not going to send her back to Vought,” Mallory’s arms are crossed, and gaze locked on Ben, above your head. “But she’s made herself important to the whole country. All of Manhattan is in chaos, and Homelander’s on a rampage-“

“What?!” You shake your head, looking around the room frantically. Something happened. Everyone looks nervous and guilty—even Ben has tensed further around you—and the callous, sadistic voice in your head has returned.

Weak. Nobody stays because you’re weak.

“What did I do?” You whisper, and Butcher’s voice isn’t cruel when he answers.

“Vought tower,” he grunts, and you feel something clench at the base of your throat. “Didn’t destroy it, did fuck it up real bloody well. VNN is sayin it was another terrorist attack, but eye witnesses are reporting seein you run away with people droppin like fuckin flies around you. Just passin right out with screams. Most seem fine, but there’s been reports of burnt bodies in the tower itself. Sage ain’t been seen since you returned. Homelander won’t give a direct address, but he’s been seen flying around. Looking for you, lasering anyone in the way.”

“How,” you swallow. “How did I get here without him catching me?”

“You ran.” Ben mutters in your ear. “You just fucking ran.”

“But I was across the river, someone would’ve seen me-“

“People did see you,” Mallory’s watching you carefully as she speaks, lips in a thin line. “But everyone that got too close collapsed, right up until you got here and passed out.”

You remember that. You have a vague flash in your head of pushing through the doors of the lobby, of people trying to yell at you and their shouts turning into screams. Of your legs giving out and falling to the floor, of everything around you being cold and painful, but Ben’s Thing in your chest pounding and clawing at you to keep going. Telling you that it was almost safe, that Ben was close, so close, you just had to call for him and he’d come.

There’s another vague echo, of something approaching you and you allowing it to. In the ocean of no and cold and help, someone help, I can’t fucking breathe something had approached you and you’d know it was safe. It was familiar and strong, and it had wrapped around you and cleared your whole body. Sleep had felt easy, your brain had gone Ben. Ben, I love you, and you’d stopped screaming.

But it hadn’t only been you screaming.

“Did I,” you push the words out, staring at your fingers on Ben’s arm. Still smoking, fire itching under your skin. “Did I kill anyone?”

“If you did, they were Vought.” Butcher sighs. “But they ain’t released anything official. All we know is that the whole bleedin country is looking for you.”

“Nobody saw me come here?”

“No,” Annie shakes her head. “You were last seen leaving New York.”

“There’s a lot of theories,” Hughie offers. “But nobody’s actually figured it out.”

You nod slowly, trying to focus wholly on speaking, grounding yourself within Ben’s body around you. “And you need to know what to say to the public. If I’m back here or not.”

“You’re America’s fuckin martyr,” Butcher says your name, and even he sounds tired. “We ain’t got a lot of time until Sage wakes up from whatever you did to her, and she’ll-“

“She’ll spin it,” you sigh, your fingers tapping on Ben’s skin. “She’ll turn this in their favor. We need to be faster.”

“This seemed to be your plan the whole time,” Mallory looks you up and down, and you hold her gaze. You just have to hold yourself together a little longer, then they’ll let you go home and you can fall in Ben’s arms and fully break. “What should our move be.”

You don’t know. You had known, you’d had steps lined out for when everything fell into place. For when the world knew who you were, and had grown attached to you. For how you’d find the proof—something undeniable and obvious—of what Homelander had done to you and leak it from Vought. Turn the world against him and stay at his side, lure him to Ben and give everything left in you to finish it. Burn and burn and burn and hope it was enough to keep Homelander down. Then you’d adjusted, and you’d planned to leak it and get the V they needed, then escape in the dark. Have Homelander come find you and kill him like that.

There had been flaws and holes in both of those plans. Not all the world would’ve condemned Homelander, but a small following of fanatics was better than millions rioting in the streets. There was the chance you wouldn’t have been strong enough to hold Homelander for Ben, but the V had solved that problem. There was a chance Homelander wouldn’t look for you, but it had been slim. He’d have thought you’d just vanished, been taken from him once more. There had been so many possible setbacks, and you’d known how to account and adjust for all of them.

But you’d failed. You hadn’t gotten the right V, and your escape hadn’t been quiet and smooth. It had been horrible and violent, in the broad daylight and for all the world to see. You’d gotten out, but you’d been unable to control yourself and you’d failed. Just like Sage said you would. And you didn’t know what to do.

Weak.

“This can wait,” Ben’s voice is from his chest, deep and rough. “She’s fucking tired. Let us go home, then we’ll do your fucking jobs for you.”

We. Ben won’t really be doing anything, just sitting with you, but he’s right. That’s still we.

“Soldier Boy, she’s my agent. I will decide-“

“You aren’t going to decide fucking shit.” Ben hisses. “She not your agent, she’s fucking dead as far as the government is concerned.”

“She’s not dead,” Mallory snaps. “That’s the problem. She’s incredibly alive, and the whole world knows. We need to know how to proceed-“

“I’ll figure it out,” you mumble, mostly to yourself. You will figure it out. You always figure it out. You have to figure it out, and you’re not sure what you’ll do if you can’t. “I just need a minute-“

“No.” Ben’s hand moves over yours, and you realize the smoke has started to flicker with light. “You need to fucking rest. This can wait until you’ve rested.”

“Ben-“

“He’s right,” MM mutters, and you turn to gape at him. “You just half-destroyed a building and ran all the way from Manhattan to Newark. Even with the V, you need rest.”

“I was just asleep for a day-“

“Passed out,” MM corrects you with a firm glare. “You were passed out. That’s not sleep, or rest, it’s burnout. You need to get in a bed and really fucking sleep, before it gets worse.”

“Marvin,” Mallory shoots MM a sharp look. “There’s a lot at stake here-“

“Look at her, Grace,” MM doesn’t waver, nodding at how you’re all but buried into Ben’s body. How there’s smoke still rising from between Ben's fingers over yours. “She’s not going to have any good ideas right now. She’s exhausted, let her rest.”

“I’m fine-“

Ben says your name, and you look up to find his flat glare examining your name. “You’re hungry.”

“I said I’m fine-“ Your stomach growls, and Ben smirks at you. He knows what he’s doing, the asshole. “Fuck you, Benjamin.”

He winks. Eat first. You’ll need the energy.

Shut up. You wrinkle your nose at him, and he chuckles.

“There’s still some leftovers from dinner last night,” Hughie glances at Annie for confirmation, and she nods. “We could bring them down for you guys. I know Soldier Boy hasn’t eaten-“

“What?” You frown, and Hughie’s eyes widen. “What do you mean Ben hasn’t eaten.”

Hughie shrugs—words becoming stumbled and unsure—and you can feel Ben’s arms tighten around you. “I, uh, I’m not sure. It’s been a crazy few days. Who knows who’s been eating and who hasn’t-“

“Hughie,” you say slowly, and he looks at you with a pale face. “How long have I been asleep. Don’t lie, you’re bad at it.”

“Um, maybe 36 hours?”

“And has Ben left this room in those 36 hours?”

“Don’t fucking answer that,” Ben’s words to Hughie are an order, and you glare up at him. “And I took at least one piss, Sunshine, so shut the fuck up.”

“Have you eaten, Benjamin?” He just glares at you, and you look back at Hughie. “Has he eaten?”

Hughie looks around to the rest of the team for help, but nobody seems to be willing to take over. Even Annie just moves a step in front of him, gaze locked on Ben above your head.

“Hughie-“

“I, um.” Hughie’s looking between you and Ben, and you think he’s trying to decide who’s less dangerous to ignore. “I don’t-“

“Bloody Christ,” Butcher rolls his eyes, stepping forward. “You two are gonna give the Lad a heart attack. Soldier Boy ain’t eaten, or left this room. And his piss was in a bloody bottle that I can see in the bin from here. Try not to fuck about it in front of us.”

You pretend not to hear the last comment, and twist to shove at Ben’s chest. “You fucking idiot-“

“I was waiting for you,” he snaps, catching your hands. “Fuck my ass for being worried about you-“

“I’m fine, Ben. You need to eat-“

“I’m not about to goddamn leave you-”

“You need to eat!” You try to knee his gut, but just manage to shift into straddling him. “You need to eat just as much as I do, you don’t even have to go back upstairs! You could’ve just found a vending machine-“

“I said I’m not fucking leaving you!” His voice is loud, but not a yell, and he tugs you closer. “You were passed the hell out, I can’t just leave you like that-“

“Ben,” you say, voice a little softer. He looks pained, and his hands are holding yours against him, almost crushing your fingers. “I’m home. You never left me. You need to take care of yourself as well.”

His jaw clenches. You were fucking screaming, Sunshine. You didn’t hear you, you didn’t see you. I’m not fucking leaving you to wake up alone after that.

I didn’t wake up alone. And you’re going to have to let me be alone eventually. At some point I’m going to have to shit.

You can shit in front of me. I don’t give a fuck.

You give him a flat look. You know what I mean. I’m okay. You should eat.

You should fucking eat.

Ben, please.

He sighs. Fine.

You don’t bother to try and turn back to your team as Ben lifts his head to address them.

“We’ll grab the damn leftovers on our way back. Now can we fucking go.”

“I have to call the doctor,” Mallory says, and you see Ben glare at her. “Her skin attempted to heal around the IV, it needs to be removed carefully.”

“Then fucking do that.”

“Ben,” you wait for him to look back at you before continuing. “Go get us the food now, and by the time you get it home I’ll be discharged.”

“There’s not a chance in hell-“

“I’ll let you carry me.” You smile at him, and he glowers at you.

Brat.

Cunt. Go get the food, please.

“We’ll be watchin her the whole fuckin time, Gov.” Butcher says from behind you, and Ben’s eyes don’t even flick upwards in acknowledgment. “She ain’t gonna go anywhere.”

He’s right. I won’t. You’ll get back, and I won’t even have gotten off the bed.

He frowns. Tell me you’re okay.

Ben’s right here, watching you and handsome and everything, and it’s so easy to smile and blink. I’m okay.

He nods, and kisses the top of your head before peeling you off his body and laying you back on the bed. He stands slowly, scanning across your body.

“Ben,” you say softly, and his eyes dart to your face. “I’m fine. I’ll be right here.”

“If you’re not,” he grumbles, running his hand through your hair and leaning down to press his brow to yours. “I’m killing Butcher.”

You grin at him. “Deal.”

“Adorable,” Butcher mutters, and neither you nor Ben move away from each other. “Hughie, help Soldier Boy get the food.”

“Why me?”

“You started these two horny fuckers on their weird bloody rampage-“

“It’s okay,” Annie’s voice is soft, and you can picture her holding Hughie’s arm, still a step in front of him. “Me and Kimiko will go with you. More hands.”

“That’s a smart lady-“

“Shove it up your ass, Butcher.”

This is fucking stupid, Ben blinks at you, and you smile. I could carry all of them and the food my goddamn self and be back in half the time.

I don’t doubt that, but if you try to fight them this will take longer. You run a hand over his jaw, through the hair of his beard. Try not to miss me too much, Pretty Boy.

He looks at you in a way you’ve seen a million times—all reverence, right through you—but it’s deeper. Completely devoid of something you hadn’t even realized was covering it. You don’t know what it means, especially when Ben leans down and kisses you one more time. Long and deep—holding your face where he wants it and pressing you back into the pillow—in a way that clears your head to just Ben. Ben, I love you. He’s trying to pull away, but you make a small sound at the loss and he doesn’t even pretend to try and ignore it. Ben falls right back into you, going and going with a fervor until you have to pull away for air and he rises to kiss the space between your eyes.

“Don’t fucking move an inch until I’m back.” He mutters against your skin, and you nod.

“I won’t.” You catch Ben's wrist as he starts to step away, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He snorts. “Shut the fuck up.”

Ben pries your hand off his wrist and raises it to kiss your knuckles—warmth spreading through your body where his lips brush your skin—and you think he’s going to say something. He scans over you one last time and his mouth opens, so you don’t say anything because you’re certain he’s going to. But Ben just frowns at nothing, tugs the fuzzy blanket up your body, and leaves.

You stare where the door closes behind him, and you know he’ll come back but suddenly you’re cold. This wasn’t a good idea, because Ben isn’t here and you can’t feel anything but cold. You’re left in the room with Mallory, Frenchie, Butcher, and MM, and it’s a warm room—the light of the morning is shifting on your knuckles, right where Ben kissed them—but you’re cold and alone.

“Can we please get the IV out now?” You mutter, not really addressing anyone in particular. “Or at least close the flow?”

When you turn to look at them, they’re all exchanging worried, tight looks.

“What?”

MM sighs, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.” He says your name, and you frown. “It might not be safe.”

You blink at him. “Safe?”

“Previously,” Frenchie’s words are slow. Carefully chosen and delicate. “Your powers of empathy were as if a one way alley from others, into you. Now they are acting as a bridge. With cars driving in both directions.”

“Cars?”

Frenchie nods. “The cars are emotions. Crossing the bridge, violently.”

“You went vigilant, Love.” Butcher grunt. “We take you off that IV, ain’t no guarantee you won’t hit us all with a blast of Homelander trauma.”

You shake your head, looking between them. “That’s not how it works.”

Mallory frowns at you. “How are you sure.”

“It only happens when I want it to. Pushing my feelings on others.” You clarify your words, glancing down at your own hands. “I have to focus for it to happen. Or I have to be in a,” you sigh. “Hysterical state.”

“Hysterical.”

You nod, ignoring how disbelieving Mallory’s tone is. “Freaking the fuck out. Or…” You trail off, because there’s one other way that the empathy turns outwards without you telling it to. When you’re not freezing, falling into a place you can’t pull yourself out of, but when you’re burning. When you’re looking at Ben and he’s touching you and your whole body grows molten.

MM coughs, and you blink at him. “Or what?”

“Or when I’m, um, emotional.”

Frenchie frowns at you. “Emotional and hysterical are the same, no?”

“No,” you smile sadly at your fingers, tapping against the blanket Ben had pulled back over you. “They’re not. Hysterical is bad, and emotional is good.”

MM lets out a long, heavy breath, and you know he understands. “So as long as you’re not hysterical or emotional, you don’t think we’ve got shit to be worried about.”

“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

You won’t be okay. This means you can’t touch Ben again, so you won’t be okay. If you touch him, he’ll make everything in you love. It’ll only be eternal, infinite love for Ben and it will make your blood spread from you to him. That will make Ben love you. You can’t make Ben love you. It wouldn’t mean anything if you made Ben love you. Ben would hate you if you did that. If you grabbed him and forced him to do something he didn’t want to for your own, selfish reasons.

Homelander’s voice is sneering in your head, echoing around your body.

Fucking manipulative bitch. Can’t make anyone like you, or anyone stay without tricking them.

This was a trick. You’d be tricking Ben into loving you. Ben would stay with you, and you already know he likes you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him. So much it hurts, all the way through you and the world, in an ancient and indestructible fervor that will only end with all the universe.

You can’t make him feel the same way. For you. You don’t want to make him love you for you. You want Ben to love you so much that it’s painful—the only thing you want more is Ben, just Ben, at your side and grinning at you all the fucking time—but he had to feel it himself. If Ben doesn’t love you himself, you’ll just never be loved by anything again. And you could be fine with that. With Ben caring about you and staying with you, but not loving you. It might eventually kill you, but you’d rather die that sad, withering death than force Ben to love you. Then lose him.

But you can’t tell him. You should tell him, you trust him—you’d always trust Ben to protect you and make you safe and happy—but you don’t trust you. You don’t trust yourself to hold your blood in your body when Ben touches you, and you don’t trust yourself not to fold when he asks you why. When you say Ben, I know I said you could fuck me, but you can’t anymore, and he responds with, why the fuck not. Are you hurt, did Homelander fucking hurt you, you know you’ll cave. You’ll look at his handsome, angry face and feel stone and fury running through him for you, and you’ll tell him you love him.

You’re really not ready to tell Ben you love him.

And you might die if you can never touch him again.

“Frenchie,” you mumble, and he pauses his fidgeting with the IV.

“Oui?”

“You made this stuff, right? The suppressant?”

“I did.” He frowns. “Why?”

“How long does it last?”

Frenchie tilts his head. “It does not. The V in your body rejects anything that is not natural to its system. The moment I remove the IV, the effects will-“ He makes a pfit sound, and gestures away from his body. “Gone.”

“Oh,” you swallow. “Could you figure out how to make it last?”

“Why would you want that?” MM grunts, and you turn to see him frowning at you. Confused. “I can’t imagine it feels good now-“

“I don’t want to hurt anyone by accident.” You mutter. “And it won’t be forever. Just until Homelander’s dead.”

When Homelander’s dead, you’ll rest. You’ll still be afraid, but you’ll have all the time in the world to heal that part of you where something was broken. And one day you’d be whole enough to tell Ben you love him and survive him turning you down. But only once Homelander’s dead.

“I could make it a pill,” Frenchie tilts his head at nothing in the air. “I would need a day, perhaps two-“

“But you could.” Your voice is desperate. You don’t care. “You could make it a pill.”

“Oui, I will just need some time to do so.”

You nod. “Do it. I can wait a few days.” Just a few days. Just one, maybe two days of not being allowed to kiss Ben. You’ll still be able to touch him—curl into his side and run your hands across his sharp jaw and over his broad shoulders—but nothing more. You just survived almost two months with nothing at all. You can go two days with just hands on skin.

You really, really hope you can go two days with just hands on skin.

Mallory raises a hand, stopping Frenchie’s hand on the IV. “If you truly feel uncertain of your ability to control yourself, I’m not going to approve the removal of the suppressant before a pill form is provided.”

It’s important to keep the shake of your head even and not panicked and fearful. You need the IV out now. Your arm hurts, and if Ben can’t pick you up and carry you home—set you down in your bed and sleep at your side—you might start crying. “I’m not going to blow up, I promise. I just won’t touch anyone.”

Just like last time.

You don’t say it, but it’s implied in the way you swallow and all of their features become tight. Nobody except Ben had touched you before you could influence their emotions. Up until Ben, you hadn’t touched anyone—save for brief, tense moments of contact for healing—in years. Scientists and Homelander had touched you, but you’d never touched them. Not in the magnetic way some part of your body was always finding a way to stay against Ben’s.

There’s a brief theory that flashes in your head—made of hadn’t touched anyone, touched Ben, kept touching Ben, felt Ben, loved Ben, everyone feels you, you keep feeling Ben and it won’t stop—but it’s gone the second MM frowns at you, speaking in a low, careful voice.

“Even Soldier Boy?”

“I can touch Ben,” you mutter. There’s not a thing they can threaten you with or tell you that will make you stop touching Ben. “I just can’t, um, you know.”

Mallory frowns at you, saying your name in a cool voice. “We aren’t mind readers-“

“Bloody hell, Grace. She ain’t gonna be able to fuck him.” Butcher’s words are bored, his face lazy. “Seems pretty cut and shit dry from where I’m standin.”

Mallory shoots Butcher a glare. “I am not privy to your sex lives, William. Her relationship with Soldier Boy,” you hate how Mallory says relationship. Like it’s disgusting or wrong, when whatever you have with Ben might be the only good thing left in your life. “Is not my primary concern, nor something I ever spare thought to.”

You have to bite your cheek until there’s a tang of blood, because that’s a lie. Mallory had clearly thought about it enough to use it to blackmail Ben, to keep him in line. You don’t think you’re supposed to know that, and right now isn’t the best time to yell at her about trying to take Ben away from you, but you didn’t forget. You won’t forget.

So you just glare—firm with a silent fury—at Mallory. “Please,” it’s not a real please, but lined with venom and exhaustion. “Just take out my IV. I won’t explode, and I won’t touch anyone. I just, I,” you sigh. “I want to go home. Can I please go home.”

Mallory’s scowl doesn’t waver, but she gives Frenchie a sharp nod and he takes out a small knife from his pocket, approaching your arm.

“I will need to cut the IV out.” Frenchie glances up at you, tone apologetic. “It will hurt. And there will be blood.”

“Okay,” you nod, curling your hand into a fist to still your fingers. “Do it.”

Frenchie’s arm raises, the blade resting on your skin, and you have to bite your tongue when it goes in. Carving under where the IV had been placed, through skin and muscle until Frenchie can get a good grip to yank it out. You manage not to scream, even when the blood starts to rush out of the hole in your arm. Covering the cot, the blanket, your skin, your hands. Blood. So much blood. Why is there so much blood-

Your skin isn’t even fully healed when you feel it. The cold trying to push out of your body, soothed by Ben’s Thing. Returned in your chest, humming and warm against your ribs. Tight, but growing slack by the second. He’s close. You don’t know how you know, but Ben is almost back.

Mallory coughs. “Is it-“

Your head shoots up before the door fully opens, but when it does Ben is barging into the room. Taking long steps back to your cot, eyes scanning over your body with scowl and fists clenching when he sees the red stained across the sheet.

“What the fuck did they-“

You pull Ben into you, yanking him down with a fist in his shirt and rising on your knees to meet him halfway. He catches you with a grunt, arms wrapping around your waist as he raises you further up his body. You can feel him. You can feel the spark of surprise when you surge up to him, and how it turns into concrete worry and care when you bury your head in his neck and his arms tighten around you. You can feel an ache inside of him, and how it’s dissolving into something focused and wrathful and hot. Filled with blood and ardor, flowing into your body and making breathing easier. The shattered piece of you doesn’t fall and meld back into place, but you sink deeper into Ben—his body and smell and the pure feel of him—and you know you’ll be okay. You can’t be broken, not really, because someone broken wouldn’t have another touch them like this. With hands pressed into their skin and the spaces between their bones, with an adoring care that’s everything.

Ben is everything, and you can feel him again. He speaks, and his deep, rumbling voice isn’t just lips on the top of your head or noise that resonates in your bones. It’s deep in your gut and lungs and head, a sound that makes every divet and nerve of your body go Ben. Ben, I love you.

“What’s wrong.”

You shake your head against him, and salt falls onto your tongue. You’re crying, and it’s not choking your words or leaving a lump in your throat. It’s relief, something taut around your head vanishing because you’re safe. You can feel Ben, and there’s not even a sliver of a chance he’s not real. Sage could fake looks and words and smells and touches, fake everything that makes Ben Ben, but she couldn’t fake how you know it’s him. How there’s a soft chorus of Ben that lives in your veins, and it’s only drowned out by his Thing, roaring inside you when you try to pull him closer.

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his skin, and you can feel his jaw tighten. Something sour darts up his spine, and you sigh. “I’m really okay.”

“Then why is there fucking blood everywhere.”

Blood. So much blood. “Frenchie had to cut out the IV. But I’m okay-“

Ben doesn’t let go of you—hooking your legs over his arm and moving your hands to hold the base of his neck—as he stands, turning to glare at Mallory with a sneer. “You said it needed to be taken out fucking carefully-“

“It was done carefully, Soldier Boy. She had attempted to heal over it, there was no other option aside from surgical removal-“

“You cut it out of Her goddamn body!” Ben’s hands tense on you as he shouts over Mallory. “Christ, there’s fucking blood on the floor-“

“Ben,” you look up at him with a small, soft smile. “I’m really okay. I just want to go home. Please.”

He scowls at you, and you can feel how furious he is. It’s burning in his chest, making his breathing sharp and body rigid. They fucking hurt you-

I healed. You can’t even tell anything happened.

There were other options. There’s always other goddamn options.

You give him a small shake of your head. Maybe. But it’s done, and I’m okay. Can we go home now?

Ben sighs, scanning over your face like he might find a bruise or cut to justify his anger. I’m carrying you.

That was the deal.

He rolls his eyes, and that strange look you should understand but just can’t flashes across his face before he turns back to Mallory. “We’re going. If you try to stop me, I’ll shoot you.”

Mallory scoffs. “You don’t have a gun-“

“I gave him one,” Butcher shrugs. “He ain’t gonna use it on us, Grace-“

“I will if she tries to fucking stop me.” Ben snaps, and you sigh, tapping on his jaw until he looks back at you.

What.

Don’t be honest with Mallory about your violent intentions. She won’t appreciate it like I do.

Ben snorts. That’s because she’s a fucking bitch, and you’re not. Then says aloud, “But I won’t do a single damn thing, as long as you let us walk out with any more fucking tests or questions. We’ll do a debrief, later and after she’s gotten some damn sleep and a good shower. We clear?” Mallory gives a clipped nod, and Ben pauses, glancing down at you again before he speaks. “And you’re not getting my gun back.”

Mallory looks like she might argue, but MM stops her with a sigh.

“Not worth it, Grace.” He turns to Ben, crossing his arms with a frown. “You misuse that gun-“

“Yeah, you boring fucking pussies will confiscate it,” Ben’s eyes narrow. “Good thing I won’t.”

MM just looks Ben up and down, and steps back. You barely have time to process that weirdness before Butcher manages to confuse you further.

“Happy day, Gov.” Butcher winks, and there’s no malice in his voice. It’s mocking and sarcastic, but not cruel. “Go be fuckin disgusting away from my virgin eyeshole.”

Ben just grunts, and you flip Butcher off over his shoulder when he starts to walk away.

Butcher winks, and it’s still not mean. It’s a taunt with nothing really hateful behind it.

“What’s that about?”

Ben frowns, carrying you through the halls. “What.”

“MM backed you up. Butcher didn’t ask you if you could go five seconds without me.” You grin at him. “Did you make friends?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You made friends, Ben. Maybe I should leave you for playtime more often-“

Ben’s hands tense on your body. “Don’t fucking joke about that. And I didn’t make friends, I’m a grown man-“

“So is Butcher-“

“Butcher doesn’t have friends.”

“He has you.” You poke Ben’s chest. “You’re best friends-”

“You’re my best friend,” Ben grunts, and the hot thing in him bubbles over. “And Butcher and I have an understanding. We’re not fucking friends.”

You frown. “An understanding? About what?”

“The Kid.”

“Ryan?” You study Ben’s face as he gives a tight nod. “What about Ryan?”

“He wants me around.” Ben’s words are short, but you can feel something prideful and loud wrapping around his body. “I’ve been helping him with his dumb as fuck homework,” Ben’s lip curls, as if the very prospect of learning is disgusting. “And I’m going to train him. Help him control his strength so he doesn’t fucking break something. Or someone.”

You love him. You have an infinite list of reasons to love Ben, and one of them is that he keeps finding ways to make the list longer. He’s training Ryan, and he has an understanding with Butcher, and you hadn’t been gone for so long only to return and find half the building destroyed from a dick-measuring contest.

“Thank you,” you mumble, and Ben’s scowl deepens as he steps into the elevator.

“Shut-“

“No.” You smile at him, and his glare drops down to you. Something in him softens when he meets your eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

“I didn’t fucking do jack shit-“

“I know.” You reach up a head, running it down his nose and over his cheek. “And that must have sucked fucking balls. So thank you.”

“For waiting.” His voice is flat, and there’s something sore on his lungs.

“For waiting,” you whisper. “And listening to me.”

“Well, you’re usually fucking right about shit.” He mutters, the unreadable look returned. “It’s annoying as goddamn hell.”

“Shut up, you like it.” I love you.

“Maybe,” Ben shrugs, and the elevator opens with a ding. “Good luck proving that.”

“I don’t have to prove it,” your smile turns smug, and you tuck your head back into Ben’s body. “You adore me.”

You feel Ben start to glow again, and your whole head starts to feel light and high. “I do. You’re goddamn brat, but I do.”

It’s nothing short of a miracle you survived without this for so long. Without Ben around you, without the certainty that he’ll be right at your side through any hell or apocalypse, then pick you up and carry you somewhere safe. But it’s a miracle that’s painted in shades of green that tell you Ben is how you got through this. That he waited—you’d known he would wait, that he wouldn’t leave you—and now you’ve brought yourself home.

“Ben?” Your words are hummed against his skin, and his grunt of acknowledgment resonates through your whole body, right into your fingers and resting happily in your head. “You’re my best friend as well.” I love you. Ben, I love you.

He sighs, and it moves through your body. Lulls everything that had still been frantic or afraid. “I missed you,” he mutters. “I fucking missed you. I’m serious as goddamn cancer and bombs, Sunshine, never try to do that again-“

“I won’t,” you mumble, running a hand up his neck, into his hair to check one last time. Real. “I didn’t really enjoy it either, Benjamin.”

“Next time you want to get away from this shit-ass supe motel, all you have to do is ask me and we’ll go to the fucking park.” Ben’s words are slightly strained, but he’s trying to joke about it. He’s trying, for you, and you love him.

“Can I take Butcher as well?” You smile against him. “See which one of you fetches the stick faster?”

Ben makes a low sound that’s half annoyance and half a poor attempt to cover a laugh. “I will. I’m a fuck ton faster than that pussy, he’ll get distracted cleaning his own asshole.”

“You’re faster than everyone, Ben. It’s not exactly a fair contest-“ You cut yourself off, pulling your head back to look at Ben with wide eyes. “Oh, shit. A-Train.”

Ben frowns at you. “What about him?”

“Is he okay? Has he been helpful? Is he safe? I don’t think Sage figured out what happened, but I can never be sure-“

“Breathe,” Ben says your name in a sharp, low tone, and your body responds before your brain can even fully register it. “A-Train’s fucking fine. He’s a whining pussy, but we’ve gotten some shit out of him.”

You swallow. “Have you, um, talked to him?

Ben’s brow knits, and he looks back ahead. “Not outside of the mission. He’s been moping like a little bitch, and he won’t stop fucking looking at me all damn weird.”

“You did rise from the dead,” you mumble. “Twice.”

“Yeah, damn months ago. You’d think the asshole didn’t have other shit to worry about.” Ben’s scoff is slightly bitter, and you feel a pang of guilt because you know why A-Train is treating him odd. For some impossible reason, he’s the only one that knows you love Ben. Sage has guessed, and you have a feeling MM, Butcher, or Annie might be catching on, but A-Train knows. You told him. But he hasn’t told Ben.

You’ll have to buy him flowers later. Or very good sneakers. As an apology for throwing him into the fray with such a massive secret and a thank you for putting up with what you’re sure was a very pissy and grumpy Ben for several weeks without cracking.

“Can I talk to him?” Your question is soft, and you already know what Ben’s answer will be, but you ask anyway. “I have some questions-“

“No.” Ben adjusts you in his arms, pulling you a little further up his chest. “No planning or thinking or doing everyone’s goddamn job for them today. You’re going to shower, and sleep, and that’s fucking it.”

“But-“

“No.”

You sigh, and nod into him. You know how to choose your battles, and this isn’t one you’ll win. It’s not really one you want to win—if you could, you'd spend the rest of your life right here, head buried into Ben’s neck and surrounded by him, just Ben—but you had to try. At least attempt to convince yourself that there are things more important than Ben’s skin on yours, than the promise of rest. True, easy rest, without cold or vigilance.

You feel Ben press a kiss to the top of your head, and the small rush through your body is controllable. He can keep kissing you—in a way that makes his Thing in your chest settle deeper and your whole body relax—but nothing else. You’re going to have to tell him that soon. You can hear the door of your apartment opening, and you’re going to have to look Ben in the eyes and say not yet. I love- You can’t say you love him. You have to rehearse this in your head for that exact reason. You can’t tell Ben you love him. This will have to be Ben, I adore you. I’ve missed you and I still want you, but I’m tired. I can’t do everything right now. I promise I’m okay, but I just need time.

He’ll give you time. You’re saying just for now, so Ben will nod and give you time and your heart will want him to touch you more. Your love for him will become bigger, and it will make this harder. You know this is going to be impossible, but it’s only a day. Maybe two.

You’ve survived a lot worse. Not fucking Ben will, in the grand scheme of things, be simple. You just have to not fuck him. You’ve managed to do it for all your life, you can keep it up for two more days.

Then you see the apartment, peaking around over Ben’s shoulder as he carries you upstairs, and you were wrong. Not fucking Ben is going to kill you.

Your apartment is clean and this is going to kill you.

You don’t get to see everything—catch every single detail or small change—but you see enough. Everything is clean. There’s a dirty dish in the sink, a cardboard take-out box on the counter, and the coffee pot is half full, but the rest of the kitchen is spotless. There are two new chairs at the dining table, there’s a part of the wall that’s a different color than the rest of it, but nothing’s broken. There’s not even any trash. The remote is on the coffee table, next to your laptop—right where you’d left it, plugged in—and Ben’s empty mug. The couch has a blanket and a pillow—the cushions look more beaten in than you’d last seen them—and you lean back to frown at Ben as you reach the top of the stairs.

“Have you been sleeping on the couch?”

He just nods, and you sigh.

“Ben-“

“No.” Ben gives you a small glare, and his throat and stomach feel sore. “Shut the fuck up.”

You glare at him. “I didn’t even say anything-“

“You were going to tell me I should’ve slept in the bed, because I’m not a small guy and it couldn’t have been good for my old man back.” You gape at him slightly, because Ben’s impression of you isn’t your teasing, overly-gruff and still too high-toned impression of him. It’s shockingly accurate. “But there wasn’t a chance in damn hell I was sleeping in our bed without you. That’s that, no fucking fighting-“

“Okay,” you say, and Ben pauses at your bedroom door, a hand raised to push it open. “That’s that.”

He frowns, and for a second you think he’s going to fight with you. Ask why the fuck you’re giving in so easy, even if the answer is simple. You love him, you missed him, and you understand. If the positions had been switched you wouldn’t have been able to sleep in your bed either. You’d have stared at the door at night and spent wasteful hours of the night just hoping Ben would open it and walk out. That he’d only been taking one of his long showers, and was going to come pick you up and carry you to bed like he was now.

Ben drops it, though, and you’re grateful. There’s no real way to explain it that doesn’t end with you slipping and saying you love him. So when Ben nods—he keeps looking at you with that strange expression and you don’t have the guts to ask him what it means—and opens the door to your room, you smile at him. And right before he looks back up to carry you inside, Ben smiles back.

You don’t get to see much of your bedroom, but you catch Ben’s shield—resting near the door—and your scorched and bloody clothes laid on the dresser. The only light is in the bathroom, and Ben doesn’t stop to turn on another before he lowers down onto the bed. Dropping you down his chest, but not removing you from his hold. Dropping his forehead down to yours and staying. Always staying.

It’s several minutes like that—just Ben holding you, lips brushing as you breathe but nothing more—before he speaks.

“You need to shower.”

You nod, lips twitching against his. “I am covered in blood.”

Blood. All this blood, on your hands and under your nails and no shower will make you clean again-

“You need help.”

It’s not a question, it’s one of his statements that should be question but comes out like a fact or order. The only thing that stops you from just humming in agreement, letting Ben win this and having him carry you into the shower, is the knowledge of how that ends. You can still feel him, and if he touches you like that he’ll feel you. Ben can’t feel you, or how your love for him is everything in you. Trying to hang off of his Thing in your chest and give it whatever it wants.

“I,” you sigh. You’d practiced. You can do this. “I can’t.”

Ben frowns, pulling back to examine your face. “You can’t? Can’t what, fucking shower?”

“No, I can shower.” It’s so hard to look at him right now. To feel all of Ben’s concern and something sore and bitter in his body that’s for you, but not at you and keep searching his eyes for his reaction as you speak. “I can’t, I can’t do more.”

“More.”

If he didn’t look so genuinely confused—if you couldn’t feel the fog of befuddlement in his head—you’d be pissed at Ben for making you say it.

“Sex, Ben.” You swallow. “I can’t have sex with you right now. I’m really tired, and I just, I need time.” He says your name, but words have begun to fall out of you. “Only time. I really, really missed you, and I still want you,” Ben. Ben, I love you. “I do still really want you, a lot, but I need time.” His voice is louder this time, but you can’t stop talking, stop explaining yourself. “Please, just time. I still want you, I just need time, I’m so sorry-“

Ben kisses you, and your words turn into an unsteady, desperate breath. He’s understood. You know Ben’s understood, because his mouth rests against yours until you nudge your tongue between his lips and he takes over. Deepening the kiss with a grunt, squeezing your hips, and not rutting up into you when you moan. He doesn’t flip you over and cage you between his body and the bed, or drop his hands any lower than they’d been when he’d started. Ben just cups your face and traces patterns on your skin until you sigh—light and content—into his mouth, and he slowly pulls back.

“Stop apologizing,” he mutters your name, and you nod. “I think I’ll fucking manage to survive, don’t lose your damn mind.”

“I still want you,” you mumble, because it’s important Ben understands that. “I promise I still want you. I’m-“

He kisses you again, one, small, almost innocent kiss. “You’re home. You trust me.”

“I do,” you whisper. “More than anything.”

“Then fucking believe me when I say that’s what matters. You’re fucking home.” He narrows his eyes at you. “Homelander didn’t-“

“No,” you shake your head, cold growing near that broken part of you. “He just kissed me.”

“He what-“

“Only once,” you say softly, staring at where your fingers have dug into Ben’s body. “At the end. But I’m okay.”

Ben glances down at your mouth, and you feel the sore, bitter thing in his muscles before his arms tighten around you and he speaks in clipped words. “I-“

“You can still kiss me,” your voice is borderline panicked, because Ben can’t stop touching you. Not while all you can have is the feel of his skin on yours, the feel of Ben invading over your every sensation in the best way possible. “Just not more. Not now.”

He nods, and you know he doesn’t believe you. He’s right not to, you’re not okay—you’re broken and exhausted and something in you has begun to fray—but if Ben leaves you alone for some stupid, noble reason of letting you be, you’ll fall and not get back up.

But he, once again, lets it go. Ben’s jaw clenches as his hands grip on you grows a little rougher—before loosening and becoming far too gentle—and you can feel his Thing in you ache, but he drops it. Scanning your features like he might find the truth written somewhere on your face, moving a hand to the back of your head so he can angle your forehead against his lips.

“You’re okay,” he grunts against your skin, and you will be. Ben is staying, so you’ll be okay.

“I am.” You look up at him, and he’s so handsome. He looks so tired, and his lips are pressed together in a frustration that matches the knit of his brow, but he’s still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’d hate that you called him beautiful—he’d grumble and scowl about it—and just that thought makes you feel a little less heavy. You’re home, and you have the ability to make fun of Ben and call him beautiful. You get to see his glower, and touch warm lips with yours, and run your fingers through the soft hair of his beard and over the certain strength of his body. Ben is staying, so if you piss him off you can just kiss him as an apology, make him dinner if that doesn’t make him stop being such a bitch, and—if all else fails—watch a documentary or ESPN with him until he smiles again. And that makes everything better. Ben is here, so everything is just a little better.

“Then shower,” Ben’s eyes are softer on yours, his hands on your body are warm. “And we’ll eat, then you’ll get some goddamn sleep.”

“Can you,” you pause, unsure of your own idea, but you trust him. You trust Ben, and you don’t want him to leave you tonight. Tomorrow you can be a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need anyone to help her survive. Right now you need Ben to keep talking to you, keep making things easier, keep crashing into your orbit until you’re just a little more certain this is real. Until Homelander’s voice hissing weak and flashes of blood lining your vision are gone forever. Until you never smell coconut again because all you can smell is Ben. Pine and gunpowder and salt and strawberries and vanilla and coffee and Ben. “Can you please stay here while I shower? I’m not that hungry, we can eat after I sleep, and you’ll just be on the toilet-“

Ben stands up, taking you with him. He doesn’t speak, but his answer isn’t in his words. It’s in how he carries you to the bathroom, closing the door behind you both and letting you slide down his body. Keeping his arms around you until your legs are steady before turning to face the wall.

“Ben, you’re allowed to look. You’ve seen me before.”

“No.” His back is straight, shoulders tensed, and when you lean around to try and look at him it’s like the wall is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “I’m a fucking gentleman, Sunshine, and-“

You snort. “Benjamin, you are not a gentleman. You’re an obtuse, vulgar asshole, and that’s why I-“ you swallow, and know you need rest. That was too close, and you barely manage to finish the sentence smoothly. “Trust you. I know you, I don’t think you’re going to do anything. It’s really okay if you look.”

Ben’s eyes drift from the wall, meeting yours. “Fine. But if-“

“If I start to freak out or get uncomfortable, I’ll tell you.” You wrinkle your nose at him. “You know, I don’t always lie about how fucked up I feel.“

“Yes, you do.” Ben mutters, still half-facing the wall. “You think it doesn’t matter. But it fucking does. You fucking matter, you matter more than any-“

You kiss Ben once, enough for him to shut up, and pull back with a smile. “You’re being an idiot. An honorable, overprotective, gentlemanly fucking dumb dumb. If you look at me, my head won’t fall off my shoulders. Okay?”

He scowls, but twists to face you. As you take off your clothes you see him scan your body, but it’s an assessment. He’s checking you for marks or scars or visible wounds, even though you both know there wouldn’t ever be any. Ben keeps his hands curled in fists at his sides, his eyes watching your every moment for you to falter or stumble, when you disappear into the steam of the shower you hear him shuffle closer to the door. To stand guard. You can feel his Thing rumbling around, tearing itself apart inside you, and when you speak it’s mostly just to hear Ben’s voice. You know he’s still there, but you just want to hear him. To let him distract you from the way the water’s turning red as it runs over your hands and under your feet.

“This shampoo is full.”

“What.”

“My shampoo,” you turn the heavy bottle over in your hands, and a large glob of soap falls into your palm. “It’s full. It was almost empty when I…” You still can’t say it. It’s over and you’re home, but you still can’t say it.

“I bought more.”

You smile into the steam at his low, short words. You can see him on the other side of the fogged glass, shifting where he’s pressed his back against the door. “All by yourself?”

“Shut up. I used that Amazon shit, it’s not fucking hard.”

“It took you three hours to understand what they were selling. You said it was fucking pointless, can’t people these days just walk to a store with their damn legs.”

Ben’s Thing in your chest hums. “Well, you didn’t tell me I could buy a fucking knife or spend the CIA’s money on pointless shit-“

“I definitely did.” You add more shampoo into your hair until there’s soap falling in your face and the smell of shea butter and rose overpowers the tang of metal. “My entire pitch was wasting the CIA’s money on clothing and decorations. You just weren’t listening.”

There’s a pause, and you see Ben tense before he responds. “I was distracted.”

You hum, the soap covering your mouth, and wait for him to continue.

“You were sitting on me,” Ben mutters. “And you kept fucking moving. Your tits were right in my face.”

The steam of the shower begins to make you a little dizzy. “Oh.”

Ben grunts. “I got your stupid shiny hair shit as well. Should be in there.”

“Stupid shiny…” you trail off, eyes finding an unopened bottle in the shower caddy. “Conditioner?”

“Sure.”

He got you conditioner. Ben got you conditioner, and shampoo, and when you step out of the shower he’s there with two towels. Holding them out for you, grumbling that you always use two when you blink at him. Once you dry off, Ben pulls off his shirt and shoves it into your hands, tells you to wear it and waits for you to tug it over your head before giving you one last kiss on your brow. Guiding you into his arms and holding you against his distractingly bare and warm chest, letting you bury your face into his body, and you can feel him all around you, and this is going to be impossible. You love him so much, and he’s being so good to you, and it’s only two days but you’re not sure you’ll make it. You need him to be closer, or to climb into him, or for him to live against you like this forever.

But you have to let him lead you out of the bathroom and onto the bed, and tell you he’ll be back in a second, you look like you’re about to fucking collapse, and watch the door close but not shut—left just enough ajar for steam and pine to fill the room around you.

Your clothes are still on the dresser. Fabric charred and stained red, not worth salvaging but still waiting there.

The V.

Your steps across the room aren’t silent as you cross the room. Ben would hear them no matter what, and as much as you want him to burst out of the bathroom, pick you up, and throw you back on the bed—laying on top of you so you can’t go anywhere, grumbling about resting until you kiss his cheek and he makes a grunt of affection that means you win—you’ll also cut his balls off if he tries to treat you like glass. The shower keeps running, and if Ben notices your movement he doesn’t react to it, so you stop in front of the dresser and shift through the clothes with tentative hands—blood, dried but still wrong—to pull out the vial. Green V, that’s in your and Ben’s bodies, that’s completely fucking useless.

You should throw it out. Dump it down the toilet or the sink, smash it and let it evaporate with the heat of your fire, sitting easily under your skin once more. At the very least, you should give it Mallory. That’s what you do with illegal paraphernalia, you turn it into the government. But you don’t want to. You can’t destroy it. Your excuse will be it’s a marvel of science and sort of yours—it even says Anomaly on it—but really it’s feeling. A tug in your gut that says useless against Homelander, but not useless period. It’s the same tug that tells you don’t give it to Mallory. She’s your ally. Not your friend. She wants Homelander dead, but a lot of people want Homelander dead. Wanting Homelander dead is not a benchmark of mortality.

It’s so small in your hand. Barely bigger than your ring finger, barely wider either. It fits right in your underwear door—between a bra and some socks—and when you close it your eyes land back on your clothes.

Blood. There’s just so much blood.

You feel like you’re going to vomit. Something is crawling on your skin, sticking to it and seeping into your body. Your steps back to the bed are hesitant, because your vision is lining with red and your head feels like something is flooding you. Choking you and dragging you down, down, down. Blood.

The shower turns off, and you barely hear it. You can feel the pounding of Ben’s Thing—growing louder and starting to become painful—and when Ben opens the door he’s frowning. He’s surrounded in the steam from the shower, covered by only a towel, and the light of the bathroom around his frame makes him look like some sort of furious, vengeful angel.

You’re really tired, and you can never tell Ben you thought for even a second he was an angel. Even now, in your head seconds later, it sounds stupid, and he’d snort and tease and kiss you. Maybe you should tell him, later, when he’s fully dressed and you can touch him properly.

“What’s wrong.” He’s still frowning at you, and his eyes are darting around the room, resting in sharp shadows and deep corners. You blink at him when his gaze finds yours, watching your every movement carefully.

“Nothing’s wrong, are you-“

“I thought you-” his brow furrows, and he’s scanning over your body, curled back into the sheets of the bed. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

He nods tightly, moving to stand over you, reaching down to hold your face between his hands. “Fucking positive.” He bends over, giving you one, long kiss before muttering against your lips, “Sleep well, Sunshine.”

You grab his forearm right before he can pull away, the words fully registering. “Wait, I-” you try to pull him back, but he doesn’t even stumble. Just looks down at you with a neutral face, with an overwhelming combination of care and resolve and adoration moving from his body to yours. “Please stay.”

“You said-“

“To sleep. I don’t-” you swallow, trying to fight down tears of exhaustion and desperation and fear. “I don’t want to be alone. Ben, please-“

“Fine,” he grunts, and you feel his Thing stab you somewhere near your heart. “But I’m staying on the floor.”

“You need sleep as well-“

“And I’ll get some.” Ben doesn’t waver, just glaring at you. “On the fucking floor.”

“Why.” Your words are strangled, you just want him here, why won’t he stay here. “It’ll be uncomfortable, and I’m okay with you in the bed. I mean, if you’re not okay with it, you can tell me-“

“It’s not you,” he mutters his name, and it’s so gentle. His voice is low and gentle. “You need sleep, and I’ve been having nightmares again. I’m staying, but there’s not a fucking chance I’m risking waking you up.”

You nod, but you must still look as hollow as you’re starting to feel, because Ben bends down again, tilting your head up between his hands to make you look at him.

“Listen to me. It’s not fucking you. And I’ll be right there,” he jerks his head to the floor beside your bed, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m not fucking leaving you,” this time your name is firm. Almost an order, trying to make you understand something. “I’m never fucking leaving you, not again. Got it?”

“You didn’t leave me,” you mumble, and Ben’s mouth twitches.

“Whatever.” He kisses the top of your head one last time, his words against your skin resonating around your skull. “Get some rest, beautiful. I’m not going to a goddamn place without you.”

You nod, and try to. You really, really try to get some rest when Ben pulls on a shirt and sweatpants, trying to move silently around the room and failing massively. You try to calm your body when he grabs a pillow off of his side of the bed and a single, thin, spare sheet before dropping down and sprawling out across the floor. You try to sleep, but your brain won’t rest, echoing screams and taunts into your ears. You try to close your eyes, but when you do they’re restless. Trying to keep watch for something that you know won’t be there, but your body doesn’t. And when you open them the light of day moving through your curtains casts shadows over Ben’s scowl and tight brow, and you want to touch him.

When you drop your hand off the side of the bed, it’s mostly just to hang it there. Closer to Ben, further away from these sheets that are soft and clean and smell like nothing. Not like coconut, but not like pine. Just bland, stale nothing. No concrete proof that thing is real.

You don’t jerk back in surprise when you feel Ben’s fingers fold between yours. It just feels like something returning. Sliding right back where it belongs, filling your body with an assurance that he’s there. Warm and safe and certain. You keep trying to sleep but your head won’t rest. Your heart is beating too fast, and a small, unhelpful and horrible voice won’t stop telling you blood. This might, somehow, still not be real, or Homelander might find you, and there will be more blood. Can’t rest, you’ll drown in blood if you’re not alert, not careful, not running.

When you open your eyes, Ben’s already watching you. Flat on his back, resting his forearm against the side of the bed as he reaches up. Everything in him is affection and concern, and the expression on his face is that one that’s impossible to understand.

You don’t really care to understand it. Not word for word. You know it’s important, and for you, and good. Whatever Ben’s trying to tell you—even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it—is good.

His hand tenses in yours when you climb off the bed, pushing away the sheets of nothing and practically rolling down onto the floor. Onto Ben. He catches you, moving your hand—still locked in his—so that it doesn’t get crushed between your bodies, and raising his free arm to hold you against him, even as he glares down at you.

“What the fuck are you-“

“I don’t care about nightmares,” you whisper, even though it’s only you and him, and Ben lets out a long sigh.

“You need to rest-“

“I will.” You scoot a little further up his body, burying your head in his chest, where you can hear his heartbeat. Real. “I want to sleep next to you, Ben. Please.”

There’s a rush through Ben’s body, and it’s loud and hungry and powerful and glowing, but you don’t really care right now. Not as he relents, moving his arm higher up to get a firm hold of your back. Keeping you almost unmoving as he slides his hand up in yours, moving your grip onto his wrist, sitting up and slowly pulling a larger blanket down from the bed. When he lies back down he rolls onto his side, twisting you around carefully so your back is pressed to his chest, wrapping his arms around you with one hand splayed on your stomach and the other sliding back down to hold yours. His head is above yours, and when you bend your knees his legs follow. Tangling between yours, and he squeezes your hand once before muttering words that you feel more than hear.

“Go to sleep.”

You nod, your eyes suddenly heavy and breathing easier. When you speak, your words are barely a breath. “Thank you.”

He pulls you a little further against him, and whatever’s been aching inside of him eases. Turns bright and wide and clear. “Welcome home, Sunshine. Sleep.”

You hum, and you’ll never tell him you missed that. How he could tell you sleep and your body would listen. Trust him to know it’s safe, that you can rest and nothing bad will happen, because Ben says nothing bad will happen and he wouldn’t lie. If he’s decided you’re safe, you are. If he’s here, you can sleep.

Ben’s strong and safe and everything and you love him. And right before you fall under, into easy, sedated darkness, every rational and reasoning part of you that reminds you don’t tell him. You can’t tell Ben you love him, not now, is washed over with pine and warm and Ben, and you’re going to tell him. Your mouth even opens, the words forming in your throat without effort. Ben. Ben, I love you.

If they come out, they’re an incoherent mumble. If Ben hears them, let alone understands them, you don’t get to know. You’re asleep—really, easily, completely asleep—in the next second, and there are no nightmares. Only an easy dream of walking through the forest in the sun, Ben’s hand in yours, safe.

——————

Ben was up before Her. Watching where their hands were still connected, where the lingering light of the day was casting shadows across her perfect, beautiful face.

She was here. She was home, and Ben was holding her while she slept with a slow heartbeat and soft breaths. He could’ve moved them up, off the floor and onto the bed, but every time Ben shifted Her eyelashes would flutter and she’d lean further back into his body. All he managed to do—in the name of comfort—was figure out how to half-roll his body so she was laying more on him than the fucking floor.

She was home. Ben loved Her, and she was home. She’d need things, things Ben hadn’t managed to remember in her absence. A phone—if Mallory said no he’d buy a shitty burner for himself and give Her his—and some toothpaste. Ben had used about three tubes himself, and there was hardly enough left of the fourth for both of them. He’d gotten shit for her hair, and body wash, and a weird fucking tub of hard gel shit that looked like rocks and smelled like Her. He’d kept a steady flow of groceries—She needed to fucking eat, and the moment she woke up Ben was going to heat up the leftovers—but he wasn’t good at it. There were empty spots in the fridge that had defiantly been filled before, and Ben was pretty fucking sure he was buying the wrong type of apples. They were tangy and hard, and the ones she’d been buying had been crisp and soft. She’d tell him how to fix it—later, once she was rested and Mallory was off their fucking asses—and Ben would so she didn’t lift a single goddamn finger.

He wouldn’t be able to keep Her from working. She needed to feel useful, and she’d punch him if he tried to tell her what to do. It would be hot—she would glare at him and get that wild look in her eyes that made Ben want to see just how feral he could get her—but Ben wasn’t allowed to fuck Her right now. He was fine with that, because as much as every instinct in his body was roaring at him to pick Her up and tell Her you love her. Hold her perfect face and tell her she’s your whole fucking world, and you love her more than you need goddamn oxygen, this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about Ben loving Her, it was about Her sleeping easily against him. About him being there when she started to look empty and sad and hopeless, when she started to scream and it made his whole body tighten in pain. If Ben told Her he loved her now, she might not be ready to hear it. Not when She wasn’t even ready to fuck him. He needed to tell Her when she could smile at him when he said it, when there wouldn’t be any looming threats or possibilities they could lose each other. If She turned him down, decided that Ben wasn’t worthy of loving Her—he wasn’t—She needed to be safe on her own. If Ben lost Her he needed to be fucking positive she’d be okay.

She said she was okay. But she said that all the fucking time, and it didn’t mean anything. She said she was fine, but she kept crying. She said she was good, but her eyes kept flashing with pain and distress. He’d been certain that when he was in the shower he’d heard her voice, strained and alarmed, saying blood. So much blood, and it had made him feel fucking sick. She said she was fucking okay, but she’d lost her goddamn mind when she’d woken up. It might haunt Ben for the rest of fucking time, how she’d been screaming that he wasn’t real, and her nails had been scratching at him, trying to get him away with rabid, desperate movements. She hadn’t known it was him. She’d trusted him, because once he’d convinced her she’d started crying and fucking apologizing and falling into him, but she’d been so fucking afraid. And She’d, again, said she was okay, and Ben fucking knew it was a lie. He knew Her—he knew how good and selfless she was—and he loved Her more than fucking anything, and there wasn’t a single person in history who was better than she was. And Ben didn’t trust anyone less to honestly tell him they were okay.

She thought she was a burden. Ben was goddamn certain She wasn’t telling him because she didn’t want to make him worry about her, but he already was fucking worried about Her. He’d always fucking worry about Her. If she was happy or safe or needed anything, if She was okay when he was gone, if Ben loving Her could be enough for her to stay with him forever. If it wasn’t, what he could do for Her to make it enough. And it wasn’t a burden, because everything Ben did for Her made her smile at him and nothing in the fucking universe was worth more than that. But he couldn’t tell Her that, because every form of that conversation started or ended with because I fucking love you, Sunshine, and it’s damn killing me that you won’t just admit you’re in pain. I can’t fucking help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong, tell me how I should hold you, or if I should sit with you, or what I can bring you to fucking make you happy again.

And this wasn’t about Ben, or him fixing Her. It was about Her feeling okay, and saying it in a way Ben believed. In a way that wasn’t just a soft smile and words, but actions. Where she’d stop looking so fucking afraid, and Ben could protect her from normal things. He didn’t know what normal things would be—maybe a clogged toilet, or an argument with Butcher, or staying with Her when she eventually met with her family—but it wasn’t fucking this. It wasn’t Her saying Homelander hadn’t touched Her, only kissed her—Ben was going to rip off the pussy’s fucking mouth and shove it up his worthless dickhole—but that She couldn’t touch Ben.

He’d wait. Ben had waited his whole fucking life, over a goddamn century, for Her. He could wait another century, a whole fucking millennia for Her to be ready to touch him. At least this time he was able to look at Her, smile with her, laugh with her, love her and love her and love her in silence until one day she told him she was ready and Ben could say it aloud. Tell Her that he loved her, and he’d never fucking stop loving her, and then fuck her until they broke the bed and cracked the walls and she believed him. Ben would ensure it was worth waiting, that when she was ready he’d blow her perfect fucking mind and make her look at him with nothing but fucked out bliss on her beautiful face.

He just had to wait.

It took another hour before She stirred in his arms. An hour of watching Her look content and peaceful, of Ben savoring the way she fit fucking perfectly against him and listening to the beat of Her heart. At some point his phone—resting on the dresser—buzzed once, twice, three times with news that was probably urgent. Ben couldn’t see who was texting him, but night was creeping into the sky and he guessed they were near dinnertime, and everyone should’ve been able to fucking guess they were busy. If he was getting texts, they were either Mallory being a fucking bitch about something, or MM, Butcher, or Annie trying to tell him something important. Ben didn’t care, because to check his phone he’d have to move. He had no goddamn interest in moving, not until She rolled over with an adorable, disgruntled sound, right into Ben's chest. Their hands became smushed in the little remaining space between their bodies, and Her arm—that had been resting over Ben’s—flew up to his face. Almost slapping him, landing and resting on his jaw with a slack palm and fingers near his ear.

He loved Her so fucking much.

She made a sound that might be a mumbled word or just a grunt, and Ben smiled down at Her, squeezing her waist gently. Whispering Her name onto the top of her head. “I know you’re awake.”

Her response was just that same noise, and Ben chuckled.

“Morning, Sunshine.”

“It’s fucking nighttime.”

He shrugged, and hoped She couldn’t hear the skip of his heart when she looked up at him with a pout, Her whole face tired and still so fucking beautiful. “Who gives a fuck. You hungry?”

She nodded, but didn’t move. Just stared up at him with half-open eyes and a slightly parted mouth, and fucking hell She was perfect. She was smiling at him—he didn’t even do anything—and the limits of Ben’s will didn’t extend to not smiling back. To not giving Her a wide grin that made her whole face light up and her eyes turn from glazed with lingering sleep to glossed with something Ben didn’t recognize. She was staring at him with blown out pupils, and a pretty fucking smile, and her knee was dangerously close to Ben’s cock. He knew She could feel him—Her eyes darted down and she swallowed heavily—but she didn’t say anything. Just leaned back into his body, mouth brushing against his neck as she spoke.

“What are the leftovers?”

“Burritos,” Ben muttered. “They’re not fucking good.”

He could feel her smile. “You’re still going to eat one, Benjamin. I’ll go on a hunger strike if you don’t.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.” Her words were hummed with breath fanning across Ben’s skin, and still neither of them made any efforts to stand and move. “What time is it?”

“I don’t fucking know, I’m not a damn clock.”

She gave a small laugh, and Ben’s heart nearly fucking exploded. “Someone’s grumpy.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Hm,” she leaned back, looking up at him in mock thought. “No.”

He kissed Her. Ben was allowed to kiss her, and he was going to take every single fucking opportunity to do so. To suck on her lower lip and trace her teeth with his tongue, to hear a happy, breathless sound leave her body when he nipped at her pretty mouth. To roll Her on top of him and let her lead this, because he knew She would have some sort of fucking line and Ben needed to find it. Let Her show it to him, so he could keep walking right up to it and never, ever fucking cross it.

It wasn’t where he’d have guessed. She was above Ben, falling onto him with sloppy, wet kisses and his hard cock pressing into her thigh, and she still didn’t stop. Then she ground down onto him once, and almost lept off of him. Ben had to shoot out an arm to catch Her, keep her from landing awkwardly on the hardwood floor.

She blinked at him, scanning his face with a look he didn’t understand. It wasn’t guilt, because she wasn’t fighting a pout. It wasn’t anger, there was nothing fierce in her gaze. It wasn’t negative—Her hand was resting easy on his arm around her waist—but it was still making his heart twist. There was something she wasn’t saying, and Ben needed to fucking hear it. To hear her say she was okay again, even if he knew it would still be a lie.

“Your phone is buzzing,” She mumbled, and Ben had to drop it. They were up, and they had shit to do. Ben would have a fucking lifetime with Her to make sure she was okay.

“The burritos are on the counter,” he grunted, keeping an arm around her as he sat up. “I’ll throw them in the microwave-“

“I can do that,” she shifted onto her knees, but didn’t stand. Studying Ben’s face with careful eyes. “You check your phone.”

“No. It’s probably not fucking important-“

“Benjamin.” She gave him a flat look. “Who would be texting you about nothing.”

He glowered at Her. “The Kid. Sometimes he asks me questions, and I’m usually at dinner. I’m not a goddamn hermit-“

“If it is Ryan,” Her eyes were so bright. Teasing and happy and full of light. “Shouldn’t you answer it.”

Ben couldn’t fight with Her. Not even about something stupid that didn’t matter. Not when she was looking at him with such adoration, and there were no shadows on her face. “Whatever.”

Her smile—somehow—got fucking wider. Full and joyful as she leaned forwards, a hand on Ben’s arm to steady herself as she gave him a small kiss and spoke against his mouth. “I’ll meet you downstairs?”

“Be careful-“

“I can walk down some stairs, Ben.” Her voice was dry, but she wasn’t moving away and she was still fucking smiling against him, another hand rising to run fingers through his beard. “I’m a big girl, with legs.”

“Still,” he muttered. “Go slow.”

“I will.” She stood up, and Ben’s hand flew to her calf. Still touching Her. He had to keep fucking touching her. “Go check your phone, Pretty Boy. I’ll heat up your burrito for you.”

She didn’t walk out of the bedroom until Ben rose up himself. She even let him give her one last kiss, hanging against him a second longer than she probably needed to, like she couldn’t fucking bear to leave him either. She didn’t close the door behind her, and Ben watched her walk away until she disappeared down the stairs, keeping his attention on Her heartbeat as he walked to the dresser.

Almost all the texts were from Butcher. There was one from the Kid—he’d convinced Butcher to buy him an old block of metal and buttons that was technically a phone—asking if She was okay. Asking to meet her. She’d want to meet the Kid, so Ben just told him Ask Butcher before opening up the rest of his messages.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible

Tomorrow round noon, team meeting, all hands

Ryan wants to know if you can start training

He also wants to meet her. Answer the boy’s messages you cunt.

Whenever you twats wake up, the shrink’s ready

He’ll come to you

Just gotta fucking wake up and tell me to send him

All of those could’ve been one fucking text. Ben said as much in his response, along with that he’d train the Kid after the meeting, he could meet Her before they started, and that the shrink could come in an hour before shoving his phone in his pocket and joining Her downstairs.

She hadn’t started eating without him. Ben’s burrito was waiting for him, placed in front of his usual seat, and her fingers were tapping on the table as she stared at it with a frown. Her face shot up to Ben before he’d even fully exited the bedroom, and he fucking loved Her. He loved how her face relaxed when she saw him, how she’d put three large napkins next to his plate, how when he reached her at the table she smiled at him and leaned her head back to let Ben give her a small kiss before sitting down. He loved how She leaned forwards until their knees were pressed together under the table. He loved how she tilted her head at him, studying his expression before taking a careful bite of her burrito. How she didn’t swallow until Ben rolled his eyes and took a bite from his own.

He loved the smug look on Her perfect face, and the small, pleased sound she made when Ben swallowed.

“What were the texts about?” She didn’t look away from him as she took another bite, and Ben shrugged.

“Butcher’s sending the shrink. The Kid wants to meet you.”

“Ryan?” Her voice was soft, nervous. “Can I?”

Ben snorted. “Of course you fucking can, don’t be fucking stupid.”

“Hey-“

“He’s only here because of you,” Ben said Her name firmly, because it was fucking insane she thought anyone would stop her. That—if anyone tried to—Ben wouldn’t shoot them. “You want to meet him, you will.”

She nodded, giving Ben a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Shut up.”

She giggled, taking a slightly larger bite from her burrito and speaking through a mouthful of food. “Is he okay?”

He frowned at Her. “What?”

“Ryan,” she swallowed, watching Ben with soft, pretty eyes. “Is he doing well? Are you, do you really think he’s okay?”

Ben had to physically bite his tongue to stop himself from telling Her he loved her. To lean over the table and find a way to pull her into his lap, to hold Her and tell her of course he’s fucking okay. You gave everything, more than you fucking should’ve, and I’ll be fucking damned if it was for nothing. You were right, you’re always fucking right, and he’s good. I started talking to him because you told me to, because I love you, and he’s a good kid. He’s smart like you are, and you’re going to like him. I’m going to watch you talk to him and it’s going to be fucking worth all of this shit, because I love you and you’re going to light up about how this worked out and now the Kid is safe and happy. I’m going to be happy because you’re home and I love you and you’re going to be fucking happy and I fucking love you. I love you, Sunshine, and the Kid is good.

He managed to hold it in—through sheer, brute will—and only nod. “He’s good. You’ll like him.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will,” Ben muttered, taking another bite. “He likes you.”

She frowned at him, and Ben realized a second too late what he’d just said. “He’s never met me.”

“Well, he knows about you. And he thinks you’re cool-“

“But he doesn’t know me,” She protested, and Ben didn’t understand the distress in her voice. As if there was a fucking world where someone would not like Her. “He knows about me, not me. He might hate me-“

Ben drawled Her name, and decided his pride wasn’t worth holding onto over the strain of her words and how they were making his heart tighten. “We’ve told him about you. He fucking likes you. Wouldn’t stop asking me every goddamn question about you. Stop being fucking nervous about it, he likes you.”

“Oh,” She blinked at him, shaking Her head like she was trying to clear a thought. “What, what did you tell him?”

“Everything.” Ben muttered, unable to look away from Her wide eyed, perfect face, continuing when she just gave him a confused expression. “Your work before this, what you liked, what shit you hated, all the fucking things you do for everyone.”

“And he likes me?”

Ben scoffed. “Of course he fucking does.”

“Even when you told him everything?”

“Well, almost everything.” Ben smirked at Her, winking. “I didn’t fucking tell him how you taste, or look under me, or how you sound when you moan my name.”

Her face flushed, and her gaze dropped to her plate. “Would be a weird thing to tell him. We’d have to call CPS on you.”

He snorted. “I don’t think CPS gives a fuck, Sunshine. And I don’t tell anyone that shit, it’s fucking mine to know.”

It was. Ben was figuring out how to walk a very careful line with his love. One on side was everyone needed to fucking know. Everyone needed to understand that he loved Her, and that nobody was capable of loving her like he was, and nobody fucking deserved her—Ben himself was sure as shit not worthy—but his whole life was about earning her. About loving Her, and worshipping her, and doing whatever she asked him because Ben fucking loved her and everyone needed to be crystal fucking clear about that. Even if she didn’t want him, Ben wasn’t up for grabs. He was Her’s, and he didn’t have any interest in being anyone else’s. If She said no and left him, Ben would watch her go and fucking live with it because he wasn’t a pussy, but she’d also take his fucking heart with her. People should know that, because Ben didn’t want his time wasted by other women who could never be Her trying to charm him. And if She, by some miracle, decided she did want Ben, he would fucking kill anyone who tried to take him away from Her. If she accepted Ben’s love, nobody was ever going to take it away from Her. Ben was fucking Hers, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that.

On the other side of the line was Ben loved Her, and she adored him, and that was fucking sacred. Nobody should be allowed to see the parts of Her she reserved for Ben, because they were given to him and him alone. If She wanted the world to have them, she’d say their names like she said Ben’s and she looked at them with the same ease in Her eyes when she looked at Ben. She’d kiss them like they were everything, and cling to them like she was always touching Ben. But she fucking do any of that, because those were vulnerable, secret parts of Her she’d offered Ben and he’d fucking go back to sleep and be tortured a million goddamn years before he betrayed Her. Before he exposed them or let them shatter, before he let anyone hurt them. Ben was Her’s, but she was also Ben’s. These pieces of Her were Ben’s to care for, and she trusted him to do it right. He was going to fucking do it right, so She never had to worry about him leaving.

Some part of Her must know that—know how fucking serious he was—because she just gives him a small smile and strange, peaceful look from under her eyelashes and changes the topic.

“Have you seen all the rumors about me?” She grinned at him, and a little bit of sauce fell out of her mouth. Ben wanted to lick it. “Do you think I’m Edgar’s daughter, or Singer’s?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Fucking insane dogshit. I’d have thought the world would move on from pointless, hounding fucking gossip. Let people live their goddamn lives.”

“What a champion of public figures’ right to privacy,” she teased, tongue flicking out to catch the sauce. She was trying to fucking kill him. “Tired of the tabloid lies, Pretty Boy?”

“If one more pussy says you’re fucking Butcher, I’ll kill him.”

“I can’t imagine he’s loving that either,” She shrugged. “And Butcher couldn’t handle me.”

Ben chuckled, but some sort of bell rang in his head. Something familiar, that made him pause and look at Her. Perfect, glaring at the stray beans on her plate. His mouth opened—he wasn’t even fucking sure what he was going to ask—and someone knocked on the door.

She started to rise, but Ben managed to make his glare firm enough that she dropped back down and stuck her tongue out at him.

“You’re not fucking-“

“I know, you’re going to get the door, I’m going to stay here and rest.” She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I’m not fucking delicate, Benjamin-“

“I don’t think you’re fucking delicate.” He snapped. There wasn’t a less delicate woman on the planet, and he fucking loved that about Her. “I’m being a goddamn gentleman. Stay in your chair.”

“Asshole,” She muttered under her breath, and Ben grinned at her.

“You fucking love it.”

She flipped him off, face flushing a pretty color, and Ben just winked before walking to the door and opening it to find a small, weedy man with the beady, reptilian eyes and the tiniest glasses Ben’s seen in his goddamn life.

“Hello,” Lizard-Eyes looked Ben up and down with tight lips and a twitching nose. “I am here for an evaluation of the Anomaly’s psychological status, at the orders of Director Mallory. I take it you are Soldier Boy?

Ben scowled. “Of course I’m fucking Soldier Boy, who the hell else-“

“Ben,” She called from over his shoulder, and Ben shifted his body to block her from the view of Lizard-Eyes. “Just let him in.”

Ben twisted over his shoulder, shooting Her a glare. He looks like a fucking haughty pussy. This is fucking pointless.

Maybe, She shrugged. But we still have to do it. Might as well do it now. Please, Ben.

He sighed, and turned back to Lizard-Eyes, looking him up once and down before stepping to the side.

Lizard-Eyes walked past Ben without a second glance, his eyes locked on Her. Looking at Her like she was some sort of fucking puzzle or trophy.

“Lovely to meet you,” Lizard-Eyes said Her name, giving her a smile that made Her flinch. A tiny, easily missable movement that Ben caught with ease and Lizard-Eyes missed entirely as he extended his hand.

“Um, hi.” She glanced up, over Lizard-Eyes, gaze finding Ben’s. What is he doing?

Ben shrugged. Fuck if I know.

Lizard-Eyes turned around, frowning at Ben. “If you, sir, could find leave for us to begin-“

“He stays,” She said quickly, eyes falling to Lizard-Eyes’ still outstretched hand. “And you shouldn’t touch me.”

Lizard-Eyes’ head whipped back to Her. “Why ever not? Will it trigger a trauma induced reaction-“

“She’s an empath supe, you fucking idiot,” Ben muttered, walking around the table to stand behind Her. Placing a hand on her shoulder and savoring the way she leaned back into him.

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes nodded, voice far too fucking fasciated. “That must be quite a burden, to feel and shoulder the emotions of others.”

“I manage,” Her voice was dry, and Ben snorted.

“Will he,” Lizard-Eyes lowered himself into a chair, glancing back up at Ben. “Must he be here for our session?”

“Yeah, he must.” Her voice was firm. Final. Ben was staying, no room for arguing. “Let’s get this over with.”

Lizard-Eyes pulled a large stack of papers out his goddamn ass, looking at Her over his stupid fucking glasses. “Let’s begin, at, well, the beginning.” He chuckled to himself, and he sounded like a fucking horse. “Why would director Mallory believe you may be in need of an assessment?”

“Probably because I was just held hostage by my abuser for almost two months,” Her voice was bored, but her fingers had begun to tap on the table. Lizard-Eyes didn’t even fucking notice. “And I didn’t exactly return peacefully.”

“Your abuser?”

There wasn’t a fucking chance in hell Lizard-Eyes didn’t know who Her abuser. Even if he’d only just been presented with the case, She’d been all over the goddamn news. And Her face wasn’t forgettable, it was perfect and beautiful and seared itself into your goddamn eyes.

She sighed, and Ben could hear the resentment in her voice. “Homelander.”

Lizard-Eyes hummed, writing something down. “And what forms of abuse did you endure under him?”

“Rape,” Her voice was soft, and Ben’s jaw clenched. “Kidnapping. Emotional abuse. Unethical medical experimentation.”

Lizard-Eyes’ nod was fucking eager, and Ben was going to break his stupid pencil, then his hands, then rip out his tongue. “And during this second time? Were there repeated offenses?”

“I,” She swallowed. “I don’t-“

“From the first occurrence. During the past two months did you experience,” Lizard-Eyes checked his notes. She’d just fucking told him, and he made a dramatic show of looking over his glasses and frowning at the paper. “Rape? Kidnapping? Emotional-“

“How the fuck is this helping,” Ben snapped, because Her heart had begun to pick up her fingers were tapping faster, in time with the chew of her mouth. “Just do your goddamn job and clear her. Now.”

“My methods are not for you to understand,” Lizard-Eyes angled his chin up, giving Ben a thin-lipped frown. “But they are proven. I must hear, in her own words, what we are facing. Now,” his eyes returned to Her. “Please continue.”

There wasn’t a fucking we. This was Her, doing everyone’s work for them and better than they possibly could, and Ben staying at her side until she gave him something to do. Lizard-Eyes wasn’t a goddamn part of this.

She was full of a lot more fucking grace and forgiveness than Ben was, because she just kept entertaining the fucking idiot, even her whole body tensed under Ben’s hand. “No rape, just, um, one kiss. Emotional abuse, he tried to make me kill someone. This was kind of kidnapping again, and he choked me a few time-“

“He fucking what.” Ben hissed, glaring down at her. “You said he didn’t fucking touch you-“

“He didn’t, Ben.” She leaned back, giving Ben a tiny, weak smile that was probably meant to fucking reassure him. “Not like that.”

“Like what?” Lizard-Eyes’ question drew Her eyes away from Ben, but her head remained slightly tipped back.

“Um, rape. He didn’t rape me this time.”

“Excellent,” Lizard-Eyes gave a short nod, looking down at his papers. “Who was it you killed? Was there an emotional attachment?”

“I didn’t kill him, Homelander did. I couldn’t.” She let out a long breath. “And I’d never really talked to him.”

“Interesting. Is that all?”

“Yeah,” She mumbled. “That’s all.”

She was fucking downplaying it. Ben knew Her, knew there was probably some other fucked up shit Homelander had done to Her or made her do. Christ, she’d had to stand in front of a camera and lie about her whole fucking life, had to pretend she loved Homelander, and she’d come home screaming. There was more, there was always fucking more She believed didn’t matter. Lizard-Eyes was just nodding, consulting his goddamn notes and looking at Her over his glasses.

“How have you felt since your return?”

“Tired,” She mumbled. “I’m just tired. I got some sleep, but I’m just really, really tired.”

“And have you been given, ah, the opportunity to sleep?” Lizard-Eyes glanced up at Ben, and She shook her head.

“Yes. I took a shower, ate, and slept. It’s just been a day,” She sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

“Hm.” Lizard-Eyes looked Her over, squinting like she was a goddamn specimen. “Have you had any violent outbursts? Felt any form of bloodlust?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Lizard-Eyes made another fucking note.

“Have you had any nightmares, or dreams in which you enacted brutal vengeance on your abuser?”

“No.”

“Have you felt as if your actions were outside of your control? Heard any voices that are not usually there, or maybe tell you to do things you may not normally do?”

“Um,” She swallowed, heartbeat skipping as leaned further back into Ben. “No.”

“Any thoughts of hurting yourself or ending your life?”

“No, but it wouldn’t work-“

Lizard-Eyes smiled at Her, and it was fucking disgusting. “Is there anything else you would like to tell me?”

“I don’t think so.” She frowned, glancing up at Ben with a confused expression. Is that it?

Ben looked over Lizard-Eyes—consulting his stupid fucking papers with an over-dramatic expression—before rolling his eyes at Her. Damn seems it. Pussy.

Her mouth tugged up slightly. Do you think those things actually help him see?

Ben failed to cover his snort. Not a chance in fucking hell.

Lizard-Eyes, oblivious to their exchange, looked up with another horrible smile. “I am happy to say I feel comfortable clearing you. You’re not displaying any worrying behaviors that would compromise your safety to yourself or others.”

She blinked. “Oh, okay. Is that-”

“I will recommend that you take it easy,” Lizard-Eyes continued, attention returning to his notes. “Maybe take up mediation. It’s been a pleasure, and should you need any more aid, know that my door is always open.”

“Wait,” She reached across the table, not touching Lizard-Eyes but placing a hand on his papers, drawing his gaze to Her. “You work in medical, right? For the agents?”

Lizard-Eyes gave a hum. “Third floor, room twenty-six. If you would like to meet again-“

“No, I’m good.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “You don’t happen to have the change of contact forms on you? I kind of forgot them earlier.”

“Ah,” Lizard-Eyes shuffled through the pile, pulling out three poorly-stapled pages. “Will you need time to complete them?”

She shook her head, taking the paper and looking backward at Ben. “Phone?”

He frowned. “What.”

“Your phone, Ben.” She reached a hand up, palm open. “I didn’t memorize your number, I need to see it for the form.”

Ben tried not feel so fucking smug about it. About Her making him her emergency contact, especially because there weren’t really any other fucking options. It sure as fuck shouldn’t be Butcher, and the only two out of their team Ben would trust to take care of Her properly—listen to Her, not let her do stupid sacrificial shit, and protect her like the goddamn perfect work of art she was—were Kimiko and MM. They’d both drop their shit to take care of Her, they’d both be pissed if she put herself in danger, and neither of them would get all fucking moral about it. MM might lecture Her about it later, but it was better than Annie's goddamn judgmental looks. Kimiko liked Her, and would get her hands bloody to help Her, and Ben could fucking appreciate that. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect Her—MM was all about that no man left behind fuckery, and Kimiko adored Her—but they weren’t as good options as Ben was. For one, MM was always busy and had his own family to worry about, and Kimiko couldn’t fucking talk. But Ben was still better. He’d drop the fucking sky off his back to go to Her, he fucking loved Her and there wasn’t anyone who knew her perfect, insane fucking brain as well as he did.

Lizard-Eyes certainly fucking didn’t. As She filled out the form with her neat, scrawling handwriting and an adorable focus, Ben just glared at Lizard-Eyes. He didn’t fucking get it. How you could never trust Her to say she was in pain, or that her pain was the worst fucking thing in the world. Lizard-Eyes could clear Her now—in this moment when her voice was clear and steady and her eyes were sharp—but he’d never seen her screaming or crying or trying to escape her own goddamn body, all while insisting she was fine. She wasn’t fucking fine, and it made everything wrong.

Ben had known that from the start. Before he’d loved Her, before he’d even fucking liked her, Ben had known that Her being small and broken and afraid was just fucking wrong. She was supposed to be happy. Everything was better when she was happy. Men should be going to fucking war to keep her happy. She deserved it. She deserved happiness and light and love and fucking everything, and Ben didn’t care if it took the rest of goddamn time, he’d do whatever she needed to make her happy. If it was things, he’d get her things. He’d buy her all the fucking things in the world. If it was vengeance, he’d walk by her side and do the dirty work for her. If it was for everyone to leave her alone, Ben included, he’d do it. He’d walk away and wait forever for Her to return.

It wouldn’t be that. She stood up, showing Lizard-Eyes to the door and saying kind words the pussy didn’t deserve, and Ben knew she’d just want time. She’d want Ben to stay and hold Her while she’d tried to fix everything wrong in the world, and then she’d want to laugh and talk and tease him. So Ben would stay, and when she asked him to stay he’d remind her that nothing could fucking make him leave her. He’d do what She asked, fix what she told him to, and then kiss Her until she was just happy. Ben just wanted Her to be fucking happy. And he loved Her, so he’d trade the whole fucking world to make that happen. Then give it back, because She wouldn’t want the world. She’d just want Ben.

She was closing the door and walking to Ben, and She was smiling, and this was the whole world. She’d smashed Her face into his chest, and relaxed into his arms, and Ben fucking loved Her.

“Is it late?”

Ben glanced at his still-open phone on the table. “Past ten.”

She hummed. “I’m not that sleepy.”

Ben muttered Her name, and she pulled back to glare at him.

“Don’t tell me I am,” She snapped. “I’m tired, not sleepy. There’s a difference, and I’m not sleepy. So shut up.”

Ben raised his brows at Her. “I didn’t fucking say anything.”

“You were going to-“

“And those words mean the exact same thing, Sunshine, don’t bullshit me.”

“They don’t,” She scowled. “Tired is exhaustion. Strain and fatigue. Sleepy is heavy eyelids and woozy.”

“Smartass.”

“You’re the one who fucking doubted me, I just-“

Ben kissed Her, soft and slow and She was home. She was fucking home, in Ben’s arms, and he was never going to lose Her again.

“If you’re not sleepy,” he muttered against Her lips. “Then what do you want to do.”

She sighed into him, and it was a light and breathy sound that made Ben’s whole body relax. “Can we watch TV?”

“Of course we fucking can.” Ben dropped down, just enough to pick Her up, and rose fast enough to swallow her yelp in his mouth. “We can do whatever the hell you want.”

She smiled at him like he was everything, resting Her head on his shoulder, and Ben wasn’t sure how he’d managed two months without this. Fuck, he didn’t know how he’d gone a hundred years without this. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.”

Ben had glared at Her and grunted the words, but she clearly didn’t take him fucking seriously anymore, because she giggled. She goddamn giggled, and buried Her head in his neck, and gave a hum of content that made Ben’s whole world light up. He fucking loved Her. He had to keep gnawing off his tongue through the movie—Her pick, a cartoon about jazz and frogs that Ben allowed because he was a fucking pussy who loved her—because he was hardly able to stop himself from telling Her. She didn’t climb off of him when they sat on the couch, and Ben almost told her. She hummed the words of all the songs—it was goddamn musical—and the whole room filled with lights and smells and Ben almost told Her. She smiled up at him during random scenes, and Ben almost fucking told Her.

“You look sleepy, beautiful.” Ben murmured into Her ear, halfway through, and she shook Her head, voice slightly slurred when she spoke.

“Fuck you.”

Ben chuckled, and adjust Her in his arms so she could have an easier time breathing—and Her lips would brush Ben’s skin more, but who the fuck was going to yell at him about that—and Ben almost told Her.

The movie had hardly finished when she passed out. Her whole body went loose and her heart fell into an easy rhythm, and Ben carried her upstairs. Carefully, gently, watching Her face, easy and perfect and beautiful in the dark. Setting Her on the bed and pulling the covers over her body, brushing stray hairs from her face and smiling down at Her. Perfect. Still so fucking perfect.

Ben wasn’t strong enough to stop himself from climbing on the bed himself and pulling Her back to his side. He shouldn’t. He might wake up with morning wood and it might freak her out, or he might have a nightmare and disturb her. But She’d begged him to stay, and Ben could watch Her and protect her like this. Keep Her safe, never leave, make Her happy. Fuck Mallory and Homelander and the media and the mission and Sage and the government and Vought. She just needed to be happy, and everything would be right.

Whatever it took, Ben would make Her really, truly happy again.

End Note: For those of you who are mad they didn’t IMMEDIATELY fuck, all I have to say is fair. Yeah, that’s fair. Although you SHOULD know better by now. They WILL fuck, we’re real close to them fucking, but let them get there themselves, their way. (the hardest and most inconvenient way possible).

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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