#i woke up stupid early too so all i have been doing is just Waiting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 22 days

Text

Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: I’d like to dedicate this Chapter to Eric Kripke. This one’s for you. Bitch. Chapter Title from Under Pressure By Queen & David Bowie.

Word Count: 21.6k (I'm crazy. I'm on a roll. I haven't slept more than 4 hours.)

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Ben get's a phone, and Victoria Neuman undergoes big changes. Usual warnings. Also somnophilia? Kind of? You'll see.

Read on A03!

Chapter 12 - Chapter 14

This was going to be a very long, entertaining day.

You get up early in the morning, sneaking downstairs to grab the phones you’d left abandoned after last night’s fight and subsequent not-fight. Kissing. You’d kissed Ben.

A lot.

It didn’t feel real. It had been real—you were sure of it—because you woke up on Ben’s chest and could still feel the ghost of his lips on yours. It was real because his arms were wrapped around your waist, and his hands were slightly under your shirt so his fingers brushed your skin. He hadn’t done that before, touched you like that in his sleep. He’d mostly rolled up to you like a very large dog, never touching your skin unless you fell asleep with him already doing so. You’d never been sure if it was purposeful, subconscious, or just something you were overthinking. Just coincidental, simply a byproduct of how he’d essentially throw himself on top of you, tangling blankets and creating natural barriers between your bodies.

But this touch felt purposeful. This touch felt important. Careful and low on your back and different. It was undeniable evidence that last night had been real and not simply another dream.

It took a lot of effort to get out of bed. There was the physical game, where you had to remove yourself from Ben’s grasp without waking him up. It involved slow and measured movements, a lot of stopping and waiting when he shifted or snored a little too loud, and several reevaluations of your methods when Ben just pulled you tighter against him.

Then there was the mental game. Where the question wasn’t could you leave the bed, logistically, but did you even want to? Was it really worth it for two stupid phones? Here you had to convince yourself that you’d woken up to Ben holding you many times before, and this wasn’t any different. This was the same, really. Semantically. You’d be back soon anyway. It would barely be three minutes to go to the living room, grab the phones, and return. But he wasn’t making it easy. He kept bringing you closer, kept making disgruntled sounds when you got a little too far away, and his warm and rough hands on your skin made it hard to do anything that would take them away from you. At one point you were pushing yourself away from Ben’s chest—so close to being home free and able to roll out of the bed—and you brushed up against his morning wood.

You had to take a few deep breaths before you could start moving again.

After a tremendous amount of mental effort, some very strategic and well-timed squirming, and another quarter hour you’d gotten out of Ben’s arms and fallen down to the floor. You’d stood up slowly, tiptoed to the door, and all but ran down the stairs. The phones had fallen under the couch and between the cushions during last night’s events, and you managed to fish them out in only a few minutes. The mission was successful, because you’d gotten the phones in faster than you’d thought you would and Ben was still none the wiser to your absence. Sure, your phone was dead and Ben’s was covered in dust, but you had a charger on your bedside table and Ben would have to just be grateful he got a phone.

Now, you’re climbing up the stairs in soft steps, both phones in hand. When you open the door to your room you start a little, because you see Ben sitting up against the headboard and giving you a frown that borders on a pout, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Good morning,” you say cautiously, scanning his face as you lean against the now-closed door with your hands behind your back.

“Where did you go?”

You blink at Ben’s grumble. “Downstairs? I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Why,” Ben snaps, and you realize that—despite the sleep lingering in his eyes—he’s upright, hands clenched at his side, leaning forwards slightly. You can even hear something edged into his voice as he continues. “What the fuck were you doing.”

There’s a warm, humming feeling of need and comfort in your gut. It’s trying to move you towards Ben, to pull the frown off his face with your lips, but it’s not stronger than the spark in your chest. The little, bright desire that makes you feel light. That feeds off of Ben’s deep voice and surly behavior and just him.

“Aw,” you tilt your head at him with a mocking smile. “Did you miss me?”

His frown deepens. “No.”

“I think you missed me. I think you’re grumpy because you woke up and I wasn’t there.”

His scowl is almost adorable. “I’m not fucking grumpy.” You raised your brows at him with a light, teasing grin on your face. “Shut up.”

You hum. “If you keep whining I’m not giving you your gift.”

“Gift?”

You give Ben a grin. “Guess who earned phone privileges.” You don’t wait for his response before pushing off the door and presenting the phone dramatically. “It starts with you and ends with cunt.”

You throw the phone to him, walking towards the bed as you do, and he catches it with ease. “Brat.”

“Just for that I’m not telling you what your passcode is.”

“Passcode?”

“Oh shut up,” you give him a flat look, dropping on the edge of the mattresses. “You know what a passcode is.”

“Phones don’t have passcodes. You open them with your face.”

You snort at Ben’s indignant expression. “Your face?”

“That’s how you fucking open yours,” Ben glances between the phone in his hand and you, holding his gaze as you slowly scooting across the bed to plug your own phone in. “I’m not a goddamn idiot-“

“Then open it.” You nod at the phone, clenched in Ben’s hand. “If I’m wrong, just open it.”

He gives you one last glare, tapping the screen roughly. The phone lights on, displaying a picture of his shield where it's still resting in your bathroom. Ben blinks at the screen, before looking up at you with a frown.

“That’s my shield.”

“I know,” you scan his face, trying to gauge his reaction without touching him. You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to choose a wallpaper for Ben’s phone. A band logo felt weird, you’d considered just a stock photo of the Grand Canyon several times, and there was no way you were about to just put his face there. That would’ve meant scrolling through a lot of old Soldier Boy promotional photo shoots, and you had already missed him enough. That would’ve just been cruel to you. Eventually you’d decided the shield was a safe bet, and just taken a photo of it as a placeholder. He could change it later, but you still really wanted him to like it. Which was annoying, because it was just a photo, and he didn’t even know—nor did he have to ever know—how much effort had gone into it. You’d deleted several angles you deemed bad and shots you thought were blurry. He better like it, because that was fifteen minutes of your life you’d never get back.

Ben looked back at the photo with a frown. “How did you get that?”

You blink. “What, the photo?”

He grunts in affirmation, still staring at the screen.

“I took it?” You say slowly, and he looks up at you.

“With what. How did it get there.”

“With a camera? You’re not that old,” you meet Ben’s surly frown with a small smile, nudging his shoulder. A mistake, because his confusion runs through you with something rough and easy that sits in your chest. “You’ve definitely seen a camera before. You lived in front of cameras.”

“Cameras are big. I’d have fucking notice if you had one.”

“Welcome to the wonders of modern technology,” you reach over his body, flipping the phone over in his hand and tapping the lenses. “Phones have cameras now.”

You look back up at Ben with a grin, and find him still watching you. The rough and easy thing is growing strong through where you’re touching, and your faces are a lot closer together than you’d realized.

“So, um,” you can’t make yourself move, the intensity of Ben’s gaze locking you against him. “I took the photo. I can show you how-“

From the corner of your eye, you see Ben drop the phone just before he kisses you. His hand moves up, cupping your face to angle it where he wants you, and you let him. Because this is real, and it makes your head spin happily. There’s no noise in your head about trying to notice everything around you and fit it into a puzzle, no reeling about what Ben’s thinking. Because you’re falling against his back, leaning over his shoulder, and his lips are soft against yours. All you feel is Ben.

When he pulls back, he has a smug grin on his face. “I can’t believe it’s that easy to shut you up. I should’ve done this months ago.”

“Fuck you,” you try and snap, but the words come out breathless and lustful. “Stop trying to distract me-“

“You don’t seem to be stopping me,” he winks, and you knee him in the back.

“Shut it. Open the phone.”

He rolls his eyes, but picks it up from his lap. He manages to figure out that you need to swipe up himself, and you feel the tight frustration grow in him when the passcode display pops up. You wait several minutes, letting Ben glower at the screen as he aggressively taps it. That frustration builds in him and you feel it move to coil in your stomach from where you still lean over his shoulder.

“Ready to admit defeat?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, hitting another set of random numbers with a rigid hand. The words too many failed attempts, try again in 1 minute cover the screen, and Ben’s grip on the phone tenses, enough that you’re surprised the screen doesn’t crack. “What does that fucking mean.”

“It means you don’t know the passcode, so the phone is locked for a minute. If you get it wrong four more times, all the data gets erased.”

He turns his head to glare at you. “Fix it.”

“Say you were wrong.”

“No.”

You shrug, “then I’m not fixing it.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

“Right back at you, Pretty Boy. Say you were wrong.”

“I was fucking wrong. Fix it.” His voice is low, gravely and annoyed with clipped words, but you can still feel the jagged affection in him. So you smile sweetly, grabbing the phone from his hand as the minute ends.

You’re hanging around him, body pressed right against his back, head resting on his shoulder, and arms reaching around his neck as you hold the phone up for you both to see. “It’s 696969,” you enter each number as you speak. “Easy to remember. I can set up the face thing for you later, if you want.”

He grunts, taking the phone back as you return it to his hand. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with it.”

“Whatever you want, I guess. I put in all the contacts you need, and downloaded some apps-“

“Apps? What the fuck are apps?”

“Jesus,” you mutter to yourself, fully realizing you’re going to have to walk Ben through this like he’s a toddler. “Apps are an abbreviation for applications. You put them on your phone for different things, like texting or entertainment or shopping.”

“I don’t need entertainment. I have you.”

His words, paired with the firm way he says them—like simple and obvious fact—make you feel warm and dizzy, but you just hum. “Then just don’t use it for that. It’s your phone, Ben, you do what you want with it.”

“What do you use it for?” His hand comes up to hold your arm around him as he frowns at you.

“My phone?” You have to clarify, because he’s so close and there’s no way he’s not touching you like that on purpose. Trying to make it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Fucking obviously.”

You whack his chest with your free arm. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

You try to tune out how his hand is starting to rub against your arm, now certain he’s doing it deliberately. “I don’t know, what does anyone use phones for? Texting, music, photos, social media, porn-“

“Porn? You use this for porn?”

“Everyone does. There’s lots of porn on the internet, and the internet is on your phone.”

“What kind of porn?”

“All of it,” you shrug. “If you can think of it, it’s a safe bet it’s on there.”

“No,” Ben tugs you forward a little further, grinning cockily. “What kind of porn do you use?”

You gape at him like a fish. “I, uh, I dunno. Regular porn?”

“You can be more fucking specific than that,” his smile is growing, and you can feel his amusement growing with lust. You have to stop yourself drooling as you respond, because his hunger in your gut is making you thirsty, and his face is so unfairly attractive and distractingly close to yours.

“I am not sharing my porn habits with you, Ben.”

“Why the hell not?” He says your name and it vibrates through you. “I can promise you, it won’t be something I haven’t fucking seen before. If it’s porn, I’ve seen it.”

That makes you snort. “I doubt that.”

The hunger in Ben grows, moving down, down, down into you. “What kind of freaky shit are you into that I wouldn’t have seen, Sunshine?”

“No, that’s not-“ you take a deep breath, because you need to defend yourself, and that’s hard to do when everything feels hot and aching. “There’s like, a lot of porn on the internet. A lot. And I can promise you there’s some shit that even you’ve never seen.”

“Promise?” You can’t meet Ben’s eyes as he teases you, because you can feel the strength of his desire and that alone is making you feel faint and feverish. Looking at him would be counterproductive. “That’s a dangerous fucking promise to make, beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

He hums. “I think you need to prove it.” You don’t answer, still refusing to let yourself look at him, and Ben tugs at your arm slightly. “Can you fucking prove it?”

“It is not my job to prove that the internet has porn,” you manage to mumble, and he chuckles.

“Maybe not, but I think we’re a little fucking past only doing things for our jobs.”

“Fuck you.”

Suddenly, Ben is pulling you around his body, using his hold on your arm to spin you into his lap. His other hand moves up, running through your hair and pulling your head up to look at him, and his whole face is alight with almost ravenous hunger. You can’t look away, even if you wanted to. He leans forward, until he’s just a fraction of an inch from you, and whispers, “All you have to do is fucking ask, and you can.”

You can’t stop yourself from grabbing his shirt, forcing him forward to close the space between you. This kiss isn’t quite as brutal as last night, but that doesn’t mean it’s not just as desperate. Your legs wrap around Ben’s torso, trying to bring him closer as he tugs at your hair to make your head move further back. His arm is back around you, pushing you up against him as he groans into your mouth, and it makes you moan in response. You can feel him, growing hard against your ass as he sucks on your lower lip, and you’ve never felt a devouring need as strong as the one in Ben that’s climbing through your blood and up your spine. It takes every single sliver and bit of willpower you possess to not just give into him, let Ben just keep going until every part of you is flooded with just him and his body.

It’s just lust, a small voice ringings in your head. Not what you have. Only lust.

But that sharp and loud feeling in Ben’s chest is still there. It’s pushing against the lust, making it bigger. And he’s right here, and breathing raggedly into your mouth. His muscles are rippling around you, and his whole body is controlled like he’s holding himself back. He feels so good, and all he’s doing is kissing you. It would be so easy to make him feel like this, to return all he’s giving you by touching him where he’s pushing into your skin.

But if you do that, you’ll just be falling further. You’d already failed to stop yourself just tasting him in the simplest way. If you reached down, even if you were just giving him your hand, that would be another thing you’d need to have forever. Another thing that made you need more.

So when Ben pulls back, first just taking a sharp breath before leaning back down for one last, wet, heavy kiss before resting his forehead against yours, you have to chose your words carefully, picking them out and saying them slowly.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?“ You ask, your heart still pounding in your ears.

“Okay with what?” He grunts, and you almost moan just from his voice. Deep and hoarse and just as needy as you feel.

“This being it right now. Not, you know,” you glance down pointedly. “More.”

“Of fucking course I am.” Ben sounds offended, like the answer no is unfathomable to him. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be.”

“Because, uh,” you lean back a little to fully meet his eyes, your voice unsteady. “You’re you.”

He scowls, and you can feel his frustration return like a train crashing into you. Tight and sour in his chest. “What the fuck does that mean.”

It’s hard to keep looking at him. “You founded herogasm. 40% of what you say is some sort of innuendo. It’s not bad,” your own voice is anxious, because you think, know, that you want Ben—just physically, not to mention the other part—more than he wants you. If this pushes him away, makes him stop kissing you until your mouth is slightly swollen and you’re aching, you’d hate yourself for taking that away from you. “It’s really not. But I just, I can’t do the uh, bigger stuff,” bad word choice, because you can still feel him against your thigh and now all you can think about is shifting to bring him closer. “So I just, I just want to make sure this is enough. For you.”

The sourness is still in him, but his voice isn’t bitter or angry when he speaks. It’s almost stern. “You fucking trust me, yeah?”

“Of course I do.” The words had barely left his mouth when you answer, your response almost instinctual.

“Then believe me when I say that I’m more than damn fine with this.”

You shake your head. “It’s more complicated than that, Ben-“

“No it’s not. I want this, you want this. I’m not going to lie and say I don’t also want to fuck you, because I’m not a damn pussy and I really fucking do.” He pushes his hips upwards to emphasize the evidence against you, and you have to bite down a whine. “You don’t have a goddamn clue how fucking bad I want you. But I’m not going to make you do a damn thing you don’t want.”

“I do want,” your words are weak, and you can’t stop them falling out of you. “Want you. I want you. But it’s just, I can’t-“

“Is this enough for you?” Ben says your name, scanning your face with that look that strings every piece of you apart for him to have.

No.

“Yes.”

He nods roughly, moving you a little further up against his chest. “Then stop asking stupid questions.”

Being so close to him makes every part of you a little higher—a little—and it’s easy to say, “make me.”

Ben laughs, and it’s loud and smooth and comfortable. “Brat.”

You open your mouth to say something, probably, but any and all words are forgotten when his mouth slams back into yours. In only a heartbeat his arms tighten under yours as his knee is pushing you further upwards by your ass, standing up off the bed with one steady and fluid movement. You can hear the sound of his phone falling to the ground, but can’t really bring yourself to care because Ben’s dropping his head to your neck and sucking at it as he walks you backwards, sitting you with surprising care against the dresser. He’s running his hands up your back, into your hair, holding you still while his mouth finds your collarbone. Kissing a line across it and making you moan right into his ear-

A small, annoyed sound escapes your throat when he pulls back with a lazy grin. “Yogurt and toast?”

“Wha…” You trail off, your brain struggling to return to speech in the fog of Ben still holding your thigh and tracing a thumb across your cheekbone.

“Yogurt and toast.”

“I heard you,” you frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ben moves forwards just a quarter-step, and you’re made aware of the fact that he’s standing between your legs. “Breakfast. What the fuck else could I be talking about.”

“I don’t know, I just wasn’t thinking about breakfast.”

“What were you thinking about?”

You shove at his chest, and he doesn’t even pretend to be affected. “Fuck you.”

“I could’ve guessed that,” Ben winks, and your whole face becomes heated.

“You can’t just make that same joke every time I say that,” you manage to grumble. “It’s not going to get funnier.”

“It’s not supposed to be funny, it’s supposed to make you horny,” he scans your body slowly, leaning into his, thighs pressed together, hands grabbing at his shirt. “And I’d say it’s doing its job real fucking well.”

“Fuck-“ you scowl as you cut yourself off. His eyes return to yours, glowing with the smug, satisfied feeling you can feel near his gut. You stick your tongue out at him as a backup plan, which immediately backfires because Ben nips at it quickly before kissing you one last time. It’s messy and long and the moment you completely give into it he’s gone.

“Get changed,” Ben tells you as he walks towards the hallway door. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“You’re a fucking tease!” you call after him, and his snort echoes through the house.

It only takes you a minute to change, time that is mostly spent collecting yourself and checking your now-charged phone. There’s a testing message from Mallory that you give thumbs up to, a simple hi from Kimiko you respond to with a smile, and a very long and detailed text from Annie about the details of Stand Edgar’s deal that you decide to read later in favor of Butchers more to-the-point words.

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Soldier Boy’s blasting Neuman for Edgar. Need a day to set it up, then we move. Can’t let word get to her.

You pick Ben’s phone up from where it had landed just under the bed, and make your way downstairs. Ben is waiting for you in the kitchen, sitting at the counter and glaring at the doorway before he sees you. His mouth opens to say something when you come into view, but before he can you’re throwing his phone to his face without warning.

He catches it—You’d hadn’t bothered to worry about if he would, because you’d see him catch a knife out of the air while stomping up the stairs—and gives you an annoyed frown. “You changed too slow.”

“You didn’t give me a time limit,” you walk around to sit beside him as you speak. “Butcher says they only need a day before we move on Neuman.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Lovely. Open your phone.”

“Why,” he grumbles, and you shrug.

“To prove you were listening and remember the passcode.”

Ben rolls his eyes, but glares down at the device in his hand. You watch in amusement as his face draws into a focused frown, angrily smashing the numbers on the display with his forefinger. When it unlocks he looks at you with a self-satisfied grin. “Fucking piece of cake.”

“Uh huh,” you give him a mocking nod and smile. “Now send a text.”

“A text?”

“If you’re such a tech savant, send a text,” your smile becomes genuine and toothy as his eyes narrow at your teasing. “One, simple fucking text. Whatever you want, to whoever you want.”

Ben holds your grin with his glower before glancing back at the phone. “Whatever I want?”

“That’s what I said. I can help if you ask very nicely.”

Ben looks back at you, his expression remarkably determined. “I can do it my fucking self. Shut up and eat your breakfast.”

Only as Ben’s pushing the food closer towards you—attention now entirely focused on the phone—do you see it. He’s put yogurt on a plate, something that he’s done several times before and seems to have no interest in stopping, no matter how many times you tell him it’s just plain weird. There’s a slight improvement in that he has made some sort of attempt to separate the yogurt from the toast, laying the spoon between them in an attempted barrier. The result is almost nothing, if anything now you just have to deal with a yogurt-covered spoon, but it’s still confusingly heart-warming. The gentle feeling that grows in your chest is only spurred on by glancing at Ben’s plate—hardly touched and forgotten in front of him—and seeing that he has just a little less yogurt than you and that there’s no jam on his toast.

“Ben?” you ask slowly, and he grunts in a signal to keep talking. “Where’s your jam?”

“What the fuck are you talking about. Is this slang I’m supposed to learn, because I’d rather you shove a fucking bomb up my ass-“

“It’s not slang, dummy. Your literal jam. That you always put on your toast. Where is it?”

“We ran out.”

You stare at your own toast, almost drowning in red jam. “And the yogurt?”

“What about the yogurt?”

“You barely have any.”

He’s not looking up as he responds, “Out of that shit as well.”

You blink at him. “We got groceries yesterday.”

“It’s not my goddamn fault Mallory’s a terrible fucking shopper-“

“No, I don’t care about that. I can just text her later. Why’d you give me all the stuff?”

“You need to eat.” Ben’s answer is flat and bored.

“So do you. You have the metabolism of a hummingbird-“

That makes him look up. “A hummingbird?”

“They have famously high metabolism, they have to eat two times their body weight daily. But that’s not the point-“

“Why do you know that?” He sounds bemused, frowning at you.

You give a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know, why does anyone know anything. Ben, you need to eat as-“

“You know so much weird shit.” You can’t read his tone, and have to fight the urge to touch him and find out if he’s annoyed or bored or amused-

Shaking your head, you manage to move on. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Maybe.” Ben’s shoulder nudges yours. “But it’s not my fault it’s real fucking easy to do it.”

You’re gaping at him a little—he’s looking at the phone again with a thin-lipped frown of concentration—because all you felt when your shoulders connected, arms brushing, was simple affection. Pure and sitting in his chest and head like air. It’s making the small voice reminding you not to try and make this go further harder to hear, making you need to know more. You’re about to say something, push him for what he meant by his comment, why he put the extra food on your plate, maybe circle back to the question pounding in your head of why are you okay with just this. I’m glad you are, I’m unspeakably grateful, but why. You shouldn’t be. Fucking hell, Ben, I’m barely okay with this. I haven’t told you why I need this, not really, so why in living hell are you happy with just this?

But your phone buzzes before you can.

Ben looks up at you with a pleased, cocky smirk. “Check your phone, Sunshine.”

You pick it up off the table—angling the screen away from Ben so he can’t see his contact name—and glance up at his straight, self-satisfied posture and smug face before you read his text.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You look hot when your being annoying

You read it a few times before you look up at him. “You used the wrong you’re. It should have an apostrophe, it’s a contraction.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“What am I supposed to say?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “Thank you?”

“Or that I’m hot. Return the fucking compliment. I worked hard on it, and texting is fucking stupid.”

You roll your eyes. “Your compliment sounds like you're a teenager who just found out his dick wasn’t just for pissing.”

Ben frowns, picking up his phone again. You watch him type at little faster this time, still one finger at a time but with an almost zealous focus. Your phone buzzes again, and he looks up at you with an intense gaze and speaks with sharp words. “Read that one.”

You sigh, but do.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You are so beautiful that if I got to fuck you a thousand times it would only make you more beautiful so I’d keep fucking you forever

You stare at it for a second, because it’s so shockingly sweet and graphic it’s making your body incredibly confused. Half of you is moved, and wants to kiss him gently and smile at him until he says something like that again. The other half want him to fuck you right here, then on the floor, then in the hallway, then on the stairs, and on and on until you’ve covered the whole house.

“Better?” He grunts, and you look up at him with a heated face.

“Yeah, um. Yeah.” You give a dry laugh. “And here I thought I wasn’t your type.”

That makes him scowl, and his voice is an annoyed grumble. “What made you fucking think that.”

“For one, all my teeth are real and I can walk without a cane.”

Ben’s face becomes a little lighter. “I fuck one old lady in front of Butcher and Cocksucker and all you dumbass idiot pussies think I only fuck old ladies.”

“No, I just think it’s hilarious.”

“Well, you’re not a fucking idiot,” He mutters, and your smile must look downright insane.

“And your compliment game is getting better by the second,” you bite into your toast, speaking through crumbs. “Am I allowed to teach you about internet slang? Or are you going to shove a bomb up your ass.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you fucking want, Sunshine,” Ben shrugs.

“So that’s a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You roll your eyes. “Ben,” you exaggerate his name in your drawl, leaning forward as you swallow. “If I were to try and teach you about the internet, would you listen to me or be a huge fucking baby about it.”

He rolls his eyes. “I am not a fucking baby-“

“I said huge fucking baby.”

“Shut the fuck up. And you couldn’t make me learn about internet slang if you cut off my dick,” Ben winks. “Which, as I’ve been damn telling you, would hurt you more than me.”

“I don’t think you know how pain works,” you mutter, taking another bite.

“My point still fucking stands.”

You examine Ben carefully. “What if I asked nicely? Would you listen then?”

“No.”

“What if I said please.”

“I don’t care.”

“Why not?” You pout. “What if I said it’s important to me?”

Ben snorts. “This isn’t fucking important to you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ben leans forward until he’s only a breath away. “You just want to try and teach me shit. Even though it never fucking works out for you.”

“Really?” You hum. “Because you just sent me a text on a phone, Pretty Boy. Could you do that in December?”

“You sure think mighty high of yourself, Sunshine. I could’ve figured it out my goddamn self.”

“I think highly of myself,” you smile, moving close enough that your lips are brushing Ben’s but never fully touching. “Because I’m right.”

Ben grunts, staring at your mouth like he can will it to be closer. “Brat.”

You don’t miss a beat. “Cunt. You know, I wouldn’t just teach you about slang. I could show you where to find the porn.”

“I thought that wasn’t your fucking job?”

“It isn’t,” Neither of you will close that final gap. You’re not touching, but you can feel the heat from Ben’s body, hear his breathing turn heavy. “But I can see a few ways in which it could benefit me.”

Ben’s eyes shoot to yours, and his voice is a growl. “Like what.”

“I could tell you, or just show you,” you twist your face in mock concern. “But that would be teaching you and that never works out for me-“

You know you’ve won—the game you’d fallen into and the argument—because Ben kisses you. Rough and consuming, pushing his mouth to yours with a feral sound and holding your jaw with a firm hand. You let him pull you closer, relaxing into his touch and taste and smell and everything. It’s all just Ben. Picking you up with one arm, standing without ever parting from you, letting your hands scratch at his back and neck as he only kisses you more. You might be grinding against him because he groans, and his grip starts to crush you into his body. You whimper when he bounces you further up his body, making you angle your head down to stay connected to his mouth. To keep that hunger eating you in the best possible way. To keep the roar in your heart climbing up into your head and making everything so simply Ben. Coffee and salt and strawberries and Ben.

He pulls back so abruptly you whine, and scans your face with narrow eyes. “We’re going to try something.”

“How specific,” your grumble is breathless, but your glare at least feels strong. “Are you going to tell me what that means?”

“If you would be patient for once in your damn life, I’d have told you already.”

“Fuck yo-“ His splits into a wide grin, and you know you didn’t cut yourself off in time.

“That’s actually a part of this, Sunshine.” Ben starts to walk out of the kitchen, still holding you slightly above him. “Aren’t you just a fucking genius.”

You frown at him. “I thought you were okay without-“

“I told you to stop fucking asking that,” Ben snaps, squeezing his grip around your waist and on your thighs. You can feel the resolved stone feeling running around you with that same bitterness from before. “You told me you trust me, prove it. Stop asking stupid questions about if I’m okay with this when I obviously fucking am.” He stops in the middle of the dining room. “Understood?”

“Understood,” you mumble, and Ben rolls his eyes before kissing you again. This one is quick, and even though it only lasts a second you’re still burning when he pulls away.

“Try again, like you actually fucking mean it this time.”

Even as you wrinkle your nose at him, your voice becomes louder and you believe you more. “Understood.”

“Good,” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let you go. “We’re going to do a new reward system.”

You blink at him—your head still in a little of a daze—unsure if you heard correctly. “What?”

“No more favors. You keep using them for stupid shit like TV and making me read.” Ben’s face scrunches in disgust at the very memory of books. “This will be more effective anyway.”

“You still haven’t told me what this is. It might be dogshit. It might get you burnt a lot today.” Even as you snark at him, you have a feeling you know exactly what he’s talking about. And you will never tell him that he’s right. If this is going where you think it’s going, it will definitely be effective.

“It’s not,” Ben lowers you down his body, not letting go until your feet are steady on the ground. “And I’m not too worried about burns. We’re not working on that today.”

That catches you off guard. “We’re not?”

“Nope,” Ben leans down to your eye level with a wide, cocky smile. “You’re going to sing, whatever the hell you want, and you’re going to control it.”

“I can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” Ben’s tone is firm. “You will. Even if it takes us a hundred goddamn years, you will.”

You want to argue. You might just literally not be able to control it. That might simply be a part of the power. But Ben also said a hundred years. A hundred years that you would get to have him. So you can only mumble a protest of, “I really can’t control it now. I might, uh, make stuff happen you don’t want to see.”

“What could I possibly not want to see,” Ben says, giving you an incredulous look. “Sex? Death? Torture? Which of those do you think would make me gasp like a pussy grasping their fucking Sunday pearls.”

“That’s not what I meant, you dick. It might be emotional. More than just lights and dancing. Intim-“ You stumble over yourself, because that word might be too much. “It might just be parts of me you don’t want to see.”

“I think I’ll fucking manage,” Ben drawls, and you sigh.

“Benjamin-“

“Don’t Benjamin me,” Ben snaps your name. “There’s not a thing you could show me that would make me walk away now. You burn, I burn. Not controlling this is something that makes you more afraid Homelander.”

Not a question, but you nod nervously. “I guess, yeah.”

“Then we’re going to make it better.” Ben takes a large step back, and you tilt your head at him.

“You still haven’t actually told me what the new reward system is.”

He winks, “do one thing on purpose, and I’ll let you teach me two things about my phone.”

“You’ll let me?” You scoff. “That feels like it’s more beneficial to you than me.”

“Well, I’ll also suck on your beautiful fucking face until you’re begging me to fuck you. And then I won’t, because I’m a gentleman. And you wouldn’t be of sound mind.”

“Cunt.” You grumble, and he just shrugs with a smirk.

“Brat.”

“How will you know I did something on purpose?” You cross your arms, wrinkling your nose at him. “I could just lie.”

“What a good fucking point,” Ben says your name, grin never dropping. “This is why you’re the brains.”

“I thought I was the beauty. You were very bitchy about that.”

“You’re all three, and I’m the pimp. Tell me what you’re going to be trying to make happen.”

You scowl. “I don’t fucking know, I didn’t have time to prepare an idea-“

“It doesn’t have to be fancy. Just whatever pops into your damn head.”

“But-“

“We can fight about this all fucking day,” Ben shrugs. “Or you can say what you’re thinking in three, two-“

“Strawberries!” You blurt, glaring at him. “Fucking strawberries.”

His brows raise. “Strawberries?”

“You said whatever pops into my head. I’m making a grocery list, fucking sue me.”

“You think you can make strawberries work?” Ben watches you, trying to pick you apart with slow words and a stupidly handsome face.

“No. Because this won’t work.”

He rolls his eyes. “Can you fucking try to make it work?”

“Maybe.”

“Then get a move on.”

You cross your arms. “What the hell am I supposed to sing?”

“Whatever the hell you want,” he grins. “But could you let me know ahead of time if my clone will be joining us?”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, and Ben laughs, leaning back against the wall. “Are you just going to watch me?”

Ben shrugs, still smiling widely at you. You told me to shut up. Deal with the consequences, Sunshine.

You stick your tongue out at him, flipping him off at the same time, and he just snorts.

It takes you a full minute to choose a song. Can’t do a sex song, can’t do a romance song, can’t do any that opens up the chance of Fake Ben showing up again. Not when Real Ben is watching you on the other side of the room and might explode if his ego gets any bigger. Can’t do a song about pain or abuse, can’t do Smash Mouth, can’t do anything that makes you think of Homelander. You could do a recession-type pop song, but that just feels weird.

There’s—as there always is—an easy and obvious solution. Moon River. You know, at least in theory, what will happen. Ben knows the song, knows about what it means to you. Moon River, plain and simple.

You don’t bother trying to look at Ben when you start. You have no interest in seeing him, seeing his reaction or demeanor as you do this. So you chose a scorch mark on the wall, glue your eyes to it, and sing. Quietly at first, but you find a rhythm and it builds until your voice feels clear and strong. The instrumentals kick in faster this time, smooth guitar and strings and cymbals. The changes to the world are a little different this go, however. You’re not in your childhood bedroom, but a distorted version of the safe house bedroom. The horse paintings are blurred, and it’s not clean anymore—small signs of both you and Ben scattered across the area in shirts and towels, a book on your nightstand and a ben’s supe suit across the bed—but it feels more comfortable. More natural. The sky does open again, flooding the area with light from stars that are a little closer than they should be, and you can feel a warm breeze moving in from above. You can smell pine trees and rain and coffee and the ocean and strawberries-

Strawberries. The song is almost over and you haven’t even tried to make strawberries appear. You could write off the smell as your attempt, Ben doesn’t know how this works and you could likely sell it, but you want to win. You don’t want to trick him and come out on top. You want to win and fucking earn it.

Which is really annoying. Cheating is easier.

You try to focus. Strawberries. Maybe a field of them, maybe just a large vine of their flowers that climbs up the wall. Anywhere they want to be, as long as there’s strawberries. But no matter how hard you think strawberries. All across the room, or on the floor, or sprouting out of your face, strawberries, nothing happens.

The song draws to a close, and the world fades back into you and Ben in the dining room.

“It didn’t work,” you say flatly.

“Go again,” Ben pushes off the wall, walking to sit in one of the less-than sturdy chairs in the corner of the room. “We’ve got all fucking day.”

You sigh. “It’s only 10:30.”

“And we’ll be here until you get this.”

“You’re a fucking cunt.”

“You love it, brat. Go again.”

You scoff, even as your heart becomes a little faster in your chest, and start the song over. This time, you glare at Ben the whole way, and nothing happens.

“Again.”

It takes seven hours. You don’t bother changing the song, half because you’re stubborn and half because it’s established a clean pattern of events. Bedroom, instruments, sky, wind, comfort. Over and over and over, slowly becoming more solid, the images and sensations in less of a haze. It’s not purposeful, so you haven’t won, but the practice is—annoyingly—making you stronger. Ben notices, you can tell by his stupidly pleased smirk, but doesn’t say anything. Around 1, he leaves the room with only a short order for you to keep going and returns with two bagels. He passes one to you wordlessly, and when you drop to the floor—eating with your legs crossed beneath you—Ben scoffs. But he also lowers himself to your side, inhaling his bagel with his knee pressed against yours and a hand on your thigh. You can feel that content, smooth and effortless in Ben’s chest. Flowing in time with that stone resolve wrapping around you, around him. Neither of you speak—you don’t really feel like you need to—and when you finish your bagels within seconds of each other, Ben squeezes his hand once before standing and returning to his chair.

It’s 5:30 when it happens. You’ve been at this all day, you’re tired, but you kept going and going and now, when your illusions have become a clear and perfect replica of the world, it happens. A single strawberry flower, sprouting in a glowing rainbow mist on the mattress. You can hear Ben’s chair squeak when he sees it, even if the sound only echoes distantly over your orchestra, and you almost stutter to halt in shock. But when you push forwards—voice becoming a little frantic, a little off-pitched—the plant grows. Overtaking the bed, covering the sheets and pillows until it’s all green leaves and blooming red fruit.

When the song finds its natural conclusion, you look over at Ben with wide-eyes. He’s staring at where the bed was, now dissipated into a colorful mist through the dining room.

“How the fuck did you do that?” His voice is gruff, looking at you with an intense, unblinking stare.

“I don’t know, it just sort of happened-“

“Can you do it again?”

“I don’t know, Ben.” You rub your face, your eyes becoming heavy. “I’m tired-“

He stands so suddenly it almost makes you start. Without warning Ben crosses the room, picks you up, and carries you out of the dining room.

“What are you-“

Ben cuts off your mumbled protest. “You look like shit.”

“Rude,” you grumble, shoving his chest. “You’re the asshole who made me work all day.”

“And I’d fucking do it again,” Ben holds you a little tighter as you climb the stairs. “You got stronger. You controlled it. And now you’re going to take a shower, because you look like shit.”

“Again, that’s rude-“

Ben kisses your nose, pushing the door to your room open with his foot. “Beautiful shit. But shit.”

“You’re real lucky I don’t kick your ass, Pretty Boy.” You huff, and Ben chuckles against you.

“I don’t think you’ve got the energy to kick anyone’s ass right now,” Ben drawls your name as he sets you down on the mattress.

“And whose fault is that?”

Ben ignores you. “Go shower, Sunshine. I’ll bring up dinner, and then you’re going the hell to bed.”

“You’re a dick, Benjamin!” Your voice raises to a half-hearted shout as he leaves the room, and you can hear the amusement in his voice when he shouts back.

“Fucking shower!”

You roll your eyes—sticking your tongue out at the empty hallway—but stand and walk to the bathroom. Not because Ben told you, but because you’re sweaty and gross and somehow sore despite only standing. It’s a tight feeling running along your muscles, stronger under your arms and circling your forehead, aching behind your knees. You take your time with the shower, letting steam fill the room and simply standing in the hot, gentle fall of the water until you hear Ben’s loud steps re-enter the room.

When you leave the bathroom, changed into a sleep shirt and your hair wrapped in a towel, Ben’s standing tall and rigid in the middle of the room. There’s a plate of something that might be spaghetti in one hand, and your phone in the other.

“You got a text from Hughie,” he grunts, passing you both the plate and the phone.

“Oh, what did he-“ you stop yourself, looking up at Ben with a gaping smile. “Did you just say Hughie?”

“Shut up.”

“No, no. You said Hughie. You’ve never called him Hughie.”

“Shut up,” Ben mutters, stomping past you to the bathroom. “I’m going to shower.”

You set the plate down on the dresser, spinning to grab his arm. He stops, turning to look at you with a glare, and you push through the haze of his care and hunger and annoyance and there’s that strange tightness again- “Are you okay?”

Ben scoffs. “I’m fucking fine. I’m not a weak-“

“Pussy, I know. You’re being grumpy again.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“Uh huh,” you raise your brows at him, letting disbelief coat your voice and cover your face. “Why’d you call Hughie his name?”

“Am I not allowed to call people their damn names?”

“Not when you’ve only called them Cocksucker before.”

Ben yanks his arm from you, taking a long, labored breath before grumbling, “That kid is the only one of those pussies who seems to genuinely mean it when he says shit. I can respect that.” He walks into the bathroom, glancing back at you once. “Read his fucking text.”

You stare at the door for a second after it closes before picking up the fork Ben had stuck into the spaghetti, taking a large bite as you open your phone.

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

Are you okay? Just wanted to check after all the Tek Knight shit.

I’m really sorry about that. I should’ve pushed Butcher.

Kimiko wants to know too, but she threw her phone at The Deep during a fight and it broke.

You smile softly at the screen.

I’m good. Really. I’ll see you tomorrow for Neuman.

Tell Kimiko I hope she kicked The Deep’s ass.

“Ben!” you call, knocking on the door. “The shower’s not on, I know you can hear me!”

“What?!” He snaps, opening the door just enough for you to see his bare chest.

“Um,” you swallow, trying not to look further down. “Do you want ice cream?”

He scans your face. “Vanilla?”

“Sure, old man,” you grin, and Ben scowls.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He starts to close the door, but you stick your arm forward to stop him. “Thank you.”

“You fucking volunteered to get me the ice cream, I don’t have thank you-“

“No, you dumbass.” You whack what you can reach of his shoulder. Mistake, because powerful heat and desire and something loud that makes everything sharp pieces through you. “I’m saying thank you.”

He frowns, leaning forward a little. It takes active effort not to drop your gaze. “For what.”

“The food. Bringing my phone up,” you give him a teasing grin. “Sitting with me tomorrow for internet lessons.”

Ben snorts, opening the door to stand fully before you. By some sort of miracle, his pants are still on. He lets go of the door for a second, cupping your face in his hands and he examines your face. “Fucking brat,” he mutters, and you scoff.

“I’m starting to you’ve forgotten my name-“

He all but picks you up off the ground, and this time he’s gentle. Every part of this kiss is soft, from his mouth to his hold on you. It’s long and careful and so tender it might break you. When he pulls back, he draws circles along your cheeks, smirking down at you.

“Two things,” he says your name in that low, deep way that makes everything spin a little. “You get to teach me two things. If you try to pull three on me, the sucking face is off the table.”

He retreats back into the bathroom, closing the door, and you’re left dumbfounded in the bedroom, swaying slightly to nothing at all.

You go down stairs after inhaling your spaghetti, returning with two bowls of ice cream. You sit on the bed as you eat your small helping, having put practically the remainder of the pint in Ben’s bowl, which is waiting for him on the dresser. Taking the infinite amount of time provided by Ben’s shower, you run over the day in your head, trying to pin-point what had changed. How you had controlled it. Any small shift in the late afternoon that you could use. Implement further. But it only devolved into you playing Ben’s words and actions on loop in your head. How easy he was touching you, like it was the most absurdly natural thing for him in the world. How quickly he had, you had, fallen into the habit of it. Because it was natural. It was easy and everything, and you’d expected it to feel different. To be tense, or awkward, a strange dance you didn’t know how to navigate.

But it felt the same. Your thirst was stronger, trying to take root in your brain and make you pull Ben into you, but everything else felt the same.

And that was terrifying.

You hear the shower turn off, a chew at your tongue as you stare at the door. The moment it opens, Ben walking through with wet hair falling across his eyes and a bare chest, you speak. Because if you don’t blurt out your words now, you’d just get lost in him and his stupid face and stupid body and he smells so good-

“What if I fucked a dog?”

Ben stops in the middle of the room, staring at you in confusion. “What the actual fucking hell are you talking about.”

“You said there wasn’t a thing that could make you walk away. What if I fucked a dog?”

“Did you fuck a dog?”

“No, that’s just an example.”

“Why the hell is that your example?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head nervously. “That’s not the point. If I did fuck a dog, would you that make you walk away?”

He snorts, picking his ice cream. “Are you going to fuck a dog?”

“No, but that’s not the point-“

Ben says your name, bumping your thigh with his as he sits at your side. “If you fucked a dog I would have a fuck ton of questions. But I wouldn’t walk away.”

“Really?”

“I might check you into an asylum,” he shrugs, taking a large bite of ice cream. “But I’d make sure it’s one that offers conjugal visits.”

You give a flat look. “I would not attend conjugal visits with the man who checked me into an asylum.”

“You’re the one who fucked a dog in this scenario,” he speaks through his mouthful, and a little ice cream dribbles onto his beard. “I’m just being a responsible, upstanding citizen.”

That makes you laugh. “Oh, fuck off. You’ve never been an upstanding citizen in your life.”

“I work for the CIA, Sunshine.” Ben says smugly. “Not much more fucking upstanding than that.”

“We both work for the CIA,” you try not to stare at where drops of ice cream are smeared on his face. You want to lick them off, but you are also not moving first. “And, as I’ve told you before, we don’t actually work for the CIA. We don’t get paid.”

“We need to fucking talk to Mallory about that,” Ben grunts. “We’re carrying her whole pussy fucking team on our backs. We deserve to be paid.”

“What part of legally dead still isn’t getting through to you?”

“The part that means we don’t get paid. It’s fucking exploitation.”

You snort. “Yeah, you’re really suffering in this arrangement. All you get is a free phone, free internet, free food, and a free house.”

“And you,” he winks. “Free you.”

That makes your whole body loose and hot. “Shut up.”

“Are you going to show me porn tomorrow?” He muses, ignoring you. “I’ve well fucking earned it.”

“Fuck you.”

This time it’s purposeful. This time you can’t stop staring at Ben’s full lips, covered in vanilla, or stop leaning into his study, warm body. This time you’re setting him up, dangling the bait in front of him, daring him to take it.

He does.

Ben tugs you forward until you’re tucked right at your side, his arm around your shoulders so his hand can tilt your mouth up to his. You don’t hesitate to lick his lips when they find yours, taking the sweetness of the sugar combined with just him onto your tongue. Saltier, stronger, better than anything you’ve ever tasted before. He bites your tongue lightly when you do it again, pushing back with his own until you whimper, your hand darting to his face to try and get more. You’re vaguely aware of Ben setting the ice cream to the side, and suddenly he’s pulling you down, then over his chest once he’s flat on his back. You slide one hand into his hair, letting your weight rest entirely against him and grinding down on his abdomen until he groans your name. His hand grip your hips, stilling you completely, tugging you down just enough that you can feel him hard, prodding into your thigh.

Ben looks down at you, eyes hooded, voice gravelly. “If you don’t want more right fucking now, you need to stop that.”

Nothing is more difficult than nodding, trying to get a hold of your body and not just letting yourself crash forwards. Letting Ben take everything. “Sorry-“

“Don’t apologize,” he snaps, moving one hand up your back until it’s holding the back of your head, running fingers through your hair. “Never apologize to me.”

You smile at him, toothy and careless. “Even if I fuck a dog?”

He snorts. “Way to ruin the fucking mood.”

“It’s a talent.”

Ben lowers your head onto his chest in a slow movement, and you don’t stop him. When he speaks, you can feel his voice everywhere. “I think it’s bedtime for you, beautiful.”

“Just because I ruined the mood?” You mumble a protest, but he’s warm and secure around you. Making you sleepy.

“Because you’re actively fighting to stay the hell awake. Sleep.”

You try to keep arguing, but all that comes out is an incoherent hum. This might become a problem, how if Ben just kisses you and holds you, your body will listen to him more than it ever listens to you. But it doesn’t feel like one now. It just feels safe, surrounded by the smell of pine and still tasting vanilla.

Just before your eyes close you feel Ben press one last kiss to the top of your head, and that’s all it takes for sleep to find you.

You’re on the floor of the dining room, Ben above you, your hands scratch his back as he laughs against your mouth.

“Ready for more, Sunshine?” His voice rolls through your whole body, and you nod almost manically.

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He pulls back, watching you lust-blown eyes, and everything is life and green and good and Ben. “Beg.”

“You dick-“

He leans down so his nose is bumping yours. “Convince me you want everything. Beg.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Try again.”

Dignity doesn’t really feel important right now. Not when you want everything. Not when Ben is offering. Offering everything. “Please. I want this. I’ve wanted this. Just fuck me, you fucking cunt.”

He chuckles, kissing around your mouth. “That’s not very nice.”

“Please fuck me. I want you, Benjamin, you insufferable asshole. I want you, I need you, I-“

That’s all it takes. He’s falling back onto you, into you, almost eating you because he’s everything and why did you even bother trying to fight that. Who cares if you can’t go back. Why would you even want to? You just want him, and now you have him, and he has you. Right now he has you, and maybe he wants to keep you the same way you want to keep him. It’s just you and Ben, and nothing else is real except you and Ben.

You’re woken suddenly by Ben bucking up into you. When you blink away the fog of sleep from your eyes, he’s fast asleep, still holding you with his head pressed back into the pillow. You’d somehow moved up his body in the night, finding your head on Ben’s shoulder, your face pressed into his neck.

He’s not having a nightmare. There’s no building light or heat in his chest, no pain or distress moving from his body to yours. Only hunger. Vast and aching hunger that moves between your legs. A deep, growling sound leaves Ben’s mouth, paired with another rough jerk into the air and his hand fisting into the ends of your hair. Then he moans, right into your ear, and any lingering drowsiness is burned out of your body. Because that moan was long and borderline incoherent, but it sounded like a word. Like your name. And this time when he pushes his groin into the air you can feel him, long and hard, poking against the lowest curve of your ass.

Someone is out to get you. Some hidden facet of the universe has an agenda against you, because Ben is having a sex dream and moaning—as far as you can tell—your name. Because his sex dream just woke you up from your sex dream. About him. And you’re still horny and wet and thirsty and he’s hungry and his cock is only inches from where your desire for him is becoming painful. And to top it all off, Ben’s holding you against his body with such a confusing combination of reverence and strength that not a single chance you can wiggle away without waking him.

And if you wake him, there’s nothing in the world that could stop you from giving every single part of yourself to him. So you have to ride it out, unable to fall back asleep, as Ben continues to fuck the air against you. Making the most pornographic sounds you’ve ever heard, sounds that echo through your body from where you’ve pressed your face into his neck, and leave imprints in your gut and heart and head. This qualifies as torture, you decide, because right now if Ben asked you any question, you’d tell him whatever he wanted to hear. You’d do whatever he wanted you to do. Anything to make him give you relief. Anything to turn this into something you don’t have to endure, your brain running wild with fantasies of giving Ben everything and him offering you even half as much.

You’re dizzy with lust and need—your thirst fed by Ben’s unyielding hunger—when he finally makes the best sound you’ve heard in your life and satisfaction crashes through your body like a wave. Ben’s grip on you loosens, and you frantically roll off of him, climbing out of bed and moving to the bathroom on long but quiet steps. Locking the door, you fall to the floor and shove one hand into your shorts as the other raises to your mouth, biting down to stifle your moans and breaths of Ben’s name. Your back presses to the wall—unable to care as the fire starts to seep out of your skin—fingers moving fast against your clit because there’s not time for anything else. Not when you feel like you’re about to explode, and the aftermath of Ben’s own desire is still planted in your body.

You double over when you cum, knees shooting up to your chest as you stare at the floor, eyes wide and heart racing. When your basic cognitive functions return—the chorus of just Ben fading into the back of your head and the smoke clearing the room—you realize that’s never happened before. You’ve never felt someone’s orgasm like you’d feel anger or joy or fear. To be fair, you hadn’t been with anyone since the empathy had become a part of you. Except Homelander, and that didn’t count.

Some evil, loathsome part of you still goes there though. Back to the lab, where Homelander would-

You can’t think about it. But he’d done it. After the empathy. And you hadn’t felt it.

You’d also never felt pain from someone. Not like when you touched Ben in a nightmare. But Ben’s emotions were weird. You couldn’t decipher them on a normal day. This probably wasn’t something to note or worry about. Not worth dwelling on at all, not when you were already tearing yourself apart trying to figure out what the massively repressed, ancient man-child in the other room wanted from you. What you could afford to give to the impossible, frustrating, perfect man you-

It wasn’t something to worry about.

Collecting yourself off the floor, you realized you couldn’t go back to bed. You were wide awake, and even if you weren’t Ben had definitely stained the sheets, enough that he’d notice when he woke up. Guilt started to stab into you, because Ben might not have meant you to be there. That was private, his, and you’d just jerked off to it. You’d tell him. You had to tell him. But not right now. When he woke up.

So you move silently back to the bedroom, grabbing your phone before creeping into the hall and descending into the living room. You fall onto the couch, reading the text from MM, telling you that they’ll be at the safe house around noon. You give it a little thumbs up, and try to distract yourself from how remarkably horny you still are.

It’s another hour and half before Ben wakes up and walks down the stairs, his hair messy and eyes blurry as he squints at you.

“How long have you been up?” Ben’s voice is hoarse, and he’s not moving to the couch, standing rigid at the foot of the steps.

You shrug, playing it off in the way you’d been rehearsing over and over. “A few hours.”

“What woke you up?” He’s still watching you intently, looking slightly more awake.

“Um,” you can’t lie. It feels wrong to lie. You couldn’t have moved or stopped it, but he needs to know you had been there. “You?”

“Me?”

“You had a, uh, a wet dream? And weren’t letting me go, and I would've tried to go, because you were asleep, but you’re really strong and weren’t letting me go. I’m-”

“Don’t say sorry.” Ben grunts, and finally walks to sit beside you. “And I don’t give a shit. It was about you anyway.”

“Oh.” You hadn't expected him to just say that, but you probably should’ve. “That’s doesn’t mean I get to just stay though-”

“Maybe not. But you didn’t chose to, and I don’t give a shit.” Ben leans back into the couch. “I’d fucking tell you if I did. And it sounds like you didn’t have a choice.”

“I’m still sor-”

Ben says your name firmly. “You told me. That’s what fucking matters. No lies.”

You nod slowly. “No lies.”

“You done freaking out?”

“I wasn’t freaking out-”

“I get why you were, with the shit that happened to you.” Ben shrugs. “But if I was worried about you seeing that I’d sleep in my old room.” Suddenly his eyes narrow at you. “It didn’t hurt you, did it?”

You answer fast. “No, I uh,” you shake your head. “No.”

“If it did, you need to fucking tell me. I know you don’t want more-”

“I didn’t mind,” you mumble. “Really. Promise. And it’s more complicated than not wanting more. I kind of, um.” No lies. “I liked it.”

His eyes flash. “Liked it?”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t fucking apologize.” Ben looks you up and down. “What did you like?”

“All of it.”

“How much.”

Stupid fucking handsome man and his deep voice that makes you answer. “A lot. I um, took care of myself?”

His voice is somehow deeper, and he won’t look away from you. “Took care of yourself?”

“In the bathroom-”

“Did you cum?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Ben grins, and you think he’s going to keep pushing. “I changed the sheets.”

“Oh?” You feel a little lighter—it’s a little scary how easy this all is, how fast you feel better—and your tone becomes teasing. “Without me asking? Who even are you?”

“Shut up. I’m not making you change my cum sheets.”

You poke Ben’s side with your foot, grinning and the disgruntled sound that escapes him. “You kiss a man a few times and suddenly he’s doing chores without being a bitch.”

Ben catches your foot, yanking you forward until your legs are across his, leaning down until his smirk is hovering above your slack jaw. “You didn’t kiss me just a few times. You just told me you liked me dreaming about you. And as far as I recall, I owe you one more. But a pussy fucking bitch wouldn’t give you what you want, Sunshine, would he?” When you don’t respond, just staring at him in some sort of horny shock, Ben leans just slightly forward. “Would he?”

“Cun-“

Ben catches your words with his mouth, and you gain just enough control to snap at his tongue between your teeth. Not biting it off, but drawing enough blood that the metallic taste overtakes the taste of Ben. He pulls back with a hiss, and you cross your arms across your chest.

“I told you I’d do that, Pretty Boy.” You taunt. “You have no one to blame but yourself.”

He gives you an incredulous look, but you can feel his sharp amusement, and his hand has dropped to hold your thigh over his legs. Tracing small patterns on your bare skin. “You’re a piece of fucking work,” he says your name in something that sounds like awe, and something is leaving a mark inside you, on your ribs.

“Would you have me any other way?” He snorts. “Fucking hell, no.”

You smile at him, and he smiles back, and if the world ended right now you wouldn’t mind. Not when this is everything. “Good.” You lean back into the armrest of the couch, your eyes never leaving Ben’s. “Ready for your lesson?”

“Right now?” Ben raises his brow at you. “It’s 8 in the goddamn morning.”

“And we have a long, busy day of internet lessons and hitting Victoria Neuman with your special sauce ahead of us. Might as well get started now.”

Ben glares at you. “Don’t call it special sauce."

“Hm,” you pause in mock thought. “No.”

“Brat.”

You knee his chest lightly. “Go get your phone, Benjamin.”

With a series of low grumbles and a strong pout on his face, Ben removes your legs from against him and stands, disappearing back up the stairs. You hum to yourself, foot tapping as you wait for his return, and don’t even realize what you’re doing until Ben’s voice sounds behind you.

“Why does the whole room smell like vanilla.”

You feel the flush of your face, freezing as you tip your head back to meet Ben’s eyes. “I dunno.”

“Did you leave the ice cream out?” He walks back to his seat, glaring at your legs pointedly until you press them to your chest. “Because I could smell it upstairs as well.”

You give an over exaggerated sniff. “Well, it’s gone now.”

“No it’s-“ Ben pauses, scanning your body and face as his nose twitches. “You were fucking singing.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, hugging your knees. “Shut up. Did you get your phone?”

Ben scoffs, but shakes his hand, displaying the phone. “Your faith in me is astounding,” he grumbles your name, and you sit up a little with your shrug.

“I know you’re being a dick, but yeah, it is.” You lean against your bent legs. “Open the phone.”

He starts to enter the passcode, but looks up at you with a frown. “Are you going to stay over there?”

“Um,” you blink at him, and shake your head slightly. “No?”

He doesn’t say anything, just waiting expectantly for you to scoot over to him. Only once you do—thoroughly invading Ben’s space as he pulls your legs back up, making you half on his lap and half pressed into his side—does his attention return to the phone. When he opens it—after three tries, but who’s counting—Ben looks at you with a cocky grin. “That it?”

“Nope,” you lean over him, taking the phone from his hand. “We’re going to learn about cameras.”

“I fucking know about cameras-“

“Well, you clearly don’t, because you looked like you were going to have an aneurysm about your lock screen yesterday.” You swipe through the phone, keeping it in Ben’s view, and find the camera app. “That,” you point to the screen, finger hovering over the small, gray button. “Is the camera.”

“That’s not a fucking camera,” he snorts. “That’s a button.”

You roll your eyes. “And what, Benjamin, do you think the button does?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

“Camera.” Ben’s answer is through gritted teeth, but—as far as you can tell from where you’re touching him—his annoyance is more for show than anything else. So you keep going, holding the phone a little higher up.

“Press it,” you prompt him, shaking the phone slightly.

Ben does so, his aggressive tap of the screen pushing your hand back slightly. The camera opens up, flipped to the self-view, and Ben starts backwards. “Why the fuck is it doing that.”

“It’s the front view.”

“Why in living Christ would you need a front-view.”

“For selfies.”

“Selfies?”

“Photos of one’s self,” you explain, not bothering to hide the amusement in your voice. “It’s pretty self-descriptive.”

“Why would you need that.”

You sigh. “It’s not something you need to do. Most of this isn’t going to be stuff you need to do. It’s for fun.”

“For fun,” Ben repeats slowly, still sounding like he doesn’t believe you.

“Yep. And I think you’d like selfies. You get to pose, and stare at yourself. It’s right in your wheelhouse, Pretty Boy.”

Ben huffs. “What would I do with them?”

“Whatever you want,” you shrug. “Jerk off to them, print them out to hang around the house, post them on social media-“

“Social media?”

“I am not explaining social media to you today,” you say flatly. “Cameras are already going to be a lot.”

“It looks pretty fucking simple from here,” Ben grumbles, pulling the phone from your hand. “That big white button takes the photo, yeah?”

“Well, yeah,” you try to push down a giggle as he presses the button repeatedly, taking a large amount of selfies from a low angle. He’ll still probably look hot in all of them, because he’s Ben and life is unfair, but that doesn’t make it less funny. “But there’s more to it.”

He stops, giving you a frown. “What the hell do you mean more.”

“Turn the camera.”

Slowly, Ben angles the phone so you’re looking at your reflection on the display.

“No,” you reach up, returning the screen to face him. “Turn the camera. It can switch between the front camera and the back camera,” you tap each one in turn for emphasis. “So switch them.”

He does. After almost eight minutes of swearing under his breath—and very much not under his breath—Ben finds the right button and flips the camera around. From there you make him stand, take several photos of random objects until he can do it without totally messing up the focus, then teach him about zooming. That takes a whole half hour, because he can’t seem to figure out how to get any sort of middle ground, either going all the way out or zooming in for far you can’t even tell what he took the photo of. You forgo filters, that’s a battle you don’t have the energy to take on today, and instead focus on flash—how to turn it on and off, when it needs to be on and off—and video. That one takes two hours.

You start to wander the house, taking him to the kitchen and explaining how food photos work.

“That’s fucking insane,” Ben mutters as you conclude your small speech. “Just eat the damn food.”

“You’re still going to eat the food, this is for the memory of it. So you can look at it later and remember hey, that was a fucking delicious quiche.”

“That dumb.” Ben snapped. “Just remember shit with your fucking brain.”

You snort. “You’re going to hate Instagram.”

“What the hell is Instagram.”

You don’t explain or elaborate, simply linking your elbow through his and pulling him into the hallway, up the stairs. From there you spend a while in the bedroom, making Ben take photos in lower lighting to practice the flash and teaching him about mirror selfies. He takes that one a little easier, though it results in a lot of sex jokes about how mirrors are for two hot people fucking and how he’d be open to showing you what that means, beautiful, if you say please.

When you enter the bathroom, making Ben take about three or four videos of the running water, you notice he keeps looking at his shield. Before you can ask what he’s doing it for, he looks at you in the mirror, “How did you put it on the screen?”

“The shield?” You ask for clarity, even if you know what he means. He grunts, and you continue. “I set it as your wallpaper.”

“How?”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at his reflection. “If I show you, it doesn’t count as part of my winnings, because you asked.”

“Fine,” Ben thrusts the phone into your hand. “Just do it.”

You do, Ben hanging over your shoulder as you navigate to settings, then wallpaper, then slowly walk him through the functions. Eventually—after another hour or so of pointless photos and videos—you feel a little more comfortable in his capabilities, maybe even bordering on confident, and tug him back to the couch.

“That’s thing one,” you take the phone back from Ben’s hand, scrolling to the app store. “Ready for thing two?”

“That was more than one fucking thing,” he snaps. “That was a least damn fifty.”

“Nope. That was just cameras. I get one more.”

“Not if I just walk the hell away-“

“Ben,” you look up at him. “Just trust me. You’ll like this.”

He scowls, but waits for you to return the phone to his hand. Ben’s eyes scan the screen for a second before he looks back up at you. “What the fuck is this.”

“Candy Crush.”

“What.”

You scoot a little closer to him, resting your head against his arm as you look up at him with a smile. “It’s a game. Senior citizens everywhere love it.”

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are.” You dismiss him, drumming your fingers against his skin. “It’s a silly, stupid game with bright colors and an addictive design. It kills time, and-“ your grin grows until it’s toothy and covering your face. “If you spend money, it’s out of the CIA’s pocket.”

“Spend money?”

“In-app purchases. You fail a level, pay to try again.”

Ben says your name, a long drawl that sits in your stomach. “I am not playing this shit.”

“Sure,” you shrug. “But if you change your mind, the app looks like that.” You return to the homescreen, pointing at the logo.

“Doesn’t matter. I won’t fucking use it.”

“Okay.”

“I’m being serious.”

You grin. “And I said okay.”

“Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Cunt.”

Ben drops his phone to the side, attention entirely scorching through you. “You want the second half of our deal?”

“Yes,” you answer a little too fast, and your voice is suddenly weaker. You blame Ben’s lust, climbing into you, intertwining with your own, sitting happily in your gut and above your lungs. He’s almost on top of you, and you can see just a slight ring of green in his eyes. Watching you, coming closer. Closer, still closer. But not close enough.

You don’t think Ben could ever be close enough. Not when he finally touches you, not when he sucks on your mouth and tongue and neck like he’d promised, not even when he fully rolls on top of you. Because everything in the world is nothing compared to this. Just Ben. Touching you. Close, but not close enough.

Your alarm from your phone barely breaks through your ears into your brain, because all your thoughts are being overtaken by just Ben.

“Fuck,” you manage to pull back, grabbing your phone to turn off the repetitive ringing. “We need to get changed.”

“Changed?” Ben frowns, still holding you. “The hell do we need to get changed for?”

“Neuman,” you start to stand up, but Ben’s hand falls to grab yours, keeping you from leaving the couch. “The Boys will be here in like twenty, Ben. Probably more like ten with Butcher’s lack of respect for speed limits and police.”

“And you’re coming on this one.” He scans your face, hand squeezing yours.

“Yeah, I should be. We shouldn’t really be in public for this, so I don’t see why I can’t.” Ben nods, but still doesn’t let go, so you squeeze his hand back. “I’ll be fine. But we need to change.”

That seems to get through to him, because he nods, rising from the couch. Still holding your hand. “You change first. I need to shit.”

“Charming.”

You start to move away, but Ben doesn’t let go of your hand, spinning you around into his chest. This last kiss is long. He’s taking his time, pulling you closer and closer, not stopping until you whimper, and then pulling back with a smirk. “You have seven minutes.”

It takes a few seconds of blinking away the burn under your skin to understand what he means. When you do, though, you shove his chest and stomp up the stairs, yelling over your shoulder. “You’re a piece of shit, Benjamin.”

He doesn’t respond, but when you look back for only a second, he’s smiling after you. A toothy, content, easy grin that makes his eyes sparkle and face look like all he’s ever felt is joy. Never any cold Russian nights or sour, consuming revenge. Just joy. Warm, simple joy.

You’ll never tell him. He’d hate that you used the word sparkle, because he’s a fucking man and not a glittery pussy, but it’s accurate. And it doesn’t matter, because you’ll never, ever tell him. You’ll keep him close, but not as close as you want, and touch him until he grows bored of you, and taste phantoms of vanilla and salt and strawberry forever. You’ll have him like this, and make it be enough. This will be enough. Because Ben is everything, and you don’t deserve everything. He wouldn’t give you everything anyway.

So you’ll have this. You’ll have his joy and let it carry you everywhere. And that will fucking be enough.

————

Ben had never been so satisfied by just kissing. He didn’t think it was fucking possible to be this satisfied by just kissing. But it was Her. And she was perfect. Kissing Her was perfect. Hell, he’d even start to develop a strategy for how to kiss her. Ben was filing away every sound she made—the loud whines and quite whimpers and moans, and this one thing where she’d make a throaty, high noise that was half his name and half a squeal—and spending a lot of time trying to figure out what triggered each and every one. If he sucked on Her neck she’d make a hissing, needy sound. If it was her chin, the noise would become more breathless and she’d lean into him. If Ben was gentle the sounds were soft, when he let himself go just a fucking fraction, they were loud and desperate.

He wasn’t going to stop until he had it all memorized. Until he knew every single thing that made Her tick and why. The why was fucking vital, because if Ben could figure out why She liked something, he could find a million new ways to do it. And keep going and going until She was singing for him, and he could play Her perfect mouth—and whatever part of her perfect body she’d offer him—like the symphony it was. Where he was the only conductor in the world that wasn’t a pretentious fucking pussy, because his orchestra was the most fucking perfect woman to ever exist. And then, unless She made him, he wouldn’t ever stop.

Because kissing Her was addicting. Ben had thought that touching her was like a drug, but She had an annoying habit of making Ben look like a fucking idiot. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in touching Her before, he could’ve seen this coming. He could’ve realized that just brushing against Her skin was better than any kiss he’d ever had. He could’ve put together that kissing Her would feel like goddamn sex, hot and wet and savage, the most natural thing he’d ever done. Kissing Her made the Thing so big that it was no longer just in Ben’s chest. It was all over him, rooted where it had always been but burning through the rest of his body.

If just kissing Her did this, made Ben become overtaken with an almost pious desire to keep going forever and ever, actually fucking Her might kill him.

And he was okay with that. It would be a worthy death.

She was still upstairs, and Ben could hear the even pattern of Her heartbeat as she changed, hear the shuffle of clothes falling to the floor and moving in the drawers. She was probably fucking naked up there, just a floor away. The Thing wanted to go to Her, just fucking offer more. But he wouldn’t because She didn’t want more right now. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why, not when She was kissing him back and fucking cumming to the thought of him. The Thing had almost exploded inside him when She’d told him that, and Ben was trying to just pretend he was very calm about it and not trying to figure out ways he could keep Her doing that without hurting her or pushing her away. Even if he couldn’t figure out why that was needed. She seemed almost as desperate for more as Ben was. Not as desperate, because that wasn’t fucking possible. Ben felt pretty fucking confident in saying that nobody had ever been this filled with need for another person in history. But everything he was throwing at Her, she was throwing back at him. Like she always fucking did.

Because She was perfect.

The door to the safe house opened before She returned to the living room, and it occurred to Ben that he still needed to shit. That he’d been standing at the base of the stairs like a goddamn idiot, waiting for Her like a fucking puppy. He could only be more pathetic if he was right outside her door. If a single member of the Pussy Brigade commented on it, asked why he was just standing around like he was lost, he’d tie their tongue into a knot then cut it out.

He heard Butcher first. “You two twats ready to go?”

Ben glared at him down the hall. “Obviously we’re fucking not.”

“Did MM not fucking text like I told him to?” Butcher’s eyes raked over Ben, taking in his sweatpants and wrinkled shirt.

Wrinkled from Her, the Thing hummed in content. She did that.

Ben told it to shut up. He was well fucking aware of that, and didn’t need the Thing to remind him, because it made him hard and he had no interest in explaining a boner right now.

MM entered the safe house, saying Her name as he walked to stand beside Butcher. “Got the text. She even gave it a reaction.” MM scanned the living room with a frown. “The hell is she?”

On perfect fucking clue—Ben was starting to think She had a fifth power that made her do everything better than anyone had any damn right to—the bedroom door opened and She descended down the stairs.

“Ben, where the hell did you put my sunglasses? Because I definitely left them on the dresser and they’re not there anymore-“ She froze at the bottom of the stairs, spotting Butcher and MM. “Uh, hi.”

“Afternoon, Love.” Butcher looked between Her and Ben, a taunting smirk tugging at his lips, and it took everything in Ben not to step forward and block Her from Butcher’s gaze. “You ready to rumble?”

“Um,” She looked at Ben, addressing him solely, and it made the Thing swell through him. “Can you change fast?”

He nodded, shrugging. “Whatever.” Ben started to push past Her, but she caught his arm. Still only looking at him.

“Sunglasses?”

Ben knew exactly where those sunglasses were. They’d fallen under the bed yesterday morning when he’d swept half the dresser's contents to the floor to put her down, and he’d seen them this morning when he’d been cleaning up his mess. He’d cum in his sleep like a fucking teenager, and moved faster than almost any other point in his life to cover it up. But Ben didn’t say any of that out loud, because he didn’t know if She wanted the Pussy Brigade to know that he’d been eating her mouth like a feast for two days and fifteen hours. Ben didn’t give a shit if they did, he’d fuck Her in front of them if it made it clear to them that he wasn’t going anywhere. But this seemed like the type of thing She’d care about, and he didn’t want to risk her taking away what she’d given him so far.

So he just said, “I think I remember where I put them.” And retreated to their room.

Ben gets the sunglasses first, propping them back up on the dresser where he won’t be able to miss them when he leaves. He shits quickly, puts on his supe suit—if the Pussy Brigade had a problem with that they could suck his dick—and stared at his shield in the bathroom for a second before deciding to leave it. He’d just be blasting Neuman and leaving, no damn point in taking it where Cocksucker would try and pick it up again. He checked his hair in the mirror, and failed to not think about fucking Her against it. Or fucking Her on the bed. Or on the stairs. Maybe in the kitchen. Defiantly during training, and if she ever made good on Her promise to show Ben porn-

He grabbed the sunglasses and stormed back downstairs, shoving the Thing and his desires to let it—Her—keep consuming him deep, deep into him. Ben had a fucking job to do. She’d still be there to dream about fucking until the bed broke after.

She was waiting for him, talking to Kimiko in silence with a smile splitting her face. MM had left, Butcher was watching them with a look like he’d tasted shit, and Ben didn’t think anyone would miss the asshole if he somehow got slammed, face first, into the wall over and over. Especially as She heard Ben’s step, looking up at him with the same smile she needed to stop giving him. The smile that Ben couldn’t stop himself from reading as oh, it’s you! Hello, Benjamin. I adore you and if you wanted to give me every fucking piece of you, covered in blood or not, I’d take them and keep them safe.

But that didn’t sound like Her at all. For one, she’d never say every fucking piece of you. She might say every part of you, or all of you, good, bad, and ugly, but she wouldn’t say every fucking piece of you. Ben would say that.

Also, She didn’t think that. She gave a shit about him, Ben knew that much, but she didn’t adore him. Not like he adored Her. She didn’t want to keep him safe, not like Ben needed Her to be safe. The Thing would keep every bloody and dark part of Her safe if she’d give them to him. It would hold them carefully until she wanted them back, and then care for the place She’d put them until they returned.

So Ben just took Her smile as best he could when he wasn’t allowed to pull it up to his mouth, make it open into a moan, and keep going and going up he learned what Her orgasms sounded like.

If She ever let him hear what her orgasms sounded like, it would take a damn miracle of God to stop him from hearing them every single fucking day.

He took Her smile, returned it with his own, and passed her the sunglasses. “Found them under the bed,” he grunted, stopping at Her side.

“Oh,” She frowned, opening them and placing them on her brow. “I thought I checked there.”

“Did you say the bed.” Butcher’s voice was mocking and cold, but lined with what Ben pinned to be genuine, morbid curiosity. “Are you two sharing a bed.”

Ben is more than fucking ready to cut out Butcher’s tongue. Maybe stab him in the throat to finish damn the job. But She speaks first.

“Yeah, we are. Because some of us have nightmares about Homelander raping us and feel safer when we're not alone. So shove it up your ass.”

The Thing was boiling in Ben. Overflowing with warmth and power for Her. Her, Her, Her, it chanted, making the continuing conversation a little fucking hard to hear. Ben could see Her look at him from the corner of her eyes. Giving him the tiniest smile that says thank you for not leaving me alone.

Ben couldn’t stop himself smiling back. Wouldn’t fucking dream of it. You’d be lost without me.

She wrinkled her nose at him. You can’t even use a phone camera without my help.

Not anymore, he winked. And you have not one to blame but your damn self for that, Sunshine.

She stomped on his foot, hard enough that he sort of feels it, Ben had to cover his snort with a cough.

Butcher wasn’t fooled. “Something funny, Gov?”

“Not to you, you boring fucking pussy,” Ben drawled. “Are we going to actually fucking go or just wait for you to jerk yourself off?”

“Suddenly his head is in the game,” Butcher sneered. “I wonder what fucking did it?” His gaze turns to Her. “Can I borrow your tits, Love? I think they might be bloody magic.”

“Stop being a cunt, Butcher,” She snapped, just in time to stop Ben throwing Butcher out the door hard enough to break the Pussy-Mobile Ben could see in the driveway. “And Ben’s right, we should get moving.”

Butcher muttered something that sounds like horny fucking bombs shouldn’t be allowed within ten miles of each other, and stalked out the door. Kimiko signed something to Her with a smile, and she signed back with a laugh. Before Ben could even ask what the fuck they’re saying, Her arm was linked through his and she started telling him.

“Kimiko says my tits are magic, but not as magic as Butcher’s. Which proves he’s just a dick, because if it was about magic tits he’d have the game on lock.”

“Huh,” Ben frowned, trying not to let the Thing overtake him with thoughts about how right it feels to be walking with Her looped against him. “I wouldn’t have pegged Butcher to have good tits.”

“That’s because you,” She bumped her shoulder with his. “Are very unobservant.”

“I’m incredibly fucking observant. I clocked your tits the first time we met.”

“I remember. You weren’t listening to Hughie because of it. Which is very unobservant.”

“It’s not my fault you have such good tits,” Ben grumbled, savoring the way Her heart flutters as she tried to fight her giggle. Looking up at him with fucking perfect, happy eyes. “They’re fucking weapons of war.”

She fully snorted. “I think your compliments are regressing again.”

Ben rolled his eyes, just offering a hand to steady Her as she climbs into the van. She takes it with a grin, and doesn’t let go when Ben follows her.

“What’s the plan,” She asked, and the Thing hummed as she still didn’t drop Ben’s hand, pulling him into his place at her side.

Butcher’s answer was short, clipped. “Blast Neuman.”

She blinked, her body tensing against Ben. “And?”

“That, um, that’s kind of it,” Cocksucker said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We don’t have a huge window before Vicky gets word we’re up to something-“

She raised a hand, and Cocksucker fell silent. “What, exactly, did you use yesterday for.”

“Getting Neuman’s schedule,” MM answered this time, voice stronger than Cocksuckers but still lined with fucking guilt. “Those motherfuckers run a tight ship, we needed to know where she’d be-“

“But you didn’t come up with a plan. For when you would, inevitably, know?”

Nobody answered this time, and She gave a long sigh. Her heart was fast in her chest, but it wasn’t the stumbling, unordered beat that signals fear or panic. It was moving because Her brain was moving, her perfect face scrunched in thought, the machine that was her brain practically audible. The Pussy Brigade even had the nerve to look afraid, despite the fact that She wasn't smoking or making the air of the van wave with heat.

She turned to Kimiko—sitting at the French Prick’s side—who was the only one watching with plain curiosity. They started to sign at each other—the French Prick jumping in to add something that was received with a frown and a nod—and when She turned back to the group her face was drawn in determination.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” She said slowly, staring ahead at the wall with her brows knit. Ben pulled Her a little closer into him, and her heart slowed slightly. “We’re catching Neuman at home. Off-guard. Do we know if other people live in the building?”

“Only some other bureaucrat fuckers,” Butcher answered from the front, and Starlight shook her head.

“And their fucking families, Butcher.”

“Okay,” She nodded slowly. “Frenchie, you burned off your fingerprints a while ago, right?”

“Oui,” the French Prick holds up his hands for display.

“Good. You’re going to pull the fire alarm. Hughie,” Her sharp gaze turned to Cocksucker. “I need you on the cameras. Make sure everyone is out. MM will be on standby if there are stragglers. Kimiko and Annie will cover the exits, Butcher,” She paused, and Ben could hear the gnaw of her lip. “Scratch all of that. Annie can’t be seen participating in this, she’ll be on the cameras, and Butcher will take her spot on the exits. Hughie, you’ll come with Ben and I. I’ll cover you when he goes off.”

There’s a second of silence, and then the van erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about how he’s not going to cover a bloody exit, he wants to see Neuman get fucked. Starlight whining about how she doesn’t want to be useless in the van, she can really help. Cocksucker fretting about how he’s not sure this is a great idea, and might be better staying on the cameras. The French Prick and Kimiko are silent, exchanging a look with subtle gestures at Her, Kimiko’s face determined, gestures growing and growing until the French Prick raised his hands in surrender. Finally, MM seemed to be trying to do what he considered reasoning with Her, that they couldn’t just go off with only Hughie, what if you need backup, what if Soldier Boy goes nuclear.

Ben opened his mouth—ready to defend himself, defend Her—but She caught his eye and shook her head. I can handle this.

He gave a curt nod back, not hiding the scowl on his face. Fine. But don’t be fucking nice to them.

Shut up, Her eyes narrowed at him before she turned back to the group, who was starting to tire themselves out like the fucking children they were. When the van was quiet once more, She spoke in a clear, bored voice.

“Butcher, we’re not killing Neuman, so you’re not invited. Annie, I know you want to help. Staying here is helping. You’ll draw attention, and if the public realizes you’re associated with Soldier Boy then we’ll be assfucked. MM, Ben won’t just go nuclear. We’ve got it under control. Hughie, you’re the only one Neuman won’t try to pop on sight. She’ll talk to you, and it’ll be good to have a friend there for when Ben’s done. And-“ She sat up a little straighter, glaring around the van. “If any of you don’t like my plan, I’d love to hear your alternatives.”

“How do you plan on getting into the bloody building?” Butcher snapped. “They ain’t just gonna let you in.”

“Fire escapes are very real, dumbass.” She retorted. “And Hughie can do that shit where he makes their cameras play the same video so they don’t see us. We’ll corner Neuman, then Frenchie will pull the alarm, and Ben will go off once it’s just us and her and Zoe.”

“What’s your escape plan?” Starlight asked, giving Cocksucker a worried look. “You two can just leave, but Hughie-“

“I can redirect Ben’s blast. Make sure it doesn’t destroy the building. Hughie will be fine.” Ben stiffens beside Her, because as far as he fucking knows she’d only done that once. And it had ended in Her small and sad and broken, curled up into herself and alone.

She has you this time, the Thing reminded him. If this goes to shit, she’ll always fucking have you.

“Are we good?” She was asking the van, and Ben saw each of the fucking pussies nod. “Awesome.”

She leaned back into Ben, and he frowned down at Her, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “You can redirect my fucking blast?”

She shrugged, starting ahead with empty eyes. “Hypothetically, yeah.”

“And you’re going to risk Hughie’s life on hypothetically?” Ben didn’t give a shit about Cocksucker’s life, but She did. And Ben gave a shit about Her life, about her not breaking down and tearing herself apart about accidentally killing Cocksucker.

“It’s an educated guess, Ben.” She muttered. “It’ll work. It has to. And don’t you dare say-“ She shot Ben a glare, voice dropping into her dogshit impression of him. “But what if it doesn’t.”

Ben scoffed. “I wasn’t going to fucking say that.”

“Yes, you were. You always say that.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ben felt the Thing become a little lighter as a smile tugged at Her mouth. “Do I have to do anything in your plan besides hit Neuman?”

“You have to not be a dick to Hughie, let me do the talking, and stand around looking pretty until I tell you to be useful,” She counted her answers off one by one on her fingers, and Ben chuckled.

“Be pretty, huh?”

“Don’t fish for compliments, Benjamin,” She teased. “It’s unbecoming.”

“If I give you one, will you give me one?” Ben leaned forward a little, fighting every instinct in his body to soothe Her lips where she’d been chewing them with his tongue. Any marks were gone, so he couldn’t really fucking pick out where She’d been biting, but that just meant he’d have to cover all his bases. Soothe Her whole fucking mouth. “A quid pro quo?”

She hummed. “Good use of quid pro quo.”

“Is that a fucking yes?”

“Fine,” she sighed. “You look very nice in your stupid suit.”

“Nice?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she gave him a flat glare. “Handsome.”

“Say the whole thing.”

“My compliment better blow Shakespeare out of the fucking water,” she muttered, but looked up at him with batting eyelashes and an over-sweet voice. “You look very handsome in your stupid fucking suit. Your turn.”

Ben started to stall, because he couldn’t think of anything good enough for Her. “We should get you a suit.”

She snorted. “I am not wearing a costume.”

“It’s not a fucking costume, Sunshine, it’s a uniform.”

“If I can buy a semi accurate version of it at Spirit Halloween, it’s a costume.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween.”

“It’s a costume store. Stop stalling and give me my compliment.”

Ben sighed, scanning Her face and trying to make the Thing come up with something a little more fucking poetic than you, you, you it’s just you and if you liked we can go right fucking now and leave forever and I’d keep you safe and happy and smiling and fuck you wherever the hell you want whenever you want because it’s you and you’re perfect.

“You…” Off to a remarkably fucking shit start. “Are…” Ben was going to find it, if it was the last thing he fucking did. He was going to keep staring at Her until he figured out exactly what say that would make her face all flushed and thighs clench and heart stutter.

“I am?”

“You’re good.” Ben settled for simplicity. Poetry was not his fucking strong suit, and that was more than okay by him.

“I’m good?” She frowned at him, and for a second Ben wanted to bring her into his chest, just show Her what he’d meant. He couldn’t show her with just words, and she was frowning, and just fucking showing her would be more fun anyways. It would make Her smile, make her understand, he was goddamn sure of it. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“You’re good,” Ben repeated, shrugging and his hands fisted to stop himself from grabbing Her. “It’s pretty fucking simple. Your pretty brain should be able to figure it out.”

“Well congratulations, you’ve stumped me. Can you please be just the tiniest bit less cryptic.”

“You’re good.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first two times-“

“No,” Ben said Her name, too lost in trying to make her get it to stop himself grabbing her chin. “You’re good. You’re not what these pussies say you are. You’re a lot fucking more than whatever Homelander thinks you are. You’re better and more important than any politician, supe or no. You’re good.”

“Oh,” She whispered. “Thanks.”

Ben’s hand was still against Her jaw, and she wasn’t pushing it away. If anything She was leaning into it, keeping Ben touching her as if she didn’t care about the useless fucking onlookers either. And She was staring at him, keeping Ben with her just by fucking looking at him, her mouth just slightly open. If he wanted Ben could move his thumb up, trace Her perfect lips, see if she’d let him push it into her-

Someone who Ben was going to have to kill later said Her name, and she looked away.

The Thing was so absorbed in Her, in try to get back to Her, that Ben missed the entire first half of the conversation. MM was crouching in front of Her—holding onto the seat at her side to steady himself from Butcher’s fucking terrible driving—and talking without sparing Ben a glance.

“-Even if Butcher doesn’t tip her off, what makes you absolutely so goddamn certain Soldier Boy won’t blow his load early and screw us,” MM was hissing, and Ben scowled.

“I never fucking blow my load early-“

She caught his eye, her own flaring slightly to tell him, Shut up, Pretty Boy.

Ben grunted, but fell silent with a clenched jaw, shooting Her a look of, I don’t blow my load early.

She rolled her eyes. Now is not even remotely the time to start measuring your dick. Let me handle this.

Fine, Ben winked. But you’re welcome to help me measure it later.

She kicked Ben’s shin, addressing MM. “He won’t. I’ve been working on it.”

“You’ve been working on it?” MM scoffed. “Just because you’re all smiley and gross at each other doesn’t mean you can control this motherfucker’s PTSD.”

“No, but my fucking healing powers mean that I can get rid of it.”

MM blinked at Her, glancing quickly at Ben before speaking in a low tone that Ben, for one, didn’t fucking appreciate. “You've been healing him.”

“Allegedly,” Ben muttered under his breath, and earned a dirty look.

“Yeah, well, you’ve only blown your load once this month. So shut the fuck up.” She looked back at MM. “He can control it.”

“It’s your ass if he can’t,” MM snapped, and She rolled her eyes.

“I’m aware. He can.”

Both Ben and the Thing were big fans of how clear and final She said those words. Ben could control it, that was it, no room for discussion. She had faith in him, she trusted him, and if anyone had any issue with that she’d defend him. Just like Ben would defend Her. To the ends of the fucking earth, until they burned together.

“Do you know where we’re putting Neuman and Zoe after this?” She was still talking to MM, but Her voice had raised enough for the whole shit team to hear. “She can’t just keep being Vice President. Homelander will kill her.”

“About that,” it was Cocksucker who answered, rubbing his hands together like an anxious pussy. “They’re going to the safe house.”

“The safe house?” She repeated with a frown. “Like, our safe house?”

The Thing liked Her use of our. Ben did too. He did not like where this conversation was headed. “I am not living with Head-popper and her kid.”

“Well, I’ve got fantastic fucking news,” Butcher drawled, standing and turning as the van came to a halt. “You ain’t gonna. You two,” Butcher pointed between Ben and Her. “Will be moving.”

“To a different safe house?” She asked, and Butcher shook his head with a snake-like grin.

“To the new FBSA HQ,” Butcher winked at Ben, and Ben wanted to sew his eye shut. “In Jersey.”

“I am not living in fucking Jersey either,” Ben snapped, and She sighed.

“Why not a new safe house?”

“Because.”

She snorted at Butcher’s useless fucking response. “What, does the whole CIA somehow only have one safe house?”

“Listen,” MM grunted. “You’ll get an apartment. Just a little fuckin smaller than the house. You’ll have more freedom-“

“We both still won’t be able to leave the house.” She pointed out, and MM shrugged.

“But you’ll be able to fuckin order food. Get packages delivered without texting me or Mallory about it. Have visitors. Anything you order will have to be under a fake name, and visitors will have to be approved, but it’s more than what you have now.”

“Why now? That building was finished in January, I saw it on the news. Why move us now?”

“Because,” Butcher crossed the van with a shrug. “We bloody said so. Now are we ready to get a move on? Time is of the essence in this shit plan.”

“Okay,” She took a deep breath. “Hughie, can you-“

“On it,” Cocksucker gave Her a thumbs up, starting to tap of his little laptop. “I’ll let you know when I’m good.”

“Thanks. Just so we’re all on the same page, Butcher, what are you doing?”

Butcher rolled his eyes. “Watching the exit. Why am I getting fucking cold called-“

She ignored Butcher’s whiny bitching, and turned to Starlight. “Annie?”

“Stay in the van, make sure the building’s clear.”

“MM?”

“Standby to help Annie get people out.”

“Frenchie?”

“Fire alarm.”

She signed at Kimiko, who responded with a smile.

“Good,” She looked around the van, and Ben realized she hadn’t asked him.

Because She trusts you, the Thing rumbled. She isn’t worried about you fucking it.

“Any questions?” She asked, and when she was met with shaking heads she nodded. “Hughie?”

“We're good. Annie, do you need help-“

Starlight shook her head, taking the computer from Cocksucker. “I’ve got it.”

Cocksucker gave a small nod, and turned to Her. “I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Ben could hear the tap of Her fingers in the familiar pattern, her heart speeding up as she took another breath. “We’ll go first. Annie, find exits for Butcher and Kimiko, and send them fast. If Neuman sees us coming we need to have our asses covered. I’ll text when Frenchie’s good to pull the alarm.”

She stood on unsteady feet, and Ben’s arm shot out instinctively to catch her around the waist. He was rewarded with a grateful smile and Her heart slowing ever so slightly. “Ready?”

The question was for Ben. He knew it, because She wasn’t looking anywhere but him and her voice was soft. “Fucking born for it.”

She huffed a small laugh, dropping the sunglasses onto the bridge of her perfect nose, and Ben didn’t bother to remove his arm from her as he stood. The Pussy Brigade’s confused and judgmental stares could go suck each other off if they wanted. She gave a small gesture to Cocksucker, who left Starlight’s side to follow them out the van and into the cold alleyway.

They were silent for a second as She took in the tall brownstone building before them. Cocksucker kept shooting them both anxious fucking pussy looks as Ben held Her against him—using his body to block her from the chills of the wind—and would look away frantically whenever Ben held his gaze.

“Ben,” She looked up at him with sharp eyes, over the frames of her sunglasses. “You need to throw us.”

“What?”

Ben and Cocksucker spoke in almost perfect unison, though Cocksucker’s words were more panicked in comparison to Ben’s disbelief.

“I am not fucking throwing you,” Ben snapped Her name.

“You have to,” She looked back at the building, pointing as she spoke. “We can’t go through the emergency exit, alarms will go off. That,” Her finger moved to the iron stairs and grates lining the building. “Is our best bet. You can jump, me and Hughie can’t.”

“Then I’ll go first and lower the damn ladder.”

Cocksucker nodded. “I second Soldier Boy, that’s a better plan.”

“No,” She elbowed Ben’s ribs, shaking her head. “It’s not. That’s something people might notice. We need to leave as little a trail as possible. Ben’s going to throw us. Me first, then Hughie, then he’ll jump.”

Ben wanted to argue—tell Her that there had to be a better idea that didn’t involve Her just being chucked into the fucking air—but She had already detangled herself from Ben, and was moving towards the building. So Ben followed, Cocksucker stumbling behind him, and stopped at Her side.

“This is fucking stupid, Sunshine.”

“Uh huh,” She looked up at the fire escape. “Whenever you’re ready, Pretty Boy.”

Ben huffed, but picked Her up carefully, locking his arms firmly around her body and balancing on one leg as he propped up a knee. “Don’t die.”

“Couldn’t if I tried. Go.”

Ben squeezed Her slightly, then threw Her up. The half-second before she grabbed the rails—where she was suspended almost fucking cartoonishly in the sky—sucked all the air from Ben’s lungs. But She was fast, finding a grip and hauling herself onto the platform with only a small grunt that was carried away by the wind.

“All good!” She called down. “Send Hughie up.”

Ben looked at Cocksucker, whose face was like a fucking deer about to be mauled by a wolf.

“Uh, I’m not sure this is a good idea-“

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, walking to pick the gangly fucker up. “I’m not going to fucking kill you. And she’ll catch you.”

“But-“

Ben grabbed Cocksucker under his arms and tossed him into the air with a yelp. As promised, She grabbed Cocksucker’s hand in the air, holding him steady until the little pussy got a hold on the bars himself and pulled up to Her side. Ben sighed, rolling his neck and trying to measure the jump as he backed up.

“Ben-“

Her call was cut off as he lept into the air, landing pretty damn perfectly on the platform. Right in front of Her. “Yes?” He winked, tone mocking, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Show off.”

“You fucking told me to do that.”

“Fuck you,” She turned away, and the Thing started brainstorming ways to get her back later for those words. “Hughie, what floor is Neuman on?”

“The top one, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m like 98% sure.”

She sighed. “Then we better start climbing.”

The walk up the stairs was silent, Her leading the way, Ben at the rear, and Cocksucker moving in small, quick steps between them. The wind was biting, howling in Ben’s ears louder and louder the closer they drew to the top, drowning out the sound of Her heartbeat. When they stopped, one level from the roof, She crouched below the window. Cocksucker followed suit, and Ben gave Her a flat look.

“I’m not-“

“Benjamin, get your ass down before I make you.”

He glared at Her, only because this is important, and hunched to the floor.

“I’ll go in first. Ben, I’m going to have to keep my eyes on Neuman, so you need to text Butcher.”

“I don’t have my fucking phone-“

She tossed it at Ben wordlessly, raising Her brows.

“Shut up,” he grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out.

“Ready?”

Ben grunted, and Cocksucker gave a barely perceptible nod.

She exhaled through puffed lips, moving the sunglasses into her jacket as she looked at the window. “Here we fucking go.”

Neuman’s apartment was nice. Cozy. If Ben didn’t have a fucking job to do, he’d ask for her interior decorator. Especially if he’d understood MM correctly and was going to be getting his own apartment soon. To share with Her. Their apartment.

Would she like that carpet? The Thing was fixated on a deep blue, stupidly damn fluffy carpet thrown across Neuman’s floor. No, it’s blue. Fucking pussy color. She’d like the texture though-

Job to do. Ben had a job to do. The Thing needed to shut the fuck up, because Ben had a job to do.

A job that walked right into the hallway they were standing in.

Neuman’s eyes widened, talking a stumbling step back as she yelped. “Hughie? The fuck are you doing here? In my home?” Nueman’s eyes darted to Ben, then Her. “With Soldier Boy and the Anomaly?”

“It’s complicated,” Cocksucker rubbed his neck nervously. “You should, uh, you should get Zoe.”

“Stay the hell away from my daughter. Whatever you’re doing here doesn’t fucking involve her.”

“Vicki-“

Cocksucker’s pleading words were cut off by Her, tone firm. “Neuman, we’re not going to hurt you, or Zoe. We just need you both. Now.”

Neuman laughed disbelievingly. “You’re not here to hurt me, but you brought Solider Boy?”

“We’ll explain,” She answered, voice calm even as Her heart started to pick up. “But please get Zoe.”

“Fuck no-“

“Neuman.” She crossed her arms. “You can’t pop me or Ben. You won’t pop Hughie. I swear we aren’t here to hurt you. Go get Zoe.”

There was silence for a second, Ben could see Neuman looking around frantically, trying to find a way out where there wasn’t one, and eventually giving in. “Zo, baby? Can you come here please?”

A girl, couldn’t be more than fucking twelve, entered the hall. “Mom, what’s-“ The kid’s words died with a gasp as she saw Ben, Cocksucker, and Her in the hall. “Mom?”

Neuman moved the kid behind her, holding her hand with a white-knuckled grip. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“What is Hughie doing here, with Soldier Boy?!” The girl's voice was frantic, and Ben could hear her heart race. “And Homelander’s girlfriend? What the fuck is happening-“

“She’s not Homelander’s girlfriend,” Ben hissed, and She slapped Ben’s arm.

She’s just a kid, Her glare said. And you said you’d let me do the talking.

You’re not Homelander’s anything, Ben glared back. She should fucking know that.

Just a kid, Ben. She gave the phone in his hand a pointed look. Text Butcher that we’re good.

Ben scoffed, but opened the damn phone to tell Butcher that the French Prick needed to move as Neuman continued to comfort her daughter.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. I can’t explain right now, but we’re going to be fine. I just need you to stay behind me.”

“Mom-“

“Zoe,” Cocksucker said gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, or your mom. We just need to talk.”

“About what?” Neuman hissed. “I’d have taken a meeting, you didn’t have to resort to breaking into my home, Hughie.”

“Well, uh-“

“And I fucking know you visited Stan on Monday. So don’t lie to me and say you’re not up to something-“

Neuman was cut off as a wailing, deafening siren rattled through the building. Turns out the French Prick moved impressively fast. Ben had barely hit send two seconds ago.

“Ben,” She mumbled, eyes not leaving Neuman’s fearful expression. “Can you break the alarms?”

Ben nodded with a grunt, walking to the red light above them as smashing it with his fist. That seemed to be enough, he could hear everyone’s breathing and heart again, so he returned to Her side.

“Hughie, tell me when Annie says we’re good.”

Cocksucker nodded, pulling out and fidgeting with his phone, and Neuman took a shaky step back.

“Don’t try and leave, Neuman,” She said, voice tired and face bored. “I really don’t want to hurt you, so please just wait.”

“Wait for what?! What the fuck is happening?!”

She sighed. “As you probably figured out, we cut a deal with Edgar. He’s going to help us out, as long as we talk you and Zoe out of the game.”

“Out of the game?” Neuman’s face twisted in determination. “You lay a hand on me, on Zoe, and I’ll blow Hughie’s brains up.”

Cocksucker paled, “Vicki-“

“I phrased that poorly.” She addressed Neuman firmly, standing her ground. “We’re removing the V from your system. So you don’t have to be a part of this shit show. The CIA will keep you safe, and we’ll get what we need.”

“No,” Neuman shook her head, taking another step back. “Fuck no. You’re not touching me, or Zoe, and whatever Stan said he’d give you I can give you as well-“

Neuman’s words choked him her throat as fire spread slowly along the floor. Controlled, careful flames that blocked the exits and never rose above a foot.

“We’re not asking.” She said softly, almost fucking apologetic. “It might hurt for a second, but you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“Um,” Cocksucker said Her name, looking up from his phone. “We’re ready.”

“I’m sorry,” She said to Neuman, and Ben knew She fucking meant it. Her heart was bouncing around in her chest, her breathing was labored, and her face was full of guilt when she looked at him. “Now, Ben.”

Ben called the drums, pulling them as fast as he fucking could into his chest, into time with his heart. It was building, growing louder and brighter, and he angled his chest at Her right before everything fell in place inside him, and the world exploded.

The Thing roared as the bomb caught Her, even if every conscious part of Ben knew she’d be fine. She was strong, she could handle it, she’d fucking told him to hit her. But that didn’t stop the Thing from trying to climb out of him, to get to Her as she floated off the ground, surrounded in golden light and fire with her eyes shut. Ben couldn’t hear Her heart, couldn’t read her face, couldn’t give shit about Neuman trying to run or Cocksucker backing up to the window. It was just Her, burning alone, impossible to reach. Impossible to help.

She went out. For only a second all the light died, and Ben could hear Her heartbeat again. Then Her eyes opened, fucking wild and glowing, and everything exploded. Light shot from Her chest, hitting Neuman and Zoe head on, moving through their bodies as she levitated further off the floor. Ben even fucking stumbled, because the world shook. The ground moved and everything seemed to come to a screeching halt, suspended in time as She grew brighter. Time only resumed when the light—as fast as it had appeared—died, and She collapsed to the floor.

Ben fucking dove to catch Her, grabbing around her chest right before she hit the floor. Her eyes were open, and Ben could see the exhaustion in them, hear the slowing of Her heart as the energy drained from Her body. He heard Cocksucker run past them, checking on Nueman, but didn’t look away from Her.

“Ben,” Her voice was weak, breathless. “I’m fine. Make sure it worked.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you-“

“All you have to do is turn your head, check that Neuman and Zoe are alive, and tell me,” She gave a soft laugh. “Fucking drama queen.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben muttered, but glanced over his shoulder to where Cocksucker was standing awkwardly as Zoe climbed her feet, Neuman pulling her into a hug. “They look fucking fine.”

“Okay,” She sat up slowly, not trying to leave Ben’s hold as she called over him. “Hughie, are they-“

“We are,” Neuman answered. “I can’t feel it. Your blood or hearts. Zo?”

The girl’s hands moved to her face. “They’re gone.”

Neuman nodded, and looked back at Her. Ben could hear the race of Neuman’s heart, almost smell her fear. “Now what?”

“Butcher and Kimiko are on their way up,” Cocksucker said, glancing at his phone. “We’re going to get you somewhere safe.”

“What about my life,” Neuman shook her head. “Zoe’s life-“

“You both wouldn’t have fucking lives if Homelander decided you weren’t useful anymore,” Ben snapped. “You’re fucking welcome.”

Neuman looked at Ben with a frown, her eyes scanning over how he was still holding Her, keeping her carefully upright. “What did Edgar offer you.”

“Help,” Ben hissed. “And it's not your fucking problem now.”

“We need to move,” She tugged at Ben’s shirt, voice even quieter than before. “Homelander will have noticed this, we need to go-“

Ben nodded roughly, and scooped Her into his arms. Ben turned to Cocksucker as She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell Butcher you pussies better fucking haul ass to get Neuman out.”

Cocksucker nodded nervously. “Um, where are you-“

“The van. We still have shit at the safe house, we’ll need to get it before you move us. But I’m not fucking waiting here until Butcher arrives.” Until Homelander arrives. Not when She’s about to pass out. Ben spoke the last words through gritted teeth. “I did my job. Do yours.”

Ben didn’t wait for Cocksucker’s response, climbing back out of the window and studying the drop down the alley. He could just jump—it would be faster and they’d both be fine—but it would be loud. Crack the pavement.

Get more unwelcome attention.

So Ben climbed down the stairs, keeping Her secure against his chest. He jumped down from only the last platform, making sure Her hold on him was firm before did he, and moved to van in long, fast steps. He vaulted through the doors, dropping against the walls—not bothering with pointless fucking greetings to MM or Starlight—and listened to Her breathing fall, becoming slow and easy as her eyes drooped. She passed out in Ben’s arms, and he rubbed small circles on Her back because he fucking could. Because they had done it, She had done it, so Edgar would come through and she’d be safe.

It took a few minutes, but the remainder of the team—now joined by Nueman and her daughter—returned to the van. The door slammed behind them and MM took off, hightailing it away from the alley, from where Homelander would surely arrive any minute. But Ben didn’t give a shit, didn’t bother to listen to Butcher, Starlight, and Nueman talk about next steps, because She was here. Holding Ben, heartbeat in rhythm with his own.

She leaned against Ben the whole way back to the safe house. Face smushed into his chest, hair tickling Ben’s chin as she climbed up just a little closer in her sleep. Curled in his lap, a little bit of droll falling from her mouth. Ben had never seen something so fucking perfect in his life. She deserved to be like that for the rest of fucking time, comfortable and peaceful. Against Ben, if that’s what she wanted.

Ben moved slowly, careful not to disturb Her, and pulled out his phone. 696969 was a fucking stupid passcode, but he’d noticed Her fight a giggle every time he had to enter it so it would stay like that forever. It took him a minute to find the camera app—there had to be a better way to navigate this piece of shit—but when he did he raised his free arm, holding the phone down at Her perfect face, and took a photo. It might be fucking creepy, he might be getting weird looks from the Pussy Brigade, but Ben didn’t give a single fuck. If She ever decided to leave him, if he had to let Her go, at least he’d have a memory of this. Of Her just needing him, just wanting him.

Something of Her, forever.

End Note: My wife (Victoria Neuman) is home from war (s4 of the Boys)

Thank you guys for 100 followers!!! I want to do something but have literally no clue what. If you want to throw a snack into my writer enclosure, leave a comment with any thoughts or jokes or angry words for me about cockblocking our favorite horny idiots again. And if not just being here is always more than enough!

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

136 notes · View notes

sim0nril3y · 1 year

Text

Your Flat

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: It's date night and Simon invites himself over to your flat to pick you up and he finally sees that chaos that you're living in, along with your artwork. Note: Set in 2014 Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), teasing, smut, P in V, Simon being his usual guarded self, canon-typical swearing.

Friday night. It was date night – something one night that you had jokingly called it and now it had begrudgingly become part of his own vocabulary too. It was now the thing in the week that Simon was beginning to look forward to the most. There had been no conversation of commitment but Simon knew that he liked spending time with you. Actually, you were consuming his mind outside of spending date nights with you. Deep down a voice continued to tell him that this was all a bad idea and that your safety was being risked but that voice was beginning to become more and more quiet as each day passed.

This would be the first time that Simon would see your flat. It had been the only thing you had been fairly secretive about. Rapping his knuckles loudly against the door Simon smirked to himself as he heard a flurry of sound from behind it. It swung open swiftly and witnessed you rushing in the opposite direction down the hallway, minus a few items of clothes. “You’re early!” That had been intentional, otherwise you’d had met him in the carpark and he’d never been able to set foot in your flat. “Come in!” You coaxed from your bedroom.

Entering your flat Simon was instantly overwhelmed by the sheer chaos of the place. It was small but it was full of clutter and art supplies, they were littering almost every surface. There was laundry slung over every door and radiator, hanging off the backs of chairs and on hangers over doorways, interestingly every place but the airer designed for it which was instead housing some of your drying canvas’. “Jesus, kid…”

“I didn’t realise I’d have company!” You hollered from your bedroom, sounding breathless behind the door, bumping into objects and fussing over trying to find something appropriate to wear. "I'm sorry!" You tagged on quickly.

In your lounge area there was one particular space that caught his attention. There were stacks of canvas’ placed against one another, an old looking easel, rows of different paints and brushes. Oh, so this must have been where you created your artwork and those canvas’ must have been the finished pieces. Simon took great care as he stepped into that little shrine and began to inspect them. It wasn’t like he understood art anyway. Looking at some pieces made him feel certain ways. It was invoking emotions – wasn’t that what art was supposed to do? Fuck, he wasn’t some connoisseur but he could see that you were very talented. “Right, I’m-” Your flustered frame bound around the corner still mid putting your heel on and cutting you sentence short as you spotted Simon in your ‘art studio’. “Oh, you found my art…”

Simon was careful in returning the canvas’ how he had found them and turned to you. “It was about the only thing I could find in here…” There was a tell-tale look of embarrassment that flashed across your features as you rolled your eyes. “You are a messy pup…” He commented taking a few steps in your direction and quirking a brow down at you, as if waiting for some explanation.

“I-It isn’t usually this bad…” There was so much defensiveness to your tone, attempting to rack your brain for some reasonable excuse for your flat being in such a state. “I woke up and I had this massive spark that I just knew I needed to get onto canvas… right, I’m not making excuses…. God, I know I must sound so stupid…. I’m not making a whole lot of sense, but-” “Kid, enough.” His firm tone commanded, reaching up and tugging you gently in his direction. “Honestly, I couldn’t care less if your flat is messy…” You let out a relieved puff of air. “As long as mine doesn’t end up the same way, I’m fine with it.” A bright smile found your lips. “What time did you say our table is booked for?”

His eyes narrowed softly as he felt your dainty fingers dancing along his belt. “Babe…” It was a warning. “What?” There was such false innocence to your tone and that was what finally made him snap.

It seemed very clear that your IKEA bedframe wasn’t up to the task of being fucked on. It creaked and cracked dangerously with each thrust into your trembling frame, the headboard was clattering against the wall so much that Simon wondered if he should put a pillow behind it to try and save your poor neighbours ears. All this whilst you whine and whimpered beneath him, clearly unaware of all this commotion. It appeared that all that consumed your mind was the way he perfectly stretched your tight walls to accommodate his girthy cock.

With one particularly strong crack beneath him Simon grumbled out. “M’gonna break your fuckin’ bed…” It earned a fit of giggles from you that mixed with a soft load of whimpers. “Fuck off. I’m being serious.” Even he could fight the small smirk before finally deciding to save your poor bed anymore stress.

Instead, his arms wound around your frame. “Fuckin’… c’mere…” His cock still buried deep within your walls as he rose from the bed and placed you against the closest surface. There wasn’t any hesitation from there, Simon began to fuck into your wet cunt with reckless-abandon. This time he was far more confident that he would be able to do any structural damage to your home. There wasn’t any way that he’d be able to knock down a loadbearing wall from fucking alone. “My good girl~”

Rushing from your flat once they had cleaned up and resituated the majority of their clothes. You were speaking your worries about the possibility of missing the table whilst trying to work your key into the dodge lock barrel, it didn’t escape your knowledge your grumpy old neighbour Peter was lingering outside smoking over the balcony and observing the estate below him. “These flats have thin walls, you know…” He muttered lowly and Simon narrowed his eyes as you struggled with the lock, cursing softly under your breath.

“Bad enough I have to listen to that shit you call music, but now I have to listen to you fucking too-” “That’s enough.” Simon growled out at him causing Peter to look in his direction furious. By luck the key finally spun and you were quick to be by Simon’s side, taking his hand and beginning to drag him past Peter and away from the possibility of an altercation.

As you got further away from Peter, you finally decided you could laugh softly, looking at Simon and saying. “You don’t have to fight every prick that says something stupid to us…” Taking your hand he tugged you close and pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead. “How else are they gonna learn not to be disrespectful to you.” He watched the way that your eyes filled with such adoration. “Now get your arse moving before I end up fucking you in the stairwell just to prove a point to that twat…”

Masterlist | Ask | 05-09-2023

#simon riley x oc #simon riley x reader #ghost x oc #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon riley imagine #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #simon riley x y/n #ghost #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut

926 notes · View notes

justlemmeadoreyou · 1 year

Text

Waiting^

sorry this is shit, i am just sad and wrote this. the ending sucks, I know. might do a part 2

. . .

You were excited. Excited was a small word to describe what you were feeling. Thrilled, maybe?

Today was you and Harry’s 6 month anniversary. And it’s not as big as it sounds, but it was for you. It was the longest relationship you’d been in, without getting your heart broken or thrown away.

You were excited, and so was Harry. He woke you up with his raspy voice, and an overload of kisses, that made your cheeks turn red from the utter adoration you felt for him in that moment. You couldn’t believe your surroundings at that moment. Being so much in love, it almost hurt.

You both cuddled, till one of you had to break away so that you both could leave for work, or you would have ended up lying there till the afternoon or so.

He had a few interviews today, which he promised to finish up early, so that he could be there at the dot, pulling out the chair for you on your reserved table. At 8 pm.

And now, as you glanced at your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 8:46 pm. No sign of Harry. No call, or even a text.

You felt sad, almost pathetic sitting there and waiting for him. He forgot. Of course he did. He was so busy even when on a break, and had a million things to attend to. A stupid 6-month anniversary dinner was not worth his time.

The waiter gave you an apologetic look as he asked you if you were still waiting or were going to order.

“I think I’ll leave. Thank you.”

You picked up your belongings, your phone and purse, and headed out into the chill air outside. You walked to your car, trying to hold your tears in, atleast till you were inside and had the windows pulled up.

He could’ve just said that he wouldn’t be able to make it, when you had first asked him. Could’ve just said no, instead of standing you up and making you suffer. That would have hurt less.

The tears escaped from the chokehold you’d held them in, flowing through your makeup, and on your red dress, which you had brought specially for this occasion. You had saved up for a few months so you could buy an expensive one, to at least try and curb the difference of him wearing a thousand-dollar suit.

But, it all went down the drain.

You started driving, wiping off the never-stopping tears so you could focus on the road. As you reached the intersection, instead of turning for the road to your shared home, you turned for your old apartment.

It had grown old, and Harry had suggested that you move in somewhere else. You were packing up to do that, and then he asked you to move in with him. You happily agreed.

Maybe that was the issue. You were a pushover, or just an easy game in general. That was why nobody could stand you for even three months.

Turning and parking into the parking complex, you searched for the keys and went upstairs. Opening the door with a bit of effort, you made your way in. It had gotten dirty, but was enough to atleast spend the night in. You would move somewhere else tomorrow.

Making your way to the bedroom, you didn’t even bother turning on the lights. Removing the expensive dress and leaving it on the floor, you jumped on the bed, pulling the sheets to cover yourself.

Your crying had stopped, but you couldn’t stop the repulsive and self-loathing thoughts filling your head. He didn’t forget anything, till today. He even remembered the smallest of the small details, even your college grades. How could he forget this?

Was he done? And he didn’t want anything more to with you anymore? Maybe it was all your fault. You were so talkative and expressive of everything you felt. He got tired and needed breaks. But your stupid self just couldn’t understand, could it?

You weren’t perfect too. You didn’t have a skinny body or long legs like the models he had dated. Didn’t have that beauty, or that money. But, you worked hard and made enough to take care of yourself without depending on your parents or him. Wasn’t that enough?

Maybe that wasn’t for him. Maybe he wanted all he had before, before you. Maybe he wanted to try a mediocre girl before going back to the ones he really wanted to be with. Maybe you were just a rebound for him.

It took a while for you to focus on the sound ringing thoughout your room. It was your phone. A call from Harry.

“Hello”

“Hi” your voice sounded raspy, your throat swollen from all the crying.

“Love, I know I’m super late and I’m really fucking sorry. I just went for a few drinks with the guys and lost track of time. Are you near the restaurant? I’m halfway there-”

“You couldn’t call? Or even text?”

“Sorry. I’m really fucking sorry, it’s just, tha’ I-I completely forgot.” He was swearing a lot, something he did when he was drunk.

“You forgot? After I had been telling you for almost a month. I reminded you in the morning? And why are you driving after drinking? Are you insane?”

“Look, I’m really sorry. I know I messed up. Are you still near the place?”

“No, Harry! I’m not. It’s almost 10 now. The reservation was for 8 pm. And stop talking on the phone while drunk driving. Someone else couldn’t have dropped you?”

“Everyone was drunk, and I left without telling them. Will you just tell me where you are?”

“No, I won’t. Just turn around and go home. It’s just 5 minutes away. Don’t bother about me.”

“What? Why? Look, the signal is on. Just tell me. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Go home!”

“Why are you bein so mean?”

“Bye, Harry”

. . .

taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl

dm, or send an ask if you want to be added!

#harry #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles blurb #harry styles au #harry styles concept #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles masterlist #harry styles fluff

490 notes · View notes

writershapeholeonthedoor · 1 year

Text

Lay all your love (on me)

Pairing: Elizabeth Olsen x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get hired to be Elizabeth’s love interest in her new movie and nothing could prepare you to how your life would change upon meeting her

Disclaimer: English is not my first language

MASTERLIST

When you got the call that the part on the upcoming rom-com was yours, you could barely believe it. It took you days and actually signing the contract to fully believe that was about to happen - you finally got an important part in a big movie with some big stars. After struggling with your career for years now, that was very refreshing.

You didn’t know much about the movie plot at first, just a few bits that were enough for you to know you would be the romantic interest for the protagonist, but that was about it. You didn’t know who the protagonist was going to be - you were fairly sure they hadn’t hired anyone yet - but that didn’t stop you from going out with your friends to celebrate. It was a big moment, something that could really change your career, so you held nothing back to party and have a great time.

Weeks later, you were informed your romantic interest had finally been chosen and you almost yelled from the top of your lungs when the name Elizabeth Olsen was announced. Of course you knew who she was and was so, so, so excited to work with her. As soon as her name was announced, the media started giving the movie much more attention as well and you could barely contain your excitement to get the shooting started. You got to work with a Hollywood star who made several Marvel movies and a very successful TV show, not to mention all of her other works that you were a big fan of. Not only that, but you would play a couple and you couldn’t wait until you were finally told the exact day the shooting would start.

You would have to travel to another country, but you weren’t too worried about that. London was a nice place to be for a couple of months until you guys wrapped the movie, even if you would live in a hotel for that time being. You even got to the city a day before she had to just to make sure you weren’t jet-legged before going to the set for the first time. The only thing that slightly worried you a bit was that the director had forego a table reading for the entire cast, which meant you guys would only meet on the first day of working together, something that didn’t always work out the right way.

Even so, on the first day you had to be on the set, you woke up super early to be able to have a nice breakfast and get ready, and then you called for a cab to take you to where the shooting was going to happen. Most people had no idea who you were yet, but an assistant was waiting for you to take you to the director for a quick chat before going to hair and make-up. You knew the director already - since he was obviously there for your audition - although that didn’t make you any less nervous to be standing in front of him while the man talked about what was expected of you. He gave you a brief explanation of your character and how you should behave when the cameras were rolling, then you talked about the first scene you would shoot.

“We’re only going to need you after lunch since we’re shooting a few other things this morning with Ms Olsen and other characters,” he explained. “But be here around two and we’re getting started, okay?”

You could only nod along because you would never be stupid enough to disagree with someone who had been working in the industry since before you were born. “Is there anything specific I need to do for the scene? I read the script that was sent to me, but-”

“Oh, shit,” the director interrupted you with a grunt. “Bella, did we send her the new shooting schedule?” Upon seeing your panicked face and the assistant blank stare, he only sighed and shook his head. “Fine, then we have something for you to work on. We changed the scenes we’re shooting today because one of the actors had a problem with their agenda. My assistant here will give you the new part we’re doing today, so you’ll have new things to memorize.”

And that’s how your nerves got a thousand times worse.

You had been beating yourself up for weeks, putting a lot of pressure on your shoulders to do an impeccable job, to not screw over your big opportunity and, especially, to make a good first impression. You trained your lines in front of mirrors and with a close friend several times, and now suddenly things had changed and you didn’t feel like you had enough time to work on the new scene for it to be as good as you wanted it to be. However, once again, you didn’t try to tell other people how to do their job. You just accepted the new script and locked yourself with the make-up department to study the pages while they did their work.

It took you very little time to realize what scene you were supposed to be doing that day. On your very first day, nonetheless. It was a scene where your character and Elizabeth’s character held a small conversation before kissing. You were going to be kissing Elizabeth Olsen that day and you were not even a little bit prepared for that.

“You seem nervous, honey,” one of the oldest ladies in the room said when her assistant walked off to grab something.

You hadn’t noticed you were bouncing your leg until she pointed it out, but, once you did, you quickly froze and, with wide eyes and blushing cheeks, looked at her. “I’m not.”

“Everything is going to be fine,” she said with a low chuckle, clearly not believing in you.

“Yes, but…” You took a deep breath and let your eyes go through the pages again. “This is big, you know? And I’m not. I can’t screw this over.” After looking up again, you saw the way the woman was looking through her make-up kit to find something and it made you bite your lip as if you were waiting for it to be another failure of your day. “I wish I had bumped into her in the hallways or something.”

Thankfully, the make-up artist found what she was looking for and went back to her work. “Who are you shooting with?”

She was apparently used to having people freaking out on her chair and she was nice enough, kind and gentle, so you had no problem venting out to her a little bit. “Elizabeth.”

“Oh!” A wide smile turned the woman’s lips up. “She was here earlier today, obviously! She’s a gem!”

“Really?”

“Yes! Really nice person, you really have nothing to worry about!”

You hesitated for a second, looked at the scene written on the paper again, and then sighed. “Even if we have to kiss and we never even saw each other before?”

Well, the kind lady didn’t have anything helpful to say about that and you were left with silence once her assistant returned to the room. After your make-up was done, you had an early lunch break, and you ate alone inside a room while glossing over the script like a hawk. The more time went by, the more nervous you got, to the point you were starting to feel the beginning of an anxiety attack coming to bite you in the ass. That would certainly be way worse - way worse - so you decided to take a break for real and take a walk around the studio to think about anything else.

You had half an hour before having to go to the dressing room, so you walked slowly outside, enjoying the not so warm day out while taking calm breaths. You were walking for maybe ten minutes when you saw someone walking over beside an assistant and under an umbrella towards the door. Probably returning from a lunch break herself was Elizabeth Olsen, who didn’t seem to notice you as she walked. That was a perfect opportunity to pick up with her, introduce yourself and make things less weird once you two were standing in front of a camera, but you were too far away and the only way to reach her in time was to run towards her, which was even worse.

So, with a bit of dread in your heart, you watched her going inside and disappearing from your line of sight, and you were once again hit with the thoughts from before. You weren’t actually starstruck or something like that because you were professional and could get your job done, but the fear of somehow ruining things in front of Elizabeth made things worse. She had years of experience in big roles and she was the face of the movie, the protagonist. You couldn’t screw things up on your first scene.

Obsessing over it again, you went to the dressing department while chewing a mint, and popped another two before heading out, both out of nerves and because you were afraid you might have bad breath when you were supposed to be kissing someone. It wasn’t actually kissing, of course, but that would be bad. Very bad.

By the time the director called you for another talk, you had already dried your palms at least five times on the nice pants the wardrobe people gave you. He had a few things to point out, some tips and other requests for you, and you listened attentively. So attentively indeed that you didn’t notice when Elizabeth walked on set as well.

You were shooting inside a room that was supposed to look like a cafe and you had your backs turned to it, entirely missing the other actress walking behind you to talk to someone else. Once your eyes caught her, though, you felt your heart skipping a beat before skyrocketing inside your chest. You didn’t have the opportunity to be that close to her before, but, now that you had, you couldn’t help but take in all the details. From the clothes her character was going to wear, to the light make-up she had on, to the way her hair was falling in soft waves down her back.

Your first thought was that she looked beautiful, but that wasn’t exactly news. You had eyes, you knew who Elizabeth Olsen was before, and you knew she was beautiful. Although, seeing it up close, was certainly a whole new experience. The first thing that crossed your mind was how your imagination really tricked you into thinking she was much shorter than she was, though she was wearing high heels and you weren’t. Your clothes were plainly different since you were wearing jeans, a t-shirt and sneakers, while Elizabeth was wearing a ridiculously short skirt and what you assumed was a crop top besides the heels, of course.

You almost rolled your eyes at that because the director was really trying to make it clear that those characters were opposites - just like the cliche that the opposites attract or something similarly cheesy.

Noticing you got distracted by something, the director followed your eyes and quickly spotted Elizabeth, then saying something that made your heart beat even faster than before. “Elizabeth, come here please.”

You barely had the time to prepare yourself. You tried to discreetly run a hand through your hair, although you thought better about it when you remembered you didn’t have time to go back to hair and make-up, and also held yourself higher with a sudden perfect posture. If anyone else noticed it, no one said a thing, for which you were grateful.

“You know each other, right?” The director asked once Elizabeth stopped in front of you two, but he didn’t give you enough time to answer before starting to ramble about where he wanted you to stand, and what you should do, and when to tell certain things.

You kept stealing glances at the blonde woman in front of you, feeling your face getting warmer and warmer, though there wasn’t much you could do about it. The conversation ended with the director saying you had five minutes before the shooting started and then walking away to talk with someone else, and you didn’t have much of a choice but to follow one of his assistant leads to find your place to be on set. Elizabeth seemed more familiar with things and people already, and she easily sat down at one of the chairs to wait for things to get moving.

Before you realize it, someone is making you sit across from her at the table, and your nerves hit you with full force all at once. “H-Hi. So, uh, this is not weird at all, huh?”

And, as usual, you used humor as a defense mechanism.

Luckily, it did the trick because Elizabeth actually smiled at you, even if it was mostly just polite. “Y/N, right?” She asked, though she obviously knew it was you by now. Even so, you nodded to let her know she was right. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet before, but I just got here from where I was shooting my last job. They wanted to do a table reading, but I couldn’t make it and we were already on a tight schedule.”

Well, that explained some of the rush people seemed to be in. You couldn’t blame her for having a busy agenda, of course, even if that certainly didn’t help with your anxiety. You still offered her a gentle smile and waved a hand. “That’s okay. I mean, not ideal, but okay. I suppose there were worse scenes for us to shoot after literally knowing each other for five minutes,” you joked.

Elizabeth understood what you meant and chuckled - a low, deep sound that made your insides twist a bit and you just knew you would have to work extra hard to end up that job without a new crush on someone that was way out of your league.

You didn’t have time to dwell on that for long because the director soon asked everyone to be on their marks and, a couple of minutes later, he was yelling “action!”.

You did the best you could at that moment. Not your best, but the best you could. You were nervous, you were shaking a bit and your mind was running faster thinking about the kiss you would have to give Elizabeth later on the scene. Were the mints you ate enough? You brushed your teeth twice, but maybe you should’ve done it once more just to be sure. And you didn’t even have the time to discuss with Elizabeth how the kiss would play out. You would like to know if she had any boundaries she wouldn’t like you to cross or what to do with your hands. And, oh God, your palms were sweaty again, you couldn’t just put them on her face.

The first takes were a disaster. The director seemed so disappointed that you could barely look at him, but he was also looking pissed the more he had to cut a scene. The problem wasn’t even your lines since you hit them all at the right time, but it was hard to ignore that Elizabeth and you didn’t seem to have any chemistry. You were still weird around each other, albeit you would have to admit Elizabeth was doing most of the job while you were silently freaking out across from her.

It was a very frustrating two hours before the director decided to go for the kiss. You couldn’t help but wonder if that was his last try before giving up completely, something that you were sure once he decided to call it a day after the first and only kiss you shared with Elizabeth on screen. While you were moping on your chair, you noticed that he called Elizabeth into a corner and they were talking at each other in whispers, and you could swear you saw eyes snapping at you every once in a while, which only made things worse.

You felt like you had already ruined everything. The thing you were most afraid of, and you managed to do just that. No more opportunities in your career because you just proved to a very important director and a well-known actress that you couldn’t do your job.

Jesus fuck.

You left the set faster than anyone could stop you. You knew you were the one to blame for the terrible work you did that day and you wanted a few minutes alone to mop and collect yourself before someone knocked on the door to fire you. You didn’t have trailers though and you weren’t sure if there were any free rooms, so you ended up in hair and make-up again, thinking that you could at least remove it all before crying and ruining your mascara.

“How was it, honey?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when you heard the make-up artist’s voice coming from a corner of the room since you hadn’t noticed she was there, but you soon relaxed when you saw her kind smile directed at you. You couldn’t bring yourself to lie, not really, and maybe talking with someone would prepare you not to cry when you got fired for real, so that’s what you did.

“It was terrible,” you admitted sadly. “I ruined everything. We don’t have chemistry. Like, none at all. I’m waiting for someone to stop by to fire me right now.”

“Fire you? What for?”

She looked genuinely confused by it. “Well, it’s just, you know… They’re not going to fire her. She’s Elizabeth Olsen. She’s the reason why so many streaming platforms tried to buy this movie. They will realize they can find someone better to be her romantic interest. Maybe Aubrey Plaza, since they already did a movie together. They know each other, it will be easier for them.”

“So you think things could be fixed if you knew her better?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged and totally missed the way the woman rolled her eyes at you while you sat down. She was finding it all amusing, even if you were on the verge of crying for ruining your career.

“You met today, didn’t you?” The woman asked and waited for you to nod. “Maybe that’s the problem. You just met.”

You thought about it for a moment, allowing her to start removing your make-up for you even if that wasn’t exactly her job, a frown permanently on your face. “You’re saying I should get to know her better.”

“Of course! Don’t worry too much, honey. It was the first day. They’re not going to fire you on the first day.”

That made sense. Now that someone else pointed it out, you could see that it was very unlikely that they would fire you after one day of shooting. Yes, it wasn’t great and they didn’t have much time to wait for you to catch up, but that only meant you had to be fast to fix things. You didn’t want to lose that gig and you certainly didn’t want to allow people to think you were bad at what you did. You were just nervous. Overly nervous because of your anxiety, that’s all. It was your first big job, you were meeting some important people, the schedule got changed last minute, and you shouldn’t have drank three cups of coffee in the morning, for sure.

You could still fix this.

You just needed to be fast.

“I’m bringing you donuts tomorrow!” You promised as you ran out of the room minutes later, but you didn’t wait for a reply - nor did you add that you would do that if you didn’t get fired.

Your optimism was back and you wasted no time to go find one of the assistants to ask what time you should be there tomorrow - just to be sure you were expected to be there tomorrow - and then you set on your mission to go find Elizabeth. You had no idea what to say or what you needed, but you knew you had to find her to, at the very least, try to change her perception of you.

You were lucky enough to find her alone looking at her phone while she seemingly waited for someone to show up in the hallway where she was standing, so you quickly walked towards Elizabeth and displayed your best smile - now much more relaxed and less nervous. “Hey, good I found you here!”

Green eyes - so damn green, you thought - looked up at you and Elizabeth put her phone away before crossing her arms and waiting for you to stop in front of her. “Hello.”

“I wanted to apologize for today,” you started and gave her no time to interrupt. “I know that was mostly my fault, well, all my fault actually.” You let out a self-deprecating chuckle as you raised a hand to scratch the back of your neck. “I’m sorry, I admit I was a bit nervous. I mean, we met literally minutes before having to shoot together. I’m not used to that.” You dropped your hand and, without realizing it, started to move them around while you talked. “We’re going to shoot that scene again tomorrow and I was thinking that maybe we should get to know each other so things don’t go as weird as they went today.”

Okay, Elizabeth’s eyes were very green. They were so light! And her nose was so cute, slightly turned up. And no one should be allowed to have such perfectly shaped lips like that, it should be a crime, really.

You got lost in your thoughts, you realized, and it made your cheeks go red so fast that you let out an awkward cough just to have an excuse to bring your hand to your face to try to cover it a bit. “Well, I was thinking that maybe you would like to go out with me today.”

That was not what you wanted to say. At all. Oh, fuck.

Elizabeth’s reaction would have been priceless if you weren’t the idiot standing in front of her. Her eyes widened, she took a step back, and her own face went pink. It all happened so fast that it took you a moment to recover as well.

“It's not like a date date,” you quickly said, desperately trying to fix what you did. “I mean, we will have dinner, talk, hang out for a bit, but it doesn't have to be romantic. I mean, it's not romantic!” You corrected, waving your hands around and standing there with your eyes almost falling from your face, and your heart beating way too fast again. Well, so much for trying to save your job. Now you were going to be let down under the accusation of sexual harassment or something like that. You didn’t know if keeping talking was a good or a bad idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop either. “I just thought it might help us lose up a little bit, you know? Get more comfortable around each other. Our first scene together was a very… deep kiss, we didn't have much time to talk before that.”

Elizabeth didn’t say anything at first, but she also didn’t look as surprised as before, so you would count that as a small victory. You waited for her to say something while changing your weight from one leg to the other, hands awkwardly crossed in front of you while also trying not to stare at her for too long. It was the way you were incapable of not being a gay mess that got you in that situation, after all.

“So…” The other woman started eventually and you felt your breath getting stuck in your throat as you waited for the verdict. “Like a dinner?”

“Yes,” you agreed way too fast, just for you then realize it would be better if you acted a bit more like it wasn’t just dinner with a stranger. “And no. If you don’t mind, I think that acting just a little bit like it's a date might help. I could open the doors for example.” Just after you said that, you realized how dumb it sounded. You placed both hands on your waist and took a deep breath. “I will stop talking now before I dig myself a bigger hole,” you mumbled shyly.

Yes, you were now getting fired.

You would have to pray not to have the police knocking on your door either.

God, you really should’ve gone to college like your family wanted you to.

“I don't dislike your idea, but we don’t have much time,” Elizabeth took pity on you, apparently, which you weren’t sure was a good thing. “We have more scenes together to shoot tomorrow.”

Way quicker than you should, you exclaimed: “We can go out tonight!” And, after hearing how eager you sounded, you were fast to add: “If you want.”

Elizabeth didn’t look so certain that it was a good idea indeed, and you pretended not to see when she glanced at you from head to toe because it would only make you blush again - you feared your face would never return to its natural color if you kept blushing like that. “Ok,” the other woman conceded finally.

It was your turn to express how surprised you were by that answer. “Wait, really? Okay! Yeah, great!” You were rambling and, once again, you couldn’t stop. “Just spectacular!” Just spectacular? Really? You had nothing better to say? Could you keep yourself from oversharing things, please? “I will, uh, go now.” And now you were stuttering as well, good. “Just, uh, I will wait for you or I will meet you at the parking lot or…?” You trailed off, now sure you should just stop talking altogether.

“I would like to go back to the place I'm staying to change, if you don't mind,” Elizabeth said.

You wasted no time to nod eagerly at her. “Of course not! That’s perfect.” Yes, because you needed to return the clothes to the dressing department and having a shower also sounded nice. You could back to your hotel and pick something better to wear. It also gave you some time to find out where you could take her. “I can, uh, pick you up if you wish and then we can, hm, go.”

Now Elizabeth grinned at you stumbling over the words and her eyes glanced down for a moment - just enough for you to feel like you could breathe again. “Sounds nice. I have your phone from the group chat they put us in today. I will send you my location when I get there,” she promised.

You sighed in relief, not even trying to hide it. “Sure, sure. Okay.” The rambling was back. “Yes. Perfect.”

“Yes, spectacular,” Elizabeth replied with a slight teasing in her tone that made you relax instantly.

You chuckled mostly at your own awkwardness and then shook your head. “Okay, now I will go.” You pointed over your shoulder with your thumb and saw the blonde woman smile. “See you later.”

Soon - very soon - you came to the conclusion that you were insane.

There was no other explanation, really, because you really asked Elizabeth Olsen to have dinner with you. And then you proceeded to run over your mouth and say it was kind of like a date, but not a real date. You should also not forget that you not only made a fool of yourself - twice in the same day, you might add - but you also managed to make things worse than they were before.

You were certain you would be fired by the end of the week.

But that was the exact thought that made you find enough courage to keep going with your plan. There was no way you could make things worse, you were at least sure of that. So you could keep up with your initial thoughts to get to know her a little better. You might get out of that with a friend, after all.

Also, the idea of having dinner with Elizabeth was a good one. You loved her work and you could spend some time gushing about how amazing she was - something you were sure you would find no problem in doing.

With your mind set to make it all worth it, you tried to find a nice restaurant on your way to the hotel. You tried to use your phone, but your mind was racing too much and you couldn’t comprehend the several reviews from different restaurants online. You read all of them, but no word actually stuck and you barely even understood the restaurant’s names to start with.

“Hey,” you decided to say, leaning over between the seats to get closer to your driver. He seemed like a nice guy, he hadn’t tried to talk to you yet and he put on a nice playlist, so you considered it was safe to ask him. “Do you know any good restaurants in town?”

“Depends. What do you want to eat? And what’s the occasion?”

You left his car with three options in your mind, which was great because you could call them and ask if they would take your reservation. The driver told you the name of another restaurant just before he took off, having leaned on his window to be heard by you, and you raised your thumbs at him in thanks before entering the hotel. You and Elizabeth didn’t say what time you would pick her up, therefore you decided not to take too long to get ready. You showered pretty quickly and chose your clothes after just a few minutes of debating with yourself, and then you grabbed your phone to make some calls.

Two of the restaurants didn’t even pick up the call and you wondered if they were even working that night, and the third one said they didn’t have any free tables. Luck started to smile at you when you called the fourth place the driver had said and they gladly told you they would be waiting for you at any time you decided to drop by. Relieved, you decided to check their name just to be sure you wouldn’t be taking Elizabeth to a food truck around the block. It seemed like a nice enough place, just a small French bistro that you were sure would do just great.

Elizabeth reached out about two hours after you got into your hotel room and you couldn’t say you weren’t surprised that she was still on board with that. You were half expecting her to either text you saying she couldn’t make it or just disappear all night, but you were glad to see that wasn’t the case. After calling for another cab, you took one last look in the mirror to make sure you were looking somewhat good enough, and then you left to meet her.

The address she sent you wasn’t from a hotel and you soon found yourself in front of a building. You texted her to let her know you were there and, after asking the driver to wait for a minute, you exited the vehicle to wait for Elizabeth outside. She didn’t take too long to appear, opening the door and stepping out distractedly, although she immediately caught your attention.

Elizabeth was wearing a simple dark green shirt that clung to her skin perfectly and a black tiered skirt that went down to her ankles. Around her waist, a black belt complemented the look along with the high heels that you weren’t surprised to see. Her hair was pretty much the same as you had seen earlier that day, but she clearly put on some effort to do her make-up, topping it all with red lipstick that made your brain shut for a while.

You were all of a sudden feeling undressed, though you couldn’t imagine having anything in your wardrobe that would get even close to that.

“Wow,” you breathed out once she spotted you and started walking towards you. “You look… gorgeous.

“Oh, thank you.” You noticed a blush rising from her neck to her cheeks and how she raised a hand to put her hair behind her ear and you just smiled at the cute scene.

Holy crap, you didn’t even know someone could be so beautiful.

Noticing you were staring at her again, you shook your head and pointed to the car waiting for you two. “Right, so, we should, uh, go.”

The drive to the restaurant took a while and you tried to keep the conversation light because the driver could hear you two talking and it would do no good. Elizabeth kept her replies short, but she shot back you a few questions - mostly about your career and how you got into acting. She admitted not knowing much about you before they called her to be the protagonist of the current movie you were working on, but you didn’t mind about that. She seemed interested enough to learn now and that’s all that mattered. Things still felt a bit awkward, but you were going to blame that on the fact that you had to watch your words since you weren’t alone.

“I hope you don’t mind the place,” you told her after stepping out of the car. The bistro behind you was even smaller than you initially thought and it looked mostly empty, which made you start rethinking your decision to take Elizabeth there. “But I was told they have an amazing menu.”

“It looks nice,” Elizabeth replied with a small smile.

You motioned for her to walk first but, before she could open the door of the restaurant, you remembered what you said before and took large steps to beat her to it - which would certainly look ridiculous to someone looking from outside, but there wasn’t much you could do. You opened the door for her and waved your hand dramatically to indicate the way to the other woman. Elizabeth arched one eyebrow before chuckling softly and walking inside the bistro. She paused to wait for you to do the same and you were blessed with a smile when you looked at her again.

Before you could say anything, though, someone approached you to take you both to your table. After you were sitting, you allowed yourself a moment to just look around the bistro, noticing the small details and the cozy environment while Elizabeth looked over the wine charter to pick something. It was a nice place indeed, especially where you were sitting by one of the corners since you asked for privacy, and you almost wished you had tipped the driver better for that only.

“I wanted to apologize,” you said after you placed your order minutes later. Elizabeth looked at you in confusion, so you jumped to explain. “I feel like I might have made you uncomfortable with my rambling earlier. This isn’t a date and I’m sorry if I made it sound like it was. I tend to make jokes when I’m nervous, but they don’t always come out…” you nodded while trying to think about the right way to phrase it, “as I wish they did.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, don’t worry,” Elizabeth told you calmly. “I understood where you were trying to get and what you were trying to say. Like I said, I don’t think this is a horrible idea. It can actually help us out.”

“Yes, that’s another thing I want to apologize for.” You scratched the back of your neck and grimaced. “I kind of ruined the shooting today.”

“You weren’t the only one there, you know?” She offered with a shrug. “Like I said, getting to know each other will help us out. Besides, we’re going to work together for two months, so I guess this is a good start.”

“Even if I put my foot in my mouth?” You wondered, although now you were feeling relaxed enough to feel all your anxiety leave your body at once. It was like you could finally be yourself without the constant fear of doing or saying something wrong.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” Elizabeth joked and you both shared a laugh at that.

Things after that went pretty well.

The wine got there before the food and you both drank while talking about work at first. It was an easy topic, sharing fun stories and anecdotes that made the other laugh, but it soon wandered away from it. You both started talking about family, friends, hobbies, dreams, plans for the future and, before you realized it, you were animatedly chatting, laughing and gesticulating as if you had never once felt nervous around Elizabeth before.

She had a cute laugh that made you want to keep saying silly things to hear it again, and an easy smile that made your heart skip a beat, and green eyes that made you never want to look away, and her voice was so smooth that you wished you could hear her for hours and hours. She was funny, but she was also smart. She talked with passion about her works, about gardening, about her family, about the books she liked to read, and about everything she loved.

Halfway through dinner, you realized you wished it was a date.

It wasn’t surprising because you knew yourself enough to know it might end up happening - Elizabeth was, after all, a very beautiful and interesting woman - but that didn’t mean it made things easier. You were there to forge a friendship with her so you could work together, not to fancy her somehow. Elizabeth was also way out of your league, you couldn’t even bring yourself to dream about anything else happening.

The conversation was happening so smoothly that neither of you realized the restaurant was about to close until one of the waitresses politely told you she would have to collect the plates, but that you could finish off the wine bottle before leaving. That was the second bottle you shared and you were feeling just too happy already, so you declined to drink the rest of it. You were sure you weren’t drunk from the alcohol but from the great time you were having, but it was better safe than sorry. Elizabeth ended up saying she wouldn’t drink it either and you decided to call it a night to allow the employees to go home instead of having to work in a mostly empty restaurant.

You called for a cab once you were outside, thankfully managing to make a car stop in front of you pretty fast, and then you opened up the back door for Elizabeth to enter. You slid behind her, telling her address to the driver, and then you kept talking silently until the car parked in front of her building. You got out first and reached out with one hand to help Elizabeth get out as well before walking her to the door.

“I had a great time,” Elizabeth said as she turned around to face you.

“So did I,” you smiled. “I don’t think I laughed this hard in a long time.”

Her giggle reached your ears, which brought you such a gleeful feeling that you just knew was not a good sign. “Me neither,” she admitted.

When you tell that story years down the road, you would blame the way Elizabeth smiled at you and the way the light made her shine like something from another world for what you said next - though you knew it was just your large mouth speaking before your brain could process the words again. “So, if I wanted to take you out on a date date, would I stand any chance?”

Elizabeth looked at you for a long time before finally replying. “Well, you certainly left a good impression tonight.” She hesitated before talking again. “I would say it made me wish it was a real date. Just a little bit,” she added with a hint of humor, holding her index finger and her thumb just a few inches apart from each other.

You laughed - mostly out of relief - and nodded. “Do you think, well, do you think you have free time later this week? I would love to take you out again.”

“I think we can make that work,” was her answer and, honestly, that’s all you needed to be sure you made the right choice that day.

The director barely recognized you two working together on the screen the next day, so much so that he pulled you both to the side to congratulate you on your performance. You said it was all Elizabeth, but she only rolled her eyes at you and hit your hibs with her elbow before you both shared a laugh. You had your first official date that same Friday at the same bistro, albeit you ordered different dishes this time.

You were officially dating a month later and, by the time you wrapped the movie, there was already some gossip going around about you two. Both Elizabeth and you decided to ignore it and not address it for a while since they were harmless gossip - not to mention that it did wonderful things to the movie’s advertising.

A year later, though, you walked holding hands at the movie premier and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that you were celebrating your first year together promoting the movie that made you meet the love of your life.

#elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #celebrity x reader #marvel #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #fanfic #creative writing #my writing #drabble #fluff

400 notes · View notes

daycourtofficial · 7 months

Text

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 7

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: eeeek I’ve had parts of this one in the drafts for AGES the middle section has been drafted for at least a month I swear and I’ve been sitting on it like 🧍‍♀️ waiting to share it. I think this is my favorite part so far (but not my fav overall 🥰)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Masterlist)

Your day had been shit. Ever since that godsawful date Mor ambushed you with last night, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering about Azriel and Nesta’s date. What they were doing, how things were going, if she was making him laugh.

Hell, you couldn’t stop thinking about their date while on your own date. The guy was good looking, and he wasn’t terrible, but there was nothing there between you two.

He also was very into cryptocurrency, a topic that quickly took over the conversation at dinner. A topic you did not encourage him to continue on. He somehow didn’t get that memo, insisting on walking you up towards the doors of your building when he was dropping you off, where you had made a lame excuse about going to bed early before ducking into your building.

You had followed the same path Azriel took only moments ago, continuing on to your own apartment. You open the door, finding a note on the fridge in Cassian’s messy scrawl.

Have fun.

He drew a winky face, and then several crude drawings on the post-it. The drawings made you groan, Cassian’s enthusiasm for your date further solidifying your nonexistent chance with his brother.

Of course Cassian would have Mor set you up after he found out about your little crush on his brother. You felt so stupid when you saw Nesta on their couch earlier today. You hardly spoke to Rhysand on the way to lab, your thoughts too flooded with how terribly you had read the whole situation.

Cassian probably told Mor all about your dumb crush and got her to fix you up tonight. Maybe Azriel had even mentioned your text to Cassian, asking him what to do about the annoying roommate who developed a crush on his brother.

Your chest hurts, but it was just a silly crush. You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Azriel stood in the elevator, waiting for the doors to close as he looked at his phone, looking at the last message you had sent him Friday morning.

Wanna grab lunch tomorrow?

He hadn’t answered, his phone having been on silent all day to focus on finishing his work for the next week and the reception in the library not allowing messages to come through. He hadn’t seen the message until he woke up this morning, the timestamp seeming cruel.

Now he stares at it and wants to throw his phone. Missed opportunities, he supposes. But what would this lunch have looked like since you’re dating that dickhead from last night? Would you have had to reject him outright?

He can see your face contort in a smile as you tell him, “oh no, Az, I’m seeing someone.” Then you’d probably laugh about it with the dickhead.

He runs his hands down his face when he hears someone yelling, “hold the elevator please!” He juts out an arm on instinct, not noticing who it is. He sees you slip inside, the doors bumping against his arm, bringing him back to reality as he looks down at you.

Fuck.

A light scent of oranges fills the elevator, and he notes it’s likely from your shampoo. He pulls his arm from the door, allowing them to close, locking the two of you in the metal box.

You look up at him, eyes going wide, cheeks heating in embarrassment at the close proximity. You’re standing right in front of him, and you can smell his cologne, a scent of night-chilled air and cedar filling your nose. You take deep breaths, telling yourself that it’s okay, it was just a little crush.

On a very pretty, smart, and very kind guy.

Who smelled incredible.

You look down at your feet, unsure how to speak to him now that you knew he was dating Nesta. And not wanting to further embarrass yourself by flirting with him.

Gods, this was how you were going to die, you think, shuffling to lean against the rail. Azriel’s voice puts a halt to the spiraling of your thoughts.

“Nice date last night?” Azriel asks, trying not to let whatever he’s feeling bubble up. Your eyebrows shoot up, unaware of Azriel even knowing about your date.

Of course he knows, you think, Cassian probably told him he’d handle it.

“He spent the while night telling me about stocks and crypto and how he wants to be in Forbes 30 under 30,” you scoffed, “so no, it was not nice.”

The elevator starts moving, and his eyebrows shoot up. “So that wasn’t your boyfriend?”

You scoff, “hell no. Mor ambushed me yesterday. She told me to get dressed up and we’d go out and have a fun girl’s night, but when I showed up she texted me that she set me up instead.

“The worst part is Mor was so confident that she told Cassian about it, so he had stayed at her place last night to give me ‘privacy’. He even left crude drawings around the apartment to help the ‘atmosphere’.”

Azriel laughs as the elevator dings for the third floor. He feels his chest lighten, knowing you definitely weren’t seeing anyone. “Mor’s always been ambitious, hasn’t she?”

You laugh. “Maybe it was just a ploy for her to have sex with Cassian.”

You say it, but you know it’s not true. The real truth was they wanted to put you out there, help you get over the beautiful man standing next to you. They knew you didn’t have a shot, especially compared to Nesta. You’re brought back to reality, and decide to hurt yourself further.

“How was your date with Nesta?” You ground out, after a pause in your conversation. You needed to know so you can completely cut off your feelings for him. You needed him to pierce you with the final dagger.

His eyebrows arch up, and he looks at your expression.

Were you upset? You won’t meet his gaze, and you’re clenching your fists. Were you - jealous?

His mouth curls up at the thought, “uh it wasn’t a date. Nesta and I study together every Thursday night. We take a lot of the same classes. We did it last night instead because she was busy on Thursday.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, “so you’re not dating Nesta?”

He laughs, “absolutely not. No that’s an avenue I’d never go down. But there is some-“

His words die as you hear a screeching sound and the elevator stops completely, leaving you two stranded somewhere between the first and second floors.

“No - no, no, no.”

You start freaking out - elevators always gave you a bit of concern, their small dimensions making you feel cramped. You hit the button to open the door, jamming it with your finger. Realizing that it was fruitless, You pull out your phone only to remember that the elevator always has no service.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and your breaths start coming faster and faster, and you’re trying to remember your calming techniques, when you feel cold hands gently grab your cheeks.

“Hey, look at me.”

You look up, finding hazel eyes looking back at you. They’re etched with concern, not a trace of mockery in them.

“We’re okay. Breathe with me, can you do that?”

He grabs one of your hands, placing it on his chest so you can feel his breaths as they come in and out. Your eyes stay trained on his, not wanting to look away, wanting to get lost in the gold flecks you find there.

You start following the rhythm of his breaths, but he keeps talking to you in a soothing tone. You’re too focused on breathing to register what he’s saying, but you do register the soothing tone he’s speaking to you in. You could get lost in his voice, its deep timbre a melody in your ears.

Eventually you come back down enough to focus on what he’s saying and he’s telling you about his night - everything he did yesterday.

“Rhys texted me to get some trash bags on my way in, which is where I was coming from when I pulled up and found you with crypto douche.”

You smile, your first real reaction to his words since the elevator stopped.

“There she is,” he says, his finger tapping your cheek, “wanna tell me more about crypto douche?”

“He wants to be a landlord.”

Azriel snorts, “of course he does.”

“I didn’t even want to go on this date,” your eyes stay locked with his, the golden flecks calming you down. “But Mor has been begging me to go out with this guy for ages, and then she finally decided to ambush me by forcing it on me.”

“You know you can tell Mor “no”. It’s a complete sentence.”

“I know,” you sigh, “but she loves playing matchmaker, even though she’s awful at it. Usually once every other month I let her set me up, but she was just throwing a tantrum I wouldn’t let her set me up this time once I figured out the rouse.”

He doesn’t let himself linger on the fact that you haven’t let her set you up since meeting him. Coincidence, maybe. “Have any of them been successful?”

You blow out a breath, “uh, no. Usually I stay for an hour then leave. None of them have ever gotten a second date.” You pause, thinking. “In the words of the great philosopher of our time, “I’m a pathological people pleaser,” you chuckle.

“And who said that?”

“…. Taylor Swift.”

He looks at you, a chuckle on his breath, such tenderness in his gaze it shocks you a bit. “You should stand up for yourself more.”

“I’m… not really sure how. It’s kind of new to me.”

You look at your feet, but he taps your chin so you’ll look at him again. “I stood up to my parents, and it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

You had tiptoed around the topic since your admission to Cassian the day you moved in, the wound still too raw to discuss with anyone other than Feyre. Mor knew some of the details, but not the whole story. You’re sure Rhys and Az knew that something happened with your parents, but you never let them know too much about it.

They didn’t know that your parents had told you that you became everything they had tried to avoid. That, despite everything they did for you, you didn’t turn out right.

You hadn’t told Mor because you knew she would have burnt down their house with them in it.

“It was scary, moving here with a guy I hardly knew.” His grip on you tightens slightly, and he’s hanging onto every word you say.

“But I don’t regret it. Not even when Cassian wakes me up at 6 AM with his singing.”

He chuckles, and he stills as you look into his eyes, your voice clear and strong.

“I don’t… I don’t regret any of it. I don’t regret meeting you.”

His hands are still cupped on your face, his face mere inches from your own. Your confession hangs in the air as you two look at each other, and he leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your breathing hitches, but not because you’re stuck.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the elevator comes back to life, moving downwards again. It startles both of you into jumping away from each other, and you clear your throat.

“Where are- where are you going?” You ask, gesturing towards his helmet.

“Oh, uh Cassian forgot his lunch and doesn’t have time to grab anything between clients. I was going to bring him something.”

The air is lighter between you two, and Azriel feels like he can breathe you in again. The fog of confusion has lifted between you two, leaving you to be seen clearly by him.

“Do you want to get lunch?”

He echos your previous text message to him, and you nod.

“Yeah I’d love that.”

You stroll through the lobby, putting as much distance between the falter elevator and yourselves. Once you make it to the parking lot, Azriel places his spare helmet on your head, tapping the top of it lightly affectionately.

You zip your jacket up as Azriel gets on the bike first, his thighs straddling the seat. He holds the bike steady, allowing you to place your hands on his shoulders for balance, letting go of your fears as you swing your leg around to straddle the bike behind him. Your body leans against his, wrapping around him, holding onto him.

You place your head on his back, your fingers clutching onto his jacket. It feels new, electricity crackling through every inch of you that is in contact with him, despite the layers and helmets that separate you.

He chuckles at the gasp you let out when you two start moving, how your hands hold onto his jacket a little tighter than before.

He pulls a hand away to place it gently on one of the hands you have clutched to his jacket, squeezing three times before moving his hand back.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

348 notes · View notes

3xiles · 4 months

Text

Sweet lies part two

Pairing •Toji x gn!reader

Warnings• Angst!, Cheating, suggestive (they like lowkey make out), manipulation, UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP!, Cursing. Lmk if i forgot any!

Word count • 1079 words

A/n • I had this pre written ever since i put out the first part but was so hesitant on posting it LMAO! Enjoy! Masterlist is pinned!

You knew life after the honeymoon phase was rough but nothing could’ve prepared you for the drastic switch in you and Toji’s relationship. About two months the after you guys got married is when you realized the mistake you made. Your days went from him coming home from work and showering you with affection to him coming in with an inaudible hello. You were confused on what you could be doing wrong. He was coming home to a clean house with food on the table, a bath prepared and you all dolled up for him, just how he liked it. This went on for months and throughout those months he’s just been coming home later and later. The man who was once coming home every day at five now walking through the front door as late as ten at night. It didn’t bother you until your 26th birthday.

You woke up excited to celebrate your first birthday as a married woman. For your birthday last year Toji went all out so you couldn’t help but let your expectations be high! Toji wasn’t there when you woke up, which was normal because he usually leaves extremely early in the morning. You spent your day pampering yourself to the max, expecting to maybe go out later. Soon enough five o clock rolls around. You sit pretty and patient on the couch, telling yourself he’s just running a little late. You wait… and you wait.. sending text after text to your husband every hour.

Hubby💍❤️

5:30pm

Y/n: Hey babe coming home soon?