#full story on my a03

[maddiebat]

A Flavor of Fate | A SonAmy oneshot

Summary:

After Amy's murder mystery party, Sonic sneaks over to hang out with the birthday girl alone. Oneshot. A soft sequel to my other fic, Subliminal.

full story on my A03, which is pinned to the top of my page!

Trying her best to compose herself, Amy smiled knowingly. 

“Well, you worked so hard to get it for me today—want a slice of the cake?”

He politely held his hands up in protest. “It’s your birthday cake, Ames, not mine.”

“Like I’d ever be able to eat this all by myself— and keep my figure anyways.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll take one slice.” 

This fic was inspired by this fanart by @e-vay

I don't know why but this art sent me so much I decided to write a fucking fic based off of it lmao. obviously it's not like one-to-one in the fic, but I just was so obsessed with the hidden kiss aspect. so thank you so much Evay for feeding all of us sonamy shippers with such good food, and I hope you enjoy the fic!

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 16: The Song of the Lonely Mountain First chapter / Previous / Next

To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters

Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

*crumbles into dust after finishing this* Thank you for reading! This The Hobbit webcomic adaptation thing takes a lot of effort to put together and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate every comment. I also really appreciate the people who’ve spread the word of this comic to their friends! <3

And finally, we’re at the Song of the Lonely Mountain! Within Tolkien’s canon, The Hobbit is an in-universe book that was “written” by Bilbo Baggins, who occasionally lies/embellishes/exaggerates things. The tonal differences between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings are explained by Bilbo and Frodo/Sam being different kinds of storytellers, with different relationships to “the truth.” This idea is the core of how I’m adapting the novel!  Bilbo is an unreliable narrator who is literally ‘drawing’ from his own limited experiences;  the different art styles reflect the different perspectives of other characters.   The “dwarf art style” in this chapter is inspired by stonework/metalwork in general— but especially by a mix of art deco, Celtic art, and European folk art. 

The central tension of the comic is between Bilbo and Thorin, who each have wildly different ideas about what kind of  story they’re in. Thorin is in a grand fantasy epic, while Bilbo is in a lighthearted children’s book adventure.  The tragedy is, obviously, that only one side of the story ever gets to be fully told.

On a sillier note, a few years ago I had my first gay crush on a lesbian who sang while playing the piano. This chapter is dedicated to the piano lesbian. I hope they’re doing well, wherever they are. XD

I think I might need a bit of a break but I’m hoping for the next chapter, titled “Dawn,” to arrive on January 13th. And your comments/support really do help motivate me to get more done! ^_^

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

On David Tennant and Aging

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts in response to Tumblr users’ habit of affectionately calling their favorite middle aged dudes “old men”, David Tennant in particular, saying things like “clearly you’ve never met an actual old person”, “omg you talk about these guys like they’re 80”, “please be normal about people aging”, etc. And on one hand, all of these statements are objectively right and true! But as someone who’s always been really fascinated by and found a lot of beauty in getting older (which I’ve explored in some of my writing on A03 because nobody else is going to do it for me), I’d like to provide a bit more nuance on how I think this label applies to David in particular.

David, obviously, in literal terms, is not “old”, at least not to me- I don’t personally consider people old until they get past 60. 52 is middle aged, simple as that. And yet, when I see David stuck with the “old man” label, it still somehow feels weirdly right, for a number of reasons.

It annoys me so much when people say David “hasn’t aged a day since Doctor Who”, because, well…

He clearly has. A lot. He’s got forehead creases, deep crows’ feet and eyebags, and I think that post-Fourteen we’re gonna see him rocking the grey temples a LOT more. He also has the voice of an older man now, his upper range is still there but the default is much more deep and rich, with a gravelly, rumbling quality that just goes straight through you. I personally think Broadchurch was when David finally started to embrace looking his age- Alec Hardy just wouldn’t have been served by Ten’s fresh-faced boyishness.

Obviously, these are the kinds of changes you’d expect any 52-year-old man to have, but something about David just makes it all seem a bit more… intense? The expressiveness of his face combined with his almost gaunt frame makes his wrinkles very prominent, and when he works his voice to its emotional extremes, his lower register can sound positively ancient, to devastating effect.

David, I think, is someone with an old soul- I don’t think he could be as good as he is at playing ancient characters like Crowley and The Doctor if he weren’t. He has lived so many lives, given so much of himself to so many characters, often incredibly tragic ones, and I think it wears on him. David also has five kids. FIVE. Do you know how exhausting it is to be one of the hardest working actors alive and be a present, loving father to even ONE child? But David somehow does it anyway! Nowadays I see him and my heart breaks because he looks so tired, so weary and fragile. But he’s all the more beautiful for it to me because I know that that is because he is kind. He’s a deeply empathetic person who feels and lives to the absolute fullest, and that story is written so clearly on his face, along with every other story he has ever been a part of.

There’s other things about David that make the label endearingly fitting- his utter hopelessness when it comes to technology, for instance. And he’s just got that warm, wise, grandpa energy too sometimes- look at that above Fourteen picture and tell me I’m wrong!

I once showed my friend who’d only seen David in Doctor Who and Harry Potter a picture of David from Around The World in 80 Days. It was a particularly emotional scene, and his face had just the most beautiful expression of compassion and sadness, every wrinkle on full display. And she said, in a less than complimentary fashion, “he looks so old!” Which, of course, offended me quite a bit at first. But to me, referring to David as old almost feels like a badge of honor, something he’s earned by living fully and selflessly, working hard and being wise and compassionate beyond his years. I think David himself is secretly more than a little insecure about the fact that he’s getting older. There’s sadness behind every jovially self-depreciating remark he’s made about his age in the past year, particularly in comparing himself to Ncuti Gatwa. I know how much David struggles with his impostor syndrome and how people perceive him, and I can clearly see in his eyes the fear of being discarded, the anxiety he feels about if he’ll still be as loved as he was back in 2007 now that he’s closer in age to King Lear than he is to Romeo. So I hope David knows it’s a privilege to watch him grow older, to watch his soul and talents deepen with the crinkles around his eyes. If I, in my silly goofy tumblr girl-ness, call David Tennant an old man, it’s because it’s a label that suits him beautifully- even if it isn’t TECHNICALLY an accurate one yet.

[jyoongim]

A Deal with God

Alastor x Morningstar!Reader

Themes: fem!reader, Morningstar!reader, Angst, mention of character death, secrets, religious themeAlastor being Alastor, fluff, slight smut, deal-making,  soul possession, Lilith a shitty mother/wife/sister, established relationship, difficult family dynamic, there’s a trope in here I just don’t know what to call it?

“Just because you see a smile, dont think you know what’s going on underneath‘ - Alastor

chapter 1 chapter 2

~Prelude~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let’s make a deal my dear” Alastor said smiling, arms wrapped around your waist. You tilted your head frowning “I cannot give you my soul Alastor”  He laughed, shaking his head “Oh no I don’t want your soul. Just a simple deal thats all.” 

You bite your lip “what kind of deal?”

”Ill continue to help Charlie and her little passion project, in exchange,  Ill give you my soul. Just break my current deal and grant me my full power.” 

You gawked at him shocked “A-Alastor…I..I cant” you began to pull away from him, but he held you fast. His eyes were wild and smile tense 

”But you can! Think about it. Ill do whatever you say, be at your complete disposal. All you have to do my dear is allow me my full power.”

You bit your lip, looking away from him “What makes you think I can do such a thing?”

Alastor hooked his finger under your chin, turning your head to meet his gaze ”Because you’ll do anything to protect your family”

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Do we have a deal?”

You sighed, knowing he was right ”Ill only allow you to use your full abilities when absolutely necessary Alastor”

His smile almost broke his face

”Then we have a deal?”

”Deal”

The building shook as a eerie green glow emitted around the two of you as he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

note: HI EVERYONE!!!! Im trying my hand at what I am hoping in a short series. This is heavily influenced by episodes 5-8 so please bear with me if it becomes lengthy!

This was originally ’Skyfall’ but but I wanted to revise the plot a bit. Please leave comments and your opinions as the story progress!!!

(This is also posted on my A03!!!)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

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

[90sbee]

Dying is not an option (when you're by my side)

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!reader

1k words. Also on a03

Soft fingers caress his lips, keep his body warm, his belly full and his back massaged.

“I’ll always have a home,” Leon finally manages to get out, a complete sentence, voice without hesitation.

He closes his eyes, kisses the skin of your shoulder.

Hell, he is trying.

When his mind seems to get too clouded by the visions of monsters, you pull him out of the depths of his trauma. He does his best to love you. He tries.

Or the fic in which you make Leon repeat comforting phrases so it finally gets in his head that he is loved.

Just a very soft idea that wouldn't leave my head and that's been too long in the wip folder. The warnings make it seem worse than it is, but happy ending I promise!!! Had re4r in mind for this one but can be read with other older versions of him. (Though the older the Leon, the angstier it gets lmao)

Content: No use of y/n, very very soft love, hurt/comfort, some angst, established relationship, living together, sitting on his lap, a tiny bit of possessive Leon (yay!)

Warnings: +18 ONLY. No smut but some suggestive lines. Mentions of blood, suicide, guns and overall (some brief) gore. Leon's mental struggles (depression, anxiety). I'm not a native English speaker but I (lazily) proofread and edited this one.

You lean forward, just a little closer to his body. Leon groans, his face unreadable still.

“Don’t want to,” he muses, kind of annoyed at your proposal.

“Just trust me.”

He reluctantly nods, as you get comfortable on his lap. His firm thighs under you, the warmest and comfiest seat you could ever ask for.

You worry about him, worry so much.

You know now: know what he does, what he works as. At first it was hard to believe it, the stories about human turned monsters, about creatures that linger between heaven and hell. But you had to believe him, you were forced to the first time Leon crumbled down in your arms, sobbing the entirety of the night, the immensity of his body reduced to shivering and tears.

“I love you,” you had told him that time. “I’m not letting you go. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

You whisper the same things again now, your voice reverberating close to his ear. Leon eases the grip on your hips, replaces it with a soft touch. He tries to calm down, closes his eyes for a moment too long.

“You love me,” he seems to ask, as if trying to convince himself of it, as if trying to find himself worthy of such a feeling from someone like you.

“I do,” you confirm, cupping his cheeks.

He nods, though his heart is thumping in his chest still. Your hands move to his shoulders, then to his arms, caressing the skin with soft strokes.

“I love you… Look at me.”

He obliges, eyes like the ocean, marked by the heavy and dark eyebags.

It breaks your heart to see him like this. Your lip trembles as you lean closer, shortening the distance.

It is entirely possible —as you’re so much aware of— that one day you’ll come home to an unlocked gun and his body in the bathtub. Or maybe it would be the rifle, the carpet stained with blood and pieces of what used to be his jaw.

A jaw that you love so much, that you kiss now.

Leon sighs, seems content with such affection, his hands getting lost down your thighs.

“Listen to me. You’re gonna repeat as I say, okay?” an attempt to get him out of his head, to remind him of who he is.

“ …‘Kay,” he mumbles, seemingly distracted.

“I’m… good.”

He scrunches his nose, pinkish lips downturned. Naturally, he doesn’t dare to say those words. He doesn’t want to trick his brain.

“C’mon,” you egg him, patting his shoulder gently.

The action seems to at least make his lips curve slightly.

“I’m good,” he whispers, his voice insecure.

He tries. You can see how hard he does it: coming home as much possible, the dirty laundry now clean and with a soft cinnamon scent. A sunflower in the kitchen vase next to the window, the coffee mug always clean even when you leave it in the sink, ready to be washed in the morning.

“I’m a good partner,” you resume, reminiscing.

That does stops him in his tracks, a gentle blush rooting on his cheeks, the smile more pronounced now. Leon presses his face against your neck.

“… Do I really have to say it?”

“Yep.”

He breathes on your neck, as if trying to take in a bit of your kindness, a bit of your peace. He closes his eyes, tries to control his breathing. But his hands grip your hips harder.

He fucking loves you.

Leon is not sure he deserves this yet, the warm body on the bed, the pretty smile that kisses him goodbye, lets him go away even in the middle of the night.

“I love you,” he backtracks, pressing a kiss on your neck.

You chuckle, and allow him that admission.

“Very cute but that’s not what you had to repeat.”

Leon raises his eyebrows, feigning annoyance. He keeps his fingers on your hips, dancing on your skin, drawing patterns as he keeps you close. He wishes he could sign his name there, mark you forever so you’d never get too far away from him… So he’d always have a right to come back to you.

“But I love you…” he pouts.

You grab his face with utmost care, force his cheeks to look upwards at your face.

“I love you too. Lots.”

You kiss his forehead. His body melts under that touch.

“ ‘m a good partner” he mumbles, quickly.

“My baby loves me.”

Now Leon chuckles.

“My baby loves me,” he hides again on your neck, his smile etched constantly on his face now. You hug him closer, kiss his forehead once more, as if sheltering a lost angel in your arms.

“I’ll always have a home.”

Oh, that one seems to break him a little. Leon immediately whines, his hands gripping your body with ferocity against his. He can’t say… He shouldn’t. He… he can’t and…

His heart starts beating faster and he gulps.

“You can do it…” you encourage him and he wants to try. He knows, deep inside, that is true and that he is now safe. It takes him several minutes until his anxiety dissipates and he can look up at you, your eyes encapsulating warmth that he had never experienced with anyone else.

Soft fingers caress his lips, keep his body warm, his belly full and his back massaged.

“I’ll always have a home,” Leon finally manages to get out, a complete sentence, voice without hesitation.

He closes his eyes, kisses the skin of your shoulder.

Hell, he is trying. It is seen not only in how much he makes time for you, but also in the way he follows along with your little silly ideas, suggestions to try to build himself up again.

And though he wouldn’t directly admit it, since you two are together he has promised himself to fight his hardest in every mission. He spits his own blood, wipes off the exhaustion from his face and keeps pushing forward. Because, he’ll be damned, he wants to see you once more. And once more. And again and again… And when he comes home, to you, Leon immediately checks —for the tenth time— the safety on each gun and leaves them in locked boxes, his fingers slowly forgetting what it’s like to toy with weapons in the sanctuary that you’ve built for the two of you. The cold of the metal is now replaced by the warmth between your thighs, the flesh on your hips, the softness of your hands.

Hell, he is definitely trying.

And it’s fucking working.

God to be on his lap honestly!!! A dream. And if you've made it to the end, thank you!! Mwah, sweet soul 💙

[bakerstreethound]

Heavy is the Burden

Relationship: Sherlock Holmes x gender-neutral reader

Warnings: comfort, soft Sherlock, gentleness, pure fluff, mentions of anxiety, loneliness, panic, and sadness

Summary: After a long day of errands and classes, you finally return home seeking solace and basking in the warmth of Sherlock.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound​ (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username) 

Word Count: 765

A/N: Hello my lovelies, I know I haven't been as active writing fic as I have in the past year, but inspiration struck me a few days ago and I managed to write a little comfort story. I hope you enjoy! My summer classes start up in a few days so I hope to find time to write even then for my beloved detective. Graphic by @firefly-graphics. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Time trudges on, even when you open the door to your flat, closing the door softly, the grocery bags and your backpack hanging off of you adding to the weight of your exhaustion.

You don’t want to think about the endless list of words going through your mind, determined to overload your evening and the next before they have begun. Such is the toll of an anxious mind, always on edge waiting for something to happen, sending you into a panic.

It’s a burden you carry the push and pull thriving off chaos, with you addicted as it holds you in your clutches, your form of motivation. The notion of rest exhausts you as you set the grocery bags on the counter and your backpack on a kitchen chair. 

Methodically, with practiced ease, you assemble the groceries out of the bags and put them away by memory, your brain on autopilot.

Everything is in its place, your heart calms its rapid beats, and you take a deep breath. The same goes with your backpack as you take it to your bedroom, place your laptop on your desk, and hang the bag over the chair.

You take another breath, inhaling the fading scent of Sherlock - leather, musk, and faint cigarette ash. Your heart twinges at the thought of him, how he holds you, caresses you. It’d been a while since you had seen him between you working late and him solving cases with John.

You can’t remember the last time you’ve properly relaxed without some garish nightmare plaguing your thoughts or worrying about the best way to structure your days. 

These days your mind is both your greatest asset and enemy, causing you more than enough heartbreak for a lifetime. You take another breath and change your clothes into something more comfortable, a clean but beloved graphic tee paired with soft lounge shorts and one of the many hoodies Sherlock liked to steal and wear from you.

You inhaled, catching his scent again, only this time your eyes well with tears, the full brunt of the week hitting you in tandem. 

Despite your apprehensions, your tears fall and you cocoon yourself in a blanket wishing it were a hug instead. Your eyes close and you find yourself drifting and you let the burden slip away, falling into that lovely abyss of sleep. 

A soft gentle warmth soon encompasses you and you draw to it, a moth to a flame, nuzzling into a familiar chest, the scent of familiarity, of home enveloping you. 

“I’m here, I’m home,” he murmurs into your ear unsure if you’re completely awake, but you adore it, adore him all the same. 

You shift against him, nuzzling deeper into him and he chuckles, pulling you closer so you can hear the steady thrumming of his heart, the one he told you on quiet darkened nights that it belongs to you.

“You’re back, you came back!” You mutter softly, burying your nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply, your warm cocoon of a blanket slipping from your shoulders. You don’t care for he’d returned to you and you want to shower him in kisses. 

He chuckles, stroking your back, sending shivers down your spine and you press up closer to him, basking in the simple warmth of him, not having to speak a word. He knows the mood you’re in, anxious yet somber, sad but bone-weary sadness that’s embedded deep in your body, part of your soul. 

“Shall I warm us up some soup?” he asks, his fingers threading through your hair gently, making you melt impossibly more. 

You yawn at the thought of warm soup, and the crunch of toasted bread. “Only if I make us grilled cheese to go with it.” 

“That sounds wonderful.” He smiles, the corner of his lip twitching a fraction almost revealing the full shy boyish grin you’ve come to adore, the one reserved for you. 

Carefully, he helps you to your feet ensuring you are not dizzy before taking your hand and leading you back to the kitchen. Suddenly you are grateful you grabbed extra bread and cheese at the store.

You fight off a smile as you watch Sherlock scurry around the kitchen, and you toss your eyes skyward thanking quietly the force of nature bringing the both of you together.

You do not know what you would do without him, John, and Mrs. Hudson in your life. 

You wipe away a stray tear, wrapping around behind him for a hug, your hands resting along his waist. Dinner can wait ten minutes more. 

******

[redroomreflections]

The Loud House

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Natasha and Reader are happily married with a family that rivals the Brady bunch. When they get the call for another child both moms have to adjust to married life with six children, a new space, parents living with them, and teenage woes - based on the family from It’s Christmas

W/c: 209k + 100k in drabbles

This story is available in full on A03 here

Chapters

1

Drabbles

Real Love - Reader comes home drunk after a night with friends

Well Worth The Wait - Reader and Natasha and the promised Christmas gift. (smut inside)

Something With Yachts - Natasha and Reader are cuddling and reader falls asleep

All These Kisses - Reader and Natasha share different kisses

Threads of a Promise - Reader and Natasha want to start their family.

Our Little Family - Reader and Natasha reflect on the family they've built - directly after Threads of a Promise

A Couple of Forevers - Charlie and James come for the weekend but stay forever

Just Checking In - R and Nat discuss divorce and the changes in their relationship

Late to The Party - Nat and R sneak away to have slutty wedding sex (smut inside)

Let's Make A Movie - Nat and R make a sex tape

Vacation Days - Nat and R share a moment in their hotel room (smut inside)

My Other Half - Cara meets her half-sister virtually

Behind Closed Doors - Natasha and R sit down for an interview with Time Magazine

Words for Us - Luke says Mama for the first time

Hair Care - Natasha does R's hair for the first time

A Little Different - R and Nat notice Luke's characteristics

An Unbreakable Bond - R goes through the grief of losing her best friend and gaining a daughter aka Paige

Just a check-in - R notices her friends are getting divorced and things are changing

The First Mistake - Nat and R are intimate and Nat needs a moment

Out of Office - R gets a surprise visit from Natasha at work

Before she cheats - au where Nat cheats 1 2 3 4

The Case of the Ex - R runs into her ex while taking the kids to routine checkups

Anything to do with The Loud House is tagged as #theloudhouseau

[noroi1000]

noroi can you give me a list full of hurt to comfort fics of yours 🥺🥺 idk u often write a lot of hurt to comfort (i just want heavy heavy HEAVY ANGST and then a nice fluffy happy ending 🥺)

This will be a difficult task...

I hope I'm not typing something wrong...

Stories:

”Forever" - Husband Gojo x reader | A03 ∞ Wattpad (arranged marriage, slow burn, reader hates Gojo but then fall in love)

"Ashamed" - yandere Gojo x dandere reader I A03 ∞ Wattpad (shy reader who is introvert gets wandering feelings for sensei)

"Satoru-Sensei" - (Ashamed sequel) | Tumblr ∞ Wattpad ∞ Ao3

"Whispers in the dark" - Yandere Gojo x reader | A03∞ Wattpad (Gojo who has been madly in love with the reader since they were in school but she ran away. He wants to force her to remember him and be with him forever.)

"Mine" - Whispers in the dark sequel | Ao3 ∞ Wattpad

„Gomen'nasai” - Gojo x curse user reader | Ao3

One shots:

Home

You can't go there (slight Shibuya)

Prison realm(Shibuya warning)

Don't push me away(slight yandere)

Cupid's embrace

See you again (Gojo & Geto time travel, yandere reader)

Lost sparkle in the eyes 1

Lost sparkle in the eyes 2

I'm sorry (murderer reader)

Heart patch

Heart patch 2

The tale of the strongest couple

The tale of the strongest couple - Tears of Shibuya

Limitless power for you

I don't want you as my husband anymore

Too weak

Cat and Love

Too Clingy

Smut:

Demonic Love (demon au)

Love you(arranged marriage)

Beautiful vengeance (mafia au)

Feeling Warm

Evil Queen

Evil Queen 2

First shight

Rings on fingers

Scars (SatoSugu X reader)

Lost sparkle in the eyes 3

Their neighbor

Geto:

I can't stop loving you(hanahaki disease)

No exceptions (no happy ending)

A place with too many monkeys

This is my girl, f*cking cat!!

Puppy (yandere)🔞

[daddy-dins-girl]

Rush

pairing: Dave York x f!Reader

No use of Y/N. No physical description of reader other than that she has hair long enough for Dave to grab... (mood board is for aesthetic purposes only)

Word Count: 5.7k

summary: You're a part-time nanny for the beautiful York family. The money is good, the job is easy, and on days when Mr. York works from home, well, those are more than enough incentive to keep you coming back. (Literally this is just PWP and I'm sorry, not sorry).

notes: the Dave York brain rot is so real y'all. I'm sorry, I know I owe you updates on other stories still! Also, this is my first moodboard EVER. How'd I do? lol.

warnings: 🔞 18+MDNI. PWP (this is basically just smut y'all). Infidelity (is it even Dave York if he's not cheating on his wife?). Implied age gap I guess? (Reader is mentioned to be in college but no actual age is specified. Dave is in his 40's). Dom!Dave York. Degradation kink. Cockwarming. Oral sex (f and m receiving). Protected p in v sex. Inappropriate behaviour during a Zoom call (Dave York is a menace and I will not apologize for that). One ass slap (as far as Dave goes I'd say this fic is a tame one).

My masterlist

A03 link

It’s like you have developed a Pavlovian response to even seeing his name pop up on your screen with the notification alert. You practically start drooling before you even open it to see what he’s said or sent you, you just can’t help yourself. There’s a heat that runs through your veins and you feel it down to your toes, the rush that comes over you over the simple four words displayed across your screen.

Incoming Message: Mr. York

You tap the message to open it and can’t even pretend to ignore the heat that floods your abdomen when you click again and open the attachment inside. The attachment your employer just sent you.

You bite your lower lip as your gaze quickly darts around the room, ensuring nobody is around to see your reaction. The girls of course are with you but they’re planted directly in front of the television, currently mesmerized by Elsa, for the third time this week, not that you’re counting, while you sit dutifully behind them on the sofa. Mrs. York is out shopping or getting her hair done or running errands or whatever it is she does for most of the afternoon that requires you to be here to watch the children. You don’t mind. The money is good, the job is easy, and on days when Mr. York works from home, well, those are more than enough incentive to keep you coming back.

You’re more than a babysitter, more like a nanny, however not full time. You don’t live there, just spend a few hours there each weekday and you’ll watch the girls on occasional evenings or weekends when needed. You pick the girls up from school each day, bring them home and sometimes one or both of their parents are home but busy, or sometimes neither of them are there. You do things like the girls' laundry and prepare their dinner as well as their school lunches for the next day and some light cleaning tasks like the girls' rooms or cleaning the kitchen after you’ve made their meals. It was a good gig that worked well around your current class schedule and the money was much better than what most of your friends made to keep themselves afloat, working in restaurants or retail jobs.Not to mention the added benefit of your job.

Today, lucky for you, is a work from home day for Dave. Mr. York. And the message he sends you leaves no room for interpretation, you know exactly what he wants. You stare at the picture a moment longer, the dark navy blue of his dress slacks with the very obvious outline of his hard-on straining against the fabric. His hand sits on top of his thigh right next to the bulge under his pants and the gold band around his finger on prominent display does absolutely nothing to dissuade you as you push yourself up from the sofa.

“Girls I have some of your laundry to finish up, just keep watching your movie ok and I’ll be back in a little bit” you tell them sweetly and Molly casually acknowledges you with a wave of her hand, Alice not bothered enough to look up from the screen.

Honestly, thank god for Frozen.

You smooth down your skirt as you walk down the stairs to the finished basement and turn the corner to the only firmly closed door in the house. Mr. York's home office. It was off limits to everyone. Everyone except you, when you were invited of course, and the text he just sent you might as well be an embossed formal invitation printed on expensive cardstock.

You don’t bother knocking. You can hear his low voice through the door. It’s muffled and you can’t make out what he’s saying but you know he’s speaking and must be on a call.

A boring conference call.

Your favourite.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your lips as you carefully push the door open, ensuring to be quiet and gently push it shut behind you. You don’t bother locking it, not anymore. You had once, the first time, and Dave ensured you that it wasn’t necessary. The girls knew this room was off limits because “Daddy was working” and Carol, if she did bother to come down here at all, would be sure to knock first to not interrupt Dave while he was working. You think he secretly likes the thrill of it, doing absolutely depraved things with you in his family’s home behind an unlocked door, knowing that his wife could walk in whenever she wanted. Of course it’s not something he would ever want his children to see, but it's been engrained well enough in their heads by now not to come down here that he knows he doesn’t need to worry about it.

You turn around from the door after closing it and see him casually leaning back in his office chair, elbow resting on the arm of it while he rests his face on his hand, a bored expression on his handsome features. His government-provided laptop sits open on his desk and you hear a mixture of voices flooding through the speakers though you don’t pay any attention to what they’re saying. You stand near the door still in the middle of the room and begin to unbutton your blouse, ignoring the little flutter in your tummy when you notice Dave sits up a little straighter in his chair. It’s a routine by now. You know what he wants without either of you needing to speak a word. Of course it’s not always the same when you step into this room, but when Dave is on a conference call, this is what you do.

All buttons undone you shrug out of your top and waste no time in undoing your bra next, letting the straps slide off your shoulders as you toss it carelessly to the floor. Next you pull down the zipper to your skirt and tug it down your legs along with your panties, not bothering to waste any time.

Dave likes efficiency. He also likes you completely naked, always, regardless of his level of dress or what the two of you might be doing. Even if he wants you under his desk sucking his cock where he can’t really even see your body, you will be naked while you do it and he’ll likely be fully clothed with just his belt open and zipper pulled down. Those were Dave’s rules. And you were nothing with him if not obedient.

You smile coyly at him as you make your way towards his desk and he pushes his chair back slightly further as he mumbles some confirmation over the speakerphone to his underlings. You know you don’t need to worry about the laptop or the Zoom call he’s currently in, Dave had a little black security sticker placed over every camera lens on all the larger electronics in the house, always taking his privacy seriously. Even the girls' tablets had the camera lenses blacked out.

He puts a single finger to his lips as you walk over to him, signaling to you that you need to be quiet, be his good girl, but of course you already know this. You nod your head slightly as you reach him, hands instinctively running over from the top of his chest up his broad shoulders as you swing one of your legs over him until you're straddled on his lap. Your hands slide back down his front, all the way down until you reach his waist and quietly unfasten his belt, popping the button open on his slacks and sliding his zipper down. Dave helps you by slightly lifting his hips, enough that you can shove down the material of his pants and boxers just enough to set his waiting cock free. You love that even when he’s working from home he is always dressed sharply in a business suit. Today his jacket is off, hung around the back of his chair and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his forearms but aside from that, everything, including his tie, is perfectly in place.

Dave York, ever the professional, as his personal employee gets situated to sit on his cock during a conference call.

Once he’s on full glorious display for you you look up at him, waiting on his confirmation. That slight nod of his head he gives you that says ‘go on sweet girl, sit on my cock’. Deep brown eyes stare back at you and you wait, unmoving, until he lifts his hand and presses two fingers to your lips. You dutifully open your mouth, inviting them in and suck, wetting them with your tongue and saliva for a few long seconds until he’s satisfied and pulls them away. He immediately brings those same fingers down between your legs and slowly drags them through your folds, a smirk crossing his lips when he feels how wet you are already, how you don’t even need his fingers to be ready to take him. The truth is you were uncomfortably wet before he even sent you that text. The anticipation, the waiting, the wondering if today’s a day when he summons for you, it was enough to have you already worked up.

Despite you being ready he takes a few seconds to leisurely circle your clit with his thick fingers and you have to bite your lip to suppress the moan that wants to come out. You know you need to be quiet, it’s another one of his rules. If he wasn’t on an active call you are allowed to make some noise, he likes it even, but just not loud enough that your voice carries upstairs. His hand not currently working between your legs slides past you to the computer at his desk and you hear the tap of a button and you know he’s hit ‘mute’ on his call.

“Going to be a good girl for me, nice and quiet, right?” He asks and you nod your head.

“Yes” you whimper, sounding wrecked already despite that he’s barely begun.

“That’s good. I unfortunately need to be an active participant in this godforsaken budget meeting and will need to unmute from time to time and god help you if you start moaning like some bitch in heat and somebody hears you, I’ll turn on my camera and let them watch what a slut you are for my cock, do you understand?”

“Yes sir” you nod your head enthusiastically. “I’ll be good”

God the way he speaks to you when you’re together like this, maybe you should be concerned with how hot it gets you but you’re not. You know of course it's just talk, it's a persona he puts on when you’re intimate together and he gathered very quickly early on how much you enjoyed it so these are the roles you play when you are together. Truthfully Dave is respectful towards you, always has been, before and after the first time you’d hooked up. You chalk it up to him needing a different kind of release than he can get with his wife, the mother of his children. He needs a break from reality. From white-picket fences and playdates and fortunately for you, that’s where you came in. Call it ‘Daddy Issues’, call it whatever you want, but when Dave got a little mean with you or called you names or got rough with you, well, you’re honestly worried you’ll never again feel the sexual satisfaction that you get from this man. Nobody else could possibly measure up.

“I know you will baby” he smirks at you. “Now come on, you know what I want” he says and then taps a button on the keyboard again as he clears his throat and begins speaking to his colleagues again.

It should be scientifically studied how Dave droning on about quarterly budgets and fiscal year-ends can get your pussy absolutely dripping for him.

You do know what he wants and when his hand leaves the apex of your thighs you reach into the desk drawer beside you and pluck a foil packet out of the small wooden box he keeps nestled inside his desk (using protection is another one of Dave's rules so there's always a stash nearby in his office). Once you’ve torn it open and carefully rolled the condom down his thick shaft you lift yourself up just enough to hover over it before you sink down and are fully seated in his lap, buried to the hilt. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck and you lean your head down to rest on his shoulder but otherwise you don’t move. Dave doesn’t want to fuck you. At least, not right now. He wants you to be his good girl and keep his cock warm for him until his call is over and then he’ll decide what he wants to do with you. You hope the call isn’t a long one but sometimes in the past you haven’t been so lucky. Sometimes you sit here for five minutes, sometimes for thirty. Either way, you’ll be good while you do it and not move, otherwise Dave will become upset and punish you. And unfortunately punishment for you means he gets to come and you don’t, so you’re very careful now not to be punished. That lesson has been learned.

The meeting continues and after a few minutes Dave grows bored of his colleagues. You see it on his face and how his head falls back against the chair. Though you’ve barely been paying attention, even you know that they’ve just been talking in circles for the last five minutes.

“All right enough, let’s move on I don’t have all day” Dave suddenly barks at his computer and you hear several “yes sir”’s and “sorry sir”’s and flipping of papers as they switch topics to the next article on their agenda. Dave is still annoyed and bored and you know this because he snakes an arm between your bodies and his fingers are suddenly between your legs again where the two of you are joined. You lift your head from his shoulder again and pull back just enough so you can look him in the eyes as his fingers slowly begin to press at your clit. You pull your bottom lip through your teeth and your brow furrows slightly as he gently teases you and this… this is new. He doesn’t normally play with you when you’re meant to just be sitting still for him and honestly it terrifies you a little bit, knowing you can’t make a sound.

He’s still off mute as he occasionally responds to his colleagues and seemingly ignores the desperate plea your eyes are giving him as he rubs torturously slow circles around your little bundle of nerves. God he’s going to make you cum and you’re not allowed to utter a sound. A sly grin pulls at his lips and you know he’s enjoying this. Watching you squirm in his lap, desperate to please him as you focus every ounce of your concentration on not moaning out loud but Dave knows your body so well by now, like he’s fine tuning an instrument he’s had for years. You bury your face in his neck as your hands cling around the back of his head and the hand not between your legs comes up behind you, rubbing comforting circles across the span of your lower back. If it weren’t for the fingers at your clit and the cock buried inside you you’d feel like a small child being soothed and you might as well be because despite your best efforts, tears well at the corners of your eyes that you know Dave can feel drop hot against his skin. He’s making you feel so fucking good, but not good enough that it’ll get you to come and he knows that. He’s left you teetering on that edge as he plays with your clit with practiced precision and you need to come so badly you’re literally reduced to tears, the tight coil in your abdomen desperate to snap but can’t quite get there. He’s toying with you, and he loves it.

Your mouth mimes a desperate ‘please’ when you pull back again to look him in the eyes, hoping he’ll take pity on you. You must look a mess, tear-stained cheeks and he has to be able to feel the way your thighs are literally trembling. The smug grin hasn’t left his lips and for a moment you think he’s going to continue to torture you, but to your elated surprise he leans a bit forward to speak into his computer.

“All right everyone I think we’ve accomplished enough for one day, let’s pick this up on Monday, yeah? Have a good weekend everyone”

He doesn’t bother to wait for any of his colleagues to reply, just slams his laptop shut and shoves it aside with a sweep of his arm and you yelp out in surprise when he suddenly hoists you up and off of his cock, placing you down on your back on his desk. You whimper at the loss of him inside you but don’t have another second to complain before he shoves his chair back as he gets out of it and kneels to the ground in front of you.

“Oh fuck” you whimper, lifting your head up as far as you’re able to and reaching a hand out to place on his head.

“You were such a good girl for me, weren’t you baby?” he grins up at you from between your spread legs and you desperately nod your head in agreement. Honestly, you were proud of yourself.

“Good girls get rewarded, isn’t that right sweetheart?” he asks and you nod again.

Dave pauses for a moment and then his gaze lifts upwards to the ceiling. “Frozen?” he asks, knowing that his children are essentially mindless drones when their favourite movie is playing on tv and won’t come looking for you.

“Yes” you breathe out, your voice shaking. God, you need him so badly.

“Good” he grins again. “Want to hear you baby” is all he says before he dives in head first, literally, his mouth and tongue going straight to your core.

He begins greedily lapping at you, tongue pushing through your folds before he brings it up a little higher and swirls the muscle around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips cant off the desk without your permission and you hear him chuckle before he places a strong arm across your waist.

“Easy baby, let me take care of you”

And take care of you he does. He takes his free hand and inserts one thick finger inside your wet heat, beginning a steady pace of fucking you with his single digit before his mouth closes around you again, sucking your clit into his mouth and a loud moan followed by a string of curses leaves your lips, your hands clutching into the short stands of hair at his head. Your orgasm floods over you within seconds, already being so close from the earlier teasing and Dave moans into your cunt when he feels your walls pulsing around his finger.

“Fuck,” he groans into you, apparently pleased with you and himself. His finger continues working inside of you, at a slower pace thankfully and his arm around your waist leaves you and disappears behind the desk where you can’t see it but you know where that hand is going and you let out a little whimper, causing Dave to chuckle against you.

“What is it sweetheart? Tell me”

“Want your cock” you whine. “Please” you add, because Dave likes it when you have manners.

He presses a single kiss to your oversensitive centre before he finally pulls back and gets up from the floor, settling back into his chair and looking at you expectantly.

“Well go on then” he nods towards his aching length that now rests against his clothed belly, the condom long discarded. You assume he took it off not long after he pulled you from his lap so he could jerk himself off with his free hand while he ate you out.

You quickly scramble off of the desk and onto your knees, greedily taking him into your hand and mouth, not needing to be asked twice. Your hand wraps around the base while your mouth envelops the rest of him, taking him as far down your throat as your gag reflex allows.

“Eager today” Dave chuckles from above you before a small groan escapes his lips when your tongue comes up to press into his already leaking slit.

“Fuck, the mouth on you…” he tuts, hand coming around to gather your hair so he can hold it back from your face and get a better view of how you take him down your throat. You continue to suck and lick and swallow him down, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth to ensure you reach all of him and he groans, head falling back against the headrest of his chair. The hand not holding your hair back presses down on the top of your head, forcing you further down his cock. He likes to hear you choke and gag on him, likes to see the spit and saliva and drool run down your chin and hear those debauched noises that leave your throat when you take him so deeply. Tears pick at the corners of your eyelids as the head of his cock knocks against the back of your throat and he forcefully pulls your head back, tilting it so your gaze finds his and you see the satisfaction stretch across his lips as he watches the fat tears hit your cheeks.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl” he practically growls at you before yanking you off of him. You gasp for breath once he’s pulled you from his throbbing member, your hands coming up to rest on his knees to steady yourself as you catch your breath. You know you had him close to that edge so the fact that he’s pulled you off of him has you instantly flooded with arousal again, knowing that today he wants to finish inside of you rather than in your mouth.

“C’mere” he grunts, grabbing you by the arm and hauling you up to your feet as he also stands from his chair. The moment you're both up he pulls you forward and his lips crash against yours, shoving his tongue inside of your mouth to hungrily taste you. You can’t help the little whimper that escapes you when you taste yourself on his tongue and his lips curl into a smile at that.

He pulls back after a few seconds and begins to kiss and nip along your jaw and upwards until his lips and breath are hot against your ear.

“Turn around for me sweetheart, bend over”

You follow his request immediately, turning in his arms and bending over the desk until your top half is fully resting on the smooth, hard cherry wood surface and your feet are planted firmly on the ground. Dave’s dark brown leather shoe comes between both of your feet and he hastily kicks them further apart, spreading your legs wide for him and your breath catches in your throat for a second before you let out a little giggle at how eager he is to have you. His hands go to your hips and he angles you just right so when he steps forward his cock slides right between your folds and you let out a low moan at the friction it causes. He lets you feel him bare for a few more passes through your folds as his right hand leaves your hip to begin rustling around in the top desk drawer again. You have to bite back the words that are on your tongue, ‘don’t use one, just take me’ because you figure if he wanted to fuck you raw he would have by now. Dave is always careful and for the most part, always in control of himself but sometimes you wish he’d just let go and be reckless with you. It’s not really even that reckless, you argue with yourself. You’re on birth control and Dave knows this because he’s seen the little square patch you wear on your hip for three weeks of the month. He’d asked what it was as his fingers delicately traced the shape and you’d told him. A simple “hmm” was all you got from in response. And aside from that, Dave was the only person you were currently sexually active with and you’re pretty sure Dave knew that as well. There was so much Dave seemed to know about you. It would probably be almost unsettling if you really stopped to think about it so you just didn’t. You were happy to stay in your little bubble of blissed ignorance, so long as it meant Dave would continue to show you the attention you craved from him.

You turn your head back just in time to see him ripping the package with his teeth and then his hips pull back from you just enough so that he can roll the condom on before he’s back, pressing forward and teasing at your entrance again.

“Ready baby?” he asks.

“Mmm hmm” you nod weakly, desperate to feel him inside you finally. “Please”

With that final uttered syllable Dave thrusts forward, entering you in one swift motion and burying himself to the hilt with a single rough snap of his hips and all the breath gets knocked out of your lungs as your upper body is shoved slightly further up the desk. He stills for a moment once he’s fully seated inside you and lets you adjust to him, his left hand rubbing soothingly back and forth on your hip.

“That’s it, take my cock so good sweetheart, fuck” he groans, tossing his head back and now you’re not sure if he’s stopped moving for your sake or for his own. “God damn, love this tight fucking pussy” he practically growls before he rolls his hips back before snapping forward again. He sets a hard, rough pace from there, stealing the breath from your lungs with each snap of his hips and the guttural noises that leave your throat each time he hits that spot deep inside of you sound downright sinful as they bounce off the four walls of the small office.

Not quite as sinful, however, as the smack that reverberates in the room when Dave’s hand lands a sharp blow to your right ass cheek as he continues to pound into you from behind.

“Ah!” you cry out, sounding positively wrecked, because you are. “Fuck, oh my god, ohmygod”. You’re reduced to a whimpering, whining mess within minutes as Dave bucks into you with reckless abandon. His fingers dig so deeply into your hips you know for fact they’ll leave bruises. You manage to turn your head slightly back to look at him, and what a glorious sight he is. Neck veins prominently on display as he tilts his head slightly back but still manages to keep his hard gaze on you. His teeth are bared and there’s beads of sweat at his forehead from his exertion and it’s enough to send you catapulting over that edge. You come long and hard with a wrecked sob leaving your throat as your walls pulse and contract around him.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck” you cry out, hands stretched above your head to hold onto the edge of the desk for dear life as your orgasm crashes over you.

“Shit baby… shit” Dave curses and you know your orgasm nearly brought his own on as well. Another low growl escape his lips before he’s hauling you up by your arms. “C’mere”

Your limbs might as well be made of Jello after how hard you just came so fortunately for Dave you’re very pliant in his arms as he all but manhandles you around. He pulls out of you and turns you around before he hauls you up and off the desk. He backs up just enough to sit back down in his chair and pulls you down on top of him, situating you just right so you’re sat right back on his cock the same way you were earlier and you cry out again once he has you speared on his dick.

“Ride me baby, bounce up and down on this dick, come on” he urges you on, sounding wrecked himself and it’s enough to give you the gust of energy you need to comply. Your hands go to his shoulders to hold on and his go to your hips to help you raise them just slightly before he slams you back down into his lap and then repeats the motion, over and over.

“That’s it, oh fuck” he seethes through gritted teeth. “Such a good girl for me, oh ride that cock baby come on” he encourages and your eyes roll back in your head at how deep he hits inside you. You think you actually feel a third orgasm coming on and Dave must sense it in you too because the next thing you know his thumb is at your clit, rubbing frantic circles as he begs and pleads with you to give him ‘just one more’. And you do just that. With a cry of his name leaving your lips you come a third time, hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as he fucks you through it and then his arms wrap tight around your lower back and he presses you firmer into his lap as he pushes a few final deep thrusts into you until he finally stills, a shuddering moan released from the back of his throat as he spills inside the condom.

You stay just like that for long moments afterwards. Dave’s arms wrapped tightly around you and yours around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder and his nuzzling into the side of your face. Dave isn’t exactly a cuddler. At least not with you or in your experience with him yet. Typically when your done he slides out of you and likes to get the condom off and get himself cleaned up immediately, dismissing you to get back to whatever you were doing but today he seems content to just hold you and you’ll greedily take every second of it until he regretfully pulls away from you like you know he has to.

You're so blissed out in your post-orgasmic state that you almost don’t even hear it when he murmurs the words against your ear.

“Come away with me”

Confusion laces your tone as you push back from him just enough to search his eyes for answers “What?”

“I want you to come away with me” he repeats, clearer this time but you still don’t understand exactly what he means. He sighs and raises a hand to gently push your hair back behind your ear before his hand lands softly on your cheek. “For a weekend. Let’s get away. I’ll say I have a work trip or something and we can just… be together. No interruptions, no… fucking Olaf the snowman singing in the background while I’m trying to fuck your brains out” he adds teasingly and you can’t help the full belly laugh that escapes you.

“Do you mean it?” You ask after a moment. You want to believe it. A whole weekend with Dave sounds like fucking heaven, but you don’t want to get your hopes up if he’s just talking madness because he just blew his load and isn’t thinking straight.

Dave shrugs. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while” he remarks casually, thumb softly stroking back and forth at your cheek. “What do you say?”

“I say yes, of course!” You practically squeal, surging forward and stealing a kiss from his waiting lips. You kiss for long moments. It’s not a frenzied kiss like you usually share but it’s still heated and before long you’re forced to pull away when Dave’s cock twitches from where it’s still buried inside of you. You unfortunately both know you don’t have time for another round and so you regretfully pull apart, Dave gently lifting your hips to pull you off of him. He takes the condom off, tying it off at the end and tossing it into the small trash can under his desk before he carefully stuffs himself back into his underwear and rights his clothes. You gather your own clothes and quickly dress until you’re presentable again and then wander back over to where Dave has sat back down in his chair, undoubtedly going back to work for a couple more hours.

“Thank you” you whisper before you lean down and plant a kiss to his waiting lips.

“I’ll text you. About our… plans” he says and you smile warmly at him.

“Looking forward to it” you remark as you slip out of his office and back upstairs to check on the girls.

True to his word Dave texts you a week or so later, giving you very vague details on your trip. It’s just dates he’s told you to blackout, a friday through sunday at the end of the month and that he’ll pick you up at your place Friday at 3pm. No other details, not where you’re going, what you need to bring or pack or what type of clothing you’ll need. You assume you won’t be going far, a local hotel is most likely, but you’d at least like to know if you’ll be going anywhere nice for dinner, what kind of wardrobe you need to bring.

“What should I bring?” You settle on asking him when you reply to his text and a stupid grin forms at your lips from his simple reply.

“Just a toothbrush baby, won’t be needing anything else for what I’ve got planned for us 😈”

taglist: @janaispunk @nerdieforpedro @anotherpedrolover @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @axshadows @suzdin @yorksgirl @lincolndjarin @pedroshotwifey

thanks to @saradika-graphics for the page dividers!

I might turn this into a little series? But it would literally just be PWP lol. Not much storyline. Just for when I need to get the Dave York brain rot out lol. So if you wanna see more of these two (or see their little getaway) just lmk!

[jackiezenauthor]

Illustration by me.

Complete image will be available on my bluesky account. Full resolution image will be available on my Patreon once I figure out how to post on it from my tablet and how 'by item' subscription works to everyone's benefit (so u don't have to pay per just one drawing and I don't have to stress about posting monthly even though I probably will). I'll keep you updated

In the saddle

🔞 Minors DNI, ty.

Story posted on A03 as well, I won't remove it from there even if Tumblr goes entirely purity-mode one day.

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Genre: Paranormal erotica

Word count: 3k

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Cw: you pov, stink enjoying mc, mild self degrading mc, containment, dubcon (?), stranger danger, haunted item (lmk if I missed anything important, ty)

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This is a work of fiction!

No haunted items were harmed for the writing of this story.

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Synopsis: Some people enjoy LARPing and historical items. You take that a few steps further. Tonight, you have your eyes on a saddle so old, they even think it's haunted. You don't believe in such nonsense, but you might be proven wrong...

‘Tonight is THE night!’ you tell yourself as you head for the stables with the dimmest light you could manage, just enough so you don’t step on any unfortunate animals, but not enough to alert anyone else nearby.

You've been working at the farm for a few weeks now, and pulled your weight rather well too, if you might say so yourself. They expected a lot more complaining from your rich ass, raised in the big city, hydrated on cocktails around the pool, but they had no idea how much you found yourself loving the place. Among other things.

The smells, the animals, the sounds, the feeling of dirt under the manicure that you’ve already cut short as soon as you heard about your parents’ plans for your summer…

Not to say you couldn’t say no to them. Not only are you old enough to live on your own already, despite the struggles that cooking for yourself still raises, but you know exactly how low to lower your lip and scrunch your eyebrows at your parents to have them give up any ill will that they might hold against you. Deserved or not.

You didn’t do it this time.

They thought it was because you were finally willing to take responsibility for your irresponsible choices, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The true reason was waiting for you in the barn. Quiet, rugged from overuse, smelling like anything but the leather that it’s made of: a saddle so old, nobody could tell how it even got there in the first place.

‘Might as well be part of the ole land, at this point’ their grandmother had said.

‘I reckon it outlived five barns now,’ the grandfather had said.

‘Word is, it’s haunted’ their daughter had said. ‘Don’t go looking about the barn if ye hear any ungodly noises, hear me?’

There were no ungodly noises to hear, as you stepped closer and brushed your fingers all across its unkept seat… yet.

If all went well tonight and nobody went by the barn, same as both weeks you’ve been around now, some ungodly sounds might come out… out of your mouth, that is.

Despite its mysterious age, the saddle holds perfectly fine as you move it from its resting wedge and onto the saddle rack closest to the height you need for your plans. Smells like sweat, tobacco, horses and filthy things that you can only guess, and you can feel your body tingling with anticipation, as you muse about adding your own filth to it.

There’s beauty in old things. You’ve always had a fondness to them, to the stories they might have lived through, the people who might have touched them. And old things in places as simple and unassuming as this, you can get to know them in ways that others might frown about… personal ways…

A horse whinnies in the pasture nearby and a dog barks with little conviction. You can hear the wind rustle the trees and grass around, but nothing human, nothing that could spoil your fun.

It’s time.

Your night gown drops off you easily and the hay and dirt on the floor sticks to your naked soles. There might be something wet on the ground too, and it makes you feel dirty. A smirk pushes at the corners of your mouth. The barn smells like it should: dung, dried herbs, old iron, spent wood, grains and leather…

The saddle is rough against your belly as you wiggle your way on it. Not sitting, like one should, but bent across it, like a damsel kidnapped by some rugged wild west men, ready to rob some train, lose all their loot in the pub, and brawl over which one gets to show you a good time first, not necessarily in that order.

Maybe the one carrying you might not even wait until you stop anywhere…

You bite your lip as your breasts hang down, your attempts at adjusting your position without touching the ground, as you would on a horse, making them jump, gravitation pulling against them. Your heart takes off as your imagination mingles with reality, the saddle under you easing you in the scene. It’s perfect like this, you know exactly what you want to hear, how to be held. Imaginary or not, you know you’re in for a really good time.

Touching yourself over the saddle sounded much easier in your mind, but you’ve been eyeing this saddle for far too long to have come unprepared. There’s something already inside you, just waiting for your instruction… at one press of a button…

Your smart watch is dead.

You could have sworn it was fully charged when you left your room in the farmhouse. You’ve been so meticulous too, made sure it worked on Bluetooth alone, if the signal was to fail you. There’s a manual switch too..

If only…

If only you could reach around…

A rag and what could only have been another saddle fall from a rack above and miss you by a scrape of your head, taking off your hair tie. That’s lucky. It could have taken off your conscience too, was it to fall any closer. Or worse? That would be a fun way to hit the news… good thing you wouldn’t be there to see it.

You could get off, start the vibrator, and get back on before you hit the first orgasm. Would be harder to stop or control it, but that sounds rather exciting, now that you think about it. Your misfortune turned out for much better instead.

…

You can’t get off.

Your toes can almost touch the ground, but your ribcage can’t pass through the space between the racks. They must have misaligned when that saddle tried to end your career…

Oh, no…

“Well, I’ll be darned…” a distinctly male voice vibrates in the silence of the barn, just as you were trying to turn around enough to see what’s keeping that blasted rack from moving off you.

Fuck!

You got so distracted with your fantasies, you forgot to pay attention to your surroundings. You’ve never gotten caught before. Today was the day.

“You look rather… tight, miss?” the man speaks again, from right behind you.

The racks are blocking your view and the hair in your face and the darkness of the night aren’t helping either. Moonlight doesn’t reach in the back of the barn, where he is. You don’t know his voice either. Who, and most importantly, why would they be here at this time of the night? Had he been here this all time? Watching you undress? Climbing in? Struggling?

He rests a hand against the rack that’s holding you pinned, but it doesn’t budge. You know he’s moving behind you, but you can’t hear any steps. Even if he was barefoot too, the floor should creak…

You do feel his hand caressing your waist, however, from right under your trapped ribcage.

“You could scream, ya know? I reckon someone would come help…” he says, his hand slowly following your hip and spine, his touch cold like the night air. You should be scared, but it makes you feel reassured somehow. Like you're some horse he’s trying to befriend… a very caught-red-handed horse…

You want to point out that he could help you himself, since he’s already here, but your voice cuts off when his other hand mirrors the first and his fingers dig into your ass, lifting you up for a closer look.

“What in tarnation?” he huffs and his breath travels all between your thighs.

He must’ve seen your vibrator and you’d like to tell him a thing or two about minding his own business, but he also found the button for it and your feet instantly raise and tremble as the stimulation hits you without warning. You hate to admit it but this entire situation… it works.

You curl against the saddle and jolt as you come before you can even remember yourself. The vibration keeps going as you do, and you can’t help but whine in humiliation and ecstasy as you come again, right between the strangers hands, his grip unyielding as you shake. He must be enjoying it. Seeing you writhe like this. Helpless. Trapped.

“You alright there, miss?” he asks while you come a third time.

You can taste the amusement in his tone, but his voice is low, his every word pronounced just a bit too carefully… He’s past just enjoying this.

There should be a remission time after you’ve come five times in a row, but you’ve never done that in front of someone else… your lower half entirely in their hands… Their eyes catching ever twitch of your pussy. You can’t even tell if your heart is racing or just took off on its own at this point.

You’re never going to hear the end of this, if word comes out.

“Please… stop it!” you manage to say between tears and gasps, too many emotions rushing for your attention at once while your ass is twitching so high in the air.

“Why, I thought you put that there plumb on purpose…” he chuckles but the vibration stops before you can start curling again. “Le’me give ya a hand then…”

A moan escapes your throat as you feel your vibrator pulled out of you, slow but deliberate, the orgasm you were heading for before he turned it off, revived within you. You can’t stop yourself from grinding against his other arm, as it stands right between your legs, supporting your belly.

You barely register your toy hitting the floor as you writhe in the stranger’s palm, his hold against you steady, despite your juices already spilled all between your thighs, much more still flowing out of you and all across his arm. You can feel him breathe against the curve of your back: cold but slow, heavy. It makes sense, a weak, rational thought passes your mind, but the animal, feral side of you is nothing but delighted to be met in kind.

Now that there’s nothing inside you, your body frets, demands… there’s nothing inside you…

“I reckon…” his voice is so low, he sounds like purring and your pussy throbs against his arm as the vibration trickles across your skin. “t’wasn’t bein’ stuck that ailed ya… and ya done made your problem mine, lass…”

He lifts your ass higher in the air, his hand still under you, your clit jumping to attention as it rubs against his wrist. You could die of embarrassment. But maybe… not just yet…

You try your best to keep from trembling and moaning as his other hand brushes across your innermost thigh and his thumb slips between the folds of your already tender pussy. It finds your entrance easily and he pauses by it, pressing to go in but not quite. Hesitant. He growls in a language you’ve never heard before and pulls his thumb away, straightening up and dropping you gently. He’s no longer touching you. Worse: he’s taken a step back.

After all of this?

Is he going to just up and leave you like this?

Would he at least set you free before, or will you have to endure the horror of being found in the morning, hopefully by anyone other than the grandma.

But you can hear cloth and metal, maybe leather?

“I won’t force myself upon you, miss,” he says while you can clearly hear him unbuckling his belt. “I never was that kind of man.”

‘Until now?’ you want to throw at him, but find yourself reluctant to argue.

“I reckon we can help each other a smidgen, though,” he says and grabs you once more, rougher this time, holding you up with an arm around your waist while he brings himself to you.

You feel his legs strap around yours while his cock slides right between your thighs, hard and impossible to ignore when it rubs tight between your lower lips and clit, hitting your belly.

On the outside.

“Just yell or make noise if you need me to stop” he says as his legs trap yours tightly and his hands grab each side of your waist.

It’s not stopping that you need him to do. You can tell he’d fill you up to the brim and your insides throb wilder than ever at the prospect. Wanting. Craving.

He pulls away before you can say anything, adjusting his grip one last time before slamming against you, his tip teasing your clit as your insides cry in equal parts excitement and frustration.

The sounds of your wet flesh against his unrelenting thrusts fills the barn and your entire body shakes with them. You want to say something, but save from yelling, you worry he won’t hear you, and he’s chasing the breath out of you as it is.

Your core heats up, you barely keep from collapsing against the rack you’re holding for dear life against. The pleasure. It floods from deep within you and your legs escape his grip as you shake under his thrusts. Your heels hit his ass hard and he grunts, his momentum disturbed.

He readjusts and is just about to resume when you finally manage to catch your breath enough to say “In…”

He pauses. He must’ve heard you but you weren’t clear enough.

“Put it in!” you manage to say.

“Well I’d never refuse…” he readjusts his grip on you and pulls away just enough to make room for his cock to tease your drenching pussy. “…such a lovely invitation.”

You can taste the smirk he says it with, even if he also sounds wistful, but have no time to even think of a retort before he moves inside you, your walls wrapping warm against him. Welcoming.

He swears, and whatever he mutters along with it comes out shaky as your insides throb against his advancing thrusts.

Demanding. Hungry. Still not full enough. Still not hard enough.

Your ass perks up, helpful, giving him all the room he could possibly need, your gspot pressed tighter against his length.

“Thirsty little thing…” he breathes out, his grip on you painful as he touches your inner ring at the same time as his hips come flush against your splayed ass. If his dick was made to order, it would still not reach as perfectly.

He seems to be enjoying the same idea for a moment, his grip loosening just enough that you can wiggle. Just enough that you can swing your hips against him. Urging him where your mind and voice are too taken with the thrill of a fullness you’ve never though possible, and the anticipation of what’s to come.

He resumes thrusting, too gentle at first.

“Harder…” you manage to breathe out but you can’t tell if your mouth managed to pronounce it. It felt more like a pleading moan… and once that was out, there is no stopping the others.

He thrusts harder with every single one of your moans, and every thrust breeds yet another moan, even more pleading than the other. More demanding… more pathetic.

If someone walked in on you now, you’d care for nothing, as long as you kept getting fucked.

Your throat is dry and you feel wet around your mouth but you can do nothing other than cry out in mindless delight as he slams harder into you, so hard that you could swear the whole barn might come apart above you. Your body holds. No, it craves for more. It craves for all. Insatiable.

His grunts behind you have long changed to moaning, his thrusts wild, unstoppable, unhinged. Pleasure that has been playing all across your body gets drawn to full attention, no longer just to the thrashing of your core, but to his grip, his voice, his mindlessness.

The ecstasy organizes. You feel it come together like a horde, savage and relentless in one goal only: ripping you apart. You’re helpless against it. And eager. It’s closing in.

He growls loud and helpless, his thrusts speeding up as your core clenches against him, your insides quaking as overwhelming pleasure threatens to tear at the very seams of your being. Unyielding. Unstoppable.

It’s as if a vulcano breaks from the center of your very existence as you shudder and curl against the saddle, around his cock, in his arms, his fingers digging so tight into your hips that you could swear your skin gave, but the pain only peppers the ecstasy that takes over when his moan sounds delightfully ethereal alongside yours. You can feel your insides trying to squeeze him dry still, as he fills every last space left within you with his cum.

You lay limp from the saddle, his hips still flush against your ass, his cock still deep inside you and you both catch your breaths and minds from everywhere.

“Darn, sweetheart…” he whispers, slowly pushing himself to his feet. Your insides complain as he pulls out just as slowly, but they’re too spent to put up any fight. “They’d need a locomotive to pull me out of you, were I still kickin…” he lets his hands brush across your back so slow and intent, it feels like a caress.

There is a mess of rags and saddles all around you, every rack destroyed, but the one you’re still bent over, the old saddle tight against your belly. The whole barn looks like a tornado just went through it…

“Alas…” the stranger whistles sadly.

It’s morning, and everything around you is increasingly visible, but when you slip off the saddle and turn to look at the stranger, there is nothing but darkness. Pitch, surreal, darkness.

You can feel his hands caress your legs as you pull away, but still nothing of him. The entire side of the barn where he’s standing is nothing but strange, unrelenting blackness. As if the night itself is taking refuge there.

A rooster crows outside, announcing the new day, and, as its song travels across the morning dew, the darkness lessens, giving way to… nothing. The entire side of the barn is empty of even the smallest speck of dust. Not even your toy is there.

Everything around, but the barn itself and the saddle you got fucked on is in complete disarray, you included. There’s bits of mysteriously old leather rubbed into your skin, the smell of it sunken into your pores. You can’t explain what has gone on, but you can still feel its aftermath. You can see it too: your inner thighs are punctured, blood dripping slowly, mixing with juices that are not only yours.

The dogs bark by the farmhouse and the animals start fretting. Soon, the family and their helping will come out to tend to the farm’s many needs. They’ll ask questions that you have no answer to.

You need to get dressed before they see you… still dripping…

[winchesterszvonecek]

Prosecutorial Misconduct 18+

// Rafael Barba x Original Character \\

Summary: Rafael Barba never intended to fall for Melanie Dodds, but now that he had... He was slowly beginning to uncover that there may be far more to the rough and tumble Detective than meets the eye.

Series Masterlist

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Full Masterlist | A03 Link

Chapter 1: An Evening at Forlini’s

Chapter 2: A Regular Friday Morning

Chapter 3: Deputy Chief William Dodds

Chapter 4: Certified Scuba Diver, Melanie Dodds

Chapter 5: A Pretzel, A Pigeon and A Patrol Officer

Chapter 6: A Game of Subway Surfers

Chapter 7: A Long Awaited Reunion

Chapter 8: A Whirlwind of Emotions

Chapter 9: A Little Brotherly Advice

Chapter 10: Targeted Misfortune

Chapters: 9/? (ongoing - on a small hiatus)

Want to see my rambles about this story? #melrambles

Like my work? Consider buying me a coffee!

[retellingthehobbit]

Retelling The Hobbit Chapter 15: Unattached First chapter / Previous / Next Read full comic on: Webtoon/A03 

Other blogs : Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog

Thank you for reading! The next chapter of this comic adaptation of The Hobbit will be titled (drumroll)....The Song of the Lonely Mountain!

Check under the cut for notes on the callbacks to previous chapters of this comic, and to Tolkien stories like the Unfinished Tales! —-

—-

One of my guiding ideas for this comic is that the story is being written/drawn by Bilbo Baggins, an  “unreliable narrator,” who has a biased way of recounting events. As the comic goes on, parts of the story get retold through new perspectives (or through the eyes of other characters), and you realize the initial version you read was incomplete. 

A lot of you probably noticed that this chapter features a ton of callbacks to the earliest chapters of this comic! We saw child Bilbo and Gandalf's friendship told from Bilbo's POV in Chapter 3.....but in this chapter we see it retold from Gandalf's POV. However, Belladonna Took is our biggest instance of that!   Not to overexplain my own writing, but Chapter 1 is an older Bilbo painting an idealized happily-ever-after fairytale picture of Belladonna, while Chapter 15 features a younger Bilbo telling a far less optimistic version of her life.  While there's truth to both of them, neither of them is the full truth.

In the Fellowship of the Ring, Bilbo tells Frodo that ‘books need to have good endings,' like endings where everyone "lives happily ever after." If I were to continue this comic to the end of the novel, Bilbo’s habit of “rewriting things to be happier" would become a whole Thing. 

Second: Much of this chapter is taken directly from “The Unfinished Tales: The Quest For Erebor.” That story was Tolkien’s attempt to unite the tone of The Hobbit with LOTR, by having Gandalf explain what The Hobbit looked like from *his* perspective. The gay line about Bilbo feeling incapable of settling down into a Traditional Marriage with a Wife And Kids is taken almost directly from the Unfinished Tales. So are all the lines where Gandalf reflects on what Bilbo was like as a child, and the moment where Bilbo reflects that all of his desire for adventure has dwindled to a private dream.

Third: Obviously, the other big influence on this chapter (outside the original novel) was a similar scene in the PJ film. The little bit where Gandalf reveals the lore behind Bullroarer took monologue is the only dialogue I’ve directly lifted from that scene. ;3

Fourth: some of you may have caught that I used a quote describing Frodo’s wanderlust in the Fellowship of the Ring to describe Bilbo. The bit describing "the maps that only show white spaces beyond their borders" is also why I emphasized Bilbo’s canonical nerdiness around  maps in earlier chapters (chapter 5 especially, but also in Chapter 6, Chapter 7, and a blink-and-you-miss-it moment in chapter 14.) 

Fifth: one of my favorite things in the original book are all the scenes where Gandalf does fun Whimsical things with smoke/smoke rings. In the book he usually makes them change color or race around; in my comic he usually makes them turn into butterflies (he also does this in chapters 3 and 11.) you may have noticed that Butterfly Symbolism is a big thing in this comic.  But yeah, in another callback: Gandalf finally had time to blow smoke-rings with Bilbo, which he said he 'had no time for' in Chapter 2!

Thanks again for reading! I tentatively plan for the next chapter to arrive on November 13th.

[kaybreezy3000]

Master Post-Five Hargreeves Stuff

I like to write, and I hope there's a little something on here for everyone to enjoy. Short one-shots, the occasional requests if I get them, long novel length stories- Any pairings (F/M, M/M, G/N, ftm, mtf, etc.) no pairings, various rating options-all clearly marked so stay away from stuff you don't like please or find the versions I have on A03 that allow you to skip explicit material.

This is a full list with links for my stories and some of my art featuring Number Five (TUA). For direct Tumblr posts for art and stories, hit here.

⚠️Since this came up for me: Please do not repost, translate, or reproduce my works in any format to other sites or this one. REBLOGS ARE THE WAY TO GO, AND I ADORE ALL OF YOU THAT ARE KIND ENOUGH TO HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON AND HELP ME GET MY WORK OUT THERE FOR OTHERS TO FIND. ❤️

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(For the most part, stories on here are listed in order of most recently added/written, the top one being the most recent)

First ~A Five Hargreeves/Female Reader Insert request

Nov. 16 Anonymous asked:

Hellooooo please can you write a soft dom five smut where it's the readers first time? (Female reader if that's okay :))

(4914 word one-shot, Rated Mature for explicit sexual content)

Notes/Tags/Warnings: neither are minors, Virginity, Smut, Dominance-Control, Surrender, Acceptance. Under it all, Five is about at soft and hot as they get. Why can't they all be as crazy awesome as him? 😂-thanks for asking for this one anon. After writing this, now I'm even more ruined by this amazing fictional man.

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It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

~ Number Five X Female Reader Insert ~

A life with Five Hargreeves is always full of fun surprises but bring on the holidays and watch out.

~Tags and Warnings: explicit sexual content, fluff, flirting, humor, family, You x Five, Uncle Five, Daddy Five, co-written with @badkitty3000

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The Drive-In

~7995 words, female reader insert request, rated M/Explicit for adult themes and sexual content. Warnings and Tags: Smut, Soft Five and Dom Five, NOT a Lila and Five fic

After the way it ended with season four, you couldn’t help feeling like Five had done you wrong. 

But…

On a night filled with men masquerading as mythical monsters, your favorite bad boy did you right, mending both your hearts.

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The Pet

~Male reader insert, 16714 words/10 chapters of awesome, rated Explicit for dark themes and sexual content

Summary: Realizing that his family were going to be zero help, Five went back to the Commission with one goal in mind. He needed to find out who caused the apocalypse, but as he should have known already, when traveling through time, what you are looking for isn't always what you get. This time, he's taking you down with him.

(Important Note: This is set during Season One. I don't like giving away the whole story in my tags, but don't worry, I am NOT doing a Five as a minor with an adult thing. You'll just have to read to find out how this one works out, but if you do, I promise it's worth it.)

~Originally created for two separate Tumblr requests for a story with Five and a male reader insert, one specifically involving hypnotism in the plot, and Five getting the chance to feel what it means to let go of control for once.

Warnings and Tags: The Handler, Hurt-Angst, Comfort, Five, Sub Five, Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, rough sex, many tags being left off to keep you on your toes until the end, so be warned...it's a dark one but a very good one. Stay away if not your thing. TY.

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Inside of You

5714 words. F/Reader. Rated Mature for sexually explicit content, so stay away if that isn't your jam.

While joining Five for family night at his brother's house, he treats you to much more than you expected of your evening, ending the night by leaving you feeling more loved than you ever thought was possible.

Warnings and simple more summary: Smutty smut, Cockwarming, Dom Five, cocky Five and sweet vulnerable Five, s4 setting-assuming that all that sort of went down only with a twist in brief mention that Five in the end saved the day (because he's the man of course and I can't do it any other way, also Lila and Five never got stuck in the subway-so no worries on triggers for that-pretending that didn't happen, this one's all about you and Five 😉

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The Boy

Created for an Anon request (Female reader, rated mature for explicit sexual content)

Warnings: 18-yr old Five, Lots of Smut, Five being soft and also not, CIA setting but with none of the other things happening from season 4

Anonymous asked:

will you do one or just some scenes with Five being soft with a girl he's falling for? Like first kiss stuff or other more intimate things between them? Or any stuff with him letting his guard down for someone for the first time- not with Lila please. Explicit or not explicit. Anything like this. Ty:⁠-⁠*

Note~This quarter end treat is broken into 5 parts of smutty progression-Your Welcome😂 (18193 words)

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Please Hold me

~A one-shot reader request, rated General, 5780 words, This one for the sake of being different is Season 3 Five and his family, Mega Whump with no warnings other than panic attacks and traumatic flashbacks of the apocalypse

Summary: Set at the beginning of season 3, the pain that had been inflicted on Five mentally and physically up until this point comes to a head. Little did Five know, when the truth comes out and he finally breaks, he is going to get the love and support he was dying for all along.

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Amor Fati ~ A Five Hargreeves Sad, Soft, and Arousing Season 4, ABC’s Headcannon Story

(Five X Female reader insert, rated E for sexually Explicit content-see above or full story on A03 here. Originally done as another headcanon request but this one is a full story too.)

Broken but breathing. Longing for something that always felt just out of his reach, Five was not okay.

With fates forever intertwined, a train, and a smile he would never forget, once again, the impossible became his reality, but like always, not without tragedy.

In the end, all that mattered are the people Five loved. For them, he would do anything.

(Warnings and Tags: Rated R for sexually explicit content, Hurt Number Five, Alternate S4, Whump, Mental Break Down, Self-Doubt, Angst-humor-love, Uncle Five, The Deli Fives, Starts with Five in a very dark place, Not the end the show gave us.)

Worlds Collide -Five Hargreeves X 6 separate Female reader inserts

A steaming hot and humorous deli Five story, and An Ode To All The Fives We’ve Loved Before.

Written by: @badkitty3000 and me, @kaybreezy3000

(Rated Mature for Sexually Explicit Content, 6976 words)

Note: All six reader inserts in this one were inspired by characters we wrote in our other stories about Five. But if you haven't read any of these stories, you can still easily enjoy this one. If you find that you want a little more of Five and any one of these lovelies, links will be provided at the end.

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Looking for Happy

Hilariously simple but true summary: Five Hargreeves is sad and horny, and all he wants is you. (Don't worry, I will take you a little emotional rollercoaster that's not all the dirty-dirty 😂👍)

(Reader is post-top surgery and pre-bottom surgery.)

(Rated E for explicit sexual content. 18900k words. Anon request for a Five X male or Five X ftm pairing.)

Content Warnings and additional tags: Dom Five and some Sub Five, small 'Scream' movie add in per anon's personal love of the movie with sexy Billy and Stu, light praise kink, daddy kink, rough sex, choking, spanking, public sex, Five being sweet, Five being a cocky jerk, masturbation mentions, flirting)

NOTE: This story takes place during season four and after it, using a series of flashbacks, so it moves between past and present several times. Also, this was obviously written before season 4 came out, with an alternate season 4 ending written my way. It has lots of season 4 trailer and interview mentions to make it more fun and hopefully tie in a little with the real season 4.

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Five Hargreeves Dirty Headcanon ABC's

(Rated M for sexually explicit content, 5438 words, the last one for Z is sort of a mini story for you to enjoy. This list explores Five and his relationship with 'you' while taking a small dive into his very complicated psyche and looking at some of the reasons why he is the way he is. G/N~This is written with 'you' as anyone-not male or female specific.)

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He Who Holds The Power~(rated Teen and Up or General) (10,409 words)(alt season 4 story with ending)(Not a Romance- reader insert style that lets anyone be the 'you' character) (original Five cover art painting made by me and a little photoshop story insert to make it more fun)(real friendship and healing)

This one is a little season 4 teaser short story I dreamed up that gives us a look inside Five's world both before he jumped to the apocalypse and post season 3.

~~~~~~~~It all begins and ends with Five....

warnings: mild description/mention of child abuse, and signs of panic attack, potential trigger by mention of bombing a building

tags: not romance, whump, fluff, trauma, heartbreak, love, revenge, forgiveness, Mr. Pennycrumb, all the Hargreeves and some of our new character mentions from season 4, Five deserves better, Klaus is awesome, You x Five, reader insert, Five is amazing and with this one you get to imagine yourself a part of his story/future be it as a friend or whatever you want to imagine👍

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Under Your Hat~ (Female reader, rated M/Explicit for sexual content but you can still read this and enjoy it by skipping those parts using the ⚠️ symbol in the story for start and stop points.) (9827 words)

You never know what kind of trouble you might find if you put yourself out there and speak your mind, and tonight, that kind of trouble is Five Hargreeves.

~Set post season three. (the 5ish years later thing) Five is older, but still struggling with life and you happen to find yourself at a party with him.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, rough sex, spanking, daddy kink, humiliation play, and Five pretty much being the sweet and sexy guy I like to think he is under that hat.

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'Hargreeves Home for Wayward Boys ~(rated G since you can easily skip the sexually explicit parts and still enjoy the story. There is a clear point to stop if you are avoiding that stuff 👍) Female reader Insert (8711 words)

~Five is your employer and he's not happy with you. As the night unfolds, you have a very unexpected encounter with him...

~This story takes place where we left off with season three, but 5 years later. The name is a nod to hints of what might be coming, though I doubt the Netflix writers are going with my little storyline I have created for you.

~This one is sort of gift to all fanfiction readers and writers. May you always keep passwords on our documents and devices, or maybe not... 😂👌

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'Free at Last' - a short, general rated, image based/comic book style story blip of Dolores and Five

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‘Bad Things’

Five Hargreeves/Female Reader Insert (rated explicit for sexual content)(Dark and very messed up version of Five mixed with some ideas from the comic books, submissive Five, mental issues, making huge mistakes and overcoming past trauma,)(see story for specific tags) (49,996 words)

Summary:

~Psychopathy is a neuropsychiatric disorder marked by deficient emotional responses, lack of empathy, the inability to distinguish between right and wrong, poor behavioral controls, and behaviors that contradict social norms which then commonly result in persistent antisocial deviance and criminal behavior. Enter, Five Hargreeves, everyone's favorite little psycho. Having been left in a new world with nothing, his mental state growing more and more dangerous, Five Hargreeves finds something he feels will keep him from going off the deep end, but just like in so many things he thinks that are wrong, the fact that he thinks this already proves he has.

Full Summary and Chapter One and Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five, Six, and Seven

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‘The Anti Hero’s Pitfall of Arrogance’

Five Hargeeves/Female OC (rated explicit for sexual content-see AO3 version for the Teen and up version)(starts when the Hargreeves are sixteen so that changes the timeline from the show a bit, but it still follows cannon material fairly closely)(see story for specific tags) (44,599 words)

Chapter One and Two

Chapter Three and Four

Chapter Five, Six, and Seven

AO3 Teen and up Version

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‘In The Flesh’

Five Hargreeves/Female Reader Insert (rated G) (5337 words) (special request based off an extended scene from 'The Anti Hero’s Pitfall of Arrogance.’)(meant to be dark and very disturbing but with a heart filled message that is very Five. )

Link to 'In The Flesh’

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'The Devil Within’

Five Hargreeves/F Reader Insert (rated explicit for sexual content) (This one is the smuttiest Five fiction I have ever written so there is no way to avoid those parts) (see story for specific tags but I leave many off to keep you surprised as you read) (23,134 words)

Chapter One and Two

Chapters Three and Four

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Paramour (The Umbrella Academy 3-part series)-Rated Teen because you can skip the many sexually explicit parts or potential triggers with chapter warnings and detailed end notes for what you missed in those parts. It's a love story but about 85% or more of this story is really about healing and focuses on Five but features a lot of all the Hargreeves and even the Sparrows in part 2 and 3.

-If you love Five and long rollercoaster ride stories that you can get lost in than this is a great read for you.

Five’s POV and centered on him, but it has all the Hargreeves and Female OC love interest, stays very true to cannon themes and for Character’s personalities.

- See specific tags per-story on A03

Part One: 'Number Five and the Girl  (227,442 words) (Starts pre-season one, age 16, coming of age angst, humor, sexual activity and trauma)

Part Two: 'Infinity’ (417,307 words) (Starts right at start of season three but not a show rewrite, and full of shockers and fun and angst and fluff and plenty of explicit fun)

Part Three: 'Oblivion’ (152,100 words) (Hurt Five and Sexy Five galore, my version season four finale)

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'No More the Victim’  

(132,130 words) (rated E for extensive sexual content-🏳️‍🌈trans female pairing-see tags in AO3) (Five in a very dark place/hurt/comfort/redemption)

Starts after very dark post Season Three but does get much lighter, angst, first-time, finding yourself, revenge, unexpected romance, sub/dom, sexual humor, overcoming tragedy. seeing yourself and others with openness and love, Five’s time travel fix-it optional finale to the show. 

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My co-authored works with Bad_Kitty

Link to all Bad_Kitty’s private works on AO3)

'The Text Mess’ (5576 words) (rated Teen and up) (Five and Klaus)

A text-based format story done with actual textboxes and phones to make it more fun. Not a love story/romance. Full of hilarious images, sexual humor, Five is Five and Klaus is Klaus in this make you laugh and get the feels short story. Takes place in a blip in time post season three.

'Sharp Dressed Man’  (5514 words) (rated Explicit for sexual content)

Five and his lady love Vivian one shot based off of Bad_Kitty’s Halo Series-see link above. Humor based, sexy Five doing his sexy daddy thing. Christmas time story with a few of the other Hargreeves. Closet sexy craziness.

'When Number Five Steps out, He’s Gonna Do you In’ (8730 words, rated Explicit for sexual content)

The sequel one-shot to 'Sharp Dressed Man.’ Sexual humor, frustrated Five doing New Years things with the family. Lots of feels, sexy Five, a few of the fam, daddy Five getting it done and checking his naughty list off for the year. 

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My Art Featuring Number Five (TUA)

To view my Five art features on Tumblr hit this link

For stuff not on Tumbler see Original Five art from my various works  at this link (rated General)

Hand drawn sketches, graphic art in later chapters. 

[chaoticfivesworld]

Could someone help me look for 2 Genshin fics?

I have been looking for a while and I can't find them. I dont know if they are posted in A03 but I read them here

1 yandere Albedo x reader

Basically a full metal Achemist twist. Albedo took Ed's place and we took Al. They were not related but friends instead. The parent of reader died and Albedo tried helping the sad reader resurrect her parent but failed and so reader lost her body. They went thru FMAB journey where of course we know the recipe for the stone so reader said to not do it and to give up but YanAlbedo of course played with her wording.

2 sagau cult

Reader is the creator but there's already someone on the throne. Reader did not run nor were they hunted because they changed their appearance. Years later the fake was caught and executed while Reader is still in hiding as a rich merchant. The Characters found her and begged her but she ran and initiated a game where the characters need to catch her to prove themselves but at anytime she can ask someone to spy on the group and they are not allowed to hurt people.

Please help me. I've been looking for months for the first one and for like 4 days straight for the 2nd story. Has the authors account been deactivated???? I'm losing my head

[sarascamander]

Reading the cursed child (scorbus, norvelize version in a03). I read the script years ago when I was 11 (funfact it was the first harry potter book I've ever bought). So I'm rereading it again because I have a scorbus brainrot suddenly (11 y/o me shipped Scorpius and Rose so hard but now I grew up let just say my taste had change lmao).

List of thought gonna go longer as I read:

- yo Albus surly personality is basically me when I was 15 it was like looking into a mirror. Hold on there baby I understand you 😭

- I want to write a whole essay on Albus and Harry's relationship. They both are so precious but they just have a hard time with each other.

- Scorpius is the sunshine most sunshine cinnamon role ever. I would kill for him. I would die for him.

- ALL THOSE BULLY BETTER STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM MY OUTCASTS BABIES.

- “And be my good friend.” what if I die.

- why do people love to torture the cinnamon roll??? I want to hug Scorpio so bad like baby you deserve the moon and the sky and the world. And the fact that he's still trying to be so cheerful and optimistic. THE WORLD DOESN'T DESERVE HIM.

- Albus and Harry's father and son angst is killing me but it is also so delicious I relish in it (it's just so complicated I love it).

- "you’re kind, Scorpius. From the depths of your belly, to the tips of your fingers." Is the sweetest thing I've ever heard anyone said. I love this quote so much I want it tattooed on my forehead.

- Again, Scorpius deserve the fucking world.

- Scorpius and Draco's relationship is SO GOOD, SO PURE, SO SOFT. They love each other so much 😭

- brb I'm going to cry at the fact that Dark AU Ron and Hermione die in such a terrible way a few minutes after they finally confess their feelings (they were scared). 😭😭😭😭😭😭

- Snape is so dramatic. Girl "you're giving up your kingdom for Albus... All it takes is one person." he made it sound like they're in a romance fantasy novel (they are).

- Head empty. Scorpius happiest memory with Albus is strong enough for him to produce a patronus.

- Scorpius is once, again, a cutie pie that deserves everything.

- Delphi is more manipulative than I realized when I first read this lmao.

- GIRL the way Albus said that he and Scorpius ran away to start a new life in the muggle world as an excuse — what do you mean you're eloping at 14??? (Out of chronological order but I just remembered this)

- Delphi when I catch you —

- Never thought I'd be rooting for Draco and Harry duo yet here we are (did I say I love Draco as a dad?? I don't think he's appreciated enough. He's a brilliant dad! THIS is his best redemption arc).

- "What did you say to our son, Harry?" GO OFF QUEEN (Albus is a confirmed mommy boy)

- RON WANT TO MARRY HERMIONE AGAIN. I don't quite ship them in the book/movie but they're just the sweetest in here 😩😩

- I just had the sudden realisation that Scorbus might be the only couple that I ship in hp that is so close to canon (and was canonised by some play if I heard correctly).

- that time where they were in godric hollow and Scorpius was surprised that Albus never knew the full story of his grandparents or visited the place just bc he was being a petty, moody uninterested teenager hit so hard (he is me and I am him). And the shame he felt was real too. I always regret those years in my life where I acted like that and I don't even have a daddy issue like Al did, what's my bloody excuse lmao (I blame fucking hormones) 😩😭

- okay so finished it!! When I was a kid I don't quite like the time travel thingy and find it very confusing but I think it's because it's a screenplay yk, and it was meant to be watched not read. But the novel version did help a lot (and I give the author my hundreds of gratitude, her writing is absolutely beautiful! And she captured the characters perfectly! If you're scared to read The Cursed Child, read her novel version in ao3!!!).

I'm surprised that I actually love the plot more than I thought I would. Yeah it can get a bit unrealistic at times but all in all it's very entertaining and Albus and Scorpius are very well written, very rounded and nuanced characters that carry the book. I'm glad their parents didn't overshadow their personality etc (like them being mini-copies of Harry and Draco). They're their own person and I love that about them!!

They're not Drarry or even Jegulus as I've seen people say, they're in their own league. There are no enemies or hatred or tension between them; Scorpius and Albus genuinely like each other so much from the first they laid their eyes on each other and I adore them for it.

I read a theory that Albus was sent in Slytherin because he subconsciously wanted to be in a house with this kind boy met on the train and it made me want to cry (they were made for each other). (Although I do think Albus have many Slytherin traits, Scorpius I was less sure he screamed Hufflepuff/Ravenclaw to me but admittedly he can be cunning to).

So yeah, I don't think it's that bad as everyone said (and my 11 y/o self). It's fun and I actually cried a lot at the end of it (I have to watch Jily die, do you have any idea what that did to me???) (I don't even ship them but i swear this book set me to default back to canon).

I really want to watch the play, would die for it but it's impossible and I can only dream.xoxo