#he is so smart and so so stupid I love him

[sugarwarachan]

dabi and dumbification 🤝 - mdni

he likes how smart you are, actually prefers you a little mean, but nothing, absolutely nothing, turns him on like watching his smart girl go stupid on his dick

actually lives for the moment when he witnesses your mind go slack and give in to him—he’s big on control and trust, so knowing that you’re essentially putting your whole person in his hands is everything to him

“aww, you like being my little cocksleeve, don’t ya sweet thing?” he snarls, teeth against your neck, one hand hot on your hip. “no one’s ever fucked the words right outta that pretty mouth, I can tell”

loves the feeling of overpowering you so completely that he’s overwriting your very senses. you’re babbling out his name, tears pricking your eyes at the press of pleasure/pain swirling in your gut. hell, you can’t even beg him anymore, you’re so far gone—

“fuck, this slutty little pussy’s squeezin’ me so tight.” smacks your ass as he bullies his cock into you, smirks at the fucked-out whine that falls from your lips. “bet I can get another one out of you, huh baby? you still know how?” said with that infuriating smirk on his face

edges himself the entire time he’s making you cum

“where do you want it? here?” feral grin on his face while pressing down on your lower stomach, your frantic little nod bobbing up and down. “who am I to deny you?”

probably receives noise complaints from every lov member

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Spring (Cregan Stark x Reader)

Summary: As a Princess, you aren’t used to rejection. But Cregan, your husband, has vowed to only ever love one woman, and it isn't you. Right?

Warnings: Slightly less unreliable narrator (Cregan has come to his senses, reader is on the way) Mature language.

A/N: I really thought these two would get their mess sorted out in nine scenes, but I was far too optimistic. Lucky me, I had one season as backup! Also, thank you so, so much for continuing to read this series and your kind comments!

IT IS FUNNY, how wrong can Cregan be about people. He is no longer afraid to admit it. He had been mistaken about you. 

The utter viciousness you had displayed, bringing up his dead wife, had only been a source of anger for him at first. He had thought you an evil little bitch, unafraid of exploiting weak spots to hurt him. 

Then, he had seen you with Rickon. And his world had just… Shifted. As if every piece of furniture in Winterfell had been moved exactly one inch to the left, and no one had told him, leaving him stumbling around in his own home.

You weren’t evil or jealous. Or, more likely, you were, but not because of some petty reason, it was because you were insecure. The mere idea was laughable, why would a Princess of the Realm be insecure? But it made too much sense for him to ignore. 

Each time Cregan had cracked a joke that compared you to Arra, like commenting on the number of packages and dresses you had brought from the South, you had taken it as a personal criticism. You felt unappreciated, so you lashed out and avoided him at every turn. 

You were kind, smart, and capable. Just not in the way Cregan was used to women being capable. The northern women were considered capable because they were physically strong, able to wield bows, ride hard and long or withstand the terrible weather. 

You, instead, shared Prince Jacaerys’ strength. You were honorable, unable to leave a child in need, and kind, enough that you would comfort them until their parents reached them. But most of all, you had a brain suited for politics. 

Cregan had never noticed before because he had never bothered to truly look at what you were doing, but your charities were to make your mother’s cause more popular with the smallfolk. He had heard your mother was doing a similar thing in the capital, delivering food to the starved population due to a blockade of the own Blacks’ making. Not that the commoners cared about the last part. They only cared about those who put food on their bellies. 

And perhaps the Queen dowager and Princess Helaena were popular in the South because of their involvement in the Septs, but you were exploiting the lack of those here. Without Septs, there were no Septas or Septons tending to the sick and poor. You were. And the North would remember, when it came time to march for your mother’s banners. 

Cregan would bet Ice that you were having tea with the northern ladies not to gain friends. The Old Gods knew you were an introverted creature, painfully awkward at niceties, much like he was. It explained why the two of you were so uncomfortable with each other. You were probably entertaining the northerns to win their loyalties, knowing the combined pressure of Cregan’s oath and their wives would make his lords more eager to drop coin and men for your war. 

Oh, if Cregan got you on his side, the two of you would be a force to be reckoned with. He could already see how much security you could bring to the North, how well fed you could be during winter, if you decided to work with him and not behind him. 

You were a wonderful woman. Kind and tender to his son, smart as a whip, utterly terrifying when crossed. You would make a fine wife to any lord, and Cregan couldn’t believe how stupid he had been not to see it. You just needed to be encouraged, and Cregan, dumb as a rock, had been doing the exact opposite. 

While you hadn’t exactly been trying, Cregan was man enough to admit that part of the blame laid on him. He had been pushing you away without even realizing it, comparing you to Arra at every turn, without considering how that might come across to you. 

That ended today. He would prove himself worthy of your love and loyalty, and win you over. Cregan wasn’t a man of half measures. He would woo you or spend the rest of his life trying. 

Set in his decision, Cregan walked to your chambers. He waved off the guard’s attempt to announce him, casually strolling in. 

You were seated next to the fire, the leather-bound book you usually carried around spread over your lap. It was a heavy tome, bound in brown leather with golden engravings. It was written in High Valyrian, a language for which Cregan had little use, so he had never learned it beyond recognizing the alphabet. 

There was a striking beauty to your expression when you were at ease, the peaceful expression you wore becoming you much more than the usual frown you directed at him. Cregan found himself wondering how beautiful you must look smiling, if you looked this radiant when at peace. 

You had the sort of face to be lit up with happiness, he could already tell. His heart ached to be the one that finally coaxed it out of you.

“Princess,” Cregan calls, softly. You set your book aside, ready to get up and curtsy, but he halts you. “No need for that, wife. My ego is not so fragile I need my woman to bow to me.” 

“Lord Husband.” You reply, for once not frowning. Your face remains carefully neutral, which Cregan considers a victory. He would attribute it to his remark about his ego, but it is more likely due to guilt. He will take it regardless. 

“No need for that either, much less today.” Cregan smiles at you. “You may call me Cregan, if you wish. I am here to thank you for caring for my Rickon while I was away.” 

You look far more confused than you did before. You look like you want to approach him and run at the same time, your wool gown fluttering as you squirm in place, undecided if you are approaching or not. 

“I simply did my duty, my lord.”

Cregan’s smile widens, amused by you. 

“Singing him was part of it? By the Gods, I thought I had a wife and not a minstrel?” And the dry, northern humor doesn’t seem to suit you because you frown slightly. Cregan fights the urge to curse, instead making a mental note. You dislike being mocked, even in jest. He wonders what sharp words you had to endure in the South to be like this, and feels a wave of pity. Dark of hair and no dragon to shield you? Perhaps that was why you were far kinder to Sara than to him. He gives a tasteful cough. Or at least, his attempt at it. 

“I only meant to say you went beyond your duties, and I thank you for it. You didn’t have to, but it meant the world to him.” Cregan tries again, and you blink at him, as if he were unable to understand anything at all. 

“He is a child.” You say, slowly.  “No person would leave a child in need.” 

“You would be surprised.” Cregan thinks of how his own mother had treated Sara when she had arrived at Winterfell, treatment that hadn’t improved when his aunt took on as the Lady of the household. His sister had only known freedom after Cregan had taken over his seat, and she was still judged by the rest of the North, even though in a much subtle manner. 

“Mmm.” Your reply is noncommittal. 

“He has been asking me lately why he doesn't have a lady mother.” Cregan attempts again. He is not above using Rickon to have an excuse to spend time with you. And to his amusement, it does work. You pity his son more than him, it seems because you begin to pay him more attention.  

“What did you tell him?” You tilt your head to the side, curious. It’s a surprisingly cute gesture for the unshakable princess that you are. 

“I do not know. I have not answered him.” Cregan searches for somewhere to sit, but apart from the loveseat in which you are soaking up the warmth of the fireplace, there is none. He grabs the stool by your writing area, and brings it over. 

He sits on the stool across from you, wiggling a bit with how uncomfortable it is. It feels like his knees are on his chest, by the Gods. It’s clearly meant for a shorter person. Your rooms are not made for receiving visitors, he should have thought of that earlier. You need a space to receive people that isn’t the sitting room. What if you wish to have more private conversations?

“Surely he knows she is dead?” You are too caught up in your disbelief to protest that he is rearranging your furniture. Good. 

“He does, but doesn’t quite grasp what dead means.”  Cregan is being honest. Whoever has the heart to explain to a child of two namedays what death is, is a braver man than him. 

“Perhaps you could say she is in the Seven Heavens?” Your frown comes back, but this time it isn’t angry. Instead, it’s puzzled. You are trying to help him, and it makes him fight the urge to smile. He doesn’t want you to think that he is mocking your suggestion. 

“We do not believe that here.” 

“Neither do I.” And this time, there is the barest beginning of a playful smile on your lips. Oh, you minx! Cregan smiles to himself, charmed. It emboldens him to continue. 

“Just, I would like it if you saw him more often. With me. Perhaps… He has asked about you, and I am not asking you to replace her but I… He sometimes needs a more feminine touch.” 

“Of course.” You agree. And he can see in your eyes you think he might be trying to use you as a stand in for Arra, not truly believing his words, but that is alright. Cregan will show you. Or at least, he is going to do his very best attempt. 

YOU MAKE SURE there are enough pastries and hot water available before you stand up.

“I am afraid I must leave you, my ladies. But you are welcome to continue enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell.” The sitting room is filled with northern women. You have begun inviting them for tea twice a moon, trying to ensure your mother will have all the support she needs when she takes King’s Landing. 

It has proven to be quite the difficult task. Northerns are often suspicious of outsiders, and from what you have learned through these gossip sessions, they rarely marry southrons. The only ones who do are the most important Houses, like the Starks or the Boltons. It means that most of your ladies are northern by birth, and not through marriage as you are. 

“This early?” Lady Mormont asks, bluntly. Her bluntness had discomfited you during your first meetings, but you have come to find it refreshing. “Princess?” She tacks on, remembering she is supposed to mind her courtesies with you. 

“This early.” You confirm, with a smile. You have planned the time of this tea with precision for this same motive, knowing it will appeal to their loyalty, but also allow you to escape the socializing. “I have a play date with my Lord Husband and little Rickon.” 

One of the ladies coos. Lady Mormont barks out a laughter. 

“Ah, to be a young woman with that many suitors.” 

“Only the very best.” You smile, and leave them to feast on the pastries. 

You make your way to Cregan’s solar at a leisure pace. The crushed velvet gown you are wearing is in a blue so pale it almost looks like the gray of House Stark. It is one of your old ones, meant to evoke House Velaryon’s colors. It fits you again, having gained a bit of weight during your time in the North. You hope it is a gown suitable for playing with a toddler. 

As you enter, you notice Rickon is arriving as well, tugged along by a maid. He chirps a greeting to you, a mix of your name and title that sounds more like gibberish. Yet, you are helpless to him.

“Rickon!” You kneel by him, as he runs to be picked up. You indulge him, smelling his hair as you lift him. He smells of sweet innocence, and a bit like Cregan. You hate that you cannot hate him or be indifferent any longer. The little boy has stolen your heart. 

Rickon gives you a toothy smile, his hands clumsily going to cup your face. Who can resist him? Not you. 

“I see you found each other.” Cregan leans against the door, smirking. He holds two cups. “Warm milk with honey. For the cold.”

You cannot help but smile a little. 

“Our knight in shining armor!” You tease, more for Rickon’s benefit than him. “Let us in, good Ser. So I can place my little wildling down and he can drink it.” 

Cregan laughs and moves aside to let the two of you pass. As you do so, you cannot help but notice how much space he takes up, tall and wide. Your eyes linger on his shoulders. You have not seen him wield Ice yet, but you have seen the sword. He has to have considerable strength to do so. 

The thought is strangely thrilling. Your stomach does a somersault, but before you have time to analyze it, Rickon begins to squirm in your arms. 

“Down! Down! Doggie!” He pleads. You look to see what has caught his attention and notice that Cregan has moved the rug so it lays by the fireplace, and placed some of Rickon’s toys there, including his more favored one: A soft cotton white wolf. 

You set Rickon down and take one of the cups from Cregan. Both of you sit down on the rug as well, and watch Rickon play with his wolf, ignoring his cup of milk. You have come to learn that playing with an only child is much different than playing with your younger siblings, Rickon mostly plays alone and wants you there to show you things. 

It forces you to keep conversations with your husband, if only because the silence would be too awkward otherwise. 

“I have arranged for us to have tea when Rickon tires.” Cregan informs you, a bit stiff.

“Oh, I already had tea with the…” You start, before Cregan interrupts you. 

“You are far too thin still. Besides, I know your tea spreads are made of mostly northern sweets. I asked the cooks to make one of your favorites, Prince Jacaerys was kind enough to set up correspondence for me with the cooks of Dragonstone.” 

It’s awfully thoughtful of him, and you will examine it later because your mind is still stuck on one tiny detail. One that infuriates you. 

“You are corresponding with Jace?” You ask, trying hard not to sound violent. After all, he has been very kind to you as of late, and guilt has begun to creep in for your careless words about his late wife. Not that you will apologize or anything. You intend to pretend nothing happened and be extra nice to Cregan, indulging Rickon and him on all the tea and play dates in the world. 

“I am. He would be very pleased if you stopped burning his letters.” His tone is chiding, though gentle. You take a deep breath in. Jace, the traitor. Cregan keeps his tone kind. “He still grieves your brother, Princess. Do not make him mourn a sister in life.” 

“Does he think I shall never forgive him?” You ask him, baffled. Rickon begins building a tower with blocks on the rug, insisting that the two of you aid him in building Winterfell, so Cregan’s answer is delayed. As you place some blocks to make the entrance, you have time to think over his words. 

All alone in Dragonstone, Jace must be feeling as lonely as you are. Only more because he has no Cregan and Rickon to stand with him. 

What he had done was a deep betrayal in your eyes, but was it truly? You had known you would have to marry eventually, and it probably wouldn’t be a love match. Jace had done the best he could in the terrible circumstances you were in. Moved by his fear of losing another sibling, he had entrusted you to Cregan because he thought you could be happy here. Safe. 

And you were. There was no fiercest protector for you apart from your husband. After marrying him, no one had dared even to breathe the rumors of your bastardy, and he even worried about what you ate, by the Gods’ sake!

“You can hold a grudge.” Cregan says, cautiously, when Rickon is distracted by his cup of milk and begins to attempt drinking it. Usually, drinking his milk is followed by passing out, so he is careful to support him in his lap. The sight makes your chest feel oddly warm. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

This was bad. 

You were falling in love with Cregan. 

“Perhaps I don’t want to any longer.” You say, looking into his eyes. You are no longer speaking of Jace. 

Cregan seems to catch on your meaning because he reaches forward and takes your hand in his. Fixated on how big and warm his hand feels against yours, you almost miss his soft words. 

“Neither do I.”

SARA’S EYES, GREY and so much like his father’s, are fixed on him. Cregan tries to ignore her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of appearing uncomfortable. But before the hour passes, he is squirming in his chair, unnerved by her silent stare. 

Sara continues to stare. Cregan refuses to speak to her. After a while, she sets down the book she has taken from his shelves, a dreadfully boring account of the battles fought by the Kings of Winter, and perches her chin in her hands. 

That way, her staring is much more obvious. She is comfortably laid back in one of the armchairs he has in his solar. Cregan likes company when he works, and it’s easier to ask for her opinion if she is right there. Unfortunately, it also means she can stare at him for hours on end if she so wished.

“What?” Cregan asks, when he can’t take it any longer. He pushes away the reports about the safety of Wintertown and how prepared they are for winter, and looks up at her. She still doesn’t speak. “Sara!” 

“Apologies, brother.” By her smile, she is anything but sorry. “I just find it fascinating.” 

Cregan sighs. He doesn’t really want to bite, but if he doesn’t, Sara’s teasing will get worse and worse.

“What is fascinating?” 

“How you have managed to turn into a spineless southron in less than two moons.” Cregan can only gape at her. What is she going on about? “Not only have you turned timid, you are also a moron. And cunt struck. Well, are you? I know you are not getting any, does one need to actually be bedding the woman to be cunt…” She doesn’t even finish her words, cackling with laughter.

His face grows hot, burning with embarrassment. 

“I should have married you to an Umber and be done with it.” He mutters, under his breath, which only makes her cackle further. Both of them know that Sara would never be married off as if she were some cattle. Cregan loves her too much for it, and she is a deeply independent woman. 

“Who would advise you, then?” She asks him, brazenly. “Your sweet little wife? While she is great at wrangling lords and ladies, I doubt she has the stomach for warfare.” 

“There is a certain innocence to these Velaryons, yes.” At his words, Sara glares. She hates to be reminded she had not been as immune as she liked to think she was to Prince Jacaerys’ charms. “But if the worst comes to pass, I actually intend to have her hold Winterfell alongside you and Rickon.” 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Sara approves. “Shall you march south, Rickon and I will suffice.” 

“I wish to begin teaching her, when she no longer seems willing to murder me.” 

“I think she isn’t willing to murder you any longer.” And it is as good of an endorsement he will get from Sara. 

“She still seems to think I do not love her.” Cregan whines. 

“Because you mention Arra all the time. I have heard it’s in bad taste, but what would I know?” Sara rolls her eyes. “I am just some bastard girl.” 

“Are you simply going to complain or will you help me?” Cregan looks at her and tries giving her his best pleading look. Then, he decides to stroke her pride. “You know I always seek your council, even above other lords.” 

“Even above Lord Cerwyn?” Her mouth purses in a dubious pout. Fuck. His sister or his best friend? In the end, the choice is easy. Sara is here now, after all. 

“Of course.”

Sara positively beams. 

“You should tell him so.” Her rivalry with him had never made any sense to him, they had known each other since childhood, too. The man didn’t even care about who her mother had been and never took insult with her… Well, insults. Plural. Always thrown at him by Sara. Now that he thought of it, his friend always sought excuses to see Sara. Odd. “Loudly. But I am feeling generous and not demand that you do so immediately. I shall gloat in my victory, and it will be even sweeter if he doesn’t know.” 

“Your advice?” Cregan asks, tiredly. The Gods knew that she would talk circles around him if he let her. She was honest, but she also had a gift for courtly speech that Cregan despised. 

“Women like gifts. Or I do. And I am a woman.” Sara shrugs. “She is a Princess, of course she does too. And don’t just gift her anything.” 

“I would never be…” That stupid, Cregan wishes to add, but Sara is still speaking. 

“Gift her something special. Something unique, tailored to her. And especially, something that you wouldn’t gift practical Arra.” 

Cregan stares at Sara. Sara stares back. Then, very pointedly, she picks up her book and continues to read. The message is clear. He will not get any further help. 

Still, her advice lingers. In the coming days, Cregan cannot shake the thought, regardless of what he is doing. As he inspects his men, as he reads during his spare time, even as he bathes. All Cregan thinks of is you, and a gift that would please you. 

He even dares ask Rickon. His suggestion of a direwolf isn’t exactly bad. It’s just difficult on its execution, and not something Cregan would choose when thinking of a gift for you. 

He discards many more ideas, from rolls of myrish lace to donations to your charities. You ran far too cold to wear the former, and the latter wouldn’t truly be a gift to you. He wastes nearly a week coming up with a suitable idea, and two more corresponding with the Prince, the Maester at Dragonstone, and securing the goods he needs. 

It’s all worth it, when he takes a look at the finished present and can know that you will love it. 

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Too Important - A No Love Lost Bonus Chapter

Series Masterlist

Read on A03!

Author's Note: They're back! They're obsessed with each other! Ben once again is proving that he's the grumpiest old man to ever grumpy old man! Enjoy!

Title from Snooze by SZA

Word Count: 5.7k

Summary/Warnings: You and Ben head to Costco. Takes place about two months post-series.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, tooth-rotting fluff, Ben being old, pre-established relationship, mentions of smut

There were only five things Ben had ever really fucking loved. Loved with his whole goddamn existence, so much he could probably kill himself with it if he tried.

He’d loved his mom. Loved her in a simple, pure way that he’d probably taken for fucking granted. She had been secure. The only person Ben had known wasn’t going to hate him for being a fuck up or problem. She’d pleaded with his father when Ben had been sent away. Kept in contact with him when she wasn’t supposed to. Still thought of him as just Ben, even when he’d given her every reason not to. Ben had loved his mom because she was his mom. He’d grieved her in drinks and silence when she died, and known that—compared to what he’d been before—she would’ve been proud of him now. Living a life that wasn’t violence and glamour. A life that was just stupid fucking ease and perfection, with a beautiful wife and smart son, in a comfort he’d never imagined he’d get to have.

He loved the movie Legally Blonde. His wife was never allowed to fucking know that.

He loved Ryan. The kid was a fucking genius, and Ben wasn’t sure how the hell Homelander had a single hand in creating him. He was kind and smart and determined, and a purely good fucking person. He’d been born from a long line of deeply fucked men, but he read books and cried when the dog died in a movie. He fucking loved school, and liked people, and tried so hard to be normal that Ben was sometimes worried he’d hurt himself. Ryan never needed to fucking apologize for having powers. He never needed to feel guilt for the shit Homelander had done, and never needed to repent like Ben had. He was just a fucking kid. A kid who sometimes woke up crying because he’d had a nightmare about his father—because they all did—and who’d apologize for waking Ben after. Ben really wished the people he loved would stop fucking apologizing to him.

He loved dancing. His wife already knew that one, but Ben was pretty damn sure she didn’t know just how much he loved it. It was reliable. Simple. Something his mother had made him learn, and something that he could use to make his wife fall into his arms and giggle against his chest. A way to use his body that wasn’t for destruction, an excuse to touch Her until she gave him a perfect, happy smile, and he somehow loved her more.

Because that was the thing Ben loved above every other goddamn thing in the universe. Loved more than the universe. The universe was fucking pathetic compared to how much Ben loved Her. Every single fucking thing about Her. How She smile and laughed and moved through the world. How goddamn kind and clever and perfect She was. All Her big fucking words and Her smart fucking mouth and Her sharp, beautiful features. How She was a fucking brat and a problem, and Ben would never want her any other way, because he was the luckiest fucking pussy in the world for this menace of a woman to love him back half as much as he loved Her. Lucky that She trusted him, looked at him like he was some sort of fucked up savior, and always touched him like she could never do anything better with her hands.

She was perfect. She was a fucking goddess, and every time Ben reminded Her of that she’d flush that pretty color and bury her face in his arm. Right where she goddamn belonged.

You can’t just say that, Ben-

I can say whatever the fuck I want, Sunshine. He’d press a kiss to the top of Her head, squeezing his hold on Her body. I fucking love you, and you’re a goddamn miracle. These pussies should be grateful to be in your goddamn presence.

I think you’re a little bias. She’d mumble between their heads, but Ben would hear the stumble of Her heart, feel her lean further into his body, and he’d smirk.

I don’t fucking care. He’d tangle a hand in Her hair, tugging it back so she was looking at him with wide, blown out eyes.  You’re fucking perfect. 

She’d smile at him, and Ben’s ribs would bloom and glow with how fucking beautiful She was. How She was all fucking his, to care for and tend to and love. For the rest of goddamn time, Ben got to fucking have Her.

You’re such a dramatic cunt, Benjamin.

He’d chuckle. You fucking love it.

And that would be the end of it. Wherever they were, Ben would find a place to fuck Her in peace, she’d cum all over him—filling the room with a million colors and dancing lights, bursting into flame and screaming his name—and Ben would make sure that she understood. Really fucking got that Ben had never been good at loving things, but loving Her was the easiest thing in the goddamn world. That he’d love Her until the world was fucking razed and scorched and She wasn’t there to love anymore.

Even then Ben would probably just fucking follow Her. That might be the only thing that one day got him. If She figured out a way to die, she wasn’t going to do it without Ben at Her side. She was alive inside of him—infinite and holy, fucking stronger and brighter than the goddamn sun—and Ben never wanted to know a life without Her again. 

She’d hate the idea of Ben going just because She went. She’d shove his chest and snap that he’d need to keep living without her, because she loved him too much to want him to die. And Ben would roll his eyes, grumble an agreement, and keep fucking knowing that if they went out, they were going out together.

Everything was so fucking beautiful when Ben had Her to share it with. Without Her he’d just be an old fucking asshole, chasing Her in shadows and songs, sitting at Her grave until he worked out how to turn the stone back into the only person in the world that really fucking mattered.

It was a damn good thing they were both immortal.

The world would not fucking like it if Ben had to keep living without Her.

He’d do anything for Her. He’d burn countless worlds to ash, then rebuild them just for Her to have. He’d refuse to destroy things, because She was good and would never want anyone to be in pain in Her name. If She demanded it, he would keep living, but he’d drive himself mad trying to bring Her back.

He’d learn to raise the dead. To find wherever the fuck She’d gone and pull her back to his side, where he’d keep Her safe and happy and smiling.

Christ, he’d do anything just to make Her smile.

He’d even let Her drag him here, to this massive square building that seemed to be some weird sort of grocery store. 

But Ben didn’t remember grocery stores selling TVs, or mattresses, or toys. Grocery stores didn’t sell watches. Or fucking pills and makeup, just a few aisles apart. 

Where the fuck are we. He muttered between their heads, and She looked back to him with an amused grin.

You drove us here, Ben.

Because I value my goddamn life, Sunshine.

Shut up-

No. He leaned down, kissing the space between Her eyes with a grin. Tell me where we are, brat, or I’ll fuck the answer out of you.

She wrinkled Her nose at him, even as Ben heard Her heart flutter slightly. No obviously public sex, you horny old cunt-

I never said we’d fuck in public, darling. This place is fucking huge, I’d find somewhere private, and then make you all dumb and pretty on my cock. Ben winked at Her, and Christ, she was beautiful. Wide, glossy eyes and a parted mouth, already putty in Ben’s hands just from his fucking words.

We’re at Costco. She said, a little breathless between their minds. It’s a superstore. 

Ben frowned. That didn’t make any damn sense, and he’d have a lot of time to fuck Her later. He needed to understand what in Christ she was talking about. 

What the fuck is a superstore. Did they figure out how to shoot up buildings with V and nobody fucking told me-

She laughed, wrapping Her arms around his neck with a shake of her head. No, Ben, it’s a physically large store that sells, like, everything.

Everything.

Pretty much, yeah. She shrugged. That’s why we’re here.

Ben nodded slowly. For the house.

Exactly. She smiled, Her voice soft and teasing between their minds. Good work, Pretty Boy.

Shut the fuck up, brat. Ben pulled Her half up his chest, kissing her until he got a breathy moan, and leaned back with a smirk. What do we need.

I, um… She blinked at him, her eyes a little glazed as Ben just grinned at Her. Fucking Christ, She was perfect.

Need some help there, Sunshine?

Fuck you-

Ben laughed, squeezing his hand on Her waist. No obviously public sex, darling-

Shut up. She muttered, and Ben’s grin only grew, because She tangled her hand in his and leaned further into his body at the exact same time. I made a list.

A list-

For what we need. And, She shot him a stern look, rising slightly on Her toes to hold his gaze. We’re sticking to it. No buying things we don’t need, just because you see them. 

Ben frowned. Why the fuck would I get shit we don’t need-

Because you’re a child, my love.

I am not a fucking child-

Yeah, you are. She gave him a soft, teasing grin, and Ben really didn’t know how to actually be annoyed with Her. Not when She was so goddamn beautiful, and looking at him with such adoration, and felt easy and happy around his skull. You’re a massive fucking man baby, Benjamin, and you’re going to see something shiny and try to buy it.

Fucking- I’m not a goddamn pussy with no self-

She pulled him into a slow, deep kiss, half climbing up his chest and molding into his arms fucking perfectly, and he groaned. She’d given him a blowjob before they left the house—Ryan was off at school for the day, and She was a horny fucking problem—and Ben could still taste himself in Her mouth. Mixed with coffee and chocolate, and Her. Always just fucking Her, smiling against his lips and safe in his arms. He could feel the cool metal of Her wedding ring when she tangled her fingers in his hair.

They had to finish this shopping shit right now, so Ben could carry Her to the car and fuck her stupid in the back seat.

You’re my man baby, Pretty Boy. She said between their minds, and leaning back to give him a wide, perfect smile. I love you.

I love you too, Ben grunted, leaning down to kiss to Her brow. You fucking brat.

She hummed, Her smile wide and unrestrained on her beautiful face. Ready?

Ben nodded, grabbing Her hand and pressing one last kiss to Her knuckles. There was Her ring. Both of her rings. Physical fucking proof to anyone who looked that She loved Ben. Wanted him. Fucking adored him. 

If She needed Ben for shopping, he’d walk with Her and do whatever she told him to. She’d know what she was doing. She always knew what She was doing, because she was a goddamn force of nature, and if Ben had a say in it, he’d make sure everyone did what she told them all the fucking time.

They didn’t—because most people were stupid fucking dumbcucks that Ben wasn’t allowed to just fucking kill—but they should. All of this post-Homelander shit would be so much easier if everyone would just fucking listen to Her. 

And Ben knew how hard She was working on it. How She was calm and collected when she testified before congress and recounted all the shit that fucking pussy had done to Her, but always fell apart after, sobbing and shaking in Ben’s arms. She’d crawl over his body and bury Her face in his chest, he’d feel fucking sick, and wish he could bring Homelander back to life just to fucking kill him again. Everyone demanded too goddamn much of Her, and she always gave it because she was too fucking good, and if all She asked for was Ben to go shopping with Her, he’d do it a billion fucking times.

Anything to make Her tap her fingers because she was picking out wall colors and not because she had to explain how She’d killed Sage. Anything to make Her flush because Ben was kissing her neck in the lamp aisle and not because a bunch of old fucking pussies wanted unnecessary details about Her alleged relationship with Soldier Boy.

It wasn’t fucking alleged. They were goddamn married. They had a son and owned a house together.

A house they needed to put things in. And decorate. And make theirs. So if that was what this trip was about, Ben could fucking do it. For Her.

It started simple. They needed more furniture, they found it. 

“We already have most of what we need,” She muttered, pulling Ben through the store. “It’s mostly decorations now. If you see something you like-“

“I’ll like whatever the fuck you like.”

She let out a long sigh. “That not helpful-“

Ben grunted Her name, spinning Her around in his arms and dropping his brow to Her’s. 

“Ben-“

“Listen to me.” He held Her gaze, drawing firm circles in her hips. “I could give a fuck what our house looks like, as long as you like it, and there’s no goddamn blue.”

“But it’s your house too-“

“I don’t fucking care.” He grunted. “I’ve told you, Sunshine, we could be living in a fucking dumpster, and I’d be good.”

She scanned over Ben’s face, and sighed. “Can you promise you’ll at least try to find one thing you want?”

“Deal.” Ben kissed Her, dipping her slightly in his arms and keeping Her tucked to his side when they pulled apart.

For Her, he’d try to find one thing. It couldn’t be that fucking hard. This place was huge. 

At first, there was nothing. She had opinions on the colors and style of their house, and Ben mostly just watched Her be perfect and smart and happy, grumbling low agreements and kissing Her until she smiled whenever he got the chance. That was what he cared about. Not whatever the fuck rustic or sleek meant. Not about what shade of green their bedroom should be, or if they should have the bird or sunset painting, or if a glass vase was better than a ceramic one. 

“Just lie and pretend you have an answer-“

“No. I don’t fucking lie to you-“

“It’s a vase, Ben. I’m not going to freak out and burn the building down because you lie about liking a vase-“

“I don’t give a fuck about the vase.” He snapped. “My job is to buy you the damn flowers-“

“Well,” She raised Her brows, giving him a pointed look. “Where can I put the flowers, if I don’t have a vase?”

Ben scowled. “Smartass.”

“You love it.” She gave him a sweet smile, and he really fucking did. “Choose a vase, Pretty Boy.”

Ben rolled his eyes, glaring between the options, and decided they were both fucking stupid. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“Get that one.” He pointed to a third, smaller one. It was the same color as Her eyes, and had little golden patterns. He didn’t hate it. “It’ll fit on the dresser.”

She paused, tapping Her fingers on Ben’s arm, and nodded slowly. “Okay.” She gave him a wider, purely fucking adoring smile, and Ben felt his whole body grow radiant. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” He grumbled, kissing the side of Her head, and a dam broke inside of him. 

Suddenly, Ben had a lot of fucking opinions. A red carpet would look fucking stupid in the living room, and Ben didn’t want a weird, twisting lamp on his bed stand. They’d get the shower curtain with little octopuses—octopi, Benjamin—because they made Her smile, but Ben would give MM a fucking blowjob before he used as towel with ducks on it.

“But they’re cute-“

“No.” Ben snapped, grabbing a stack on plain, monotone towels, and dumping them into the cart. “They’re fucking towels, Sunshine, they only need to dry us off.”

“I know, but look at them!” She held the ducks up, giving Ben a pretty pout that was designed to fucking kill him. “Please? Just one?”

Ben scowled. She knew what the fuck She was doing. Looking so fucking beautiful and leaning into his body and making Her sharp eyes soft just for him. He couldn’t say no to Her. He’d never really want to, anyway. Not when he grabbed the towel, tossed it in the cart, and Her smile had the same effect as fucking heroine.

“One.” He grunted. “Because I fucking love you, brat, you get one.”

She kept smiling at him, holding his face between Her hands and kissing him right on the nose. “Thank you, my love-“

Ben rolled his eyes, and dragged Her into a longer, firmer kiss. Until She was a sighing and humming and melting into him, before grabbing Her hand and tugging her to the next isle.

They got shampoo—Ben tried to pick his own out, She looked like she was going stab him or set him on fire, and he decided to let Her handle that shit—a bunch of picture frames, and a lot of useless decorative shit that they didn’t need. Small potted plants that would have to be kept out of the bedroom, a fuck ton of books that She’d probably already read, and some nice, dark green plates. 

Ben took over for groceries—that might be the only place in the world where She didn’t know what the fuck she was doing—and he kept it simple. Pancakes. Ice cream. Bagels. Strawberry cream cheese. Coffee. Chocolate. Something called Lunchables that Ryan seemed to like. Apple sauce, because on worse days that was all Ben could get Her to eat, and he’d be damned if he let Homelander keep haunting them like that. Whiskey. Burger patties-

“You know there’s only three of us, right?” She was hanging off of Ben’s arm, giving him an amused look as he tossed a second bag of apples into their slightly overflowing cart. “And we can come back if we host dinner with the team.”

Ben frowned. “You told me Butcher was hosting-“

“He is. I’m saying that’s why we don’t need so many-“

“We need to be fucking prepared.” Ben muttered. “Shit happens, Sunshine, and I’ll be fucking damned if I let us go hungry-“

Ben.

He grunted Her name, glancing down to see open, obvious amusements painted over Her pretty features. 

Are you fucking Cold War prepping.

Shut up.

She snorted. Holy shit, you are-

I said shut the fuck up. We need to be goddamn careful, and it’s my job to make sure you and Ryan are safe-

That’s not your job, Ben. She sighed, giving him a soft smile that lit up his whole fucking body. But, if it was, you already do an amazing job, without being an old, paranoid dinosaur. And remember, She squeezed his hand, raising Her brows slightly. Ryan’s literally invulnerable, and I fuck an atomic bomb every day. We’d be fine.

Ben scowled, but put the third bag of apples back. We fuck at least three times a day.

I know. I’m there.

You fucking start most of it-

You’re just proving my point, Pretty Boy.

Shut up.

From there, She made him go look at fucking pants and shirts. Only so She could send Neuman orders for their specialized, supe-proof clothing, but still needing Ben’s actual fucking opinions. He didn’t fucking care about clothing, and he trusted Her with his fucking life, so she ended up making most of the choices as Ben grunted in approval. 

They were almost done. And this had been fun—he’d never tell Her that, but he was also pretty damn sure she knew—but Ben wanted to go the hell home. To drop all this shit in the doorway, carry Her upstairs, and fuck Her until she screamed his name so loud all the glasses in the house fucking broke. 

All that was left was getting something called a Roomba.

“What fuck is that thing.” Ben muttered, frowning at the metal disc in Her hands. It just looked like fucking junk.

“It’s a robot.”

“A fucking what.”

“Robot. Robot vacuum. It’ll clean the floor-“

“That circle is going to clean the floor-“

“Yep.” She glanced at the label on the shelf. “Do you think we need max power? I don’t really know what average power would do- Ben-“

He’d grabbed the robot—fucking robot—from Her, and was examining it. He didn’t know what the hell he was looking for, only that he wasn’t finding it.

“Ben-“

“This thing is not a fucking robot.” He muttered. “Robots aren’t real.”

“They very much are real, old man.”

“There’s not a chance in fucking hell this thing can clean a floor-“

“Well, it does.” She took the circle back, placing it into the cart and giving Ben a teasing look of disbelief. “Are Roomba’s really going to be the thing that gets you about the 21st century?”

He scowled. “They’re not fucking real, Sunshine-“

“Benjamin, my love.” She moved to stand right before him, holding his gaze to Her’s with amusement dancing all over Her perfect face. She was so fucking beautiful. “You can throw nuclear energy with your brain, pick up trucks with one hand, and I’ve seen you jump off a building without flinching. We’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. When I orgasm, I make both of us hallucinate. This,” She pointed to the so-called robot. “Cannot be the thing that gets you.”

Shut up, brat. Ben rolled his eyes, kissing the back of Her hand before glaring around the rest of isle. Are all of these things fucking robots.

No, these are just normal vacuums.

Does this place have other robots.

Yeah, probably.

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Where.

———————

You’ve made a grave error.

You don’t think you’re ever going to leave this Costco. 

After the Roomba, you’d shown Ben robotic litter boxes, and drones, and a smart speaker. You’re pretty sure that’s where you’d went wrong. 

“This thing can hear me?”

You’d nodded, watching him with a small smile you were having a hard time fighting. To any passerby, Ben would’ve looked furious, but you know him. Know that right now, his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes meant that he was shocked and confused. 

It helped that you could feel it, pricking on his skin and cloudy around his head. It was kind of adorable. 

“It can hear all of us.”

He’d scowled. “Why the fuck is it listening-“

“So you can tell it what to do. Here, look- Alexa? Play Steely Dan.”

“Playing- Steely Dan.”

Low music started to fill the space, and you’d had to bite your cheek to stop the snort at Ben’s expression. He’d looked like he’d been shot. It had been adorable. 

And now, two fucking hours later, you didn’t think you’d ever get sick of that expression on his face. He was like a five-year-old loose in a candy shop, walking from aisle to aisle and asking you grumbling questions about various technologies and appliances. If you’re being honest, the only time you’ve seen him look close to this was whenever he’d fuck you. It was a similar expression of pure, raw joy and wonder, but devoid of all the darkened, animalistic need. 

“What the fuck are these?”

“Security cameras.” 

Ben frowns. “They look like fucking doorbells.”

“They’re both.” You say, resting your head against his chest, and he nods slowly.

“We should get one.”

“Ben-“

“For fucking safety, Sunshine, it would be damn insane not to have cameras when all those fucking pussy Homelander supporters are still out there-“

“I agree, my love.” You smile at him, forcing yourself not the climb into his arms as his concrete concern and resolve wrap around you. “That’s why I asked Hughie to install some already.”

Ben pauses, something hot and sore flaring on his skin. “Why the fuck did you ask Hughie.”

“He’s a tech nerd, and Annie said he’d know the best ones to get.” You kissing the underside of Ben’s jaw, humming against his skin. Next time, I’ll ask you, Benjamin. It’ll be so fucking funny to watch you try to install them.

Ben scowls, adoration flaring in his chest as the soreness eases, and you manage to walk him away from the doorbells. 

Most of the afternoon has mostly become walking Ben away from things. For some stuff, it’s easy. Noise canceling headphones wouldn’t work on him. You don’t need a slightly larger TV, because your current one is perfectly fine. You don’t have the space for a hot tub.

“What about these.” He points to the third golf set, and you sigh.

“Ben, you hate golf. You’ve told me it’s a weak fucking pussy sport.”

“And it fucking is, but these things can be damn good weapons-“

“We are not buying weapons.”

“What if someone fucking breaks into the house with a gun-“

“You and Ryan are bullet proof, and I can’t be killed-“

“What if it’s a fucking supe-“

“Then you can blast them with your special sauce, and they won’t be a supe.” You wrap your arms around him, raising your brows. “We’ll be fine, Ben. No golf clubs.”

He scowls, and moves on. 

From the golf clubs. And the iPad, and other security cameras, and air hockey table.

But other things are harder. 

Because you make a second mistake. You agree with him that you should buy a generator, because it’s practical. But what Ben learns is that you can say yes to things. And now you have an ice cream maker, an air fryer, a truly unreasonable amount of batteries, and lawn sprinklers.

And a vibrator, because Ben had grabbed it, shoved it into the cart, and raised his brows in a silent challenge.

You’d sighed. Ben, I don’t need-

I’m going to have to travel, Sunshine-

I know, but I think I can keep it together until you get back to fuck me yourself.

Or. Ben had winked at you, and you felt his hunger spread in your gut. We could do that Zoom shit, you could imagine that thing is me. He’d lowered down, starting to leave wet, sloppy kisses up your neck. And I could tell you exactly how I’d want to fuck you. How I’d play with that perfect fucking pussy until you were begging for me, then I’d stuff that smart fucking mouth with my cock and start to finger fuck you, make your squirt on my hand while you choke on my dick-

You’d buried your face in his chest, muffling your whimper in his shirt. Jesus fucking Christ, Ben-

You like that, darling? Like thinking about how I fill you up, how fucking good I pound into that pussy, how I make you cum on my cock and hands and face-

You’d agreed to buy the vibrator, but mostly because if he had kept talking, you might have climaxed just from Ben’s voice.

You should’ve left Costco an hour ago.

But Ben still doesn’t seem to be done yet.

“How the fuck are they doing that.” He mutters, poking remote and watching the LEDs shift from green to pink to yellow for the fifth time. 

“Semiconductors.” You say, trying not to look like such a dopey, lovesick idiot as you smile at him. “We do have to go home soon. Ryan’s almost done with school.” 

Ben grunts, grabbing one of the LED light strings and holding it up for you to see. 

You take it from him, kiss his cheek—your lips barely brushing his beard before he’s moving you to his mouth, and you almost fall over—and place the box in the cart.

The total amount of money you’ve spent today is disgusting, but the grin on Ben’s face makes it worth it. All of this is so fucking worth it, because you’re happy in such an average, normal way. You’re happy because Ben’s happy—glowing and furious in your whole body—and he’s everything. He grabs you a chocolate bar in the checkout isle without you asking, and insists unloading everything into the trunk himself.

“Go wait in the car, Sunshine-“

You shake your head, trying—and failing—not to gawk at him. So goddamn handsome the broad daylight, muscles flexing as the moves bag after bag, all yours to climb like a tree when you get home-

You won’t have to get until your get home.

Ben chuckles as you stare at him, and the moment the last bag is in the car he grabs you by your wrist, tugging your back into his chest and slamming his lips down to yours. It a rough, heavy kiss that probably isn’t appropriate for a parking lot, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. Ben’s love is strong and focused and everything in the world that matters. He’s swaying you back and forth in his arms, grinning as he nips at your lower lip and tugs a little at your hair, and you don’t think you’re ever going to get enough of him. Of how forceful and bloody and devout his love is, just in broad daylight when you’ve done nothing but smile at him. 

When he pulls away, neither of you bother to fully separate. Ben grins at you, and you smile at him, and when he brushes a little hair away from your face you do the only thing you can think of, and kiss him again. Softer this time, moving your hands to hold his face, allowing yourself to feel so purely safe and warm in the best place in the world. In Ben.

Because you know this will never fade. The love for him in your body that only grows more and more powerful with every passing moment. That you’ll always feel Ben’s love for you, no matter if you’re resting in heaven—caged between Ben’s body and a bed, sleeping or fucking or just smiling at him—breaking down in a hell you’ve visited countless times in life and will visit more in sleep, or standing somewhere domestic and mundane. 

You have a life now where you get to be domestic and mundane. Where you get to make out with your husband in a public place, until someone rolls down their window and wolf-whistles, and you have to restrain Ben from picking up their car and throwing it across the lot. Where you get to drive home with Ben’s hand on your thigh and your head resting on his shoulder, and you get to act like that’s all your life has ever been.

It’s all it will have to be now. 

For the rest of your life—which will likely be simply the rest of time—all you’ll have to do is be domestic. You don’t think you can be mundane, not when Ben grumbles something and you can feel his love spark and flare in his chest, or when you park the car and Ben carries all fifteen of your heavy bags inside at once without even a grunt. You can’t be mundane when, the moment he puts the bags down, you jump on him, he fucks you against the kitchen counter, and you burst into a flame that sets off the smoke alarm and drenches you both in the sprinklers. 

But you can be domestic. You can dry off and cook dinner with Ben—like a normal husband and wife probably do—and let him wrap his body around you and kiss that spot on your neck until you give up on focusing and ride him on the floor. 

You can eat with Ben and Ryan, try not to laugh as Ben works out how the ice cream maker works, and curl in Ben’s arms on your couch. Watching TV and sitting easily in the dark.

Ben can tilt your head back for a deep, slow kiss, smirking against your lips when you moan, and mutter your name like a prayer.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he says, rubbing firm circles on your thigh, and you let out a long, slow breath as you flush.

“I think you abuse that word, Benjamin,” you mumble, and he shrugs.

“I don’t give a fuck. You are.” He frowns, turning you to face him in his lap. “I fucking love you, Sunshine, you’re my whole fucking world-“

I know. You smile, leaning down for another, softer kiss that makes Ben groan in your mouth and the whole world start to get a little hazy. I love you, too.

He grunts, but doesn’t bother to do his usual pushing about how you still don’t get how much he loves to you. You do get it. You can feel it, and it’s the most powerful thing in the world. Sometimes you worry Ben doesn’t understand how much you love him. How you can’t even begin to picture a world where you’d never clawed your way through blood and grime to find him. How you can feel his love and resolve and care all the time, and your own love is so eternal and vast you could probably power a universe with it. 

But you’ll have all of time to fight with him about who loves who more. 

Right now, everything can just be Ben and you on a couch, eating ice cream, and knowing that this—You and him, burning together—is forever.

End Note: Had to make the smart speaker an Alexa. We are in an Amazon based universe. I don’t think they sell Alexas at Costco, but we’ve established that Costco sells whatever I want it to sell. So, Alexas.

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[bunnivez]

-ˋˏ 𐔌 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𐦯 ˎˊ-

⟡ ݁₊ . 𝐀 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞, 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧; 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

⟢ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠.ᐟ �� Homophobia, Angst

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Grace, kind, strong, smart, obedient upon her parents. Any little girl’s dream is to be a princess, wear those beautiful high quality clothes, live in a palace and find their true love. You hated it though, if being a princess was all that good why are you unhappy? Isn’t it every girls dream? Why is it not yours?

‘Perhaps i’ve gone crazy’ is what you tell yourself, perhaps you aren’t grateful. It’s sad, really. Why must it be that a princess should marry royalty? Or a man? To continue the royal bloodline? Foolish. It pains you, it’s like a parasite eating you from the inside every time you look at her and remember she can’t be yours, nor can you be hers.

Why? Why was fate so cruel? Why did you have to fall in love with the one person you can’t have? A woman, a woman who fights for your country and serves for it. Your parents would never accept it, never; god knows what they’d do if they ever found it. Beat you? Or worse: remove her title as a knight and ruin her life.

You hated her, you hated her stupid short hair, her kind eyes, her lips you oh so want to taste, the smile she cracks when she see’s you, you hated the mornings you would see her walking her horse through your window, you hated her. You hated Cinnabar, but not as much as the fact that you can’t have her.

Would it be different if she was a guy? If she was royal? In another universe would she be able to touch you so lovingly, kiss you, hold you in her strong arms without being punished?

“You’re going to become a wonderful queen once you take the throne, princess. Whoever gets to marry you will surely be one lucky man.” Is what she once told you. It made you feel sick, you couldn’t tell her though. It would make things worse between you both and risky.

In another universe you’d be able to get married yo her, call her your wife, wake up next to her, run your fingers through those soft locks of hair—

“You’re getting married to Prince Philip.” Those words quickly made you snap, “What?” You asked. Your mother sighed,

“Lovely, we found you a proper prince for you. Prince Philip surely you remember him correct? He is a good gentleman, smart, kind, and seems to have interest in his people, your father and I have talked about it and we think he is a suitable husband for you.”

You wanted to cry, you wanted to throw the bowl of soup at them, turn the table over, rip your skin off, but you maintained a straight face. A princess must always be graceful, a princess must be obedient and not make a fuss to her parents.

When you made it to the privacy of your room however, it’s as if your walls crumbled all together. Tears can’t stop falling from your eyes, why did you fall in love? Was this a punishment? Because you fell in love with a woman? Because you fell in love with a mere knight who worked for your parents?

You sobbed against your pillow, you just couldn’t stop— when will it stop? Will there be a day you will finally forget about her and this pain in your stomach will go away?

You wish she was here. You cannot deny it. She’d run her fingers through your hair and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, “everything is going to be okay, my princess.” However that’s a foolish thing. She probably thinks you’re happy that you’ll marry someone as kind hearted at Philip, but he isn’t her. No matter how kind he is, how loyal, how charming he is; never will he compare to your Cinnabar.

You’ll just love her silently, watch her walk her horse in the mornings, try to catch her smiles, her cute tired face after training, imagine how sweet and perfect her lips would feel, the conversations you both have in your head.

Yeah, you’ll just love her silently. She will never know, you can’t tell her. You can’t grab her hands and elope with her, you can’t be that selfish to risk her life no matter how much you need her by your side.

You’ll just love her silently, imagine her naked body next to yours, whispering your name and touching you in your most intimate parts.

You’ll just love her silently.

⟢ 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐳 ᵎᵎ — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt any of my works without my permission and or confirmation: reblogs and hearts are appreciated ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

[be-xkyy]

Tw: unprotected sex, rough sex, jealousy, mild abuse, insults, reader bimbo.

Yandere bf! Jock who is the star captain of the school's football team.

He is truly the golden boy.

With his gorgeous smile, blue eyes, and dirty blonde hair. He is surrounded by girls constantly, beautiful girls but he only has eyes for his dumb cute cheerleader girlfriend, YOU.

Always sucking his dick before a game letting him film you as he cums all over your face, pumping his cock until ropes of thick cum paint your face ruining your makeup and staining your hair, he rubs his cock against your shiny lips.

“Ugh– that was so good– what do you say sweetie?”

“Thanks for cumming on my face daddy~”

He smiles when he sees you cheering him on during the game jumping up and down, he licks his lips when he sees your cute little ass and tits bouncing in that tight uniform, you wiggle your pom poms vigorously and blow him a kiss when you see him looking at you. So fucking sweet.

The one who fucks you in the empty locker room after every game, fucking you sweetly when he wins, sucking on your tits, leaving kisses and bites all over your neck as his cock buries deep inside you, he murmurs sweet nothings against your ear.

“Such a pretty girl– so sexy when she cheers on her man”

“God your pussy wants some attention, should I rub it? Of course she wants to fuck– she begs me to rub it”

“I'm gonna give you the best orgasm of your life babe, you'll be full of my cum until next week– Ha”

Oh... but when the team loses he's completely different.

Like now.

He drags you down the halls walking straight to the locker room pushing you inside roughly ignoring your whimper of pain as he locks the door, you rub your arm and try to talk to him “Baby that hurts–”

“Shut the fuck up bitch! What the fuck was that out there?! Were you flirting with the captain of the other team?!”

His voice is filled with anger, he looks at you with furious eyes and you try to back away when he gets closer which seems to annoy him more, he grabs you by the arms pushing you face down on the bench and growls against your hatred.

“Answer me fuck! What the fuck were you doing talking to him? Do you want to bounce on his dick just because he won? Huh?!”

“No! I just wanted to be nice–”.

“Liar! Shit you want to drive me crazy, is that it?! I'm not an idiot I know what I see!”

He yells at you not even letting you finish, he pulls down your extra shorts and panties hard scratching your legs, his hand quickly pulls out his cock the vein running through it is swollen and the weeping tip is red.

“I'm gonna fuck you until you come to your senses you stupid girl. There's no one like me! I'm the only one who would want a girl as dumb as you!”

With that he rams you in all the way, his cock touching your cervix and his balls slapping against your ass, he fucks you mercilessly as his hands squeeze your ass cheeks his fingers dig into your skin tomorrow you'll have bruises.

“Silly girl, acting like a whore... like she doesn't have her man watching her”

Annoyed murmurs escape his lips as he pounds into you like an animal in heat, you let out high pitched moans hiding your face in your arms, he fucks you like he wants to rearrange your insides. Your eyes roll back with each thrust that abuses your G-spot.

“Who’s the only one for you? Come on tell me who’s fucking you so good?”

He asks between gasps and grunts clearly getting close to the edge, your dumb brain takes a while to understand his question not being able to think of anything else but his cock deep inside your pussy, you reply between moans.

“You! You’re the only one for my daddy! You, you, you!”

“Good girl, at least you’re smart about something~”

Your walls clench at his words and you squeeze your eyes shut, your skin is hot and you feel fire in your veins, the orgasm is approaching and your toes curl as you cum your love juices wet his cock.

He growls as your walls clench tightly around his throbbing cock and as his body tenses with the impending orgasm he pulls out of your pussy pumping furiously as he explodes, covering your ass and back with his hot cum that stains your top.

“Shit— that was great, that's a nice pussy you have baby”

He says as he smears his cum all over your back and ass with his fingers and you hum tiredly but happily, the moment interrupted when someone tries to open the closed door, the handle turning vigorously.

“What are you doing in there? Open the door right now!”

Damn it, it's the coach...

[lyiswriting]

Plus size reader x stalker!OC

This is an original character! but I do get COD ghost and Ghostface vibes from him.

I finally caught him! The goddamn stalker that has been watching and freaking me out for months. I get that this might not have been my best idea but here we are! He's handcuffed to a chair and just looking at me. Watching my every move as I pace around the room indecisive if I should call the cops. Why do you do this? I ask sternly, I'm nervous but try not to show it but he knows better. Why not? Tilts his head, you're fucking gorgeous and entertaining. I scuffs that's not a good answer, there's a good answer to that?

Well...not exactly... I think you're precious, you hung the stars for me. Life has never been brighter, I love to watch your every move. How pretty you look asleep, cooking, reading, and writing. You fucking name it! His voice is rough and his eyes darken as he starts talking more. In the fucking shower he groans and throws his head back, even with his mask still on I can tell he's smirking. I look at him Your sick! Oh, but doll face you love every single second of it. I've read those books you fawn over, those are just fictional. He scuffs and shakes his head, maybe...but I laid in your bed, read your books when you didn't even know. I love your sheets and can't wait for when I get you in them.

You're a damn perv! As if that will ever fucking happen...I mumble as my hands shake trying to hold my phone steady. Once again, you love it. You love how I'm getting hard at just recalling all of this. That someone finally actually cares and loves you enough to lose his mind over you. To risk losing everything he has just because he can't stay away from you. Shifts in his seat look at how hard you have me, baby. I look at him shocked, how can he say that so casually. How can he be hard from all this!?

I don't get it, why go through all of this for me? I'm not special, not smart, not rich and totally not pretty according to society. Don't fucking say that! He suddenly barks making me jump. You are the epitome of gorgeous. He tilts his head as he starts to pant, I'm stupid for letting him keep talking. You think I would go through all of this for someone who isn't a diamond? For someone who looks like everyone else? He laughs and shakes his head no baby.

I'm being a nice guy to you and letting you fucking think you have the upper hand. So keep that little mouth of yours in check, he growls. I look at him and my body shaking in fear. Who the fuck do you think you are? I try to act tough, this is my house. You are the one that's handcuffed! I point at him as I walk closer I do have the upper hand! And what's wrong with me saying the truth? To the media I am not pretty,

I love your voice, he suddenly switched tones as he looks at me lovingly. I love the way you think, I love your body, no matter how big. I love every single mark and scar on it. You're my solstice. His soft tone suddenly goes rough again, but I won't let you talk about yourself in that way. I suddenly hear him grunt and something breaking. I back up as he stands the cuffs sitting on his wrists, broken.

[asheepinfrance]

i felt like trying out angst and decided on this. art was second on the poll so he was my victim oops. but also so are you! double homicide. anyways, like usual, please feel free to let me know any comments, critiques, concerns and/or silly little anecdotes. If you have any tips on how to properly express pain without sounding as goofy as this does, drop. that. shit. I'll be needing it. Thanks :)

He did this just about every time this happened, and it happened quite a bit. The routine has become well-worn the way a childhood stuffed animal does, fading what-used-to-be pinks and pastels now spattered brown with age. You’ve both got it down to the finest details: Art meets girl, he does his usual courtship strategy (following her around like a lost puppy), they go on a date that’s never followed up with a second one, and he cries into your lap about it. He claims he loves them, not that he knows exactly what that means. He certainly loves things, it’s not that that’s the issue. He loves tennis, Patrick, his grandma, you, and that’s all fine. He can never seem to pinpoint what being in love was, he just assumed he was smart enough to know. Most things came naturally to him, so why shouldn’t this?

He always apologizes when his breaths are no longer heaving, when he’s stopped wetting the cotton of your shorts with his tears and probably just a bit of snot. You always tell him not to worry, it’s not a problem, you love taking care of him and that’s all true. There is a problem, though, and it’s that this routine is about two seconds from driving you mental. You and Art have one key difference when it comes to this little dance: Art thinks he knows what love is and doesn’t, you know exactly what it is and you know he’ll never feel it back. So when he leaves, like he always does, with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and a kiss to the cheek, you have to close your eyes and pretend. Pretend to be this month’s object of affection. The latest Emily, Jessica, or whatever it may be that catches his attention.

For all your life, you can’t understand how Art doesn’t see what you do. Not necessarily in yourself, but in the two of you. After all, you two were always matching each other in some way. He found your dry humor hilarious, you found yourself giggling at just about every other word he said. He sought you out for comfort like you were a lifeline, you held him like it was a gift to have that privilege. And he knows this, because it’s what, in his head, makes you such a great friend.

When Art starts telling you about some girl named Tashi, you assume that the case will be a similar one. You prepare yourself to suit the name of Tashi, the way you’ve prepared yourself to suit all these other names. All these girls who don’t quite understand that his awkwardness is charming, and his sometimes poorly timed jokes are endearing. It almost kills you when he comes back from that stupid date and he wasn’t crying. He was beaming like he’d just seen the most gorgeous thing in the world. According to him, he had. When he sat himself on the edge of your bed, rambling on and on with moving hands and gleaming eyes, about how wonderful his stupid, saccharine life was, you pretended to listen. You gave him courtesy nods and little ‘Wow, she sounds great’s because that’s what a good, normal-feeling friend does, and he doesn’t seem to care that there’s no sign of you actually paying attention. You sit and stare at your full-length mirror, and observe. You grab your hair into a ponytail, turn side to side, observe the curve of your jaw, and decide that you’d never suit the name Tashi.

Tashi lasted months. Tashi never spoke to you outside of greetings. Tashi never laughed at him the way you did, and you could see it deflate his spirit just a little, though he’d regain it if she just looked his way. You wanted to hate her so badly, but you couldn’t. She’d done nothing wrong, technically, besides take from you what was never yours to keep. But it was yours to hold and covet during late-night movie watches, extra meal credit binge lunches, nights spent stargazing when the sky was just clear enough. He claimed to have never really noticed the stars until you made him look their way. He felt like he was yours to have in those moments of visible breaths in cold air. The worst part of it was that you understood where he was coming from, as much as you didn’t want to. She had something intangible to her, and everyone could feel it the second she walked into a room. He told you he loved her and you finally thought he was right. He told you, later that week, that they had gone stargazing when he told her so and you didn’t get a wink of sleep.

You stopped waiting on dreams that eluded you. You stopped waiting on Art to come to his senses, or maybe he had. Maybe that epiphany had been Tashi. For your own sake, you hope it was. At least she seemed worth the pain it’d cause you. Still, Tashi and Art fizzled out on their own time, not that you stayed to watch that fire burn out. Art texted you, as he always did, when they ended things, amicably and painfully bittersweet. ‘Out with friends sorry :))’ was your response, sent from the corner booth of some bar that you didn’t really want to be in. He finally started caring that night.

You and Art always matched, and he’d always noticed. He supported you in everything you did, you were front row to each and every one of his matches, screaming your head off. You bring him the pencils he always forgets to grab for notes, he brings you that spearmint gum you always snag a piece of from his room. You’d been in love with him, and he’d only just found that capacity to love you back.

You and Art always matched, even at the worst of times, because he saw the way you look at him lose that softness he’d always felt so protected by. He saw the way that mystery guy took the seat across from you at the table you both used to eat in every night, and you didn’t seem to fight him off. He saw that he got the permission to lean over and press a less-than-satisfying looking kiss to your lips, and he didn’t feel hungry anymore. You and Art always matched, because you had been left hanging in your love for him, and he was now stranded in his love for you.

[mujeans]

LOVE-SPY ✦ YJW

SYNOPSIS ✦ when you meet yang jungwon, he’s the epitome of your type. smart, respectful, crazy talented with instruments. when he flirts with you, you don’t hesitate to flirt back. so obviously, there’s gotta be some mutual attraction, right? well, that was what you thought — until he asked you to find out whether his best friend liked him back.

TAGS ✦ jungwon x f!reader, smau, friends to lovers, more than friends less than lovers, situationship, university au

WARNINGS ✦ swearing, dirty jokes, kys jokes, family issues, jungwon isn’t the greenest flag but we move, others will be listed above chapters

STATUS ✦ starting soon!

AUTHOR’S CORNER ✦ hello... i didn't think i'd ever write for enhypen [again] but here we are el oh el 😂 loyal to jungwon 4ever ig! uni is beating my ass so idk how consistent i will be 🙏 this is based on what is happening to me rn (sos)

CHAPTERS ✦ 01 the gingerbread yn ; 02 mystery guy ; 03 girl (space) friends ; 04 as if a man can talk ; 05 ill be there ; 06 #ilovewomen ; 07 our empath queen ; 08 more than ; 09 boys are so stupid ; 10 welcome home cheater ; 11 casual ; more tba…

TAGLIST ✦ @squiishymeow (comment, send an ask, or dm to be added!)

[desos-records]

that alternate ending version of Under the Red Hood (2010) where Talia gives Damian to Jason for some ungodly reason always makes me laugh because Jason is like. I'm going to turn Bruce's son into something horrible just to spite him and says this while holding an infant that can't be more than a month old, like. no, Jay, you're gonna get two days into surrogate fatherhood before your instincts take over and you're finding a better safe house in a better neighborhood so you can build a proper nursery and get Damian into a proper pre-K when he's older. the pit can't erase the fact you died trying to save the mother who gave you up or the fact that a mother has just given up her son to you. and by the time any of that gets through your red fiberglass skull, you'll find yourself standing in the grocery store deciding whether you should buy Dami a bat stuffie just to be funny

[buriedwithit]

his frown struggles to fade. stupid doesn't seem right—he's met plenty of people that seem, are, very smart and still seem uncomfortable around, if not afraid of, him. "maybe," he says, noncommittal. he doesn't know what else to say about it. it seems a little silly to defend the very same people that she's defending him from. he thinks she even says it kindly, in a well-meaning sort of way. "um... i think so, yeah. that's nice of you to say." fins even perks up a little at the thought. even if most people don't like him ( let alone... more than like him, he can't bring himself to think on love ) there has to be someone out there who does. "i hope you're right. maybe it's a little silly of me, but it's one of my greatest wishes."

“Well, a lot of people are stupid!” It’s a childish way to go about things but sometimes it really is just simple as that. His sudden reluctance doesn’t go unnoticed, and as he spoke again it’s clear to them where his worries lie. Kei crosses their arms, brows furrowed in concentration. “Like… Like like you? I wouldn’t be surprised if someone already does. You’re thoughtful and sweet.” They shrugged. “I dunno much about all this mushy gushy stuff but it’s not as impossible as you’d think!”

[solidaritygaming-fanblog]

btw do yourself a favor and never think "haha someone should make a compilation of everytime Jimmy says something self depreciating!" Because any time he says he hates himself you'll feel sick to your stomach and want to cry. Totally not speaking from experience

[blackthorn-faerie]

I am a frequent indulger in University AUs, and Aventurine is always depicted as a business student. I love to see it, but to me, he is a high school dropout who somehow managed to work his way into a recruiting position in a mega corporation (the IPC lol) and is frequently at the university for hiring fairs and things

[mathes0n]

My partner asked me to draw evil Wheatley

[blackbatcass]

the thing about dickroy is it’s at this delicious little cross section where roy harper loves dick grayson so much his chest is going to explode one of these days AND ALSO is physically incapable of taking any of dick’s bullshit.

[runespoor7]

Do think it's very crunchy that WWX only defends his new flavor of the month in the ancestral hall. Not himself. Not WN, to whom JC did arguably have a life debt and for whom WWX did dump JC. Not any of these old things; just the shiny new hot powerful protective dude that he doesn't have any meaningful preexisting bond with and that he's been falling for since returning and running away from his previous life.

Just the perfect, serene blank slate of novelty (and the guilty undercurrent of once again feeling something that isn't socially acceptable and won't be welcome).

[persephone-and-hades]

I acquired a delightful dumbass in December and I love him - even if he keeps using my glasses as his own personal climbing frame.

This is Bumblebee, my Ball Python - he's only a few months old so he's still so Small 💖💖