#never enough chapter 23

[charlotteking23]

The Lion's Lamb - chapter 1 - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

The lion's lamb series: Aesthetics, Ch. 2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7

You spent most of your life alone. It wasn't your decision but artists tend to isolate themselves by accident. you were the type to find inspiration and peace when alone.

You would spend hours in your room, painting, until your vision became a reality.

Most people would never work as hard as you do to make a living, but you lived in Monaco. The country where money flowed. You knew you weren't like other residents that surrounded her in this country.

You weren't rich and you didn't have a trust fund to fall back onto. Don't get it wrong, your paintings sold high enough to be able to live in the country permanently, but you were barely scrapping by.

Some might ask why you choose to live in Monaco when you could have been living somewhere else more comfortably.

Monaco itself was known for their wealth and in your line of work, you need the rich to buy your work. You had about three regular clients in Monaco that provided 80% of your entire income.

Coffee was the only time you took a break and wandered into the outside world. And today was one of those days where you needed a break. you had been in your room for the past 4 hours trying to come up with something, but your mind was blank with ideas.

A client had commissioned a piece about 3 months ago and gave the 23 year old a wide range of creative ability on the painting as long as it was a darker piece.

You were the epitome of bright and bubbly and couldn't seem to get her mind into a darker frame of thought. With the piece needing to be done in a months time, you were starting to stress.

You had ordered your cup of coffee at your usual spot. You heard your name being yelled at the counter and quickly went up to grab your drink. Once in hand, you turned only to run into a wall, spilling coffee all over herself and the wall.

To add fuel to the fire of the already embarrassing situation, you slipped on the coffee that had spilled on the ground and fell to the floor hard causing more attention to be drawn onto you. While on the ground, you noticed two shoes in front of you.

You hadn't run into a wall like you originally thought, but instead a man. Your eyes followed the shoes all the way up at the man's face.

Piercing blue eyes stared down at you in annoyance. You could tell he wasn't truly taking you in but rather glaring at you for spilling both their coffees.

Jumping up quickly, You immediately grabbed some napkins off the counter of the coffee shop and tried your best to wipe the stains off the mans white shirt.

"I'm so sorry sir!" you said with tears building in your eyes. "I didn't see you! I'm so sorry!"

As you wipe the man's chest, he grabs your hands causing you to look up at him. It was then, he took in the details of you standing before him.

Your big eyes stared up at him, tears threatening to spill out of the sides. You had a light sprinkle of freckles that ran along her cheekbones and over your nose.

You had long hair that was pulled back out of Your face, but bangs to frame your face perfectly. Your lips were the perfect size and your cheeks were now the color of your lips from embarrassment.

There was a certain shine in your eyes that drew him. He couldn't tell if it was because of the tears or something else, but he needed to find out.

"It's alright," he said. You picked up an accent that wasn't from Monaco but you didn't know where.

"Please, sir, let me buy you your coffee! It's my fault, I can at least try make up it up to you by getting you another."

He nods his head at your response causing a smile to erupt across your face. The man loved how every part of your face lit up at his response. He didn't even say a word, yet you acted like he hung the stars just for you.

"How do you like your coffee?" you asked.

"Black," he state.

With a nod of your head, you told him to sit down while you waited in line. There were only two people ahead of you but you didn't want the man to have to stand with you after you ruined his clothes.

Being around him longer than necessary would cause more embarrassment on your part.

After getting both their coffees again, you found your way back to the blue eyed stranger sitting at a corner table by the window.

"Here," you said while putting it on the table. You noticed his shirt was definitely going to stain and winced slightly at the brown blob on his chest "Again sir, I am so sorry!"

You started digging in your bag for some money to give to the man for dry cleaning. Pulling out whatever you had, you tried to hand it to the man, "Here. It's not a lot but it should pay for dry cleaning to get that stain out."

"No," was the simple response you got.

"Please! It'll make me feel better if you take it! It's the only way I can make up for spilling you coffee!"

"Sit down," he said. You tilted your head in confusion at the blue eyed man. "Sit down and tell me your name. I don't want your money but I will take a name and a conversation as payment."

A blush quickly took over your cheeks as you shyly looked away from the man and sat down across from him. When you sat down you finally got a good look at his face.

He was attractive. He had these piercing blue eyes that would stare into your sole. He looked at you with softness but you were scared to be on the other end of that stare when he was angry.

He was tall, or at least taller than you, but that wasn't saying much compared to him. He was a dirty blond and had a bit of scruff that started to turn into a beard.

You could tell he didn't smile much due to him having very little smile lines. He was a serious man and it showed.

"Your name?" He stated.

"(name)," she said softly, "and yours?"

The man's eyes quickly flashed a look of surprise before they softened again, "Max."

[shiny-jr]

Hi! I noticed that your requests were open and I love the way you write Malleus so I was hoping you would do yandere malleus x reader. where the reader knows twisted wonderland is a game (but not imposter au pls) and after they got isekia'd are trying to stop the overblots from happening and malleus is just terrified for them. Idk just an idea I've had for awhile but never found a fanfic like lol. Obviously it's totally fine if you don't want to do it or if I accidentally broke a rule. Anyway remember to drink some water and take a break if needed! Have a amazing rest of your day/night!!

Warning: Yandere (not really, not at all). Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Malleus Draconia.

Summary: MC sees affection meters and it's not good.

Note: These are mainly thoughts and random words my mind spewed out.  

How did one claim victory at a game? Well, it entirely depended on the game, the mechanics and the options. It should've been impossible to lose a mobile game that was primarily composed of the gacha mechanism and visual novels.

When you suddenly found yourself in the series of twisted villains in a prestigious school of magic, you found that it was much more complex than it appeared on screen. Especially when only you could see these small bars occasionally floating above people's heads. Bars which you recognized as affection meters, nearly all of them stagnant at a dull gray 0% when you first arrived. This was the hurdle blocking your way to an easy victory. Because how else were you to escape the game, other than complete it?

Situations became messier, when you didn't have a dialogue options between two mere choices. Add making good impressions and keeping a character's favor, to the list of quests alongside avoiding death by inky overblotted characters. By some miracle, you had increased the affection of the characters you met and interacted with to a healthy 5% or 10%, sometimes more. At any cost you wished to avoid getting in the negatives, because you did not want to find out what would happen then.

Sometimes, the numbers would drop dangerously close to zero, mainly when an overblot was occuring. Never had you realized how the visual novel failed spectacularly at portraying the utter horror of the overblotted in all their wicked glory. The black inky darkness leaking from them like tears or blood with those crazed unhinged looks in their eyes–– was the stuff of pure nightmares.

And yet the one whose overblot you had been dreading the most, the dorm leader of Diasomnia, was surprisingly docile as you dealt with others. However, you knew even when conversing with him, that you would one day witness him overblot and look like some ethereal but deadly fallen angel. So mentally you prepared yourself, while taking on the task of keeping up appearances.

Malleus' affection meter, was a good 20% and a friendly pink shade, quite the accomplishment you were proud of, considering the majority of the cast wasn't even at 15%. The Draconia heir was certainly someone you never wanted to see reach below zero, so you did your absolute best to appeal to him, even if he was quite intimidating at first with the way he stoically watched you complain about the least of your worries, homework and classes.

By the time you spoke to him about your troubles with the Ramshackle dorm and Azul, during what you knew was the Octavinelle arc, the prince's affection had sprouted to a 22%. When you went into more detail of the potential loss you could face, it went to 23%.

The next time you saw him, you were weary and antsy since witnessing Azul's break-down. If the blot of his tears had the magic to gather, it would've been enough to drown, you were sure of it. Even by that maniac look in his eyes, you're sure he would've purposely drowned you if he got close enough.

Throughout that charlatan's chapter, his affection meter had slowly been rising, dropping during the overblot like the tides only to rise once again by the end to a good 45%. This was good!

But no matter how much you may have pondered, strategized, or try to predict each next action, you could've never guessed that the next time you saw Malleus after Azul's overblot, his expression taut with concern, his affection meter had made a jump to 55% and turned red. This entire time you had been avoiding the negatives, but you never once worried of the dangers and implications a red affection meter above 50% would mean for you. Or heaven forbid, anything close to 100%.

[padfootagain]

Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Pairing : Hozier x fem!reader

Professor! AU

Warnings: hurt-comfort, angst, fluff, no smut but suggestive scenes so 18+ only

Chapter 1 : 'And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do just lately'

Chapter 2 : 'Through me the way to the City of Woe'

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Chapter 4 : ‘For he gave all his heart and lost’

Chapter 5 : ‘But here comes the lyrebird passing through the sky’

Chapter 6 : ‘I’ll lie here and learn how, over their ground, trees make a long shadow and a light sound’

Chapter 7 : 'And so I still wait, like a lonely house, for you to see me and inhabit me again. Until that time, my windows ache.'

Chapter 8 : 'I hope she never learns how to peel oranges'

Chapter 9 : 'I think I will always be lonely in this world, where the cattle graze like a black and white river-- where the vanishing lilies melt, without protest, on their tongues'

Chapter 10 : '[I] was angry that my trust could not repose in the clear light, like poetry or freedom leaning in from sea'

Chapter 11: ‘Lived to see you throwing me aside.’

Chapter 12 : 'Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again'

Chapter 13: ‘So as not to be the martyred slaves of time, be drunk, be continually drunk! On wine, on poetry or on virtue as you wish.’

Chapter 14: ‘Why should I blame her that she filled my days with misery’

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Chapter 16 : ‘Only the things I didn’t do crackle after the blazing dies’

Chapter 17 : ‘Dear pine cone, let me hold you as you open’

Chapter 18 : ‘What the devil do I care what I know, and what I say?’

Chapter 19: ‘I knew winter cold like the nuzzle of fjords at my thighs’

Chapter 20 : 'My heart has made its mind up and I’m afraid it’s you'

Chapter 21: ‘I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you directly without problems or pride: I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love’

Chapter 22 : ‘And if you missed a day, there was always the next, and if you missed a year, it didn’t matter, the hills weren’t going anywhere’

Chapter 23 : 'Even the dearest that I loved the best are strange – nay, rather, stranger than the rest'

Chapter 24: ‘Sometimes, when I’m pleased, I let out a little sound. A poet noticed this and it made me feel I might one day properly be loved. Because no one is here to love me, I make tea for myself and leave the radio playing’

Chapter 25: ‘They will think of ways to make you smile so you can be happy for a while’

Chapter 26: ‘Well, how else are you to live except by denial’

Chapter 27: ‘They loved music and swam in for a singer, who might stand at the end of summer’

Chapter 28: ‘You are neither here nor there, a hurry through which known and strange things pass as big soft buffetings come at the car sideways and catch the heart off guard and blow it open’

Chapter 29: ‘My lover’s words were shooting stars which fell to earth as kisses on these lips’

Chapter 30: ‘You liked me well enough in black; I make you a gift of these objects’

Chapter 31 : ‘Six billion tons sounds impossible until I consider how it is to swallow grief’

[lukesaprince]

Rich Part 23

Summary: Harry and y/n deal with the aftermath of y/n's panic attack and do some retail therapy to prepare for their trip.

Warning: Smut, public bj & masturbation, exhibitionism, daddy!kink. Mention of panic attacks, Ethan and illegal dealings.

Word count: 10k+

Author's note: This chapter isn't as long as I hoped it would be and I wasn't able to get a lot of the Pleasing scene complete. I haven't been in a good writing space recently and I really want to make sure it's all planned out properly but I wanted to post something in the mean time for you! Enjoyy

- Find Series Masterlist Here -

- Find my General Masterlist here -

Harry’s stomach was in knots. It had been twisted since the moment he let you walk away from him at his office. His head was in a constant state of nausea and the very thought of you being so far from him had his body aching. Your trip was coming up so quickly, two weeks exactly now and things had taken such a sudden switch he was dizzy. 

He hadn’t seen you for a couple of days, or spoken to you properly either. For anyone else that would be normal. Seeing your partner every day wasn’t a prerequisite to having a happy relationship, but to Harry it was torture. Other than your text message when you got home Wednesday, you hadn’t spoken to him. He sent his usual good morning text Thursday morning and was only met with silence. He worked through his lunch that day so he couldn’t call you like usual, but if that ever happened he expected you to call him first. You never did. 

He tried to call you that night, then again Friday morning but you ignored him both times. He was starting to panic, starting to fear that you were seriously not okay or that he had done something to fuck everything up even if he didn’t realise it. He knew you two could communicate if that was the case, that your relationship was strong enough for you to speak to him if he did something wrong. After everything you two had been through, your foundation was strong. At least Harry believed so. 

But knowing it could be the former option and you could be at home in an unstable mental state was far worse than the possibility of him doing something that warranted you ignoring him. Harry didn’t want to push you, but he also couldn’t handle the unknown. 

He was meant to spend Saturday with you. You were going to meet him in the city to get as much shopping done for your trip as possible then he would spend the night. It was your last free day before locking down for studying and Harry wanted to make it something stress-free and enjoyable to give you a mental break. You only had a couple of free days after your exams before you both flew out so there wasn’t a lot of time to get the key essentials once your semester was over. Mostly you just wanted new clothes and wanted to pick things out for Harry as well. He was happy to oblige. 

But now… he didn’t even know if you two were okay. 

So he decided that he needed to see you. You could turn him away and tell him that you needed space or hated him or preferably that you loved him. Whatever you wanted. Harry didn’t care what you said, as long as he found you alive and okay. 

Early Saturday morning Harry was driving to your place with a bouquet of fresh lilies, a large oat latte and a croissant from your favourite local bakery. He didn’t have your keycard anymore so he couldn’t let himself in… but Harry was creative. It felt a bit reckless and immature actually, calling your best friend to let him in like it was some plot for forgiveness, especially when he was just checking up on you. But Harry didn’t want to risk you coming downstairs and turning away without seeing him or worse, just plain ignoring him.

“Hey, Harry.” Maeve greeted, smiling at the man as she held open the entrance door for him. It was especially cold outside now, so he was quick to rush inside and let the door close before he hugged her quickly as a hello. 

“Hey, Maeve. Thanks for doing this.” 

“It’s fine. You’re lucky I like you.” She teased, bumping his shoulder while they walked towards the elevator. 

Harry was fortunate enough to spend more time with your friends. As were you to spend more time with Niall and Jed. Since Harry was mostly spending time at your place, he had spent time with Maeve and Jay, even Dakari. Usually, it was just your neighbour and coworker, but there was a double date situation where Harry became aware of the ‘older guy’ Maeve was dating. 

Dakari and Harry knew each other through golf and Pleasing. They weren’t exceptionally close, but they got on well enough to treat their beautiful girlfriends to an expensive dinner in the city. Dakari was actually interested in investing in Pleasing, but Harry didn’t particularly like the way he conducted business and would’ve rather owned a third of the club than share a sixth with a man he didn’t want to associate with. Harry was glad for that decision now, since his once silent investment turned into him having a say in business decisions and provided perks that he loved to use. 

He hadn’t really used them since he met you but he hoped one day he would. With you. 

“Yeah, well, I appreciate it… Have you seen her? I haven’t spoken to her since Wednesday and I’m really fucking worried.” Harry admitted, holding the door of the elevator open for Maeve. 

“Yeah, I have.” She nodded, “she told me what happened... It’s pretty fucked up. I hope you’ve dealt with that asshole.”

Harry assumed that meant everything. 

“I have. I mean, I will.” That still didn’t mean he was going to elaborate. The plan he had set in place to deal with Ethan was one for the inner circle only. The original, small, tightly-knit circle. It was illegal after all. To frame a man for stealing $250,000. “Is she okay?”

“She’s okay… I think she just needed space, that’s all. I wouldn’t take it personally, Harry. She loves you.”

“I know and I don’t. Well, I’m trying not to, anyway.”

The rest of the ride was full of polite small talk. Maeve complimented the flowers and the croissant, but Harry didn’t need her approval to know you loved them. He knew you would because he knew everything about you. Everything except how you were feeling right now. 

Harry made sure Maeve went back to her apartment before he knocked on your door. He was nervous, he couldn’t lie, but he was hoping that you two could talk about your panic attack and hopefully end up having a nice day together. He just wanted to hold you and see you smile. 

The door swung open barely ten seconds after Harry knocked and there you were. And you looked… okay. Thank God, you looked okay. He could see the tiredness in your eyes and body by the droop of your shoulders and bags under your eyes. You hadn’t changed out of your plaid pyjamas yet but that was normal. Aside from your clear exhaustion, you looked well. 

“Hi…” Harry breathed, smiling softly. “I wanted to check up on you. You haven’t answered my calls or texts…”

Your eyes softened and it took a moment before you said or did anything. Without saying anything, you pulled him inside by his nice vest and wrapped your arms around his body, pressing yourself against him. He reciprocated the best he could with his hands full and loosely wrapped his arms around your shoulders, breathing out a huge sigh of relief.

There was a flood of instant relief through Harry just at your tight hug. Like a heavy weight dropped from his shoulders the moment you buried your face into the light blue checks of his vest. God was he fucking ecstatic. Just having your body in his arms was euphoric and there was no feeling quite like the comfortable intimacy of a hug. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.” 

He could barely understand you with how your face was pressed against him, but he made out the words and was immediately taken aback. 

“What? Baby, why are you sorry?” He soothed, now desperate to free his hands so he could take care of you properly. 

“I didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just…” you sighed and pressed your cheek to him instead, sliding your hands beneath his vest and shirt to feel his warm skin. It was like a clutch for normalcy, a tie to feeling okay again. The last few days had been so murky and unsettling. All you wanted was to feel safe again. Harry never failed to make you feel safe and yet you pushed him away. It wasn’t fair to him and it went against everything you two tried so hard to build. “The panic attack freaked me out and I needed time to sort my feelings out… I shouldn’t have ignored you, H. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t spologise baby, please…” Harry paused, “just-let me put these down, okay? Then we can talk properly?” 

You pulled back and looked up at him, reluctantly releasing him from the hug. It was barely a minute before he was on you again. All he did was set the three items on your little table before he wrapped his arms around you properly and squeezed you tight against his body, rocking you slightly from side to side. You gladly inhaled his masculine scent, finding comfort in the rich, sexiness. It was unfair that he always smelt so good. Even after the gym he still smelt like a sexy, clean wealthy man. 

“You don’t need to apologise, y/n. I know it freaked you out.” Harry soothed, pressing his lips against the crown of your head, “I was just really fucking worried. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen at all and once it did I just kept thinking and thinking and I was just so angry and exhausted. It was a lot.”  

“I know. Trust me I get it. They can be the most debilitating thing in the entire world…” Harry soothed, pulling back from you. “Do you want to go sit down and talk about it?” 

With a nod, Harry guided you to sit down on your bed with him. It was still unmade, but Harry didn’t care. You took it a step further and crawled back towards your pillows to lie down on it instead before patting the spot beside you so Harry would join you. He shoved his shoes off then shuffled in beside you, adjusting himself so you were cuddled into his chest.

It was all done in comfortable silence and once you were settled in, Harry decided to speak first. 

“They can be traumatic.” Harry murmured, “I spent nearly five hours in the gym after one of my panic attacks.” At his words, you untucked your face from his chest and looked up at him to watch him speak. He smiled down at you, stroking his fingers across your cheek like his words weren’t deeply personal and from a dark period of his life. “I worked my body so hard and wrecked myself because I was trying to deal with my emotions. Or trying not to deal, more like it. I definitely paid for it afterwards but at the time it was the only thing I knew would get my mind off it.”

“I came home Wednesday and cried,” You whispered, watching his eyes sadden. It killed him that he wasn’t there to help you. “Then I went and bought Red Bulls and chips and pulled an all-nighter to finish off an assignment like it was nothing. I was so… I don’t even know how to describe it. I was angry, yeah, but I was also so far out of my head that I just wanted to distract myself.” 

“We all do unhealthy things to cope sometimes, y/n. There’s no one way to deal with things. Pulling an all nighter might not be the best way but you were doing the best you could to cope.”

“It didn’t help.” You frowned, tracing the checks on his vest with your nail.

“I can’t imagine it did.” He chuckled softly, sighing when you didn’t look up at him. “Don’t beat yourself up for it, baby... Maeve told me you spoke to her about it. Did that help?”

So that’s how he got in. You couldn’t really be upset by it. Maeve wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t want to see him. You were just… a bit nervous to make the first move. 

“It did. It was good to rant about it with someone who didn’t really know anyone involved.”

“Do you want to talk to me about it?” 

Harry hoped you would. After hearing nothing for days he just wanted an insight into your head. 

“You don’t have to.” He continued softly, prompting you to look up at him, “I’m happy to just be here with you if that’s what you need.” He cupped your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, “I would’ve been here when it happened too. I hope you know that. You don’t have to go through these things alone if you don’t want to.”

“I know but I was just so overstimulated I think and… I didn’t want to say anything I regretted,” an unreadable look flashed through Harry’s eyes, like he wasn’t exactly sure how to take what you were saying. You sighed, looking back down at the same quad of checks you had been tracing with your finger during this entire conversation, “I don’t think I ever really processed what happened with Ethan and… your part in it, I guess. There’s been so much going on that I just kept ignoring it and ignoring his existence completely. Seeing him really triggered me and the more I thought about it…” you sighed again, “the more I was angry at you too, not just Ethan.” 

“You were?”

“I know you’ve only done what you thought the right thing to do was. But I just don’t get how you can work with him every day. He hurt me so fucking badly Harry…” you could feel your throat starting to get scratchy and your eyes prickling with tears. The stinging forced you to turn from him and close your eyes momentarily, but it did nothing to conceal how you were feeling. The sight practically broke Harry’s heart. “I don’t get how you can even be in the same building as him. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I feel sick every day I have to see him, y/n. I’ve done everything I can to make sure we never cross paths but sometimes it’s inevitable. He was never meant to be on my floor on Wednesday and I never would’ve let him come anywhere near you if I knew.”

“But you still work with him, Harry!” You sat up abruptly, looking down at him. “It doesn’t make sense. He’s getting no consequences for what he put us through. I get you couldn’t go to the police because there was no evidence, I get it. But I need to do something. I need you to do something.”

“I am.” He didn’t want to get frustrated at you, not when you were hurting but he was hurting too. This wasn’t fucking easy for him and if the law meant nothing he would’ve gone after Ethan himself and made sure he never bothered you or anyone else again. But he couldn’t exactly do that, could he? He sat up as well, nudging backwards until his back was against your headboard. “Y/n I’ve been dealing with him at work the last couple of months because I had to for my plan to work. I couldn’t do anything out of the ordinary because I didn’t want to bring any attention to myself, but I have a plan. It’s just one of those things you have to wait for.”

“What is it? This plan?” You crossed your arms over your chest, looking at him expectantly. 

“I can’t tell you.” Harry almost seemed reluctant to say the words, but it wasn’t because he was apprehensive about his decision to keep it a secret from you, it was because he wasn’t sure how you’d react. He didn’t want you to be mad at him, but at the same time he wasn’t going to compromise your safety and your future. 

Because that’s what it came down to. If everything went to shit and you knew even one single detail about it, you were done. 

He wasn’t going to let that happen but he also wasn’t going to sit here and lie and pretend that nothing was going on behind the scenes. That’s something he would’ve done at the beginning of your relationship, but he knew that this was just as much your fight as his and lying wasn’t the right thing to do. He could be honest and keep you safe at the same time. 

“What do you mean? Why?” 

You were immediately jumping to many conclusions, all Harry wanted to settle. He just wasn’t sure how. 

“Because it’s not exactly legal, y/n and while it’s pretty fucking foolproof I can’t risk anything. If the whole thing comes crashing down I don’t want you knowing a single bit of it.”

“But that’s-” 

“You will find out. I promise.” He interrupted, “just not until it’s over. I’m not budging on this.”

As much as you wanted Ethan to pay, you didn’t want it like this. You always knew he covered his tracks well but you hoped that by now there’d be some loose thread. Someone with hard evidence to be able to get him punished and that clearly wasn’t the case. But that didn’t mean you wanted Harry risking everything, either. It was exactly how you felt when you first met Niall and Jed and learnt about how they were blackmailing Ethan into handing over the photos. It was reckless and a huge fucking crime. You prayed that it wasn’t the same plan because nothing on this fucking planet was worth Harry going to jail and you losing him. You couldn’t even bare the thought.

“I don’t want you doing anything illegal Harry. It’s stupid!” Your voice broke in your distress, shooting Harry right in the heart like a goddamn bullet. “I’d rather him get away with everything than have you risk yourself. What if you go to jail or what if it doesn’t work? I can’t… I can’t lose you.” 

“You won’t lose me.” His eyes softened and he reached forward to cup your cheek, “You won’t.” his thumb traced over your cheek and he couldn’t help but kiss you gently before pressing his forehead against yours. “I understand you’re scared, y/n but I have to do this not only for you but for me too… I have no choice but to go down this route because he left nothing for me to work with. Fucking nothing. If there was another way, I would do it. But this is it.” 

“And you can’t tell me?” you whispered, wishing you could pry the whole truth from his mouth. 

“No.” He shook his head, leaning back just a tad so he could see your whole face at once. “But I’ve done all my due diligence, baby, I promise and I’m as far removed from it as I possibly can be. So please, just, let this one go. For now.”

“I’ll try…” you settled on, unable to promise anything more. “How long am I letting this go though? A couple of weeks? A month?” 

Harry sighed and leaned back against your headboard, “I don’t know. Could be while we’re on holiday, could be in a couple months. When I know, you know.”

“And in the meantime you’re just going to keep working with him? That doesn’t seem fair” You didn’t particularly like that idea. If it were up to you, you wouldn’t want him stepping foot into that office again while that asshole was walking around free and triggering panic attacks left right and centre. 

“Well…” His lip quirked up in a smile, “I was hoping we’d enjoy our holiday together and then who knows… maybe I won’t go back to work once we’re home. I haven’t decided yet but I’ve wanted to do something different for a while now. Just not sure what.” 

“I didn't know you were thinking of changing jobs.”

He shrugged, tracing random patterns on your back through your pyjama shirt. “I haven’t been planning anything per say, but I’m a bit bored. Seeing that asshole around doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t seem worth it anymore, not when I can do anything else and be happier for it.”

“A career change at your ripe age? That’s ballsy.” You mused, squealing and jumping slightly when he pinched your ass. 

“Well I haven’t decided anything yet, just considering my options. At my ripe age I’ve done quite well for myself so I wouldn’t mind a bit of time off. Maybe be a stay at home boyfriend while you study your pretty little ass off in your final semester.” He reached up to fiddle with the ends of your hair, twirling a strand around his finger.

“A stay at home boyfriend?” You scoffed, laughing loudly. “Stop.”

“What?” He laughed, amusement laced in his widened eyes, “we’ve got a son and two households to run, someone has to be around to cook and take care of the place.”

A son. There was something so heartwarming about Archie being referred to as your son, especially when Harry was being so casual about it. Like it was normal. Put the son reference and conjoining your two houses as one and well… that was about as committed as you could be without moving in together. Not that you were anywhere near that stage yet. 

“One of those households has a maid, a gardener and a dog walker, I’m sure it’s just fine.” You rolled your eyes, “But if you want to take care of this place and feed me I won’t complain.” 

“I’d be more than happy to feed you and fulfill any other needs you have.” He announced proudly, squeezing your hip before reaching in to peck you quickly. “Which reminds me-” he got out of bed, going to your table where your coffee and sweet treat were still waiting for you. “I got you these.” You shuffled up into a cross legged position, happily grabbing the two items when Harry sat back down on your bed. 

“Thank you.” You sipped your drink, loving the sweet taste of it. “And thank you for driving all the way down here. It means a lot.” You tore open the paper bag, ripping off a small piece of the croissant and offering it to Harry. 

“No no. It’s yours.” He declined, happy when you didn’t argue and at the piece. “And you don’t need to thank me. I love you, y/n and I wanted to see you. I always do” He smiled, tucking your hair behind your ear. 

“I love you too.” You pressed your hand on his knee and reached in to kiss him quickly, loving the way his hand returned to your back to trace random shapes over it. “I love this by the way. I never thought I’d find a vest sexy but you look really good.” You traced over the v-neck of his checkered vest with your clean hand, looking up at him. You really missed him. 

“Thanks darling. It’s vintage.” He smirked, wrapping his arm around your hip to drag you back to sit properly beside him. You felt a little dirty compared to him in his nice outfit, especially since you had been wearing the same clothes for days and desperately needed to wash your hair. Harry didn’t seem to care though and you really appreciated that. Washing your hair was a mission by itself. Add a panic attack and assignment stress and you couldn’t think of anything worse, even if the thought of a long hot shower did sound quite nice. 

“I like it.” You took a big bite of your croissant this time, moaning at the taste of the chocolate filling. You slumped against Harry, happily chewing it while he rubbed your hip and kissed your head. 

“Good?” He mused, sliding his hand just underneath your pyjama top to feel your soft skin. 

“So good.” You nodded enthusiastically. 

“I’m glad.” He laughed. A comfortable silence fell over you two, with small comments and conversation here and there. It was nice to just spend time with Harry, even if you weren’t doing much of anything. “Would you still be interested in going shopping?”

“Today?” You sat up properly and looked at him, both your coffee and croisssnt long gone and in your stomach. 

“If you’re up for it. We did plan for today but there’s no pressure. I’m more than happy to change into comfortable clothes and watch Netflix all day. Truly.” 

“No no. I could go shopping. We need to get ready for our trip, right?” You grinned, getting excited at the thought of a day walking around the shops and buying so many cute outfits for your trip. Secretly though, you liked the idea of Harry going with you more than the shopping itself. 

“We do. Yes.” He smiled, happy that you had a bit more energy. Harry hated seeing you down. Any emotion except pleasure and happiness had him determined to fix whatever the issue was. “Are you sure you’re okay, though?”

“Yep.” You climbed over him to get out of bed, stopping when you were straddling him. His hands found your hips immediately, unable to keep them off you. “I need to wash my hair though, so can you wait an hour? I’ll try and be quick.”

An hour. By that calculation you were doing your ‘everything shower’ and a full face of makeup. Harry now knew what that meant, but he was happy to sit around and keep himself occupied if that meant you were taking care of yourself. The concept wasn’t as relaxing as he thought it would be. It was more of a frustrating marathon of events where each one presented its own challenge. He made the mistake of wanting to join you for one of them, thinking it would be fun and you ended up kicking him out because you didn’t have enough space to shave the back of your leg. 

If there was one shower he let you have alone, it was that one. 

Harry chuckled and nodded, squeezing your hips then helping you climb the rest of the way off the bed. “Take your time, y/n. We’ve got all day.” 

You managed to get everything done in just over an hour and then you and Harry were on your way to the city. You grabbed another coffee as soon as you made it into the shopping centre, then the shop-to-shop walking began. There were a few items you had on your list that you were aiming to buy, but for the most part you just wanted to try a bunch of stuff on and see what you liked. Harry of course was happy to offer his suggestions and his wallet which only seemed to get him more excited to pick things out for you. 

“I was thinking…”

“Mh?” You hummed, buckling up the buckle on a pair of baby pink suede platform heels. They definitely weren’t Europe-appropriate, but you got a little sidetracked and with Harry encouraging you to try on everything you so much as looked at, it was easy to get distracted by anything that looked pretty.

“After your assignment is submitted Friday, why don’t we pack up your place and you can stay with me until we leave for our trip?”

“Harry I still have to study for two exams. As much as I love that idea, you don’t want me taking over your house.” You responded, standing up from the couch to test the comfort of the shoes. You stepped around them a little, walking to the closest mirror to have a look at them properly. “And I’m sure my parents would hate that I’m spending a week at yours instead of going home.”

“But you weren’t meant to go home at all, remember? Not until your exams were finished.” Harry coaxed, standing up from the couch to step behind you in the mirror and wrap his arms around your waist. You shivered slightly against him, still focusing on looking at the heels on your feet. “This time you’re close to home, close to Archie…” He hummed, sliding his nose up the side of your neck. This time you really shivered and your focus was taken completely away from your shoes. Not that you were thinking of buying them anyway. They were way too expensive but the allure of trying on Prada shoes alongside a man who already put aside a pair of sunglasses and a belt for himself was way too strong. “Close to me…” this time his lips brushed against your skin, leaving a trail right underneath your ear. 

Your breath hitched ever so slightly, making Harry smirk at you in the mirror. Oh he had you now. Your body was becoming more pliant in his arms and you were leaning against him more and more with every passing second. 

“You could study during the day and have Archie keep you company then at night I could feed you and help you… relax,” his hand flattened against your belly, causing the bold rings on his fingers to twinkle in the lighting. You had a sudden craving for those fingers to be in your mouth or further down south where he actually could make you relax. 

“I’ll be studying all the time, Harry.” You weren’t sure why you were protesting it so much, not when the thought of a quick orgasm as your 15-minute study break sounded so delicious. 

“And I’ll be right there beside you, working or reading or providing you with a quick… study break. Whatever you need, hm.” He drawled, kissing your cheek. All you could do was nod because you were so fucking dazed and way too horny in the middle of a store you couldn’t afford. “Do you like the shoes?”

“What?” 

You didn’t even hear what he said.

“The shoes.” He tapped your belly, looking down at your feet. “Are they comfortable?”

“Oh…” You tried to snap out of it and stepped a little in place, feeling the shoes mould perfectly to your feet. God, why did you have to love something so expensive? “Yeah, they’re comfy but I don’t need them.”

“Nonsense. They’re baby pink, your favourite colour.” Harry grinned, pulling back to step in front of you instead. The fact that he called it ‘baby pink’ and not ‘light pink’ had you screaming on the inside. He grabbed onto one of your hands, holding it out between you. “Do a spin.”

You did as told and did a 360 spin for him, liking how your heights were a bit more even with the tall heel. Without saying anything more to you, he turned to the sales associate who was waiting patiently beside the couch Harry was just sitting on. “Do you have a matching bag to these? In a baby pink?”

“Yes, sir. We have a cross body and a shoulder bag.”

“Perfect. Bring them both, please.” Harry turned back to you, then suddenly whipped his head around to the woman before she could step away, “Oh, and please bring some sunglasses too. Anything you think might suit her. Thanks, love.”

“Harry, what are you doing?” You hissed, “I’m not buying anything.”

“No, I am. I like you in pink. Besides, isn’t a shoulder bag and sunglasses a necessity for a holiday?” He mused, squeezing your hips. “Let me spoil you, darling. For doing so well on your exams.”

“I haven’t even done them yet.” You blushed, protesting slightly while threading your fingers behind his neck. “You don’t have to buy me such expensive things, H. You’ve already gotten me so much today.”

“And? You deserve it.” Harry assured you, reaching forward to kiss you gently. The lipstick you applied before you left was almost gone by now. Harry could barely keep his hands off you and you didn’t really want him to. These quick, casual pecks and signs of affection meant so much more to you than anything he could buy. 

“Thank you.” You whispered, threading your fingers softly into the hair at the nape of his neck to kiss him again. “Really. Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, baby.” He kissed you again and then sealed it with another quick peck before using his grip on your hips to turn you back towards the mirror. “Now tell me you don’t love the shoes. I know you can’t.”

It was store after store of shopping. You tried to keep things concise to the list you brought of things you wanted to get, but just like the Prada shoes… and bag… and sunglasses, you were both easily distracted. You had more fun dressing Harry up more than anything. Seeing him try on complete outfits you picked out for him just hit the spot for you. You loved it.

And it had nothing to do with him looking absolutely delicious in every fucking thing. You picked out a bit of a joke outfit in one of the ‘younger’ stores as Harry liked to call it, styling him in something more skater boy than his usual refined, delicious European style and he still looked hot as anything. 

Harry hated it of course, but he did like the graphic t-shirt and managed to style it in his own way with the pair of dress pants he had on. God, he was just so fucking hot. By the third men's store you brought him into, you were sweating. You couldn’t explain why it was such a turn-on to watch him open and close a curtain and show off different outfits or why a linen button-up much like everything else he has riled you up until you were clenching your thighs, but it just did. 

You finally truly understood why he liked buying you things so much. 

“Alright, last one then I need food. It’s practically dinner time and there’s a sushi train near here. I could demolish like twenty of those little plates.” Harry chuckled to himself and opened the door of the fitting room he was in. Upon revealing himself, your mouth properly dropped. 

It was another button-up style top but this time it was entirely made out of white crochet squares. The design was fine and perfect beyond perfect and had so many little holes throughout the design, that you could see slivers of skin everywhere. Then there was the obvious sliver of skin. The top three undone buttons that Harry had purposefully left open to expose his cross necklace and littered chest hairs. The tails of his swallows were peaking past the edges and with particular movements, the moth became more visible.

Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Not sure about this one, love. ‘Dunno why.” Harry ran his hands down the fabric, looking at his shirt until he realised you hadn’t said anything. “Y/n?” 

Seeing the look at your face, Harry could see exactly what your opinion was on his shirt. 

“I love it.” You finally said, walking towards him so you could feel the soft lace across his chest. He smirked and placed his hands on your waist. “It’s soft.”

Just the feeling of the soft lace against his warm body was driving you crazy. His body heat was radiating against your hands and you suddenly craved it against your body. All this talk about ‘study breaks’ and being in the same house as him for an entire week had your head in a spin. You couldn’t stop thinking about having constant sex and how tempting it would be to have so much privacy for so long.

And this was before you two were going to have an entire month together. God, the thought of that… your vagina would never be the same, you knew that for sure.

“Mh. Comfy too.” He commented, shivering when you dug your nails through the lace holes to scratch at his chest. “So y’like it?” Harry’s head cocked a little as the attraction in your eyes quickly started to reflect in his own. 

“Uhuh.”

You peeked around quickly to make sure you were alone and when the coast was clear you made the quick decision to walk him backwards back into the fitting room. Harry was happy to follow along with you, barely being able to ask what you were doing before you locked the door behind you and grabbed onto his face to kiss him.

Harry squeezed your waist and chuckled into your mouth, sighing softly against your lips while he kissed back. His arms started to wrap tightly around you and he was trying so hard to not moan at how eager you were pressing yourself against him and nibbling on his lip and tugging on his hair and fucking hell he was going dizzy. 

You weren’t one to start things like this and Harry was enjoying every fucking moment.

“What are you doing, darling? Hm?” Harry mused, eyes fluttering shut as you tugged his head back by his hair to gain easier access to his neck. His fingers dug deeper into the small of your back in an attempt to ground himself. He had to be quiet.

“I need your cock in my mouth,” You whispered against his skin while sliding your hand down his chest towards his dress pants. Harry tensed immediately beneath you, nearly groaning loudly when your hand landed on his cock. “Please, Daddy.” 

You started to palm over his half-hard cock which was very quickly hardening properly beneath your hand. Harry’s head tipped back against the wall and his jaw went slack. He could barely fucking believe what was happening right now.

What you were doing was reckless. Inappropriate and very much illegal. Giving head on a yacht in the open ocean didn’t exactly compare to giving head in a small enclosed fitting room where there were many more people around and any small noise would give you away.

To be honest though, you didn’t really give a fuck. You could tell Harry liked that.

You pulled back from his skin and made eye contact with him while squeezing him through his pants hard enough to make his eyes flutter. Reaching forward, you kissed him softly and spoke through soft kisses until he verbally agreed to have you on your knees before him. “Let me say thank you… please… I need it so bad, Daddy.”

Harry breathed heavily against your mouth and threaded his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck to tighten them in an almost warning way. “You’ve got to be quick, y/n. Unless you want to be caught.”

Something told you Harry wouldn’t have any issues being caught with his cock in your mouth. 

With a quick nod from Harry, you began the descent onto your knees. But before they even bent, he stopped you. “Wait.” He murmured, grabbing his expensive vest that was hanging on the back of the door and then folding it in half so it was thicker. “For your knees.” 

“I thought you liked it when they bruised.” You grinned, taking the vest nonetheless and putting it on the carpet in front of his feet. You slowly got down on your knees, looking back at the lock for a second just to double-check it was actually locked. It was thrilling to be in such a compromising position, but that didn’t mean you actually wanted someone to walk in on you two. 

“Only when I can take care of you after.” Harry sighed, the sight of you before him enough to make him breathless. He tried to relax against the wall separating your fitting room from the one next door. It thankfully went floor to ceiling, so you hoped that would muffle most of the noise. As much as you could try to keep quiet, Harry was quite terrible at it and it was hard to give a proper satisfying blowjob without making some sort of noise. 

Hopefully, the store’s music would cover it.

“You always take care of me. Now it’s my turn.” You looked up at him with a smile, sliding your hands over his thighs. He looked down at you, sliding his hand through your hair to push it back from your face so he could watch your facial expressions and every move you made. 

“You look so hot in this” You complimented, pushing his button-up top up his stomach to expose his belly button and below. “You better buy it.” you leaned forward and licked a stripe from the button of his pants to his belly button, making sure to do it once more while you undid his pants. 

“I will…” Harry assured, sighing out like a pretty angel just at the feeling of your mouth on his lower belly. “You like it so I have to buy it.”

“Mhmm. Y’gonna look so good, Daddy…” 

Harry’s pants easily fell to his ankles once the button came undone. They were straight-legged and with his tight briefs pressing his cock down, they slid right down. Of course, the briefs didn’t last very long either and they soon joined Harry’s pants at his ankles.

You had no time to tease or kiss every inch of exposed skin like you wanted to. This had to be quick which was a shame when he looked so fucking hot standing there naked aside from the pretty lace button-up you wanted to keep on him. It was like sexy lingerie and it messed with your head much more than you would’ve liked. 

“I only look good for you, darling. You’re the only one I want to… shit…” 

Harry couldn’t even finish his words, not when you spat on your hand, wrapped it around him and brought him to your mouth without any fucking warning. You jerked him slowly with your hand, focusing on the base while you slid his head against your tongue. His hips bucked against your mouth at the feeling, causing you to choke a little on his cock and force yourself to pull back from him. 

“You’ve got to relax.” You licked your tongue slowly against his slit, savouring the taste of his precum. You made a show of it too and closed your eyes to hum gently once it collected on your tongue. “As much as I love choking on your cock, it’s too loud.” 

You were almost scolding him, reprimanding him for not being good and staying pressed against the wall. It was reminiscent of the first time you figured out you loved him, not that Harry knew it like that. Harry remembered the first shower blowjob he got from you as a bold move, not the craving for control that you desperately wanted at the time.

Now… you’d give up any and all control to Harry, knowing that you were really the one in charge. That’s how you two worked. You both had your limits and while Harry hadn’t really pushed them to the limits very often, he had the power to do so because you gave it to him.

And how he was putty in your hands. 

“Don’t think I won’t get you back for this…” he shuddered, fisting your hair tighter when you brought him back into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him perfectly. All you did was smile around his cock while pressing the vein underneath his length back and forth on your tongue. 

You were looking forward to the payback. 

The longer you had him in your mouth, the less you started to care about how loud you were being. Harry was doing well to keep still, albeit practically trembling against you, but his hands were tugging on your hair roughly and he couldn’t stop the string of curses in place of loud moans he wanted make for you. 

There was just nothing like the sound of male pleasure. Deep, guttural groans and whimpers, hushed lines of praise and degradation and pleads of your name. A loud curse when you clenched around him or a whimpered one when you swallowed around him like you were doing now. 

Your hand was still wrapped around his base, fingers reached further back to press against his frenulum and apply pressure to his balls at the same time. You kept moving your mouth quickly and sloppily over his tip, swirling your tongue around his head where he was most sensitive.

“Jesus fucking Christ, y/n. God… your mouth.” 

It was borderline blasphemy the way he used God’s name. The way he cursed and moaned it out because you were giving him one of the most insane blowjobs of his entire life. There was pleasure in all types of blowjob, but there was nothing quite toe-curling like having his tip sucked and flicked at so fucking harshly. Harry almost felt like he needed to squeal like a little girl.

And you were eating it up. Literally. 

Sucking Harry off just turned you on to level 100. There was something about the shape of his cock… the weight of it on your tongue… his scent and soft skin, the way he was so incredibly hard for you and yet so sensitive and dainty at the same time. All of it. Add the dirty talk and the hair pulling and his nails scratching at your head like he wanted to force your head closer so you’d choke on him and you were practically a puddle in your jeans.

You wanted to touch yourself. To just dip your fingers in your underwear and touch the pain away. Just a little.

“Can I touch myself, Daddy? I’ll be quick, I promise.” You whispered, pulling off him to speak and catch your breath while you continued jerking him off. 

Even on your knees with all the power in this situation, you still asked permission to touch yourself. Harry had to force his mind elsewhere to not prematurely cum all over your nice outfit. 

“Do it. Make yourself cum f’me, baby. You’ve been sucking me so fucking good.” He praised, rubbing his thumb over your messy mouth. Your once perfect lipliner was all smudged now, leaving behind your pretty swollen lips for Harry to trace. He had a sudden craving to kiss you silly, but with your manicured fingers wrapped around him, his cock’s craving was stronger. Hungrier. 

You nodded, bringing his cock to your mouth and bopping against it while you undid your jeans so you could slide your hand into your underwear. It was like instant relief the moment your fingers met your clit. You were soaked and slippery and so fucking horny you knew it wouldn’t take long for you to finish yourself off. 

Harry was close too. You could tell by his heavier breathing and the slight twitching in his cock. You kept your lips wrapped around his tip and focused your attention there while you used one hand on his balls and the other to touch yourself. 

The closer both of you got to finishing, the louder your noises became. You tried so hard to hide it, to keep your noises reduced to a sigh especially when you could hear people talking all around you, but it was pretty damn hard. Your one saving grace was the music echoing through the speakers, but you were getting so lost in the pleasure you didn’t know or care whether it was loud enough to cover what you two were doing.

“Shit, y/n. ‘M close. ‘M getting so close…” 

Keeping your lips wrapped around him, you took his warning as a sign to jerk him faster and time your own circles on your clit with every movement you made on his cock. And it wasn’t long after his warning when you felt his whole body tremble against you. His thighs tensed and his abs clenched, his fingers stilled in your hair.

Harry had to bite down on his own fist to try and muffle the noise he let out when he finally came in your mouth, letting ribbons and ribbons of cum fill your throat until you had to swallow to make more room. He wanted to watch you take all of it and make yourself finish, but he could barely stand up straight let alone keep his eyes open to see the way you shook and squeezed your eyes shut when your own orgasm rushed over you. 

When he nudged your head away due to sensitivity, you both seemed to collapse in your own positions to try and calm down from your highs. Your head tilted against his thigh and you just sat there for a moment collecting yourself before deciding to redress Harry. You two had been in the dressing room for way too long now and the post-orgasm clarity was starting to make you freak out about what you had just done.

You only got his button done up before Harry was picking you up off the floor and drawing you in for a heated kiss.

“God I fucking love you.” He murmured, kissing you over and over again while you giggled into his mouth. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.” You smiled, poking his chest. “We should do that again sometime.” You breathed through a laugh while zipping up his pants for him. You were a little in disbelief at what just happened. 

“We should,” Harry smirked, reaching between you to zip up your jeans and do the button for you. “Though next time it’ll be you trying to keep quiet and we both know you have a harder time keeping your noises to yourself.”

“That’s so not true!” you scoffed, turning to the mirror so you could fix your hair. “I can keep completely silent thank you very much,” you couldn’t, not when you were with Harry anyway. 

“You’re such a liar.” He laughed, shaking his head while taking the lace shirt off so he could put his own clothes back on. You watched him through the mirror, still overly horny and unsatisfied. Seeing his bare chest just made you want his cock in your mouth again. Or better and far more satisfying, inside you. “I can very easily prove you wrong though, I hope you know that.” 

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes and then without any warning felt Harry press his chest into your back while he wrapped his hand around your neck. Your eyes widened and you felt your head go dizzy when he applied pressure just in the right spots. 

“I’ve been very generous to you today, baby, and while having my cock in y’mouth is a very nice thank you, I don’t think it warrants attitude, does it?” he murmured, making eye contact with you in the mirror while running his nose up the length of your neck. 

Fuck me. 

God, you wished he would. 

You swallowed thickly, a little overwhelmed at how dominant he became in a flash. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have him so in control and so powerful. Since you got together he had been so soft and loving. The parts of him that would correct you and reprimand you when you broke eye contact or showed a hint of attitude had significantly softened. They hadn’t disappeared altogether, your sex and your life together was still playful and Harry was most definitely in charge, but with your lives being so busy and having so many things to work through, it was clear to both of you that things had changed. 

You just hadn’t really spoken about it. 

But you didn’t want to forget. You didn’t want Harry to think that he couldn’t push boundaries anymore or be rough with you just because you two were in a relationship. In the beginning you knew he didn’t want to overstep because things were so emotionally raw still, but now that things were good between you two… 

You put it down to not having time, which was a big part of the problem. Still, you missed it.

“N-no…” You breathed, sliding your hand to cover the one he had around your neck, “No, it doesn’t.”

“Exactly. So?” He prompted with a raised brow, caressing his fingers up and down the sides of your neck with little pressure. 

“‘M sorry, Daddy.” 

The title slipped out easily, naturally. It was never going to be part of your lives 24/7 because that wasn’t your dynamic, but you two were clearly still playing and you were still in the high of sucking him off. It was just so easy to let go of all thoughts and issues when he took control like this. 

“Good girl, angel.” He smiled, manoeuvring your face to the side so he could kiss you and look at you directly. You savoured the kiss, craving that closeness even when he pulled away to run his thumb over your lips. “Are you still hungry?”

You nodded. “Very.”

“Good.” His eyes softened and he couldn’t resist kissing you again. “Wait outside then, okay? I’ll get dressed then we’ll drop our bags to the car and go get dinner.” 

“Okay.” You nodded again, wanting nothing more than to just cling to him and never let you go. Still, you did what he asked and cautiously slipped out of the room, thankful that the one person standing out there paid no attention to you or even Harry when he exited his fitting room a minute later.

It was decided during your dinner together that you’d go back with Harry to his house. After spending such a nice day together, you didn’t really want to go home. You knew you should’ve, especially since you still had one assignment to go before you could focus on studying for your exams, but you knew that you wouldn’t get anything done after the week you’ve had whether you were with Harry or without him.

And you’d much rather be with him. 

When you got to his home, you wanted to try everything on again just to make sure you liked what you got in case you changed your mind. Fitting room mirrors can give you the best or worst confidence in the world and you always need to see things in your own house (or Harry’s in this case) to make a final decision. While Harry didn’t quite understand your logic, he was happy to sit in his nice armchair and watch you try everything on for him. 

Harry found it quite adorable the way you analysed yourself. The look of concentration and slight furrow in your brow as you observed yourself from every angle. Harry liked everything on you of course, but he quickly learnt you still needed to hear it from him at least three times before you believed it. 

“Okay, last one.” You declared, emerging from his walk-in closet where you just looked at the dress for a solid three minutes before wanting Harry’s opinion. 

“It’s gorgeous. I love the colour on you.” Harry beamed, fingers laced together with his elbows resting on his parted knees. He scanned your body, thinking that this one was possibly his favourite dress of the day. “Makes your bum look great.”

“Stop.” You scoffed, laughing while looking back in the mirror. You were able to see it from the doorway of his walk-in robe, which was handy. “Seriously, though. You don’t think it washes me out?”

“No. I think it suits you perfectly. It’s different from other dresses you have too.” 

You didn’t quite understand how Harry had the patience to sit through a haul like this. Your dad never did, even when you forced him to at least pretend to be interested and yet Harry acted like every outfit was the newest, greatest thing he had ever seen. If it were even possible, you loved him more for it. 

“That’s what I was thinking. I wanted a few things that are a bit more unique, y’know? Even though I’ll probably end up wearing the same things all the time anyway.” You laughed to yourself, eyes focused on the dress. You tilted your body side to side, watching how the fabric flowed around you. “So you definitely like it?”

Barely a minute after his second assurance and you needed another. Harry would happily tell you how beautiful you are a million times if that made you happy. 

“Yes.” Harry nodded, “1000%”

“1000% huh?” You grinned at him. He nodded with an equally happy smile. “Okay then. I’m satisfied with my purchases now and I feel justified.” You announced it like you were proud of the outcome, even though you didn’t buy a single item of anything that you tried on for Harry. He fucking loved it though. If you ordered him to buy you a new car or a $20,000 bag he’d do so in a heartbeat then need to fuck you because of how much it turned him on.

“Good.” Harry laughed, sitting back in his chair. “C’mere, baby.” He motioned you over to him, letting you step between his parted before he wrapped his arms around your hips. You smiled down at him, slinging your arms around his neck.

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” He smiled, hugging you closer to him. “Are you feeling better after this morning?”

Your smile faltered and suddenly the happiness you got from your little shopping spree disappeared into thin air. It was nothing but a quick distraction, easily ruined by a reality check. You couldn’t blame Harry though. All he did was check in on you.

You nodded and started twirling the hair at the nape of his neck around your fingers. “Yeah… it was nice to have the distraction. There’s just been so much shit going on at the moment and I feel like I haven’t breathed properly for weeks. I just want to have a clear head for once, y’know? Just not think about anything.” you sighed, looking down for a moment.

“I can help with that,” Harry said softly, tilting your head up with his index finger so you were forced to look at him. “You know that right, y/n? I can give you anything you want…” his voice dropped an octave and you were instantly aware that he wasn’t offering a listening ear. Your breath hitched and your body completely tensed up in his arms, “...anything you need.” 

“I know…” you whispered, unable to look anywhere except right into his darkening gaze.

“So let me…” he urged, “Do you want me to clear your head for you?...” he scanned your face, sliding the tip of his index finger from your chin down to trace along your neck. It was a trail of fire. Just the path of his fingertip was making you need to claw out of your own skin and he had barely touched you. It felt like he hadn’t properly touched you for weeks. “To take away all your stress and your thoughts… let you be completely relaxed?”

You were practically trembling in his touch. One hand was squeezing your waist and the other was trailing patterns over your neck and your collarbones, down to the modest neckline of your dress. You were dying. 

“I can take full control if you want me to, y/n. You just have to say the word.” He flattened his palm against your neck, making you flutter your eyes closed as he enclosed his hand around it. He applied no pressure, just a loose hold to show you what he could do to you. For you. “I can be Harry or Daddy… whatever you need. Anything you need.”

The way his mouth moved at the two clear syllables of ‘Daddy’ had you sweating. He was giving you every choice, every option so that he knew exactly what you needed and wanted. So that he could take the reigns and let you sink into your submissive bliss. 

You needed that more than anything else in the entire world.

“I…” your words faltered, even as you forced yourself to look at him. “I need you, Daddy. Please.”

Harry nodded, scanning your face once more as the side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly in the softest smile he could muster. “I love you and I’m so proud of you for everything you’re achieving, y/n. It takes a lot of strength and endurance to be as strong as you have been.” Now it was your heart that was trembling. “Now let me do it for you. You’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes-yes, thank you.” You nodded eagerly, wanting to sink into his arms so he could take the weight off your feet for you. If he could walk for you, you would’ve let him. 

“Good. I want to take you back to Pleasing.”

━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━ ━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━

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[httpsserene]

𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊'𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑

welcome to the table of contents for my one-thousand followers special !

i'm baffled at the amount of love and support from all of you; in under the two-months i've been writing on this blog, i've managed to have good enough writing to convince you guys to save my blog. i started writing f1 ff's with the sole purpose to provide more black!reader based content, and i never imagined that i'd have a thousand eyes reading my delusional scenarios lol. thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart :)

as promised, the special event is a continuation of the first upload of my f1 kinktober series. those of you who were desperate for a part-two of the corruption kink with charles leclerc / max verstappen / black!reader--here it is, in abundance. a five-part series (including the f1-ktober upload). merry christmas, loves xxx

if you would like to be added to this series' taglist, send me an ask or leave a reply.

all episodes uploaded at 12 PM EST on their release date.

posts tagged as # httpss :// 1k special.

all works can be found in my table of contents (m.list).

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐬

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: max and charles don’t mind receiving a five-second penalty for slipping past your boundaries. seeing a black and white flag doesn’t scare them in the slightest; not when you're performing so well under their guidance. 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: multi-chaptered series.

view playlist? ↴

pilot: corruption kink w/ charles leclerc and max verstappen

innocent and virgin !reader has never touched herself before. she knows how to, in theory, but whenever she tries, she chickens out. her tried and true way of receiving pleasure is failing her. she thinks that maybe it's time to allow her relationship with her two respectful and experienced boyfriends, to reach the next step. and she'll find that they're very willing to teach her a few things.

episode two: 𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿 | handjobs | 12/9/23

slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand.

soundtrack - gun • doja cat

episode three: 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝘂𝗿𝘃𝗲 | fingering | 12/11/23

tainted, virgin!reader is growing tired of grinding against her boyfriends. she’s never touched herself before—no toys, no fingers, no fondling—the friction from a pillow used to be enough. but, maybe having something inside of her isn’t as terrifying as she believed. charles’ pretty pianist fingers don’t look too scary, and they way he raves about how talented max’s daunting thicker fingers are; well, she could be convinced to see what all the fuss is about.

soundtrack - pressure • ari lennox

episode four: 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹 𝗴𝗿𝗼𝘄𝘁𝗵 | oral sex | 12/15/23

soiled, virgin!reader is well aware of her boyfriends’ desire to eat her alive, sorry, to eat her out. from the way they can’t resist drinking her wetness off their (or her own) fingers, to the way they can’t stop running their mouths about getting their mouths on you: they’ve made how desperate they are, very clear. for some reason, she can’t get past her mental block to allow them to feast between her legs, or to taste what’s between theirs. max figures she just needs a demonstration to quell her fears; charles is a more than willing participant.

soundtrack - super freaky girl • nicki minaj

finale: 𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗿 | vaginal sex | 12/17/23

tonight, innocent and virgin!reader will be defiled, deflowered, tarnished—whichever word you prefer. from the moment she told them she was ready to lose her virginity, they’ve been carefully planning out a special night, for her. and shockingly, there’s not an ounce of fear, anxiety, or doubt in her mind—max and charles have gained her complete trust. they haven’t given her a single reason to believe that they wouldn’t treat her right. she couldn’t have asked for better men to take her virginity—if this is corruption, she’s delighted to experience it.

soundtrack - wet dreamz • j.cole

𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 ↴

extra scene: downforce

all my (terrified and oversensitive) homies hate vibrators!! max and charles introduce you to something better

© httpsserene2023

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 23 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, mentions of drugs (nothing graphic), descriptive SMUT (pet names and a sprinkle of worship included, beware), fluff and too much flirting to be allowed, some angst, SLOW BURN

words: 19.8k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 23 ► in this open warfare, i won't fight fair, and in your waking moments, i will be there

The next morning, you and Jungkook took Minjun, Luna, and Maggie to a small restaurant—unreasonably far from your hotel in London—to have a late breakfast and to plot. The five of you were a lot more concerned with the latter, and the bacon and egg sandwiches on your plates were relegated to mere decoration.

You had already discussed your plan with Luna and Maggie over the phone last night, but you wanted to meet everyone in person to ensure you were all on the same page, and to inform Jungkook of his role (which was intentionally non-existent).

You believed that the fewer members of Rated Riot got tangled up in Sid’s slimy web, the lower the risk of collateral damage. Ideally, you would have left Jungkook out entirely. But his friendship with Sid made him a linchpin in the machinations of your scheme—he would be the most affected if something went awry.

“This plan relies heavily on the circumstances, I admit,” you said, while your friends feigned interest in their food to avoid the disapproving glances of the restaurant staff. “But maybe that will work to our advantage because we will hardly have to do anything. We will draw the authorities’ attention to Sid, and that’s it. He’ll do the rest himself.”

“Yeah,” Minjun added as your primary accomplice in this scheme. He was busy trying to stop his napkins from blowing away in the fierce wind on the restaurant’s terrace. “And that’s why we need Jude to let us into their hotel room—”

“Wait,” had become Jungkook’s new favourite word. He used it now, too. “And are we sure that Jude won’t change his mind?”

Maggie and Luna turned to you, mirroring Jungkook’s skepticism.

“We’re not,” you admitted. You were aware of the risk, but time has never been more of the essence, and Jude was your best option. “We’re not telling him too much and hoping for the best.”

“And to be honest,” Minjun added, “the fact that she gave him that laundry list of shit to do—”

“Wait,” Jungkook said again. “What list?”

You waved off his question, but Minjun answered on your behalf, clinging to this as if it was the only convincing evidence the five of you had against Jude changing his mind.

“Like, vitamins and stuff,” he explained. “To ease his withdrawals. I don’t know if he followed her instructions, but anyone could see how much it meant to him, just the fact that she cared enough. Maybe that’ll be what keeps him on our side, even though he’s back with Sid right now.”

Maggie wrinkled her nose in clear disapproval, although you knew she would have reacted the same way if she’d seen Jude—her heart was bigger than her head, bless her.

“He’s done nothing to deserve this from you,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, he—yeah,” Jungkook agreed, the confidence in his voice wavering as he alternated between gratitude for your concern about Jude, and guilt for putting you in this position. “You didn’t have to help him.”

“He’s really not doing well,” you said. “And don’t think I’m so kind, I acted largely out of my own self-interest. We need him for our plan.”

Jungkook recalled Jude’s sneezing, his shivers in forty-degree heat, and his nausea. All of his symptoms always came and went without warning, but the memory of someone going out of their way for him was likely to stay.

“Okay,” Jungkook acquiesced. “That’s—let’s keep going.”

“We won’t need to involve Jude every step of the way, though, right?” Luna clarified. “I mean, I assumed we’d mainly need him to get rid of whatever Sid has in his phone gallery.”

“Yeah, but not just—we’re not just deleting the videos with Jungkook,” you said, glancing at Minjun, who had supported you wholeheartedly when you mentioned this part of the plan to him. He nodded now, too, encouraging you to explain. “We’ll delete everything he has in his Cloud storage and factory reset his phone. I doubt Sid had enough sense to back up his files to an external drive, so this will clear every copy of everything he has on there.”

Maggie’s eyes finally lit up with lively excitement, Luna nodded in agreement, and you felt a smile forming on your own lips, too.

Jungkook, on the other hand, appeared almost disappointed.

“W-we don’t have to go through all of this just to delete those videos,” he said, fixing his gaze on his untouched cup of matcha latte; the artwork on the surface had begun to blur. “Those things happened. I did all of that shit, and Sid recorded it. That’s who I was back then, and maybe I shouldn’t try to—”

You interrupted his words—the ones you’d already heard before—with a gentle touch of your hand over his restless fingers, and Jungkook stilled, turning to you.

“No, those videos are not who you are. You are the one who decides who you are,” you reiterated once more and the table fell silent around you as if everyone had witnessed something they were not supposed to. “And if you want to leave those things in the past, you should be able to. Sid has no right to bring it up now.”

“But if we lock Sid up,” he persisted, “then maybe those videos won’t matter anyway.”

“He could publish them,” Minjun countered. “He sent them directly to you now, but he could post them publicly later. I’m sure he’d find a way to do that even behind bars.”

Jungkook felt a rush of dizziness and he was very grateful that you’d pressed your hand on his. Minjun was right. Sid had done something like this before when he’d posted your picture; he clearly wasn’t above making private matters public.

“We would leave the videos be, let Sid have them, whatever,” you continued, reading the colour on his face, “but he wants to use them against you. He’s cutting them up to paint you as an irresponsible asshole. And you’re not an asshole, Jungkook.”

“Yeah,” Minjun agreed. “And I talked to Jude about an hour ago. He sounded sober, which is shocking to me, but, anyway—Sid has plans to go out tonight, so Jude should be able to do this tomorrow morning while Sid’s still passed out.”

The whole terrace of the restaurant seemed to hold its breath in anticipation as soon as he said that, the clink of cutlery and the muffled chatter around you growing tense.

Jungkook, even dizzier now, turned back to you once more. You gave him a small nod.

He took a breath and nodded back. “Okay. Alright. Fine. Let’s do it.”

“Good!” Maggie cheered from across the table. She turned to Jungkook, and you watched as her reassuring tone chased the last doubts from his eyes. “Even without those videos, we need to do this to get back at Sid. And I know this will do just that. I’d be tearing my hair out if someone cleansed my Cloud.”

You noticed that Maggie was much more vigilant with her phone today, hardly letting it out of her sight. She’d improved her security measures and had to enter her passcode every time she wanted to reply to a text today, because the facial recognition struggled to recognise the wind in her hair. This was the reason she hadn’t bothered with it before, but Sid had taught her a valuable lesson.

You gave your friend an agreeing nod and settled against the back of your chair.

Luna sat on your other side, leaning her elbows on the table, and she quickly noted the way Jungkook’s eyes widened when you pulled back, as if you had torn off a piece of his skin. She glanced at Maggie, who noticed nothing and kept checking the time on her phone as if she was late for another meeting to plan someone’s arrest.

Somewhat disappointed, Luna turned back to you, her grin doubling in size to compensate for her lack of company in teasing you.

“One big problem,” you said, focused on the intricacies of your plan and, therefore, unaware of your surroundings, “lies in our next steps. If we manage to get Sid arrested, he will likely weaponise his friendship with Jungkook. He’ll try to make it seem like they’re as close as brothers, and if he’s going to jail for meth possession, then Jungkook is probably doing drugs, too.”

You pulled your phone out from your bag and allowed for the weight of your words to settle on the table like a heavy grey tablecloth while you opened your gallery.

“So, this morning,” you continued, “Maggie and I put something together. This is a list of people who are banned from Rated Riot’s shows.”

You passed your phone to Luna first. She looked at the screen, nodded, and handed the phone to Maggie, who smiled to herself right away—she had designed the layout of the list and was very pleased with it.

By the time your phone reached Jungkook, he was already squirming in his chair. As he examined the list of names, displayed in bold white letters on a black background with a crumpled paper texture that Maggie had crafted and digitalised herself, he realised that the only name he recognised was Sid’s.

He looked up. “But if you post that—that’s—isn’t it supposed to be confidential?”

“I won’t post it,” you said. “We’ll leak it.”

“Oh.” A gleam of affection suddenly sparkled in his eyes. He felt a little like he’d just met you for the first time, all over again. “Can we do that?

Maggie reached across the table, snatching your phone from Jungkook’s hand to see the picture of the list again. She scrutinised the names for a minute as if trying to uncover the social security numbers of the people listed.

“No,” you replied. “But Sid never played fair, so we’re simply levelling the playing field. The other names on the list are made up anyway. They’re generic enough to match someone on Facebook, but no one will know which person is on this list.”

“But they’ll recognise Sid,” Maggie pointed out, squinting at your phone. “Even though he’s listed as Isidore here. Right?”

“That’s him, yeah,” you confirmed. “And you’re right. Everyone will recognise Sid. We’ll leak this before he gets arrested, and anything he says after that will just be taken as blatant slander.”

Jungkook took another deep breath and glanced at your phone, which Maggie slid towards you across the table. It bumped against the corner of your empty water glass.

“Won’t there be consequences if something else leaks?” he asked, his teeth grazing his bottom lip.

“Yeah, I was thinking that, too,” you admitted. “But then, Luna texted me a brilliant idea last night.”

You gestured towards your friend, and she continued.

“It’ll be accidental,” she explained. “Maggie usually posts backstage pictures on her Instagram. She has almost as many followers as the main account of your band at this point. So, later today, she will post a new set of pictures, and this list of names will just happen to be visible in some shots. Just a coincidence, really. And then we hope that one of your fans will notice it, zoom in, catch Sid’s name, and share it.”

Jungkook looked down, nodding to himself. He realised that Sid stood little chance against the collective resolve of everyone at this table.

“They will notice it,” he said. “I don’t doubt it.”

“We’ll have to rely on them to spread this,” you added. “Even though this list isn’t really something we need to hide. It’s just, you know, sort of customary in the industry to keep your dirty laundry to yourself.”

“Alright,” Jungkook said, sensing the weight of everyone’s gaze on him. He had the feeling that everyone was waiting for his final approval to move forward with this plan. “So, uh, Maggie won’t get into trouble for posting it?”

“Hmm?” Maggie looked up from her phone at the sound of her name. “Oh. No. I’m the photographer. As long as I get good shots, I never get in trouble. And this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken a picture that reveals more than I intended.”

She gave you a sheepish look, and you shook your head, sensing where the guilt in her eyes stemmed from. Maggie knew that Sid was behind the chaos caused by the bathtub picture, but she still felt a gnawing sense of responsibility because she was the one who had taken the picture.

“Alright. You, uh—you guys really put a lot of thought into this,” Jungkook remarked, looking at you first, then at your friends, and finally at Minjun on his other side. “I’m, uh—I-I’m actually a little afraid of you.”

Luna and Minjun snickered—Maggie was back on her phone, but she was smiling, too—and their excitement made you feel much more optimistic.

“Good,” you said, reaching out to touch Jungkook’s hand again. He immediately turned his hand round and firmly clasped yours—to ensure you wouldn’t pull away this time. “Sid should be, too.”

A tense silence settled over the table, punctuated by the subdued conversations on the terrace.

For the first time since you arrived at the restaurant, Jungkook finally took a sip of his coffee. It tasted bitter and lukewarm. You refrained from touching yours, but accepted a bite of Luna’s tiramisu. Everyone else at the table seemed to remember simultaneously that they had ordered food when they got here.

“Uh,” Maggie spoke up after a second, still chewing on the brown crust of her bacon and egg tart. “Is this a safe space for us to voice our, uh, concerns?”

You straightened in your seat, bracing yourself before she’s even said anything. Jungkook sensed your growing anxiety and squeezed your hand.

“Of course,” you replied, keeping your voice steady.

“Okay.” Maggie swallowed and set down her fork after taking exactly one and a half bites. “Well, I’m worried that Sid will say something provocative and one of us will end up getting arrested for assault.”

There was something absurdly comical in her question—or the potential outcome it suggested—and you could see Minjun quickly lower his head to conceal his broad smile.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was extremely pleased that no one turned to look at him, the person who had, more or less, already assaulted Sid before. It comforted him to know that everyone here would have loved to smack Sid upright in the head, too.

“That’s a great point,” you said, clearing your throat. “If he provokes you—well, then you might have a legitimate reason to, uh, land a good punch. You probably wouldn’t be held in custody too long for that. There’s no premeditation, you acted on impulse because of something he said.”

Minjun raised an eyebrow at you from across the table.

“I thought our focus was drug laws,” he said. “Did you research assault, too?”

“I researched assault laws the day I met Sid,” you deadpanned.

He snorted. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“Not to mention, we can always argue it’s self-defence,” Luna added, prodding her sandwich with a toothpick as if it were a not-quite-dead bug. “Sid is very—let’s say, aggressive.”

“That’s true,” Minjun agreed. “Especially when he’s irritated.”

The energy around the table had increased considerably; everyone seemed to have something to say about possible reasons to hit Sid. Maggie was already listing five ways to throw a punch that would knock out your opponent—she had a WikiHow article open and was illustrating it with enthusiastic demonstrations on Minjun.

You realised, quite suddenly, how happy you were to sit here with your friends. They were smart and cunning enough to rob a bank, escape a prison, and start a money laundering scheme all in a week, but they chose to be sweet and loving and a little vengeful instead. You felt almost giddy.

“He wouldn’t throw the first punch, though,” Jungkook interjected with a hint of frustrated sorrow. Maggie halted her research, retracting her fist from Minjun’s cheek. “He’ll just keep running his mouth until you strike him. And he’ll make sure the provocation is very minimal.”

“Well, sure, but who at this table will attest to any of that?” Luna questioned, undeterred. “Everyone who witnessed Sid throwing the first punch, raise your hands.”

All of you raised your hands in perfect synchronisation, and Jungkook felt himself smile again.

He had never doubted the success of your plan, even if he doubted the details. But sitting here now, while all of you held your hands up, he was fully convinced that this meeting marked the beginning of the end for Sid.

“Right. Okay,” he said. “I like how this is looking.”

“Me too,” Maggie said, locking her phone and slouching in her chair. “I feel better now. Didn’t want to spend the night at the police station.”

“You wouldn’t,” Luna assured her. “We’d bail you out.”

She snickered. “That’s good to—”

Jungkook suddenly jumped up in his chair, interrupting her.

“What about Sid’s bail?” he asked urgently. “Can he—could he pay for his release?”

Everyone at the table turned to you once more. When you and Minjun did your research yesterday, your focus had quickly turned from penalties to potential loopholes that Sid might use with his money, so you understood their sudden concern.

“No,” you said. “Apparently, it doesn’t work like that here. They would give him bail automatically; he wouldn’t have to pay. But they need to charge him with a specific offence first, and they won’t know the exact charges until they know what, uh, substances he was carrying on him and keeping in his hotel room—oh, and how much. Not to mention, bail may be denied if there is a risk that he’ll commit further crimes. And we know Sid is violent. He will not sit idly in his little cell.”

“Yeah,” Minjun agreed. “We’re 95% sure he won’t be given bail.”

You nodded, grateful for his confidence.

“So, we definitely won’t be in London by the time they charge him,” Maggie concluded, frowning. She regretted not ordering whiskey instead of espresso; alcohol helped her think.

“Definitely not,” you confirmed. “Our plan concludes with Sid’s arrest, everything else is not our problem anymore. And we’re only participating in this as the staff of Rated Riot, so the only people who will have to speak to the police are those who will be present when they arrive at the venue tomorrow. So, ideally, only Luna, Mick, and me. That’s it. That’s as far as we’re getting involved.”

“Wait,” Jungkook said. He understood the need for Mick’s presence and felt comforted that you’d have someone from security with you, but now he was worried about your friend. “Why Luna?”

“We need an additional witness to observe Sid’s erratic behaviour,” Luna explained. “We thought it’d be better to have someone random, and not just your manager and head of security there.”

Jungkook kept his gaze on hers. “How do you know he’ll behave erratically?”

She gave him a look.

“Right.” He leaned back in his seat. “Good point. Okay.”

He already knew that the odds were good that Sid would try to provoke you tomorrow, but now he realised that even if Sid suddenly decided to be docile, it wouldn’t matter. The five of you were tight as a glove—Sid could sit in a corner, purring and meowing, and you would all collectively claim that he was threatening you.

Finally, Jungkook realised that he had narrowly escaped something dreadful, and he felt very grateful to find himself at this table, and not on the other side of this plan.

“I, uh—this isn’t a concern exactly,” you said after a minute. “But I have to say that a lot of this hinges on Sid trusting my word, and I’m—well, I’m not sure if he’ll care about anything I tell him.”

Minjun looked almost offended. He was the one who devised this strategy after you told him that you needed a way to quickly draw the attention of the authorities to Sid.

Why don’t you call him? Minjun had suggested. And invite him to meet you.

You had thought he’d decided to go insane right before talking to you. But you’d kept your suspicions to yourself because, ultimately, calling Sid seemed like the only option. It felt unfair, however, not to mention your doubts now.

“Actually, I agree,” Jungkook said, giving you a long look. “I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with any of that. You’ll have to be alone in a room with Sid. And we can’t be sure that he won’t—”

“Sid will care,” Minjun asserted, ignoring everything Jungkook had said. He kept his gaze on you, his certainty almost as intimidating as it was comforting. “Maybe not because he has feelings for you, but because you’re Jungkook’s girlfriend.”

Maggie looked up from her phone, surprised about the possibility of Sid having any feelings at all, and turned to Luna. The two of them finally exchanged the look that Luna had been waiting for.

“And you’re okay with doing this?” Jungkook asked you, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. He was careful not to miss any hint of dishonesty.

“I’m okay if this actually works,” you said. “If Sid shows up. If we get him arrested. I’m willing to try this if you’re all sure that we’ll succeed. And I wouldn’t be all by myself anyway.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about that part,” Maggie said to Jungkook, rolling up her sleeves for emphasis. Technically, she wasn’t supposed to be at the scene tomorrow, but she felt she had a personal debt to settle with Sid, so she would find a way to interfere if she had to. “I can fight.”

Jungkook looked at her in a way that was more amused than it was skeptical—Maggie was very small in size, but very big in energy—and she tried to flex her arms to prove her point.

“I believe you,” he said, a smile breaking through his uncertainty. “I just don’t like that this will all be happening during our show. I won’t be there with you.”

“That’s just the plan,” you said. “We need to keep you away from him so that anything he says later won’t carry any weight. He’s obsessed with you and he has problems, and you’ve been distancing yourself from him for some time now. We’ll release an official statement about your, uh, separation once we’re done with him. And the leaked blacklist will back up our claims.”

A resigned acceptance clouded Jungkook’s features: he understood that this was the right decision, but he couldn’t help feeling unhappy about it. However, although he would have typically complained and whined about this—and you expected him to—now his posture was stoic.

You felt a little dispirited. You knew you wouldn’t joke around much today, but Jungkook’s unusually serious demeanour emphasised the gravity of the situation even more.

“Okay,” Minjun said. “Any other concerns?”

You shifted your gaze to him.

“Actually, I have another one,” you said. “I’m also worried about how this will affect your parents.”

The two girls beside you exchanged another glance—you hadn’t explained Minjun’s family’s dependence on Sid’s mother yet.

“If Sid’s in prison?” Minjun asked, unperturbed. “Well, their stocks will probably drop, so it will be weird to throw a party. I think we’ll celebrate quietly.”

You glanced at Jungkook, and he met your eye with an amused grin.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked Minjun then.

“Are you kidding?” Minjun looked optimistic and upbeat. He seemed ready to take on the world, and locking up Sid was just the first step. “We should have done this years ago.”

Maggie suddenly slammed her palm on the table, forcing everyone’s coffee cups to rattle against the plates.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” she exclaimed, and her excitement quickly spread to the rest of the table.

“I agree,” Luna added, much quieter. “But maybe it’s time we headed out. The people at the next table are whispering and, uh, pointing at Jungkook.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows and turned to you instead of looking around, his expression filled with a shocked wonder. He had only been recognised in public a handful of times since Rated Riot started out, and each instance had left an indelible mark on him.

You gave him a smile and a nod that spurred him out of his chair and towards the people at the neighbouring table, all of whom held their breaths when he stood up.

You glanced back at your friends—all smiling as they watched Jungkook introduce himself and singlehandedly cut off the air supply of four different people—and you thought about how wonderful it would have been if you had met Maggie and Luna earlier. If Jungkook and Minjun had stopped entertaining Sid’s whims sooner. If you and Jungkook had never broken up at all.

Perhaps, you thought, there was an alternative universe where you’d known and loved these people your whole life. You felt very close to that universe now.

Just as you finished your breakfast—where the five of you consumed one cup of coffee and half a slice of tiramisu in total—you executed the first step of your plan and sent a text message to Sid. It was innocuous, just a conversational, “are you ever going to stop doing this?” but it was meant to serve as a subtle precursor—so as not to approach him out of the blue tomorrow.

Then, as the five of you exited the restaurant, Maggie got enthralled by the most gracious little corgi sitting at a table, and dragged Luna and Minjun (who looked like he was not sure what was happening) back inside to ask for pictures. You and Jungkook opted for a scenic route back to the hotel instead.

Although the day was overcast, the sky did not look particularly ominous, offering instead an unexpected serenity that you thought you could use to clear your thoughts.

Interestingly, fresh air was not what you really needed at all. It was his hand holding yours as you strolled past extravagant hotels and expensive restaurants near Hyde Park, weaving through crowds of rushing tourists and cranky locals.

You felt significantly lighter with your hand in his, but Jungkook still appeared troubled. The shadows on his face were far more pronounced than those in the sky.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked.

He let out a weary sigh as he met your gaze. He seemed overwhelmed—as though his head was trying very hard to grow twice as large to contain all his thoughts, while the rest of his body fought desperately to resist the growth.

“I—well, I didn’t want to say this in front of everyone,” he started slowly, “but I’m worried about you.”

“Me?” You frowned. “Wh—because of Sid?”

“Because you’re doing all of this on top of your other responsibilities,” he said. “I don’t want you to burn out.”

Your expression visibly softened, but dark edges of guilt still coated the appreciation in your eyes. You felt disappointed in yourself—for letting it get so far that, over a week later, Jungkook still sometimes looked at you as though you might faint any second.

“That won’t happen,” you replied, your tone gentle, but determined. “I promise. And I’m not alone. I have so much help. And this won’t—it’s just a few days. We deal with it tomorrow, and it’s over.”

“Okay. But what if it’s not?” he questioned then. “We’re heading to Paris right after we, potentially, deal with Sid. And what if it doesn’t work, and we’re not here to fix it?”

You had to admit, this same possibility had been weighing on your mind ever since Jude first mentioned the bags of drugs in Sid’s hotel room. However, as soon as you saw Jungkook’s solemn features, you found yourself resisting all these worries. You would figure it out, no matter what happened, just so he wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Then it won’t work.”

“He’ll be furious,” Jungkook said. “Even more vindictive than before.”

“I know,” you replied. “But no matter what he decides to do, we won’t back down, either.”

Jungkook frowned so deeply that several new wrinkles declared permanent residence between his brows. He dreaded the idea of spending a lifetime seeking revenge.

You sensed the reason for his apprehension—you wanted this over quickly, too—and instinctively squeezed his hand.

“I’m with you,” you said, reaching for your phone to check if Sid had reacted to your text. “And I told you, I’m not entirely convinced that this will work, either. I mean, here, look. Sid hasn’t replied. But if this plan falls through, we’ll come up with something else. Maybe something—well, less grand.”

He glanced at your phone, toying with his lip ring between his teeth. The prospect of failure felt more daunting with each second that Sid remained free to do whatever he pleased.

Jungkook didn’t want to do something else. He wanted this to work.

“Maybe he hasn’t replied because Jude deleted everything,” he suggested, searching for a plausible explanation that aligned with your plan. “Including the texts.”

“No, that’s tomorrow,” you reminded him. He groaned. “We need—Sid needs to notice my texts first. Then we delete them. I’ll use a disposable SIM card tomorrow, so there’s no trace that I ever contacted him.”

Jungkook felt like his head had already grown far too large for his body. He was a bit unsteady on his feet and clutched your hand tighter.

“Right,” he said. “Okay. That—yeah, no.” He lifted your intertwined hands to scratch something at his forehead. “My head is spinning. I can’t remember that much.”

You gave him a sympathetic nod. “That’s fine.”

“I’m not saying that I’d be too dumb to follow a plan like this,” he felt the need to insist.

“I didn’t think that.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued. “There’s a lot.”

You nodded in exaggerated agreement again. “Mhmm.”

His eagerness to prove his intelligence to you was very endearing. But it was a little funny, too, and Jungkook stopped walking to study your expression more closely. After a moment, he came to an appalling conclusion.

“You think I’m dumb,” he said.

A wide smile finally broke out on your face. “I think you’re very pretty.”

“Very pr—okay.” His expression shifted as you laughed, pulling on his hand to continue walking after an elderly couple gave you a rather well-deserved disapproving look for blocking their path. “Pretty and dumb. Is that your type?”

“It is,” you said, grinning. “That’s why you’re the only boyfriend I’ve had.”

He raised his eyebrows and scoffed. “Oh—wow. Wow. I am both very flattered and very offended.”

You chuckled, gently pushing his shoulder with yours. Jungkook shook his head and finally smiled, too. But right as he prepared to say something else, he ended up having to quickly yank your hand, pulling you into him and out of the way of an oncoming bicycle.

“Shit,” you were breathless against his chest as the bike drove past, your hair whipping forcefully in the wind, “thank you.”

“Pretty and dumb,” he said, allowing you to take a step away from him now that the danger has passed, “but with great reflexes, huh?”

You laughed again, leaning into him when you did and successfully dissolving everything sharp and uncomfortable in his chest.

“I know you’re not dumb,” you said. “And let’s be realistic: Minjun and I had been simmering in the details of this plan for days. You just barely learned about it a few hours ago. We’ve got this. I wanted you to know what we’ll do, but I don’t want you to be involved at all.”

“Yeah. I—no, I just…” he faltered, weighing his next words. The thought of everything that would happen tomorrow made his stomach feel very heavy. “I feel like you’re trying to protect me from Sid by keeping me out of this, and I’m—I don’t know how that makes me feel.”

“We’re not just keeping you out, we’re keeping the whole band out,” you said. “I want to protect all four of you. And if anything, you’re the only member who isn’t entirely excluded. Does that… make it any better?”

Jungkook considered this for a moment.

“Not sure,” he said. “Because I’m still not participating.”

Exhaling softly, you looked around, searching for a quiet spot on the pavement where the two of you could step away from the crowd. Nearby, there were two traditional phone booths that tourists were gathered around, obstructing your view. Once you passed them, you noticed a parking meter right by the park gate that everyone seemed to avoid. You decided to pause there.

Jungkook glanced around before stopping in front of you, slightly unsettled by the large, dark green hedge covering the park fence, and all the bugs that emerged from it—bees, mostly. They all seemed very curious about him.

“Okay, look at it this way,” you began. “Sid has known you and Minjun since you were kids. He knows all your weak points. He can predict exactly how you and Minjun will react in any situation. Sure, you took him off guard when you gave up your Katana, but he can still read you very well. He doesn’t have that luxury with me, Luna, or Maggie. He’s less certain about our reactions. Who else could do this if not us?”

“Right,” Jungkook murmured. “But you’re still going out of your way for me, and I feel—”

“And why wouldn’t I?” you interrupted. “I love you.”

He thought he died for just a second and it felt surprisingly nice: he could feel something soft and warm against his skin—the phantom shivers of every time you’ve touched him before—and he could taste a sweet, lingering flavour on his tongue—from every time he felt your mouth against his own.

He would never tire of hearing you say you loved him. The only downside was that his chest usually attempted to collapse in on itself right after that, leaving him speechless for anywhere from a minute to several days.

“Not to mention,” you continued while Jungkook fought against the haze in his mind and the bumblebees around his neck. “Sid has long stopped at just you. With the videos and pictures he’s sending you, he’s threatening everyone on this tour. Anything that affects your reputation, affects the band and the staff, too. So, when you look at it like that, we’re really doing this for everyone.”

Finally, Jungkook managed to stop his thoughts from pulling him in every direction and anchored himself to this pavement right here—with you, and the persistent bugs, and the chattering of people as they walked past you.

He squeezed your hand that he had not let go—not now, and probably not ever, really—and exhaled.

“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “But I was the one who brought him here, and that’s—I guess that’s what’s bothering me right now.”

“You did bring him here,” you agreed.

“I—oh.” He looked up, his eyebrows knitting together. He had expected something else. An ‘I told you that was a shit decision’ or a sarcastic ‘yeah, and thanks for that’—but your kind expression did not change. “Y-yeah. I did.”

“But we’ll get him out,” you said.

Jungkook held your hand and observed you, trying to process this while simultaneously trying to figure out what was it about him that attracted these British bees to him so much. It couldn’t be his cologne, because you loved him far more than he’d allowed himself to believe. It couldn’t be his clothes, either, because you were looking at him like you believed anything was possible in this world, and he thought it really was.

He realised that to you, he must have appeared as if he were struggling to interpret prehistoric cave wall paintings, and this process was causing him immense pain. He cleared his throat.

“You don’t blame me?” he asked.

“For making a stupid decision?” you replied, and shrugged your shoulders after he nodded. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He pressed his lips together, his expression a mixture of incredulity and pure delight.

“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”

You were smiling again, and he was a little too proud to admit how much your loving eyes and your great mood soothed his anxiety.

“And what would I gain from punishing you?” you added. “You’ve already seen through Sid. You’ve had enough. You learned your lesson. You’re good.”

Jungkook felt his chest swell as though he’d swallowed the swarms of bees around him, and now they’ve built a cosy little home right on the hills of his heart.

“You think so?” he asked, his eyes glistening.

“Why do you look so excited?” you countered. “Do you have more dickhead friends I haven’t met yet?”

He chuckled, waving his hand around his face. “Can I answer that inside the park? I’m afraid these bees are in love with me.”

You had already noticed his struggle with the bees—it was hard not to, one was perched right on his shoulder—and you found your own apparent immunity to this new bee predicament especially entertaining.

“Want me to fight them for you?” you suggested.

“Oh, in a battle of who loves me more?” he quipped, swatting vigorously at three stubborn bees that were particularly intrigued in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’ll all sting you at the same time, and whoever dies first, wins.”

He snorted. “These are bumblebees. They don’t die after they sting.”

“Oh, so maybe we should just stay here,” you teased. “You all seem to know quite a bit about each other already.”

He squinted at you, a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you jealous I’ve grown so close to these bees?”

“Of course. They’re all over you.”

“I’d rather have you all over—”

“Public park!” you interjected hastily, cutting him off.

His laughter in response was unapologetic and infectious—you found yourself shaking your head to suppress a treacherous smile.

“Did you also research public indecency laws?” he asked, turning past the menacing, bee-infested hedge.

You followed him through the gates into the park, your fingers intertwined with his. The clouds above had thickened, and the wind had picked up, but there was nothing about this afternoon that Jungkook did not enjoy.

“Actually, I did,” you replied. “Because of that stunt you pulled in New York last year.”

Recognition flashed in his eyes for just a fleeting moment before he pursed his lips, distancing himself from the memory. A gentle breeze swept through the park, rustling leaves and carrying the scent of damp earth; it would rain soon.

“I don’t remember,” he declared.

“Really?” you responded wryly. You both knew very well that he remembered. “Nothing familiar to you about the busking that turned into half-naked dancing in the middle of the street?”

“Nope,” he said. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“There was a lot more grinding than actual dancing, now that I think about it,” you pressed on. You noticed, through your peripherals, the way he scrunched his nose and furrowed his brows, evidently despising the memory he claimed he did not have. “Someone had drawn a crown of thorns on your forehead. You had a—sort of a cloth wrapped around your waist, and nothing else. Almost everyone on the face of the earth accused you of being in a sex cult after those pictures came out.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” he insisted. “They must have confused me with someone else.”

“Sure. They must have,” you relented, pouting your lips in mock-sympathy. “There are plenty of people in sex cults out there.”

“Exactly,” he replied, finally meeting your eyes.

Something about you bringing up this incident—“incidents” were a prominent category of his actions in his mind—reminded him of the videos Sid had sent him. However, with you, the feelings in his chest were vastly different.

You were playful. Lighthearted. Your love language was teasing the hell out of him.

Sid was venomous. Arrogant. Vile. His intentions were humiliation and destruction.

You were joking about a matter for which Jungkook undoubtedly owed you another apology. He could tell that you knew he would apologise eventually, but you were hoping—with every jest, every tender smile, every affectionate bite you sent his way—that he would not plunge himself into self-loathing again.

He wouldn’t. He had matured significantly since the day under discussion. He knew he had, even if it was easy to forget.

“I’m surprised how well you remember all that, actually,” he commented. “Are you secretly into sexual rituals?”

Your scoff returned his smile to his face.

“Oh, absolutely,” you said. “I keep a picture of you from that day on my desk at home. I look at it every night before I fall asleep.”

Jungkook kicked a few dry, scattered leaves on the pavement. When he glanced back at you, his grin bordered on ridiculous.

“I am aware that you’re trying to mock me right now,” he said, “but I feel obligated to inform you that I’m taking absolutely everything you say as a compliment.”

You nodded sagely. “I would expect nothing less from you.”

“Good,” he replied. “Please tell me more about how you look at pictures of me before you fall asleep every night.”

You tsked reproachfully at his grin.

“I take back what I said about you being smart,” you said. “You are the biggest idiot I’ve met.”

“Oh,” his face was jubilant, “but that just means you love me that much more, right?”

You let out a deep sigh. “I’m afraid so.”

He felt the swarms of bees in his chest, and they were buzzing incessantly—eager, restless, and yearning. They took every emotion he felt and spread them across his skin.

“I knew it,” he said, delighted by the look on your face. You were so captivating when you were trying to resist smiling; it was why he never stopped teasing you. “This must be awful for you.”

“Mmhm. It is,” you said. “You’re like a disease.”

He nodded, attempting a formal tone. “How bad is it?”

“Chronic and untreatable, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, thank you.”

A deep, vibrant laughter finally erupted from his chest, and he stopped walking. Tugging on your linked hands, he drew you closer and wrapped his arms around your waist before you could say another word.

“I love you so much, you know that?” he whispered, his voice low against your neck. “It’s not even funny how much.”

He rocked gently on his feet with you in his arms, and you could not tell if the vibrations you felt came from his chest or yours.

“More than the bees love you?” you asked, your hands sliding over his shoulders.

“Much more than the bees love me.”

“Oh, must be quite a lot, then.”

“It is,” he said, chuckling hopelessly. “It really fucking is.”

He tightened his already firm grip until he felt your deep exhale against the side of his neck. He held you and his heartbeat chased after yours while the bustling crowds, the rustling leaves, and the solemn park benches whispered incomprehensibly around you, their frustration about your public affection lost on you.

When he pulled away a minute—or ten—later, he realised that his cologne had brushed off on you. There was something wildly intoxicating about you smelling exactly like him, and he needed a minute to make the park stop spinning.

“I, um—” he started to say, but his voice broke. He cleared his throat, took your hand in his to continue down the park, and tried again. “Jokes aside, I feel—I really appreciate what you do for me. What you’re doing to fix my shit right now, and what you—what you’ve always done to fix my shit. I don’t say that enough. Thank you. For taking care of Sid, too.”

You shook your head. You knew you couldn’t tackle Sid alone—probably no one could.

“This is a team effort,” you replied. “If this works, you can bake us all a cake later.”

Jungkook no longer had even half of a doubt that this would work, one way or the other. And if he’d stayed with you longer, he would have easily started to believe that Rated Riot would be elected presidents, too—one after the other.

“I’m not much of a baker,” he said.

“I’ll help,” you offered.

“Your help,” he responded, his smile turning mischievous, “usually consists of walking around, eating chocolate sprinkles, and distracting me.”

It was your turn to look offended.

“I’m the only one who remembers how many eggs the recipe needs,” you retorted, dignified. “How do I distract you?”

“How can I remember the eggs when you’re dancing and singing around me?” he countered.

He noticed the way your chin quivered as you fought to maintain a serious expression.

“Well, that’s on you,” you said. “Any skilled chef knows to keep their staff busy so they wouldn’t have time to sing and dance. Also, don’t play good songs when we’re in the kitchen.”

“Alright, we’ll bake in silence,” he decided. “And you’ll do everything while I sit and order you around.”

The corners of your lips finally curled into a smirk.

“That’s interesting,” you said, your thumb lightly brushing over his as he swayed your hands. “Switching up the dynamics.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, very intrigued by the insinuation in your words. “You want me to order you around?”

“I mean…” You shrugged. “I’d like to see you try.”

He stopped walking suddenly, right in the midst of a group of senior ladies, forcing a few of them to gasp and walk around him with very exaggerated expressions of disbelief as though they’d never felt more wronged (there were a few obligatory comments about “kids these days,” too, of course).

Jungkook, undeterred, took a step to the right until he was standing in front of you.

“Kiss me,” he said.

The demand in his tone caught you off guard, but you tried to blink away your surprise. “I didn’t mean right now—”

“Kiss me,” he repeated more assertively.

You felt your stomach lighten and go for a little float inside you, like a loose helium-filled balloon.

“We are in the middle of a busy park,” you said, looking around. “We’re blocking—”

“Kiss me,” he interrupted again, his voice firm but lively, “or I won’t move.”

You poked the inside of your cheek with your tongue, torn between amusement and apprehension as you battled his self-assured grin, while passersby shot disapproving glances at the two of you.

“See, there’s ordering people around,” you said, “and there’s acting like a three-year-old.”

He simply shrugged, relentless. “I see no difference.”

“Do I sound like a toddler when I tell you to do things?”

“Sometimes.”

His satisfied grin only gained prominence when you scoffed and looked away, rolling your eyes.

You questioned, sometimes, how you managed to put up with him for so long. But then you also questioned, much more often, how you’d survived without him at all.

“If I were a teacher,” you said, “you’d be in detention for disrupting everyone’s day.”

“Oh! And what would I have to do?” he teased, mischief gleaming proudly in his eyes. “Write an essay on the importance of respecting authority?”

“That might do you good, actually,” you retorted. “Maybe you should consider writing it anyway.”

He shrugged his shoulders and cocked his head to the side. “Kiss me and I’ll do it.”

He looked so utterly unfazed that you did feel very compelled to lay your hands on him and do something.

He might have been one of the most exasperating people you’ve met in your life, always ready to say something cheeky no matter what you told him, always causing trouble wherever he went, never letting you breathe in peace for just one second.

You were outrageously grateful to have found him.

“People are staring at us,” you said, but there was no conviction in your voice. “We look like idiots.”

Jungkook admired your cautiousness, but he wanted you to let go of it. People would always stare; he just wanted you to kiss him.

“They’re staring because you’re defying authority,” he countered easily.

“Jungkook, just—”

“Oh, see?” he cut in, his tone triumphant. “Maybe you should be the one to write that essay.”

You groaned very demonstratively, but he saw the corners of your lips lift. Finally, you took a small step towards him and pressed your lips to his in a quick peck. He pulled you into him just as you attempted to pull away, and kissed you properly.

At last, the crowds disappeared, allowing you to dissolve in the warmth of his lips and come back to life with all the shivers that ran down your spine when he touched the back of your neck. You felt his smile and felt your own, too, when he brought his tongue over yours, deepening the kiss.

“You are insufferable,” you managed to mumble between kisses, and the affection in your voice was impossible to mistake for something else.

“I love you,” he whispered in response, each word sweet and sugary against your lips.

You kissed him once more—to soothe your racing heart—and then once more again—to soothe his—before you pulled away, whispering back, “I love you.”

Jungkook only managed half of a pleased “I—” before he felt a few soft, cold droplets land on his forehead and both of his cheeks. He raised his head.

“Is it me, or is it—”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, looking up at the angry clouds. “It’s raining.”

“Do you—should we go inside?” he asked, looking around.

There was no specific “inside” anywhere close to the two of you, but you looked at him again and spotted something at the very edge of the park behind him, right across a busy bike lane.

“There’s a little gazebo over there,” you suggested, pointing.

Jungkook turned around and seemed to have an epiphany when he noticed the crooked structure.

“In the—in the park,” he mumbled to himself, feeling a little weak in the knees. He took your hand in his again. “Let’s go.”

He led you straight into the bicycle traffic as he crossed the road, causing a commotion and undoubtedly endangering everyone’s lives—and not even realising it in his eagerness to get to the gazebo. You attempted to raise your hand in apology to the cyclists, but quickly realised that the smile on your face likely made the gesture seem mocking.

It occurred to you that you and Jungkook were being very disruptive today, very annoying, very much in everyone’s faces about your relationship. And you realised, as he pulled you past the groups of people running from the rain, that you did not actually mind this all that much. Or at all.

There was a certain beauty in the unapologetic way that people in love behaved in public—grinning at their phones, kissing at bus stops, holding hands on narrow streets barely wide enough for one person. Running across the park in the rain and stumbling into every puddle possible.

When you and Jungkook finally reached the gazebo, you were both drenched and breathless. And you realised, belatedly, that it was not a suitable shelter at all: there were no railings or benches, the roof was not only crooked, but obviously decaying, and the rain splattered you if you got too close to the edge.

But you’d been here before: caught in the rain on your way to the restaurant for your first date seven years ago, seeking refuge under a much sturdier roof of a similar gazebo in an empty park, while the vividly green trees—almost a rarity so late in September—whispered wearily from the heavy rain on their leaves.

You’d been here before, and you did not want to go anywhere else.

“I’m starting to think,” you began, “that there’s something about us that attracts rain.”

Jungkook was thinking this very thought and laughed so heartily that the rain stopped for just a second, shamed into silence by a sound far more charming than the eager pitter-patter against the roof.

“You think we could make some money out of it?” he joked, his eyes energetic. “Maybe add a little performance to it? Rain dance?”

“We might have accidentally performed one already,” you said, stepping closer to the edge of the gazebo to watch the raindrops splash against the damp ground.

“You’re right,” he agreed, taking your hand in his and guiding you to face him. “Let me see.”

He brought your hand to his chest and you watched, puzzled, as he closed his eyes and pretended to concentrate very hard on the sounds around him. People across the street screeched as they ran from the rain. A stubborn gull was screeching in the exact same way somewhere overhead.

Jungkook clutched your hand tighter and hummed. He was joking, clearly putting up a show, but you heard the faint sound of distant thunder, and the joy on his face turned luminous.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed as you laughed, and the rain, encouraged by your approval, began to pour even harder.

You watched him revel in this delightful coincidence—or an elusive sign—and allowed his radiant smile to bring back the memories that you had locked away in a box you didn’t dare touch unless you were half-asleep.

It had been raining on your first date seven years ago, but it had also been raining when he suggested that date. You’d felt invincible then, the only one staying dry in the whole world, as you nearly sprinted home from the party where he’d asked you out. You stumbled over the threshold of your dorm room, your shoes wet and slippery, and landed on your knees, shouting the news to your roommate, who was startled out of bed by your loud entrance.

This was the beginning of the happiness you’d felt almost every day since then. But this happiness came with a price: you would come to class and you could not rest, could not find it in yourself to calm down, until Jungkook arrived and took his usual seat behind you. You wouldn’t even have to look, you’d always know he had come because you’d feel a sudden sense of peace—and then you’d lock eyes with him across the room.

For years after this, even today, when you tried to find a period of your life where you’d felt the happiest, these were the moments that your mind returned to.

“What are you thinking?” Jungkook asked, brushing a damp strand of hair from your cheek and bringing your focus back to the rainy moment with his touch.

“It—it’s been seven years and now we’re back in the rain,” you replied, distracted by the lingering echo of the years that have passed outside this gazebo. “Nothing’s changed.”

A faint smile danced on his lips.

“Yeah. Nothing important has,” he agreed. “I still love you.”

You met his gaze, a little thrown off. “W-what do you mean, still? That was our first date seven years ago.”

“Yeah,” he said, raising his eyebrows at the confusion on your face. “Oh, did you think I asked you out right after I saw you? No, no. I spent a whole year absolutely fucking pining after you before I finally mustered the courage to ask you out.”

You assumed he might have liked you a little, based on the way he’d introduced himself to you. But you obviously didn’t know about his alleged year-long pining that preceded your first date. And you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe him, given your own year-long pining. It made little sense for the two of you to like each other for so long and not do anything about it.

On the other hand, considering the past few years, perhaps it made perfect sense.

Your heartbeat had sped up, so you argued childishly, “no, you didn’t.”

“I did. Ask anyone,” he said, grinning. He wasn’t as embarrassed about this as he used to be—and your surprise made it easier for him to admit everything. “I never knew how to love you quietly. But it still took me ages to talk to you even with everyone’s encouragement. And that, uh—our first conversation didn’t go very well.”

“Wait—what do you mean? It went very well,” you disagreed. “I remember everything you said word for word. ‘We have Sociology together, I saw you sleeping in class, very cute by the way, the professor does not know how to shut up, have you seen that new Studio Ghibli film, I recently watched their classic with some friends, My Neighbour Jungkook, I’m Totoro by the way, I thought maybe—wait—no—’”

He interrupted you once your smile had grown dangerously wide. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

“I would never!” you said through laughter. “I think I knew I was in it for life the moment you said all that.”

He had to look down because the bees inside him had multiplied, spreading rapidly to his head and his lungs and his stomach, and he was a little concerned that he’d start buzzing, too.

“Not one period, nothing,” you continued, a melancholic haze in your eyes. “Just commas and an endless stream of thought. You could have asked me to bury a body, I would have said yes.”

He smiled, but everything inside of him was turning upside down, returning to normal, then turning downside up.

Every time he remembered how he approached you seven years ago, he either felt a little uncomfortable or completely mortified. He’d never thought you’d remember that day so well and with such fondness.

“By the way,” you added when he did not speak, “you did look a little like you were about to confess to accidentally murdering my roommate when you started to speak.”

This finally made him chuckle, and he felt his skin thaw from the frozen state of amazement. He remembered hoping that you’d forget all about what he’d said that day. Now he realised he had never felt more thrilled that you remembered.

“I know,” he said. “I was shaking.”

“Yeah. I, um—” you trailed off, needing another minute. “I had a crush on you, too, actually. For a long while.”

His smile faded, replaced by a look of criminal disbelief. “You did not.”

You recognised your own suspicion in his words and smiled. However, unlike Jungkook, who owned up to his stressful pining and memorable first impression, you did not feel ready to confess to your silent sulking quite as easily.

“I did,” you said. “But you turned away every time I looked at you on campus, so I thought, oh, okay. That guy hates me for some reason. Nevermind.”

“I didn—I never—”

“I actually made a playlist before we met,” you added quickly before you could change your mind. “And I, uh, kept updating it throughout our relationship.”

You did not look at him when you said this, so you missed the befuddled look on his face.

“A pl—you made a playlist?” he repeated, his thoughts momentarily derailed. He couldn’t even hear the rain anymore. “And you never told me?”

“And I will continue to act like you don’t know about it,” you said.

He was too ecstatic to care. He hadn’t dared to imagine that he would have such a strong presence in your thoughts that you would create a playlist about him—for him? (he thought he might faint)—before you even met.

“No, b-but I’m supposed to be the one making grand gestures in our relationship, and you have a playlist about me? Ab-about us?” he questioned, almost frantic. “Is it—well, what songs are in it? About our relationship?”

You tried to put your words together, your slow, calculated breaths a stark contrast against his passionate energy. Another clap of thunder, unusually intense, rumbled in the sky.

“Sort of,” you finally answered. You thought that a playlist did not come anywhere close to everything he’d done and attempted to do for you, but you still struggled to articulate yourself. “Or songs that we both liked. Songs that we listened to together. Songs that we discovered on roadtrips—just, uh, stuff like that.”

He shook his head, every part of his skin itching with an unfathomable urge to hear these songs.

“You have to let me listen to it,” he stated.

“No,” you said, giving a determined shake of your head. “It’s enough that you know it exists.”

“I will absolutely never shut up about this,” he retorted, gesturing with his hands to emphasise his commitment to being annoying, “and I might end up telling more people.”

“I will kill you if I have to,” you warned.

“So I will haunt you, then,” he returned. “Is it on Spotify?”

You narrowed your eyes. “It’s private.”

“I am not above pulling a Sid and stealing your phone,” he said, resolute.

You snorted despite yourself.

“Okay. Fine,” you said. “Maybe I’ll give you the link after.”

Jungkook waited for further clarification, but you decided you’d said enough.

He was confused. He no longer had any clear delineations of time in his life—ever since he found you again, his whole life had shifted to “after.”

“After—after Sid?” he asked.

“After everything,” you replied, unintentionally ominous as your gaze wandered to the fragmented reflections of the clouds on the rain-soaked pavement. “After we leave London. After we deal with the label. After it stops fucking raining every time we go out together.”

Jungkook thought he could already see these things: the Parisian streets after you’ve left Sid in London, the peace after you’ve told the label about your relationship, the sun in the sky after the rain lost its courage to threaten you again.

“Okay,” he relented, his features softening. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Your lips curved into a gentle smile. “I know you will.”

He hummed, stepping on a loose floorboard with the edge of his boot.

“Now, then,” he said, “tell me about this crush you supposedly had on me.”

“It was a crush,” you insisted, your voice growing more fervent right away.

Jungkook smiled but tried to remain collected. He had decided it was better for his sanity not to believe you.

“I liked you ever since I saw you at that first freshman party,” you continued and he realised that he was absolutely, without a doubt not collected at all. “I spent that entire night scrolling through the list of people invited to this event on Facebook until I found your profile. But I didn’t dare to send you a friend request, because—well, you know. We hadn’t talked or anything. I thought maybe you’re not interested.”

He thought his heart might stop because this freshman event was where he first saw you—and for every waking and sleeping moment since then, he had been interested.

“I noticed you around campus after that,” you continued. “And I would have talked to you first, I think. If you hadn’t looked like you dreamed of my violent death every time you met my eye.”

He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the pillows of his palms.

“Well, obviously, I liked you too much to look at you and not glare,” he said, even though none of that was obvious. “I actually thought I developed some sort of an allergy right when I first saw you.”

You raised your eyebrows. “An allergy?”

“Yeah. Shortness of breath, just feeling hot all over, sweating profusely,” he elaborated, moving his hands away from his face to reveal his faint, nostalgic smile. “That had never happened to me before. It was either the dust in the room or you. And there wasn’t a lot of dust.”

You pursed your lips before your cheeks could stretch any further.

“I don’t know,” you teased, “they don’t clean the building that well.”

“It was you,” he stated firmly. “Got my breath catching in my throat. Gave me butterflies, made my heart race—made me feel all the things that people write embarrassing bubblegum pop songs about.”

You looked down to collect yourself before all the signals that your heart was sending to your brain could reflect on your face.

“Catchy songs, though,” you murmured.

“Catchy, sure,” he agreed, his tone wistful. “Until all those things they sing about happen to you, and you feel like you’re drowning.”

You felt a little like you might drown just now as your heart pounded in your chest, angry at you for another wasted year.

“I’m really happy we finally ended up together,” he said. “Seven years ago, and today.”

You finally looked up at him and remembered all the times when you used to worry that you had already lived through your happiest moments, and any little joy you’d come across later would pale in comparison. You knew better now.

Jungkook was your happiest moment, and he was right here. He’d always been right here.

“I love you,” you said, a little suffocated by the overwhelming warmth in your chest. “I’ve loved you every day for all these years.”

He was smiling so widely that his lip ring dug into his stretched lips. He reached out to caress your cheek, resting his palm on the side of your face for a moment, his eyes bright and glittering.

He kissed you slowly, his bottom lip lingering between your lips while the rain washed the noise of the city away. He tasted love and longing on your tongue, and he had never in his life wished for the sunshine to stay away longer.

The rain listened. It had become a fundamental part of your present and a prophet of your future: the two of you were going to spend the rest of your lives listening to the rain and falling in love.

Since Rated Riot had a day off and the other members let you know where they were by bickering continuously in the groupchat, you and Jungkook locked yourselves in his hotel room when you returned.

You changed into dry clothes first, and then noticed that Sid still hadn’t replied to your text. In case he really hadn’t received it, you sent another one—with just question marks—hoping that he’d interpret your repeated messages as a sign of your desperation to talk to him.

You put your phone away and climbed back into bed. The sun had already set outside the window, casting faint, elongated shadows around you in the room. You and Jungkook listened to the music playing on his phone and returned to the snacks he had bought for your film night a few days earlier.

As the song switched to the latest Bad Omens collaboration, you closed your eyes to nod along, and he reached over to snatch a chocolate-covered cherry bonbon from you, causing a spark of static electricity to pass between you.

“Sorry,” he said, chuckling after he heard you gasp. “It’s from the bees, I think. They must have somehow electrified me.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely something that bees can do,” you played along, sitting up on the bed and unwrapping another candy for him. “Maybe you should take an ice bath to avoid these after-effects.”

He accepted the candy with a grin. “No. I like shocking you when I touch you.”

To be fair, he didn’t need bees or electricity for that—but you decided not to point that out.

You realised how much peace you felt here: listening to music and eating sweets with him across the bed from you. You didn’t think there was anything you still needed in life. Watching him close his eyes as the chocolate melted on his tongue, and hearing him hum with childlike delight as he swallowed, filled an emptiness inside of you that nothing—no trips abroad, no late-night drinks, no shopping sessions—could have filled.

This random moment in his hotel room was nothing at all, yet it was everything.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, startling you both.

“Sid?” Jungkook asked eagerly, letting the remaining chocolate melt slowly on his fingers while you reached for your phone.

“No,” you replied, checking the screen. “It’s Maggie. She just posted the backstage pictures with our list.”

His expression tightened. “Oh.”

“There’s nothing from Sid,” you added.

Jungkook finally popped the rest of the candy into his mouth. He decided—quite abruptly—that he’s had enough discussions about Sid and everything you’ve been through because of him.

“You know what we should do?” he asked, licking the remnants of the chocolate off his fingers. “We should go to the sea after the tour ends.”

“Oh—we—yeah?” you asked, stumbling over your words. You thought it was very unfair of him to ask you this while running his tongue over his fingers all in the same breath. “We—but we don’t know when that’ll be.”

“Whenever,” he said with a shrug. “Let’s go.”

It took you half of a second to say “okay,” and he didn’t think he’d ever learn how to stop his heart from soaring every time your agreement came so quickly, so easily.

To be honest, you didn’t know why he even asked. It was fairly clear that there weren’t many instances where you would have refused him.

However, your response still painted his features with every warm hue in existence, and he settled back on the bed, resting his head on the pillows and closing his eyes. As you watched him, you were forced to acknowledge one more time that witnessing him like this should have required an admission ticket—and a sign reading, “do not touch the exhibit.”

“I feel like I have everything,” he said, unknowingly echoing every sentiment you felt. “I don’t even care if Sid replies to you and if our plan works.”

You leaned against the pillows on the other side of the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, a melodious hum in his tone. He opened his eyes to meet yours and placed his hand on the pillow beneath his head. “We’re—you’re here with me. The tour is going well, it’s—that’s it. That’s my whole dream.”

He looked beautiful in an almost devastating way. He looked like every extravagant adjective that sounded made-up when you encountered it in writing for the first time: transfixing. Beguiling. Effulgent. Pulchritudinous.

You really wanted to touch the exhibit.

“Do you know how we formed Rated Riot?” he asked suddenly, distracting you.

You raised your eyebrows, then turned your gaze away. Jungkook realised you probably didn’t understand where his question had come from, but you didn’t ask him anything, so he did not explain.

Truthfully, you did not know the complete story behind how Rated Riot got together. You only knew what each of the boys was doing when they first met.

“I don’t know much,” you admitted. “I know that Hoseok kicked things off.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded, then stopped. “Or maybe Namjoon, actually? Because Namjoon saw Hoseok at some gig that he went to. When he asked about his band, Hoseok gave him, like, fifteen business cards. But even though he filled in for all these bands, it was still only maybe one gig per week. That’s nothing. So, Namjoon told him he’s too talented for that shit. He said he needed his own band.”

You recalled Yoongi mentioning that Namjoon was the first producer that Rated Riot have worked with, but you hadn’t realised this was before the band was even formed.

Suddenly, the broken air conditioner in the room whirred back to life, interrupting your thoughts.

“S-so, they started talking,” Jungkook said, momentarily distracted by the loud noise. “Hoseok wanted to be independent, and Namjoon didn’t push him to sign with Jett Records back then. He helped him. Unofficially, I guess. They found Taehyung very randomly at this one after-party for somebody at our label—well, our future label. Namjoon took Hoseok there to network, and Taehyung just happened to be there. No one knows why, but you know Taehyung. He’s always going to be right where he needs to be.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding knowingly. Taehyung always seemed to find his way to the people and places meant for him.

“Yeah, so he was at that party,” Jungkook continued, “and he overheard Namjoon and Hoseok discussing the plan for Hoseok’s band. They were saying that they needed a bassist first. And Taehyung just chimed in like, “I play bass.” Just out of the blue. Namjoon asked him who he was, and he introduced himself. Namjoon then asked what he was doing here, and Taehyung said, “I’ll tell you if you let me join the band”—which he never did, by the way. We still don’t know what he was doing at that party.”

You chuckled softly. Knowing Taehyung, nothing in this story surprised you, but you were still impressed by how quickly his energy captivated Hoseok and Namjoon.

“So, they let him join?” you asked.

“Namjoon claims he auditioned for them first,” Jungkook said, clicking his lips questioningly. “But one time when Hoseok was very drunk, he admitted that he’d felt desperate. Namjoon was busy and couldn’t help him much, so Hoseok had to figure things out on his own. He said he called and invited Taehyung to join right away. He thought they could find a proper bassist later, and Taehyung could fill the spot for the time being. Funny.”

“Oh,” you said. “Because he hadn’t heard him play yet?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “He hadn’t seen Taehyung even holding a bass before. So, he had doubts. I guess I get that. Anyway. He invited Namjoon to their first rehearsal and Taehyung blew Namjoon the fuck away. That’s it. Hoseok said that after that, he was worried Namjoon would sign Taehyung and leave him behind. Not that Namjoon would do that, but uh—yeah. Taehyung was that good.”

“They’re both that good,” you said. “Hoseok never acknowledges his own talent.”

“Right?” he nodded eagerly, turning to his side to look at you. There was a warm smile on your lips that Jungkook really enjoyed. “They’re both amazing.”

“So, how do you come into the picture?” you asked.

He took a breath before answering.

“I saw Hoseok and Taehyung playing at this dive bar that Sid dragged me to,” he said.

Your eyebrows arched in surprise. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” he said, running his tongue over his lips. “He said I was annoying and mopey, so he kept taking me to a new place every night. There were hardly any people at this bar that night. Taehyung was singing, but he sang, like, one verse, and then they launched into the longest instrumental break I’ve ever fucking heard. And it was incredible. Shit, I—I’m more into vocal music. But seeing Hoseok and Taehyung play together—there was another guitarist with them, actually, I don’t even know who it was—anyway. It made me realise how powerful instrumental music can be on its own.”

A dreamy fog had descended upon his face, and only now did you realise that the air conditioner had stopped working again, seemingly calling it a day. You appreciated the silence and the way Jungkook looked when he played back the memories in his head, his eyes shimmering with the bright lights and the sounds of the bar that night.

“I didn’t know that Sid met the other members before you joined the band,” you said.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied. “He also said he could be a better bassist than ‘that guy.’”

“He—of course,” you groaned. “Wait until Luna hears this. She’ll take care of Sid for us on Taehyung’s behalf, I think.”

He nodded, snickering. “I bet. But Sid actually left the bar before they finished their set. I stayed back. After they wrapped up, I went up to Hoseok at the bar and told him how much I enjoyed their performance. Told him I was thinking of picking up drums—”

He paused abruptly, noticing your surprise before you remembered him mentioning this to you.

“Oh, was this when you and Sid were planning to start your own band?” you asked. You had assumed they were joking.

“Yeah,” he replied, snickering. He had been joking, but he still found drummers to be effortlessly cool. “So, Hoseok delivered the longest fucking speech about what his job was like. Don’t ask him about it, by the way, or you’ll have to sit through three hours of him making drum sounds. But anyway, I was pretty drunk by then, and I don’t know, I guess I hummed along to some song that was playing or something.”

You nodded. Jungkook was almost always humming something.

“Then Hoseok said they needed a vocalist for their band,” he continued, “because Taehyung didn’t want to do it. And he noticed me humming, so he jokingly asked if I happened to sing. I said sometimes, nothing serious. Everybody sings sometimes. He told me to sing something for him. I told him to get fucked, we’re in a bar.” Jungkook had to pause here to let you finish laughing. “And Hoseok just shrugged, like, “no one’s at the mic, why not?””

“That did it for you?” you asked.

He nodded. “That fucking did it for me.”

You laughed again, knowing that he would never shy away from anything that resembled a challenge.

“What did you sing?” you asked.

Jungkook gave you a look. There was only one song that always lingered at the back of his mind. You could have guessed it, really, but you were a little frightened about its significance in this context.

“You—you sang Biffy Clyro?” Your throat was dry all of a sudden and useless questions continued to pour out of your dumbfounded chest. “At that bar? In front of Hoseok? “M-Many of Horror?””

“Of course,” Jungkook said, as if there had never been any other song he could have chosen to perform that night, besides the one that followed you and him throughout your relationship. “It—it really fucked with me, though. We had just broken up maybe a month ago, so it was still fresh, you know? And this was my first time singing “Many of Horror” in public, on top of that. And I was—I didn’t do well. I think I missed half the lyrics in the last chorus because it was too much.”

He snickered lightly, trying to lessen the impact of his words. You felt frozen.

“I-I was standing there,” he continued, and you could almost see it, “hiccuping to the I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time, while Hoseok just watched me, expressionless. And then I drank half the bar right after I got off stage.”

He sang the two lines of the song as he shared the story, his voice quiet and tender, and you thought you must have resembled Hoseok right now—so lost in all the emotions brewing inside you that you did not immediately realise he had stopped speaking, and it might have been appropriate for you to reply.

“Y-you still sounded great, though,” you managed. “Obviously.”

“Yeah, maybe four people clapped. Out of the ten or so at the bar,” he said, chuckling. “Hoseok told me he had to make a call, told me to stay right where I was, and then he disappeared. He returned twenty minutes later with some dishevelled guy in a turtleneck with a little hole in the collar.”

You recognised the description. “Namjoon?”

“Namjoon,” Jungkook confirmed, the smile on his face matching the one hesitantly spreading on yours. “I was fucking wasted. They were saying I had to meet with them for rehearsals, they wanted to see how I’d sound with them. And I’m—I couldn’t fucking think straight. They were telling me they wanted me to join the band, and all I could think about was that you weren’t here.”

The excitement in your eyes quickly turned into pain as a sharp twinge of longing pierced through your chest. It cut into every open crevice of your heart, reminding you of the way it had bled in those first few months after you broke up—even on this particular day, while Jungkook was struggling to get himself together in the face of his future, and you were likely at home, tossing and turning in your bed because you did not know what to do with yourself.

“I wanted to tell you so badly,” Jungkook admitted, his eyes fixed on the bedsheets, his voice filled with incorrigible regret. “But we weren’t talking anymore. I thought—there was this one moment where I thought, well, what’s the point? What’s the use of joining this band if I can’t even tell you about it? A-and they weren’t even a full group when I met them anyway. It took about two more weeks for Yoongi to join.”

You made a conscious effort to swallow the lump in your throat, and shifted your focus to Yoongi to allow for the sudden ache in your chest to subside.

“Yeah, uh—Yoongi mentioned that he was the last to join,” you commented, hoping to steer the conversation back to a less emotionally charged topic. “He used to play for a different band before, right?”

“Yeah. Somnia,” Jungkook said. The name did not sound familiar to you. “They weren’t—um, going anywhere. That’s a very blunt way to put it, but they were just stuck. And Yoongi and Namjoon go way back. So, Namjoon called him one day and lied that he was producing for this new, promising band in need of a permanent guitarist. Said they had a solid rhythm section, but their artistic direction needed some refinement.”

“And, uh,” your voice was a little lighter, “I assume they had a great vocalist, too?”

Jungkook smiled. “They did, yeah. I was trying to be modest, but you brought it up.”

You snickered, offering a nonchalant shrug. “Just trying to help you out.”

“Thanks,” he replied. “Yeah. So, Yoongi was the last one to join. He’d—he has a lot more creative freedom with us than he had with Somnia, which still isn’t a lot. But it’s something. And I think that was the main reason why he left them.”

“And they were okay with him leaving?” you asked.

Jungkook turned on his back and sighed.

“I assume they weren’t,” he said, briefly glancing at the ceiling before turning to look at you. “That’s why he doesn’t talk much about it.”

“Ah.” You nodded. “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, but anyway, Yoongi joined and we were complete,” Jungkook continued. “We released this one song, “Keep Quiet” as our first single, and I think it had maybe ten streams in total on Spotify, two from each of us and Namjoon. It wasn’t great, but it’s our first song together, so it’s—you know.”

Your smile was soft, patient. You knew that the members of the band did not have many fond memories of their first single. Taehyung had once admitted to you that if they hadn’t felt so pressured to release something, they would have waited.

“It’s one of your mostly instrumental songs,” you said. “It sounds great as the introductory track at your gigs.”

“Yeah, but it—it’s not really the song that introduces us as a band,” Jungkook replied. ““Haunting” is. We released it independently, too, a few months after that first song. That—okay, that was in June. Some time after that, this radio DJ that Yoongi knew played “Haunting” on his radio show as a birthday gift to Yoongi. Namjoon and Christian Jett—”

“CJ, apparently,” you cut in.

“Right. CJ,” he repeated. “They heard the song at some event. Apparently, CJ loved it, so Namjoon told him about us. When CJ found out we weren’t signed to a label, he reached out to us. It took Taehyung and me three days to convince Yoongi and Hoseok to go to that meeting. They both had some shitty experiences with record labels in the past. But we persuaded them to at least show up. CJ had us perform “Haunting” and “Cursed” for him, and he signed us on the spot. Well, after Yoongi finished negotiating with him about our contracts.”

Your heart started to race as if you had just realised how much the universe had to align, how many intricate coincidences had to happen to lead Jungkook to his band, and to bring the two of you to this moment in his hotel room.

“We started working on our album,” he went on, “and about four months later—in July, right?—the record started to finally come together. That’s when CJ started to look for a manager for us.”

You took a breath and finished for him, “and reached out to me.”

“Yeah,” he said. “All CJ told us was that he found someone. He mentioned that this person was already working under the label and that the band they managed had recently broken up.”

You did not interrupt the silence that followed, because you thought that Jungkook had paused for a few seconds. But he stopped speaking altogether, waiting for you to share your perspective.

“I-I was, uh, Nick’s assistant at the time,” you said, realising what the silence was for. “We were working with The Jungle Will Get You.” You turned to Jungkook and he shook his head. “Yeah, they were—they weren’t popular. And the members weren’t really motivated, especially towards the end. They split up, eventually. Nick moved on to manage Reconnaissance, and I took on administrative tasks for various bands under the label. It was only for a few months, but I thought I’d end up buried in endless piles of papers. So, when HR called me in to tell me about Rated Riot, I pretended to know exactly who you were to get that job.”

He was smiling next to you on the bed, lost in the memories that did not hurt anymore now that he shared them with you.

“I doubt even HR knew who we were,” he said, gazing up at the ceiling and clasping his hands on his stomach. “I’m just—I’m constantly—I don’t know. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that it was you that they chose for us. I mean, you’re amazing, you could have worked with any band out there. But they picked you for us.”

You grappled with the same impossible coincidence.

“I’m thinking about that, too,” you said. “You had so much potential and CJ... I wasn’t sure if he even saw it when he reached out to me. Not to mention, you and I were—we were broken up for two years at that point?”

“A year and seven months,” Jungkook replied.

“Right,” you said, slightly out of breath from the precision of his answer.

He turned to face you. “Did you ever consider turning down that offer to work with us after you found out I’m in the band?”

You exhaled what little oxygen you had left in your lungs. You’d considered many things when you saw him again that day, and you realised now that you still hadn’t fully grasped all the thoughts that had passed through your mind at the time.

“For maybe half a second,” you said. “I was very confident that we could move on from our relationship.”

He grinned. “Look how well that worked out for us.”

“Mhmm, right?” you agreed, meeting his gaze. “So professional.”

He chuckled, intoxicated by your proximity and the peace he found in the knowledge that the universe had put in a good effort to lead you two here.

“I know that—well, it seems like everything just fell into place to get all of you together for Rated Riot,” you said. “But it wasn’t that easy for you guys, was it?”

“Yeah, no, it definitely wasn’t,” he agreed. “After Yoongi joined, we struggled to write one fucking original song for months. We thought the band was going nowhere.”

You could see the sadness in his eyes. “It was that bad?”

“Yeah. Everything we tried to work on was shit,” he said. “We were getting drunk every night, trying to find something that could work as our proper first song, something that could really show what sort of a band we were. And nothing worked.”

“So, what happened?” you asked.

“You,” he answered simply.

Your brows creased. “How—what do you mean?”

“Namjoon pushed us to release something authentic for our next single,” he began. “Something that would be more Rated Riot, and less of what Rated-Riot-wanted-to-be, which was what we did for “Keep Quiet.” This next song had to be different. Better. And so, the other guys decided to kick my ass and force me to work. They knew I was writing something, but it—it wasn’t anything serious. Not like what they write. You know I can’t just create shit on the spot. My lyrics have to be about something that I’ve been through. And you’re—you are every single meaningful experience that I have had in my life. The guys—they wanted to use that. So, you’re sort of the main reason why Rated Riot are where they are”

You exhaled slowly, your mind filled with thoughts just like it had been the first time you walked into Rated Riot’s meeting room and saw Jungkook there—looking only slightly different from the music video Luna had shown you before, and remarkably different from your memories.

“And that—this is why I brought this up now,” he said. “It’s all because of you. We broke up, and Sid dragged me to that bar to help me get over you. I sang our song to Hoseok, and he brought Namjoon to convince me to join the band. I wrote “Haunting” about you, and CJ heard it and decided to sign us. We put out several albums, filled with songs I’ve ever written for you, and now we’re on this tour. If it weren’t for you, I just—w-we wouldn’t be here.”

You felt your skin prickle, the sensation quickly turning to a painful sting, and you looked away. Frankly, you did not believe that your influence was this significant—not even after Jungkook had told you that it was. These events seemed like an unbelievable sequence of coincidences that he decided to treat as signs, and you found that you couldn’t breathe if you looked at them as signs, too.

You felt his eyes on you and only meant to glance at him very briefly, but he held your gaze for a few moments longer, watching as a shuddering breath passed your lips. Then he propped himself up on his elbows.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he declared, the look in his eyes so final, so determined that you were almost afraid to move when you met his gaze. “And then I’m not letting you go. I don’t care if Sid texts.”

Your voice was very small. “I don’t care, either.”

“Fuck,” was more of an echo than a real whisper as his lips finally collided with yours. The kiss was deep and vehement and full of everything that had built up inside you over this day alone.

But then his tongue met yours and you realised that this day wasn’t all that special. You could have kissed him at any point of any day, and you would have still felt overwhelmed and aching, and you would have needed him right at the tips of your fingers as much as ever.

He tasted like the chocolate-covered cherry bonbons that he’d bought you because they reminded him of the summer nights you’d spent together. He tasted like the sticky homemade candy that the two of you baked when there were no other sweets in your dorm room and you craved something, but refused to leave, refused to pull away. Like the moments on the balcony of his house after you snuck away from his cousins. Like the rainy walks to class when your hair would be sticking to your face, but you couldn’t stop smiling, couldn’t stop looking at each other.

All the thoughts that had been screaming at you for the past fifteen minutes suddenly quieted down as he leaned closer until he was hovering over you, one of his hands on the side of your face.

He felt shivers on the back of his neck when your tentative fingers found their way to his hair. He exhaled softly against your mouth and stilled momentarily when he heard your quiet whimper in response to his kiss, to his breathing, to him.

The room suddenly spun completely out of control around him.

He needed you so much and for such a long time that every time you were with him, every time you kissed him, he worried that he was dreaming again. So he kissed you harder, held onto you tighter—not wanting to find out if he was asleep, not wanting to wake up.

He unbuttoned your denim jacket without pulling away and slid it off your arms, holding the side of your neck with one of his hands. His kiss was so deep, so riveting that you felt your lungs give up, felt them pack up and leave, forcing you to breathe him instead.

His hands caressed your shoulders, finding the straps of your shirt and sliding them down your arms—and then stopping abruptly when he realised that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Exhaling shakily, he pulled back—lightheaded and winded and completely obsessed with you—just to look at you for a minute. There was a playful grin on his lips when he kissed you again.

You pulled away enough to ask, “what?”

“Nothing,” he murmured in-between kisses, “you’re fucking perfect. But I want this off.”

He pulled you closer and you instinctively bucked your hips off the bed, causing a momentary hitch in his breath. He lifted the hem of your shirt, pulling the material up and tracing the invisible symbols on your skin along your ribs, your chest, and your arms. Tossing your shirt aside without looking, he leaned back in, yearning for the feel of your lips on his again and accepting that he could not last one minute without you. Perhaps not even one second.

He felt your hand on his chest, trailing down to the edge of his black t-shirt and distracting him from the kiss with the softness of your touch. You lifted his shirt up to his chest—as far as it would go without breaking the kiss—and felt him hiss at the cold sensation of your bare fingertips on his stomach.

“I’m sorr—” you began, but the second you pulled away to apologise, he leaned in to capture your lips in another kiss.

“No.” His whispers were frenzied against your lips. You could have electrocuted him with your touch, sliced him into pieces with your fingers, and he would have thanked you for it. “No. You—d-don’t apologise. You’re perfect.”

He heard the way you cursed under your breath—under his breath, too—and he found it hard to inhale against the pressure in his stomach, against the tightness in his jeans. He was humming with near desperation when you pulled him closer, running your hands over his arms, your touch gentle enough to truly kill him.

He was frantic, eager to touch you, to feel your arms, your thighs, your chest, your neck—all of you—before someone interrupted you. Before his time with you ended. He knew he had the rest of his life to spend with you, but now he worried it still wouldn’t be enough.

His tongue moved over yours, his kiss deep, rushing, dizzying. He did not need to look to find the button on your pants, unclasp it, and slide the rough material down your thighs, swallowing a moan when he felt you shivering under his touch.

He quickly pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside before kissing you again, high on the sound of your lips smacking against each other. He shuddered when your hands unexpectedly met his on the belt of his jeans.

“Let me do it,” you asked in a whisper—but he was wholeheartedly yours at that moment, and you didn’t even have to ask.

“Okay,” he complied, allowing you to gently push him back onto the bed.

Closing his eyes, he savoured the newfound sweetness from your kiss on his tongue. He felt you shuffle closer to him on the bed and had to take a sharp breath when one of your hands slid down his abdomen to his jeans.

You leaned over to kiss him again, and he broke—only capable of lying idly for so long—reaching for you and caressing your shoulders and your arms. He made it almost impossible for you to keep doing what you were doing; unruly wildfires blazed everywhere he touched you.

Jungkook was determined not to break the kiss even as you undid his belt and unzipped his jeans. He thought he did well. But then he lifted his hips off the bed to help you pull his jeans off and you brushed your fingers over the bulge in his boxers—your touch featherlight against the material—and he was very nearly finished.

He whimpered lightly into the kiss, his breaths growing heavier, his hands growing greedier. You made sure to hold one of his hands in yours to prevent him from flipping you over on the bed, and he responded to that by cheating: he held onto you tighter and attempted to pull you closer every time he gently bit your bottom lip and you got distracted by the pleasant sting.

Finally, you managed to slide his boxers down his thighs, catching each of his heavy breaths on your tongue. You pulled back, and he was about to protest until he saw you throw one of your legs over his, straddling his hips.

He watched you slide your panties down your legs while hovering over his thighs and he wasn’t sure how long ago he’d stopped blinking. Mesmerised by the sight, he didn’t immediately rush to assist you in maintaining your balance as you lifted one knee off the bed.

Once he recovered enough to remember to inhale, he sat up and pulled you flush to his chest. You gasped in surprise when he hooked his fingers behind the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs faster.

“I said let me do it,” you reminded him with a pout, and he kissed you instead of replying, too impatient to wait.

Your hands slipped down his chest and your hips bucked into his just barely, but he exhaled deeply, breaking the kiss. You used the moment while he was dazed to push him back into the pillows.

He fell back on the bed, knowing very well that he’d been in this position before—with you on top of him, your fingers tracing over his length before finally wrapping around the base—but he still shivered, throwing his head back into the pillows. He still kept his eyes fixed on your face when you started to move your hand in gentle strokes, killing him a little more with each movement of your wrist.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “At least let—l-let me touch you.”

He phrased it like a request, but he did not mean it like one. You didn’t resist when he reached for you, his hands travelling over your thighs, lingering on your lower back, squeezing your ass, and pulling your hips into his.

One of your hands had come to rest on his chest for support while you continued to stroke his length in deliberately slow, languid motions. You could feel him getting harder under your touch, and you closed your eyes, your teeth sinking into your lip.

He could not look away from you. He wanted to be the one to bite your lips, but he couldn’t move close enough to you with your hands on him. He settled for exploring the skin on your hips, sliding his hands up and down your thighs. Soon, you felt the tips of his fingers brush lightly over your stomach and then descend lower to slip between your folds.

He exhaled deeply through his mouth when he felt how wet you were, and that was enough for him—he would have found a way to hold you tightly against his chest even if you were across the world from him.

In a flash, he was sitting up, connecting your lips again and bringing his tongue over yours while he gathered the wetness between your folds with his thumb. Your grip on his length tightened instinctively, and Jungkook groaned, automatically applying more pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves on your clit—just enough to have you arch your back into him.

He felt you move faster, squeezing the base and speeding up until your fingers brushed over his tip. Trying to fight back a moan, he reflexively bucked his hips into your hand while two of his fingers teased your entrance, sliding over your wet folds in a teasing, tickling motion. You broke the kiss, sighing and dropping your head on his shoulder.

He didn’t give you much time to catch your breath—you didn’t give him any of that, so he thought this was only fair—as he kissed along your jaw, gently sucking on a spot on the nape of your neck. His fingers continued stimulating your clit with a combination of light, fast circles and harder, slower strokes that he knew would make you break for him.

“F-fuck, wait,” you exhaled, grabbing his wrist to stop his movements. “I w-want you.”

“You have me, my love,” he whispered back, running his tongue over the faint mark he’d left on the sensitive skin of your neck and humming, his tone gravelly and rasp, when you hissed at the feeling. “All of me.”

You gripped his wrist tighter. “Lie back.”

He didn’t immediately obey, opting to use his only free hand—the one you couldn’t hold, because you needed both hands to stop his determined fingers from drawing you any closer to the edge—to squeeze your ass and pull your hips over his length instead.

“Lie back,” you ordered again, your words firm, but breathless. It started a raging flame in his lower stomach, but he still resisted a little more—kissing you again, sucking on your tongue, sliding his hands over your thighs, and nearly making you lose it before he finally leaned back against the pile of pillows.

Jungkook still thought he was doing fairly well, considering the burning on his skin and inside him, but watching you unwrap a condom package and slide the latex down his length—torturously slowly, it seemed to him, to really test his limits—he thought he might lose it, after all.

You felt him jerk slightly in your hand, sensitive as you rolled the condom down his length, and your deep exhale blended with his sharp inhale. He locked the sound of your breathing somewhere deep in his mind, too focused on your touch to revel in it right now, but far too inspired by the response your body had to his to forget it altogether.

He bit his lip, his eyes locked on yours as you positioned yourself over his length. He was convinced that you were teasing him on purpose when you brought his tip closer to your entrance and then paused. He could already feel the wetness of your folds on him, and the second he lifted his hands to touch you, he was forced to let them drop in utter defeat when you finally slid his tip in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tight, warm walls as you struggled to take all of him in at once, and stopped, most cruelly, halfway in.

You looked breathtaking on top of him and there wasn’t a single coherent thought in his mind, so he couldn’t offer to help you anymore, couldn’t even guide you down on his length. He could barely stay still, biting his lip and clutching the sheets so he wouldn’t ram his hips into yours.

“You’ll kill me,” he whispered in a strained voice when you lifted your hips again, sliding his length over your folds, but not slipping it back inside.

Finally, you lowered yourself on him again, taking all of him in, inch by inch, and a soft sigh escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. “O-oh.”

You had to suppress another whimper when your hips met his, the stretch of his length stinging pleasantly. He hissed at the feeling, his hands flying to your hips to keep you in place.

His touch reminded you of Amsterdam suddenly: of the way he had held you, the way he had felt after all these years.

You wanted him so much that it no longer felt like a simple wish. He felt like a necessity and you could not understand how you’d ever managed to go on with your day when he wasn’t in the room with you.

You needed a moment to adjust to him and Jungkook watched you all through it. Even though he was barely able to keep his eyes open, he took in all of your reactions as the initial sting subsided and your hips twitched against his.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Move for me, love. Please?”

You sighed as his endearing words—and the loving lilt in his voice—lit up your stomach and made you involuntarily clench around him. He groaned, digging his fingers into your hips. You had told him to lie back, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could obey.

Finally, you began to move and he threw his head back, swallowing hard at the feeling. You rotated your hips in slow circles, allowing his entire length to delicately rub the walls inside you, and he could not remember when he’d last felt you like this. He could not remember anything outside this room, and when you rested both of your hands on his chest for balance, he seemed to forget his own name, too.

“Fuck,” was a soft, jagged breath that got caught in his throat as he watched you in the dimly lit room. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to make out your silhouette, and he squeezed your ass tighter so he wouldn’t immediately lose it at the sight.

You drew back all of a sudden, placing one hand on his chest and resting the other against the mattress, right by his arm. You pulled your bottom lip in with your teeth as you lifted your hips, then slowly lowered yourself on him again. It took you a moment to find your rhythm, and Jungkook parted his lips, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth every time your thighs met his.

You shifted your weight to your knees to increase the pace and he nearly choked on his breath when you placed your hands on his shoulders and bounced your hips against his, his length gliding against your velvety walls.

“Y-you—oh, fuck. You look s-so beautiful,” he stammered, his hands travelling from your hips to your waist, then back down again.

Love and lust burned in his darkened eyes when he looked up at you, his hair falling in messy curls around his face. His chest rose and fell underneath you, the muscles on his abdomen tightening each time you sank down on him again.

You watched him like this and you changed your mind about describing him; an adjective that would fit him had not been invented yet.

You tried to respond to his words, but he suddenly lifted his hips off the bed to meet you halfway and knocked all breath out of your lungs, forcing a soft whine to pass your lips instead as you leaned into him, losing your balance.

It was starting to get too much—how deeply he reached inside of you, how tightly he held onto you—and Jungkook noticed it right away. Squeezing your hips, he adjusted his position by bending his knees for a better angle and bouncing you on his lap very slowly once, then twice, before pulling you into his chest and thrusting into you faster.

Curses and almost desperate whines fell from your lips, matching the rhythm of his skin slapping against yours. He knew he had hit your sweet spot when he felt your nails digging into his chest, when you tightened around him, when your strained breaths got louder, when your teeth grazed his collarbone—and he growled, gripping your hips tighter and trapping you against his chest with his other arm.

“Jungkook—” you panted, barely able to speak, and the sound of his name on your lips ignited the room around him.

He grunted softly and flipped you both to your sides, pulling your back into his chest by wrapping his arms around your waist and chest, his grip firm, deliberately inescapable, but his fingers gentle as he teased your nipples. His thrusts were slower at this new angle, but now they were deep and hard. It was your increased breathing and louder, uncontrollable chants of his name that encouraged him to speed up.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. And again, louder when you clenched around him, “f-fuck.”

This position allowed him to reach even deeper inside you and the way your walls sucked him in was as blissful as it was worrisome—he wanted this to last, and he didn’t think it would. Not when he had you so close to him, inhaling the scent of your apple shampoo, peppering breathy kisses on the side of your neck, feeling the goosebumps that he brought to your skin when he caressed your nipples, and thinking he might actually explode every time your body jolted against his with each one of his thrusts.

He slid one of his hands down your navel and kept his palm right above your entrance for a distracted minute, feeling himself move in and out of you, and groaning into your shoulder before lowering his hand to your clit. You writhed against him as he rubbed on a soft, gummy spot there, bringing you dangerously close to your high.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whimpered, almost helplessly clutching his arm that was wrapped around your chest. “I’m—s-so close.”

“I’m here, my love,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

Anything you were going to say died on your tongue when you felt his lips on your neck again. His fingers continued to massage the soft spot between your folds and your walls clenched and pulsated around him with each thrust of his hips. White clouds gathered on the edges of your vision and a low moan passed your lips as the knot in your stomach tightened.

Jungkook felt you tremble in his arms and pulled you into his chest harder. Keeping quiet had stopped being an option for you when he pressed on your clit with the pillows of his fingers, his hips continuously drilling into you—he remembered the spot you liked, and he made sure to hit it every time. He felt you tighten again, so close to your peak, and he relished in your loud whimpers.

Pulling his lip ring in with his teeth, he held you tightly against him to maintain a steady pace, his strokes assured and calculated, to push you completely over the edge. He fell impossibly more in love with you when his name got caught in your throat with your breath.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he cooed as you writhed in his arms, coming down from your high. “S-so pretty—oh, fuck, my love—when you come for me.”

The anticipation of his own climax soon caused his hips to start moving with a certain frenzy, and he pulled all the way out before plunging himself into you again and fully bottoming out.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” he grunted breathlessly, twitching inside of you.

His hips stilled completely and he cursed again, spilling himself into the condom. Groaning deeply, he drove his hips into yours instinctively, this way prolonging his pleasure and the time he spent watching you bite your lip in an attempt to stay quiet. He thought he heard you whisper a breathless I love you and he was convinced he came again just at the sound of it.

He buried his face into the crook of your neck and his voice cracked in the middle of his breathless chants, “fuck, I love you so much—I-I love you so fucking much—”

He still didn’t release his grip on you, lifting his head to kiss your neck again, while the two of you tried to recover and accepted, eventually, that you probably never truly would.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Then, again, from the back of his throat, “fuck.”

You turned around as much as you could with his arms around you, and met his lips with your own, humming into the kiss and causing him to lose his sanity again—although, to be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure if he’d even regained it yet.

Your bodies remained locked in an almost desperate embrace for another minute, your lips moving leisurely against each other as your breaths mingled and the room—but not your hearts—quieted down.

Unfortunately, you had to strain your neck to kiss him from this position, and Jungkook ended up having to let go of you. He pulled out carefully—the gentle contact still making you hiss from sensitivity—and helped you roll to your other side to face him.

After pressing another kiss to your lips, he grabbed a stray pillow and placed it next to your head. He touched your chin gently, prompting you to lift your head so he could slide the pillow underneath.

You smiled at the unnecessary, but very appreciated gesture. “I love you.”

His chest contemplated bursting.

“I love you,” he replied. “So much that I am not—I don’t want you to leave this room. Or my bed, actually. I want to stay with you every second of every day, and I’m okay if every court would qualify me as insane for that.”

You snickered into the pillow, your expression radiant. “I don’t think you’re insane.”

He grinned and got up to discard the condom before climbing back into bed.

“And I want to stay, too,” you added, closing your eyes.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek as he got comfortable on the bed. “Not just tonight, but always?”

“Of course,” you whispered, your voice turning lighter, “but I do have my own room.”

He settled in his spot next to you and draped an arm over your waist with a soft grunt. “Fuck if I knew why.”

He pulled back slightly to see your laughter. You didn’t seem like you were going to object or tell him that you should leave, but he still caressed your cheek, bringing his fingers over the smile lines by your lips that he had caused. His heart fought fiercely against his mind at the sight of them. He was almost ready to call Rated Riot’s next song “Smile Lines” and just sigh dreamily into the microphone for five minutes while Yoongi played gentle piano chords in the background.

“I think you should stay with me everywhere we go,” he said, leaning in to connect your lips in a deep, lingering kiss. His voice was a whisper against your mouth, “so we could do this again. And again. And again.”

You broke the kiss—and he would have been very upset about that, but you did that to laugh again, and he understandably forgot everything he was thinking of doing.

“You have a show tomorrow,” you reminded him gently, your eyes warm.

He shrugged. “So we’ll have to take a break for a few hours.”

You pressed your lips together, trying to contain your smile to an appropriate level. “Hmm.”

He rested his forehead against yours. “Sounds good?”

“You are messing with my head,” you whispered.

He grinned, pressing his lips to yours again. “I love you.”

You kissed him back but made sure to click your lips in feigned disapproval as you pulled away. “What did I just say?”

“You messed with mine first,” he countered, his quiet laughter blending with the warmth of your kiss.

He had already stolen all air from your lungs, robbed your mind of every thought you possessed before him, and kept your heart hostage—and now he was beaming like he knew very well he’d done all that. Like he wasn’t one bit sorry about ingraining himself in your life so much that it felt like you shared one soul, and it had stayed with him after you broke up: forcing him to suffer from the weight of it, while you searched for something missing inside you.

“I love you,” you said again. Your words were a whisper and they got lost on his tongue but found their way to his heart anyway.

Planting a few quick, butterfly kisses to your lips, he leaned back against the pillows, keeping his palm on the side of your face so he could rub gentle circles over your cheek with his thumb.

He loved you, and sometimes this love was all that he could think about.

Other times, however, the shadows in the room grew just a little darker.

“Sid hasn’t replied, huh?” he asked quietly, reluctantly.

You sighed, shaking your head. Your phone had been silent all night, and the more you tried to ignore the silence, the more noticeable it became.

“Should I text him?” he suggested. “To poke the bear a little.”

You frowned and felt your stomach sink—a feeling that Jungkook made even worse by pulling away from you and allowing for the brutal, cold air of the room to fill the space where his hand had been.

“What do you mean?” you asked, sitting up.

He rolled over to grab his phone from the nightstand.

You moved closer to be able to see the screen over his shoulder. You frowned the whole time, but it really did not take Jungkook more than a minute to compose a message that almost sparked an argument between the two of you.

After some relatively mild back and forth—consisting of your annoyed, “I told you I want to keep you out of this” that was followed immediately by his melodramatic, “I’m doing this because I love you”—the two of you reached a compromise.

Look, his text to Sid read. I know you’ve been texting my girlfriend. Stop. Let’s keep this shit between us.

This wasn’t the full truth. After sending you a few mocking texts after he posted that picture to his Instagram, Sid hadn’t texted you anything else. You weren’t sure if this would even provoke a response, but Jungkook was convinced. He sent the text and pulled you back onto the pillows despite your protests.

“I’m sure it’ll only be a few minutes,” he said. “Until he texts you.”

Sure enough, he did.

Just as you lied down next to Jungkook, just as he intertwined your hands, his fingers toying with yours, just as you were about to forget your phone altogether—just then, the text finally came.

Your eyes widened, but Jungkook had the decency not to gloat. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you until the beating of your heart returned to a reasonable pace. Then he let you sit up again and reach for your phone.

Sid’s message read, “eager to talk to me now?:)” and you breathed out a sigh of relief as soon as you showed the text to Jungkook.

“Alright,” you said, content. You didn’t even need to respond to him anymore, he’d already started the next step of your plan. “Now we’re good to go.”

Jungkook, smiled, nodding and extending his hand to pat the bed. You lied back down and he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to feel your skin against his again. His breathing was soft on your neck and you smiled back, finally losing yourself in the calming darkness of his room and the warmth of his touch.

For one blissful minute, you focused on his breathing and traced the edges of his tattoos, and felt as though nothing bad, nothing hurtful or upsetting had ever happened to either of you.

“Will we be okay, do you think?” you asked wearily. “Tomorrow.”

He was taken aback by the question, you could tell from the way his breathing increased, but his response was quick and certain.

“We’re already okay,” he said. “Today and tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and the day—”

“I love you,” you interjected softly, successfully stopping him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I would have kept going.”

You grinned. “I know you would have.”

He snickered, pulling you closer until you nestled your face into his neck and rested your hands on his chest, tapping, every now and then, to the beat of his heart.

“Sleep,” he whispered. “For a few hours, at least.”

You leaned your head back enough to press a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips instead of replying.

Jungkook hummed and melted into you, easing his grip to give you some space to breathe, but still remaining attached to you like he was a part of you and you were a part of him.

He could have stayed with you like this, he thought, for the rest of his life. And for at least a hundred more lives after that.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “give”

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[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 23] Apologies

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

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“What do you need, Satoru?” You’re more than annoyed when you’re called into his office. You cross your arms, raising your brow as you look at him. The man looks a little too comfortable in his chair, and you’ve seem to stop caring about how he behaves. If you looked closer, you’d see him fidgeting with his fingers, something he rarely does.

“I was wondering…” He begins, and you feel yourself get more and more irritated by the second. He’s wasting your time. “Do you have any plans on Friday?”

“Work, and maybe take Ren to the movie theater to watch a new kids’ movie.” You answer, and at first you don’t understand why he asks. But then it clicks, and you find yourself even more irritated than before… He’s not planning on asking you out, is he? He’s not crazy enough to do that, at least you hope he isn’t. Satoru has changed a lot, you never know just how crazy he’s gotten.

“Can we go out?” He blurts out, tripping over his words and it almost makes you laugh because he’s so nervous. But then you realize that he’s actually asking you out, and you furrow your brows. 

“Ren is coming along, right?” You question before deciding to berate him. Maybe you’re reading things wrong, and you don’t want to argue with him for no reason, so you allow him to make himself clear. But he shakes his head, and you try to take a deep breath to gather your thoughts, “What do you want, Satoru?”

“I feel like we have to properly talk about everything, and sadly, we can’t do that when Ren is around.” Satoru says, and he isn’t wrong, but you don’t really want to fix anything if it means that you have to be alone with him for an extended period of time. You’re not sure what you’d do if you were alone with him, the moment you get your hands on him you might strangle him. 

“I don’t feel like it’s time yet, Satoru.” You tell him, and he bites his tongue. He thinks of how to argue with you, make a point that going with him is a smart decision. It’ll improve your relationship so you can be better parents to Ren.

“Ren notices there’s something wrong with us and he wonders why.” Satoru points out which isn’t a lie. When Ren was staying over he asked why you were so mean to him or something like that, and Satoru didn’t know how to explain himself. But he knows well that it isn’t the reason why he’s asking you to dinner. 

“Why don’t you tell him that it’s because his dad is a little–” You begin but you cut yourself off. You’re mad at him, you can’t deny that, but it seems that he just wants to make sure your relationship is better so you can parent Ren cordially. You have been rather mean with him lately, so you’ll control your tongue. “I just don’t see the point of going out alone, our relationship can get better with Ren there..”

“Don’t you want to talk about heavier topics? You’ll have to tell me what’s on your mind, and you know that having Ren there isn’t the best idea.” Satoru argues, and you hate the fact that he’s actually making a good point. “It’s a nice place.”

“Fine, just text me the address and the dress code. Don’t take me anywhere too fancy, I usually don’t like the food there.” You answer, and Satoru nods in response. He has very different plans. Ones that probably aren’t crossing your mind. 

Ren is fairly surprised when you tell him that you’re going out with his daddy– And you aren’t taking him along. He’s unsure what you could possibly do, but when he hears that he’s staying with your mom, he stops caring quickly. Ren loves spending time with his grandmother, so he doesn’t have an issue being with her all night. 

“Where are we going?” You ask Satoru when you get into his car, and he tells you that it’s a surprise. You’re not exactly excited nor do you wonder what the surprise is. The car ride is quiet, Satoru tries to make conversation that you don’t care to engage in even though you know you should. This is to talk about the issues that you have, but you don’t really want to talk.

He turns right, and you’re met with a gate which makes you furrow your brows. Where the hell did he take you? The gate opens and he drives into the place. The house is beautiful, you can’t deny it, but you have no idea why you’re here. 

“Why are we here?” You ask him when he parks the car. Are you here for business? The lights are on so you assume someone lives in the place. He’s fighting back a smile, getting out of his car and running to your side to open the door for you.

“We’re meeting someone here.” He tells you, and you almost roll your eyes. You should’ve known dinner couldn’t have gone so smoothly. “I promise it’ll be fun, nothing weird.”

“I have no option to trust you, do I?” You respond, following behind him after getting out of the car. You look at the house, one that you could only afford in your dreams. Well actually, it isn’t impossible now. Regardless, it’d take so many years of your own effort to buy it. 

You get confused when he opens the door with his own key, and you sigh, knowing that he’s just going to show off his new place. You step inside, and the place is bare, which is to be expected since it seems new. You clear your throat before speaking up, “Who exactly are we meeting?”

He grabs your hand, and you roll your eyes again but you don’t yank your hand out of his grasp. He takes you to the huge kitchen, and he points to the person you’re meeting. Satoru says, “This is our chef for the night. He’ll make whatever you want to eat.”

“Oh.” You’re fairly shocked, but you aren’t too mad. “Okay…”

“I hope it’s better than a restaurant.” Satoru laughs, trying to play it off as a thoughtful act. It is creative, and you can’t exactly complain. But you know that part of the reason he does this is because he doesn’t really remember what you like. “C’mon let’s take a seat. I’ll tell him what we want when you decide.”

“Well… What can I order?” You ask curiously, wondering what the chef has on hand. Sometimes you forget that Satoru is filthy rich and can buy out an entire grocery store without an issue. 

“He’ll make anything you want.” Satoru answers with a smile as he leads you to the dining room. It has a huge table, one that reminds you of his mother’s house. It’s huge, it can fit many people, but most of the time it’ll be empty. He waits for you to take a seat, knowing that if he takes a seat first, you’ll go as far away as possible. “When you decide I’ll tell him.”

“I really don’t know. You can pick.” You respond, pulling a chair and taking a seat. He takes a seat right beside you, and you tense up. You can’t help but point out, “You have so many other chairs.”

“We’re here to talk, are we not?” He tells you, and you roll your eyes. He isn’t wrong, but he doesn’t have to sit so close when there are so many other chairs. You don’t want him so close. He clears his throat before saying, “Dinner is for you, you can pick.”

“I guess…” You try to come up with something but you don’t. Satoru taps his finger on the table, growing impatient. “Can’t you just pick? I’ve already been forced to be here tonight.”

“Fine.” Satoru ends up sighing. He stands up and walks to the kitchen to put in his request, leaving you alone to stare at your surroundings. It’s a beautiful home, but you would change the little decorations that you’ve seen. It’s not up to you anyway.

You hear your phone ring, grabbing it from your purse. You notice that Suguru calls, and you debate on rejecting the phone call– You’ve been ignoring him for so long, but it’s about time you answer his call. Satoru is in another room so you can make it quickly. You end up picking up the phone, bringing it to your ear, “Hi Suguru.”

“Hi…” He answers, sounding shocked that you actually picked up the phone. “Can we talk?”

“Um…” You don’t know how to answer. You just know you have to do it before Satoru gets back because you’re not sure that Suguru hearing Satoru’s voice is a good idea. You don’t know your way around the house, but you stand up from your chair and walk out of the living room, just in case Satoru gets back and makes himself known. “Actually, I’m out to dinner with someone so I can’t right now… Do you want to meet up soon?”

“Yeah, we can do that.” He agrees. “So, what do you want to do?”

“How about we meet at a café?” You ask, and you hear Satoru call out your name, telling you that you have to hang up the phone. “I’ll text you the details, I have to go now. Bye.”

You hang up the phone, and turn around to find Satoru, who finally spots you. He raises his brows, asking, “Who were you talking to?”

“Does it concern you?” You reply which makes Satoru chuckle. He guesses it doesn’t. You two walk back to the dining room, sitting back in the same spots. You start off with a simple appetizer, and some drinks, food that you know Satoru loves. You eat in silence, and you’re forced to speak up, “You insisted that we have to talk, so talk, Satoru.”

“I want to… Apologize.” He begins and when he doesn’t get any more specific, you reply with,

“For?” 

“For…” It’s hard to get the words out even though he knows exactly what he should apologize for. He bites down his lip as he gathers his words. How can he say it without sounding like a total jerk. He blurts out, and you barely understand what he says, “For leaving you when you needed me without an explanation.”

“And?” You respond because he’s still missing a bit. You feel yourself getting more annoyed by his silence, and you have to take a deep breath to compose yourself. “I mean, you left me for money, is that the best you can do?”

“I just don’t know how to properly apologize, you should know I’m not used to apologies.” He claims, and you roll your eyes. Of course he says that instead of thinking of a way to apologize better. He watches you cross your arms, a look of clear anger on your face. “I shouldn’t have done that, I know.”

“You know? But you changed your number and completely cut me out of your life– And not for love, because as much as it hurts, I would’ve preferred you leaving me because you fell in love with someone else… Maybe I would’ve understood it better.” You begin, and you feel your heart break again. You thought you had gotten used to the fact that Satoru left you for his own financial benefit. “I don’t even get why you cut me off completely… Maybe if you had explained everything to me then maybe I could have stuck around but you decided that you wanted me out of your life completely.”

“I just thought you deserved to move on and forget about me.” Satoru argues, and your hands ball up into fists. He’s trying to save his own ass, and it bugs you. The benevolent Satoru. “I just didn’t know you were pregnant with Ren.”

“You know, Satoru, it hurts to know that you were fine with leaving me like nothing– And honestly I’m glad that you cut me off when I was about to tell you that I thought I was pregnant.” You feel tears well up in your eyes but you hold them back. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re over it. You are. “Have I never been worth anything to you?”

“Of course you do, you are–” You cut him off before he can finish his sentence.

“Not just as Ren’s mother, because before that I was your friend and your girlfriend for so many years.” You try not to let it show that you’re deeply hurt, but it shows. It’s hard not to because the man that you swore you would spend the rest of your life with quickly disregarded your relationship… And the only reason he seems to regret everything is because of his son. “Was your love just a lie?”

“It’s not like that. You know that I love you so much.” He says and his words sting. How dare he say that he loves you? How does he have the audacity to say that? “I just…”

“Just what?” You don’t even give him a chance to finish his sentence. “Don’t you ever say that you love me again, Satoru.”

“You know my mom would’ve made your life miserable if I hadn’t gone with Sayo, in the end, I did what was best for the two of us.” Satoru argues, and you stand up from your chair. You can’t stand to be in the same place as him anymore. He watches you begin to walk away and he has to stand up as well, “Wait, let’s finish this, please. For Ren.”

“No, I have to go. I can’t stand to be in this place with you any longer. You’re so… Why can’t you just admit that you’re fucking selfish? Not only that, just admit that you haven’t cared about me, Satoru. I have always come second to you, and suddenly you’re acting like you aren’t at fault for this, that your mother forced you to make the choice when we both know that you made that choice all on your own.” It genuinely hurts you that Satoru ended up being a completely different person– Or maybe Satoru was this same person all along, you just hadn’t noticed it before.

“You’re right. I did. I made the decision all on my own and I can’t blame anyone else.” He finally admits, which should give you some satisfaction but it doesn’t. You’re taking deep breaths to stop yourself from crying but the tears are coming down your face. Satoru’s heart breaks as he finally watches you break down, and he steps toward you to comfort you. He pulls you into a hug, “I’m so sorry, please don’t cry.”

It’s so tempting to hug him back, but you can’t. You push him away, you don’t want to be met by his warm embrace; you don’t need his comfort. You wipe away your tears, “I’ll forgive you for Ren, but don’t you ever try anything with me.”

“Okay…” He responds, but knowing Satoru, the last part went in one ear and out the other. “C’mon, let’s sit down, our main course is almost ready.”

“I want to go back home to my baby boy.” You tell him, and Satoru sighs. He can’t argue and say anything that’ll make you want to stay a little longer, so he won’t keep you here.

“I also had a surprise for you.” Satoru mentions, but you aren’t really interested. “I’ll tell you when it’s more ready though, and when you’re less mad at me.”

“Let’s just go.” You respond, really not caring to ask. He doesn’t spark curiosity in you. Just as you begin to walk out of the dining room, your chef comes out with the main course. He sets it down on the table, and your eyes spark. You look back at Satoru a little shocked but you proceed to tell him, “I changed my mind.”

“Really?” He has to fight a smirk off his face. You really thought you had him read like a book, but perhaps you are wrong in some aspects. He jokingly asks, “Why is that?”

It’s your favorite meal.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye + sick days

authors note: oneshot inspired by this wonderful ask . this is purely canon and actually takes place a lil bit into the future. not too long after chapter 23, so let's say a couple weeks after solana has been home from the hospital.

might or might not have one or two things sprinkled in this here one......

gif by @romanreigns

warnings: none, really. just roman being roman.

words: 4.3k

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

It started with irritability. More so than usual. Not towards her, per se. Never towards her. Just in general. 

An increase in snippy comments, harsher gazes, and more yelling that traveled from the confines of his office and soon made its way to the sanctuary of their kitchen, often fighting with the music Solana usually had playing. 

And then there was the fatigue. Solana has always thought Roman doesn’t get enough sleep, for a variety of reasons. But, rarely does he lag. Does she visibly see the difficulty he’s having in seizing the day. And for the most part, he does a phenomenal job, making it, pushing through as he kisses her cheek and leaves for the day.

But, she sees it.

And finally, when she’s awoken by a set of hoarse, painful sounding coughs. Solana just knows. Not the specifics, just the general, overall consensus.

That Roman is sick.

Not that he wants to believe or acknowledge that anyway.

Hand to his forehead, she doesn’t need a thermometer to know that he’s burning up.

"What’s your doctor’s name and number?" Solana moves to grab her phone off the bathroom counter, unlocking it and looking up at Roman expectantly. "Well?"

Of course, he only rolls his eyes and slips into a state of avoidance. "Solana, I don’t need—"

"Roman, you’re sick. You’ve been sick the past couple days, and it’s not getting any better." She reaches for his hand, turning it over, feeling on his palm. She then moves her two fingers to his wrist, eyes closing for a good minute. She then places her hand over his heart and asks, "are you having any pain in your chest? Sharp pains? Shortness of breath? I’ve noticed the fatigue and obviously the cough and fever. Any chills?"

"Solana—"

"I’m trying to see if you have any symptoms of pneumonia. Could also be the flu."

"Or, a cold."

"Maybe, but I want to find out for sure." Her expression softens, lips moving downward into a small frown. "The doctor, Ro…….please."

And she’s certain it’s that last 'please', the way her voice dips into a different level of concern that wins him over. That gets him to give her the requested information, Solana arranging it so that his doctor is over at the house in a little under an hour.

Dr. Michaels examination is a matter of minutes before he’s sharing with both patient and patient’s wife. “Yup. It’s definitely the flu.”

Roman looks annoyed, meanwhile Solana is a combination of relieved and worried. She shifts into protective mode, asking, “so antiviral medications, right? Probably Xofluza? Less side effects. Single dose. Unless it counteracts with his high blood pressure medication?”

Solana’s unexpected medical expertise takes both Roman and Dr. Michaels by surprise, the latter cracking a small smile as he asks, genuinely curious, “you in the medical field?”

Her eyes widen a bit. “No. No. I–my mom was, and she taught me a lot, and I just—I’ve read a lot.” More than the average person. Solana would spend hours on end reading medical journals, watching online lectures, finding free online courses on various medical topics.

It also became a bit of a necessity when her father stopped taking her to the hospital, and she had to learn to tend to her own injuries.

But that.....that doesn't really need to be stated.

Shawn chuckles. “You should be.” Roman doesn’t say anything, but he agrees. “You know more than some of my students.” Solana’s cheeks redden as she looks down, clearly unsure of how to take such a compliment as Dr. Michaels returns his focus to Roman. “The Mrs. is right. I’m gonna call you in some medication, Xofluza, as she stated. And again, like she said, it’s a single dose, which means you only have to take it once, which with you, makes it more likely for you to actually follow through with taking it.”

“He’ll take it,” Solana chimes, nodding to both herself and the two men before. “I’ll—I’ll make sure.” 

Again, the doctor looks impressed, smile widening. “I like her, Reigns. Don’t fuck it up.” Roman looks increasingly irritated, as Shawn hits Solana with an unexpected question, “you wouldn’t happen to have a guess as to what dosage I’m prescribing, do ya?”

Solana is obviously taken back for a second but doesn’t skip a beat as she thinks back onto all of her reading and research. “He’s an adult, and because of his weight, the 80mg?”

The doctor makes a sound, shaking his head as he types on his tablet. “Tell you what, you ever decide to enter the field, let me know. I will personally assist you with anything you need.” Solana doesn’t know what to make of that, doesn’t know how to take an actual medical professional, someone who has an abundance of accolades and degrees behind his name speaking so highly of her, someone with only a high school diploma. It’s flattering, to say the least. 

“Thank you.” She clears her throat, shaking her head, getting back to the main issue at hand. “He needs to rest, right? Lots of liquids. Motrin or Tylenol, if he needs it.”

Dr. Michaels closes the cover over the screen of his laptop, directing his comment to Roman. “You’re definitely in great hands, Big Guy.”

The Tribal Chief doesn’t disagree with that. Doesn’t disagree with that at all. 

—------

Roman has always noticed Solana has a caretaker type of personality. That she cares about others and likes to help when and how she can. Truthfully, it’s one of the many things he loves about her. Her heart. She’s the most empathetic person he’s ever met.

But, what’s new for him is being so deeply on the receiving end of that caretaking. He’s experienced it with her patching him up after War Games and the night he attacked her father and brother. Maybe even in the way she stays tops of him with his high blood pressure medication, but never to this extent.

Starting with her actually stipulating shit.

He’s in the room, dressing himself when she walks in having returned from the pharmacy with his medication.

She suddenly stops and asks, "what....what are you doing?"

“Getting ready for work,” he answers it so simply, so easily, like it’s the most basic thing he could ever say. “Just have to—”

“Roman, you can’t go to work.”

He turns to look at her, having just pulled his shirt over his head. With a chuckle, he gently replies, “baby, I have to.”

Solana places the bag on the bed, crossing her arms as she walks over to him. “Ro, you have the flu. Not only is it highly contagious, but you're in no position to work.”

“Sol, I’ve been working through sickness my whole life. I’ll be fine.” He always is. “And if it’s that contagious, I definitely don’t need to be around you. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“I don’t care about that.” Her dismissal is quick and sharp. “I care about you and taking care of you until you feel better, which starts with you staying here, so I can watch you." Solana makes a face, something similar to indignation as she shakes her head. “You’re staying here.” 

Roman sighs, loudly. “Baby—”

“No!” She raises her voice, quickly and rapidly saying something in Spanish that he can’t make out but doesn’t necessarily need to to know that she’s not happy. Taking a deep breath, she asks in a calmer manner, “please?”  She steps toward him, grabbing onto his forearm. “I’ll just worry about you all day if you leave…..”

Roman’s gaze is knowing, as he asks, “you know I don’t like you worrying about me.”

She nods, eyes almost mischievous as she confirms, “so you’ll stay?”

He can’t help it. He has to laugh a little. It’s such a different side of her, seeing Solana almost be manipulative, playing upon the fact that she knows he hates when she spends her time worrying about him. “Today.”

“This week,” she counters. 

That’s absolutely not going to happen, but he doesn’t want to argue with her. “Fine.” Solana looks relieved and a part of him feels bad lying to her. He knows she means well, that she only wants to help him, but the truth is that he can’t afford to be out of commission for a whole week.

Or maybe he can, and it’s just his naturally controlling personality that makes him feel like he needs to stay in the loop. Regardless of that fact, he’ll just let her have this for now.

Emphasis on for now. 

Solana nods, clearly pleased with this win. “Here.” She moves to grab the bag of medicine, ripping it open and reaching it to him along with a water bottle. Where the fuck did she even grab that from? “Take your medicine. I’m going to make you some soup.”

Roman scowls at that. “Soup?” He loves Solana’s food. She truly can cook her ass off, and while no soup she’s made has ever been bad, it’s not his favorite thing. “What about—”

She lifts up a hand silencing him, at the same moment a nasty set of coughs leaves his mouth. Stupid fucking flu.  “Only soup for the next few days.”

His eyes widen a bit at that. “Days?” How the fuck is he supposed to live off fucking soup for the next few days? “Solana—”

“Yes, soup.” She pouts, crossing her arms and waiting for him to swallow the pill before she continues, “we need to keep fluids in you, so that means lots of soup, water, and juice.” 

This shit just keeps getting more annoying and stressful, as Roman tries to help her understand his side of things here. “Baby, I’m 6’3, almost 300lbs. I need more than just soup.”

“I’ll make it hearty.” She shrugs, but that doesn’t do him much good, cause she always does. And he always ends up wanting more, both because it’s good but also because he has a massive appetite. “Now take off those clothes and change into something comfortable, but  keep your shirt off.” The last part definitely catches his attention, and Roman has to bite back a chuckle as her cheeks redden. “Not ... .not that.  I picked up some Vicks Vaporub to rub on you.” Again, his eyebrow goes up and again, she gets even redder. “Roman, please. I’m trying to help you.”

“I think I need a different kind of help.” When he goes to grab her and pull her into him, she jumps back, lifting her hands to stop him. 

“Get changed,” she redirects. “ I’ll be back in a couple minutes.”

—------

Solana is a patient person, much more than most, but she’s also human. Compassion and empathy can have limitations. And in a twist she never saw coming, she feels that to a certain extent with her big, strong husband who’s not much different from the kids she reads to when they come in for reading time feeling not the best.

Roman is a horrible patient. He’s stubborn and borderline obstinate, Solana constantly having to remind him that he needs to rest and resting does not including cussing people out over the phone which has happened more often than not in the past three days since he’s been out sick.

Which was a whole other thing. She’s found it practically impossible to convince this man that he can afford to take a couple days off, that the Bloodline will not collapse and cease to exist if Roman Reigns takes a couple days off.

Except that seems to be exactly what he thinks. 

Solana is in the kitchen, whipping up another pot of Caldo de pollo when Dulce comes sauntering in, stretching her short little body, tail wagging.

Placing the lid over the pot, Solana smiles and moves to pet her puppy when a thought crosses her mind. Dulce was in their bedroom sleeping, as was Roman. Dulce typically only gets up at movement. 

Which means…..

Sighing heavily, Solana mumbles to herself, “este hombre.” Walking with purpose, Dulce right on her heel, following with naive excitement as Solana starts with his office. When that’s a dead end, she goes to the only other place he would sneak off to despite her orders for him to stay in bed and rest.

Sure enough, Solana finds him changed into workout shorts, no top, phone in his hand. She snatches a brief second to take him in. Roman doesn’t look bad—she’s not sure he could ever look bad even if he tried—-but he doesn’t look amazing either. It would be obvious to anyone looking at him, the paleness of his complexion, the ruddiness of his cheeks, the cough that’ll probably be the last to go, that he’s sick.

If only he could accept that.

“Man, R! I literally told you 789 Little Street!” Solana recognizes Jey’s exasperated voice on the other end of the call. “How is it every time you mess this up?”

“I thought you said 987 Little Street!” There’s another voice present, one Solana doesn’t recognize. 

“I told you to stop letting his dyslexic ass handle shipments!” Jimmy’s annoyed voice sounds, and Solana watches Roman pinch the bridge of his nose.

“That’s—that’s on me. My—my bad. Imma make it right though!”

“No,” Roman’s baritone voice, even deeper with his sickness, cuts through. “Jey, have Jacob handle it. I don’t have time for these types of fuck ups.”

And at that, giving Roman enough time to issue a clear order, Solana makes her presence known, arms crossed, a scowl on her face.

Roman looks briefly surprised followed by a quiet, “fuck.”

“Roman, you are literally worse than a child. How many times do I have to tell you to rest?” She more or less rants in Spanish, well aware of the fact that he can’t understand her. It’s preferred. She doesn’t like fussing at anyone, let alone him. Marching over, Dulce right beside her, she extends her hand. “Give me your phone.”

He looks at her with disbelief. “What?”

“Aye, Soso, is that you?” Jimmy asks, clearly recognizing her voice. “Look, I know Big Dog sick and shit, but if you cooking, can you leave some food outside or something? I can swing by and pick—” The request is cut off by Roman’s finger jabbing the end button. 

“I just need to get a workout in, Solana.” Roman explains, running his hand through his hair. “It’s been two days. I feel like shit because of it.”

“No, you feel like shit, Roman, because you have the flu and because you refuse to actually rest,” she counters, hand still extended. 

“I can rest when I’m dead,” he deadpans. 

Solana winces, scowl dropping into a frown. “Don’t say things like that.” She steps toward him, dropping her hand and instead placing it on his chest. His skin is warm to her touch, most likely to the fever that still hasn’t broken. “That—that’s why I’m trying to help you. Take care of you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, something akin to compassion. “And I appreciate that, baby. I do, but you’re too worried. You took off work this week, check on me every hour on the hour, cook even more than that—”

“And I’ll keep doing it, because it’s what you need and because I love you, and that’s what you do for the people you love.” She explains, taking full advantage of the way Roman seems briefly distracted and possibly moved by her kind words to snatch his phone away. It shocks the both of them. He’s definitely sick, because there’s no way a non-sick Roman would allow her, even with her speed, to get away with that. “Now come with me in the kitchen. Food’s almost ready.”

Roman goes to protest when Dulce jumps against his leg. One look down, and she’s essentially growling at him. 

He starts to say some smart shit when Solana giggles. “See, she agrees with me. You need to rest.”

“Yeah, because that’s all her biased, lazy ass does.”

“Don’t be mean to her,” Solana scolds and moves to hold his hand, tugging slightly to get him in the right direction. The one opposite all the equipment that will cause him to expend energy he really doesn't have. “It’s almost time for your next Tylenol dosage.”

Roman doesn’t try to stop her from guiding him, but he does groan at her latest statement. “All this damn medicine.”

She shakes her head, Roman easily finding a much better thing to focus on in the sway of her ass in the short, little gray nightgown she has on. It’s mesmerizing and distracting in the best kind of way. 

“It’s only going to help you feel better……” She says more, but again, his attention elsewhere. No workouts. No real food. No sex. This shit is fucking torture. Roman is so caught up in his overall dissatisfaction that he’s briefly taken back when they’re in the kitchen, and he’s sat down at the table while Solana moves over to the stove.

His gaze falls on her, not even her ass. Well, not entirely. Just her as a person. To be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the easiest person to deal with. He never is, really. And while he hasn’t done the best job showing Solana his appreciation, his gratitude is immense.

Years. He’s spent years feeling alone. Following that night, Fetu has only been present since he was 21, but that’s not consistent. He can’t see her as much as he’d like, can’t spend time with her to the extent he would prefer. He’s limited, and that limitation doesn’t do anything to quell loneliness. 

For so long, he’s been on his own, taking care of himself, looking out for himself. It’s such a new experience to have Solana. To know she cares for him as much as she does. For her to love him like she does.

He’s not sure he could ever admit it aloud, but it can be overwhelming. Having someone like her love someone like him.

Undeserving, almost.

“Here ya go,” Solana announces, placing his tray in front of him, consisting of the soup, a spoon, napkins, and his drink. “Let me know if…...what’s wrong?” Before he can answer, she feels his forehead. “No chest pain, right?”

He shakes his head, not quite sure just what is the best thing to say or even how to say it but doing what he can. “I’m not…..I’m not used to anyone taking care of……taking care of me.” It’s usually the other way around, Roman having to handle everything for everyone around him. “I’m sorry for….making things harder on you.” 

And, he is. He knows that he’s a dick. Beyond that at times. But, she’s the one person in his life he never wants to be on the receiving end of that kind of behavior. Especially when all she wants to do is help.

Solana’s smile is soft and gentle as she moves into his lap. That’s another thing he hates. Her being around him so much. He doesn’t want to get her sick, something she seems almost completely uncaring about. 

She strokes his beard. “You don’t have to apologize, Ro.”

“Don’t do that shit.” His tone is firm, but the delivery is patient and truly apologetic. “I’ve been difficult, and you don’t deserve that. You deserve an apology, and you don’t have to dismiss it.”

Because one thing he’s always been and will always be adamant about is helping her know what she does and does not deserve. She’s been done so wrong by so many people in her life. He refuses to let anyone else be added to that list, including himself. 

Solana chuckles, her gaze on him warm and loving. “You might be the only person in my life I don’t think I’d ever want an apology from, Roman.” He doesn’t necessarily agree with that. Not at all. She thinks so damn highly of him. Too highly, maybe. “I love you, and it’s like I’ve said before, I’d do anything for you.” She leans over and kisses his temple, teasing, “even put up with you being a big baby about being sick.”

He scowls a bit at that, unable to hold in his clarification. “I’m not being a baby. I just don’t like being sick.”

At that, Dulce barks, sitting down on the floor in front of them, watching the entire scene unfold.

Solana giggles. “No one does, baby.”  She pouts for a minute before her expression switches to something more serious. “And I can help you get better, but that means you have to listen to me….okay?” He sighs, Solana adding, “even if you don’t necessarily like it.”

“I don’t like any of it.” Roman is many things, and brutally honest is near the top of that list. “Especially the not being able to fuck you part.”

As expected, she starts blushing at his raw admission, but it’s followed up with one of her own too. In her own Solana type of way. “I—I miss that too, but—” she shakes her head as his eyebrow goes up. “—your health comes first.”

It seems like everything comes first when it comes to him for her. Again, he’s torn on that, but another conversation for another day. 

Climbing off his lap, she lightly squeezes his bicep. “Now get to eating.” Roman moves to slap her ass, Solana squealing and shoving his hand away. “Behave, Roman.”

Dulce barks again, Solana directing her to follow her out the back door. “I’ll be right back,” she informs, closing the door as soon as the puppy is outside. 

Roman chuckles to himself, staring at the tray laid out for him so thoughtfully by his wife. His best friend. 

His everything. 

—------

It's a long week and a half, most of which is spent Roman doing his best to follow his wife’s orders but also struggling to not fall into his normal routine. He definitely earns a couple of Spanish scoldings as well as some low growling from her pocket pet, but when all is said and done, Roman comes out on the other end starting to feel more and more like himself.

Enough to where he’s ready to actually see beyond the inside of his home. 

A necessity, as he was most definitely teetering on the verge of going stir crazy. 

Roman is prepared to head out the door in a little under twenty minutes, already having a line of meetings awaiting him, all coordinated by his Wise Man.  

But, he has to do something first.

She’s in the kitchen, washing up some dishes, humming to herself when he comes up behind her. 

Solana jumps a little, a small smile falling on her face that morphs into confusion when he lowers his hands in front of her. He hears her gasp as he places the diamond necklace on her neck, moving her hair to the side to clasp the hook. “Roman…..” She reaches for a towel, drying her hands and looking down, fingers carefully grasping at the nearly 100k gift. “This is beautiful. You didn’t have to—”

“Of course, I did,” he dismisses, moving his hands around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. “You took care of me all last week, and you didn’t have to. I appreciate that. I appreciate you.” He watches her continue to admire just a small token of his gratitude for her and everything she does for him. “And you know, Michaels was right. You’re smart as hell, Solana. You ever thought of trying to go to school?”

At that, she turns to him, eyes set with slight confusion. “M–me?”

Roman chuckles, gently squeezing her cheek. “Yes, you, baby.”  He continues, seeing she could use a bit of affirmation and encouragement. “The fact that you know and have self taught yourself so many things, even without a college degree just shows how smart you are. How good you’d be at that, whether nursing, a doctor—”

“A doctor?” She interrupts in a small voice, Roman enjoying the smile that’s gradually growing. “Do you really……” And there it goes, he can see it, the insecurity sweeping in as she shakes her head. “Roman, I’m almost 30. I’m too old for that now. I–I missed my oppurt—”

“Hey.” He cuts her off, firm but still patient. “You can do whatever the fuck you want to do, Solana.”  He gently palms her face, making sure she understands he’s fully behind her. No matter what. “You want to go back to school? I’ll make it happen. You have my support in whatever you want, baby.” She’s visibly moved by this, and he’s grateful to at least see that spark return. “Just think about it……okay?”

She nods, agreeing in a quiet voice. “Okay.” Roman kisses her forehead, moving to step away when he catches the change in her expression. As she briefly covers her mouth. Like she's about to throw up.“What’s wrong?” 

Solana looks up and shakes her head, explaining with a shrug after a few seconds of clearly gathering herself, “I've just been kind of tired the past few days. Nauseous too.” 

At that, Roman tenses and curses. “Fuck, did I get you sick?” He knew that shit would happen. She was around him too much. Interactions and touches exceeding what was appropriate. “I’ll stay—”

“No,”  she cuts him off, turning to face him as she places her hand on his chest. “I don’t think it’s that. I’ve—I’ve had the flu before. This feels different.” That doesn’t help him feel much better either, but she seems determined. “I’ll be fine. If I still don’t feel good at work, I’ll just come back home.”  She shrugs guessing, “probably just a stomach bug or something.”

He’d rather her not leave at all, but a part of him also wants to see her out of the house as well. A change in environment. “Okay, but if you come home early, let me know, alright?” Cause there’s no way in hell he’s going to let her be sick all by herself. Not when she spent a week and a half off work tending to him. 

“Okay,” she agrees, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I love you.” 

Roman doesn’t stiffen at the words, doesn’t feel torn or conflicted, just an intense amount of reciprocity.

“I love you too, baby.”

[jayjj7]

Teamwork

Danielle Marsh x reader

synopsis : working at the vet is never boring as you have patients, well pets, almost constantly. but as you and other coworkers work on a patient, an accident occurs that has your top competition at your side almost daily.

contains : newjeans, swearing, intended lowercase, friendly rivalry, strangers to lovers, EVERYTHING IS FICTION

accounts : master manipulators | happy fam | night shift

chapters:

1. work

2. life

3. prep

4. day one

5. forced communication

6. hectic

7. helping

8. worry

9. sweet

10. betrayal

11. stuffed

12. bonus

13. too much work

14. care

15. reparations

16. panic

17. realization

18. wait

19. pulling through

20. meet n greet

21. reality

22. normal

23. shock

24. anger

25. favoritism

26. stuck

27. confrontations

28. dinner

29. second

30. investigation

31. delete

32. blocked

33. enough

34. cafe

35. attempt

36. clarification

37. restrictions

38. jealousy

39. hater

40. mistake

41. clashing

42. aftermath

43. improving

44. master plan

45. painting

46. accomplished

47. intrusion

48. so back

49. square one

50. end

[writeonwhiskey]

the skz house: ch 23 (chan pov)

a/n: thank you @bahablastplz for editing! i really loved writing from chan's pov. i hope you all enjoy this one!!

[ read chapter 22 here ]

Chapter Twenty-Three: Of You

You haven’t spoken to me in days.

A few months ago, this wouldn’t have bothered me at all. I would have been fine with it. I would have preferred it. Here I am now, silently pleading with you at the table to look at me. But you don’t. And it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said those things to you the other night. I shouldn’t have fucked you like that.

Seeing you hurt as a direct result of my actions has never been easy to accept. In the beginning I brushed it off as being necessary. After you bulldozed through the walls I had up, though, it felt impossible to reassemble them. I’m Humpty fucking Dumpty over here.  

Should I have sent you away when you showed up at our house? Lee Know was in charge of the applicants, so I was floored seeing you walk in behind Seungmin that day. If I’d seen you amongst the candidates beforehand, I would have rejected it...maybe. I would have at least been able to spare you of the bullshit I put you through then, and again now. It’s unfair to you. I know it is.

But once you were here, I didn’t want you to leave. I pushed you away because I needed you to make the choice to go—I’m too selfish when it comes to you, I learned that quickly. I’ve never felt this way about anything before and I honestly don’t know how to cope with it. I feel whole when I’m with you in general, I feel invincible when I’m fucking you…how can this possibly be wrong?

Now I’m left hanging on to the tiniest of threads that connect us and I’m trying not to cling too hard for fear that it will snap from all the weight I bear in this. The thought of losing you terrifies me. And I know it’s inevitable.

I attempt to talk to you after dinner when I see you in the hallway. I want to apologize for my actions, but you cut me off.

“Don’t be. You’re right. We should want to do this and I’m going to give it a try.”

I feel consumed with rage at your words. I want to lash out and scream or punch a hole through the goddamn wall. But I don’t. I let you go.

I have to let you go.  

On Sunday when you come to my room to grab your sheets, you don’t say anything. I deserve it though, don’t I? If I hadn’t taken that trip with you my father wouldn’t have grown suspicious. I wouldn’t have to give you up for the next two weeks when I already have so little time left with you. If I hadn’t opened up to you, this wouldn’t be so hard on both of us. And on top of all that, I’m the one who told you we should be open to this first. I’m reaping what I’ve sown.

Allie comes in a little while later to put her sheets on your bed. The sight of them there doesn’t look right. Neither does she.

I watch as she moves around my room, oblivious to my mood and making small talk. I’m responsive…I think.  I will myself to feel some kind of emotion while looking at her—even if it’s just lust. She’s pretty, I could be attracted to her. If I call her over to my bed right now, she’d come. I could fuck her…but I don’t want to.

My ears perk up when she says she wants to spend the first night with me. As much as I want to object, I don’t. I can’t, really.

After dinner, I quickly shower and get into my own bed with the lights off before she returns. I can’t fall asleep, though. I’m thinking about you. Who are you staying with tonight? Are you sleeping in their bed?

I’m still wide awake when she comes back in, wearing just a towel. I can’t even be bothered to take a gander.

It disturbs me.

She shouldn’t be here. 

“Chan? Are you asleep?” she calls out into the darkness.

I remain silent and still. I hear her change into her pajamas and climb in her—your—bed, and finally feel relaxed enough to actually try falling asleep.

She stays with Hyunjin for the next three days and it feels like a relief. I’d rather be alone. But…being alone, with my thoughts does little to help me. I can’t stop thinking about you. What are you doing? Is Seungmin being good to you?

As fucked up as my mental and emotional state are, on Jeongin’s birthday I can’t keep being a recluse. He’ll be offended if I don’t show up for a little while, at least. So, I join the others in the basement for drinks and karaoke. Drinking to drown my sorrows is not something I enjoy, but tonight I want to. Especially since Allie will be in my room. I don’t want to do anything I might regret—but have you?

I’m one drink deep by the time you come in with Changbin. You seem happy. He offers to get you a drink, which I don’t mind. Then he calls you his girl. Which I do mind.

At that, I finish what’s left in my cup and give myself another heavy-handed pour of whiskey to replenish it. Have you fucked him? I wonder. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t help but feel selfish. In this fucked up situation, I know none of these guys would do anything to intentionally harm you. I know you’re in good hands, but…fuck. I don’t want anyone else on this entire planet to have you.

As the night carries on, everyone’s having a good time and I’m sulking in the corner like a toddler that’s been forced to share his favorite toy. I don’t know how else to feel right now. I am used to seeing you be flirtatious with Hyunjin. Seeing you cuddled up to Changbin on the couch, though, makes me want to snatch you away from him and claim you in front of everyone. But I can’t.

I can’t even be mad at him. He means well. And when he gets up to perform, I’m left smiling at his antics. I couldn’t seriously hate any of them, even if you are involved. I’ve known them for too long. These are my brothers. At the end of everything, they’re the ones who will be with me the rest of my life. Not you.

“Chan-hyung!”

I’m ripped form my confuddled thoughts when Jeongin says my name. I immediately shake my head—I’m not in the mood.

“For my birthday,” he adds. “Stop being boring and old.”

I frown at that.

Then Lee Know is marching towards me, grabbing me by the arm, and pulling me to the other room. I don’t put up too much of a fight—I’m old and boring, after all.

“For your birthday,” I look pointedly at Jeongin to which he beams back at me. “What do you wanna hear?”

“That new song you were finishing up last week,” he says.

“No, not that,” I shake my head.

For my music production minor, I’ve been spending more time in the studio than usual. There’s no better way to get my feelings and frustrations out than through music. Tortured artist and all that.

“Yes, that. It’s my birthday.”

He’s really milking this birthday thing. He connects his phone to the speaker, and I silently curse myself for having sent him the song. Everything I’ve done lately has come back to slap me in the face.

The melody starts to play, and I let out a sigh, trying to shake my troublesome thoughts and get into performance mode. I turn to face the TV; I can’t look at you while I sing this.

“Got so many questions, you seek information. No need to be desperate, we’re just getting started.”

I started writing this song before we even took our trip, but only just booked the studio time to record it. The lyrics cut deeper now than when I originally wrote them. They reveal the way I’ve felt about you. The way I still feel about you.

This is bad, isn’t it?

Do you hate it?

Are you repulsed after the way I treated you?

As I continue singing, I turn around to face everyone. My eyes find you first. You seem taken aback—it’s understandable.

“Locked in sight, we’re in trouble. A lock and a key making rumbles. I know you want me, don’t crumble.”

I avert my gaze before the next lyrics. Looking at you and singing them will make me crumble. But I mean every single word. I never thought I’d meet someone that feels so perfect for me. Why did it have to be like this?

When the song is over, I pass the mic to Rhiannon and retreat back to the bar. You’re performing now. You’re smiling and happy…all the things I wish I could make you. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to. Not for real anyways.

My eyes are so focused on you that I don’t notice Allie until she’s snapping her fingers in front of my face.

“Earth to Chan—you okay?” she places a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m good,” I say, sitting up straight and drinking from my cup.

She’s standing between my legs. Again, I will myself to feel something…anything. Maybe not unbridled attraction, but at least a desire to fuck her. It doesn’t happen. I raise a hand to her waist to test it out, but it doesn’t feel right. I could kiss her right now, get it over with.

“I have class at 8 so I’m gonna head up. You coming?”

I shrug, dropping my hand from her waist.

“Come on,” she says, sliding her hand down my arm to my wrist.

I let her pull me off the chair and up the stairs with her. I guess I could go to my room with her. I probably should.

So, I do. I follow her up the steps, her hand still holding my wrist. We get to my room, and she shuts the door behind us.

“I’m gonna shower first,” I say, in hopes the steam will clear my mind up.

She releases my wrist and I retreat to my bathroom.

I should fuck her. I really should. Even though I don’t feel physically attracted to her, I can think of you to make my dick hard. Then I can fuck her and get you out of my head. I can end this turmoil.

The shower does little to make me feel better. Nothing can make me feel better.

Except you.

I spend far longer than necessary in there and when I get out, I’ve lost all conviction to sleep with her. As I re-enter my room, I’m hoping and praying that she has fallen asleep.

She hasn’t.

“Get some rest…I’m gonna go make a snack.”

“I can make you something,” she offers, pushing the sheets back.

“No, it’s okay—thank you, though. Go to sleep.”

She nods and pulls the blankets back over her.

Downstairs, I sit down on the couch and turn the TV on. I’m not even hungry. I just didn’t want to be in my room with her. I’ve never felt so hung up on someone before, it leaves me at a loss of what to do. If I fuck her, it would only be to help myself move on from you. I’m just not convinced it would work. And I’d hate myself after for it. But have you already moved on? The thought keeps plaguing me.

I remain in place, rooted to the couch, as the others start to file out of the basement. First Han and Charlotte, then Lee Know, then comes Changbin…and you.

He’s drunk. He has one arm slung over your shoulder, and both of yours are wrapped around his waist to support him. You help him up the stairs without so much as a glance in my direction. What are you going to do up there? I want to go up there after you, but I can’t.

The sounds coming from the TV start to annoy me. I mute it and stare blankly at the moving images. I don’t know how much time passes in silence. My attention is drawn to the stairs at the sound of footsteps coming down.

It’s you.

You immediately look away from me and proceed into the kitchen. I shouldn’t follow you. But I’m up and off the couch before I can stop myself. I’m drawn to wherever you are. I’m a magnet and you’re my true north.

With every step I take towards you the voice in my head—my father’s voice—is telling me to stop and turn around and I hate it. I hate that voice. I hate that it wants to steal the one piece of unadulterated happiness I’ve felt in years. You feel like bliss. You feel like hope.

He threatened to make you leave. I swear to God I nearly fucking broke right then and there. He can yell and berate me all he wants, but to threaten to take you away before our time is up? Out of the question. I put up a front, acted nonchalant about you.

‘She doesn’t mean anything, Appa.’

 Lie.

You mean everything.

When I enter the kitchen, you’re grabbing water bottles from the pantry. I don’t have a plan, but I know I need to be near you, so I walk over to the pantry and wait for you to turn around.

The second your eyes land on me, all traces of feeling confused and lost leave my body. I’m found. My body is filled with the purest warmth, and I have to touch you to get more of it. I have to have you. You avert your eyes to the water bottles in your hand and I feel a pain in my chest.

“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, placing a hand on your waist and pulling you towards me.

It’s an unfair question. You don’t know this inward battle I’ve been fighting since you showed up here. But I don’t know what else to say. It’s less of a question and more of a plea, really.

“I’m not doing anything,” you say softly. “I’m just…existing.”

“That’s all it takes, honestly,” I reply.  

“Chan,” you whisper, shaking your head, eyes still on the water bottles.

You won’t look up at me. Why won’t you look at me? I need you to look at me.

I take a few steps back from the pantry and bring you with me. This is the most I’ve touched you in a week. I’m not letting you go. I hold your waist with one hand and use the other to grab the water bottles, two by two, from your hand and set them on the counter before returning my attention to you.

“I feel like I’m in shambles when I’m away from you,” I admit, hooking a finger under your chin, forcing you to look up at me.

“You’re drunk,” you say, trying to push me away.

I hold on to you tighter, standing my ground.

“I miss you.”

You close your eyes and sigh, shaking your head again. You don’t believe me?

“You can’t.”

“But I do.” I say, bending down to nuzzle my face into your neck.

If you push me away again, I’ll take that as a sign. If you’ve made up your mind, I’ll have to live with it.

I wait for it, but it doesn’t happen.

Instead, you wrap your arms around my neck and pull me closer to you. I take in a deep breath and feel the stars align as the familiar smell of your skin ensnares my senses.

My hand leaves your waist and trails up your back, into your hair. I grab a handful of it and tug back on it. You look up at me with those soft fucking doe eyes that make my insides melt. The complete and utter trust you have in me. I can see it.

I smash my lips against yours, maybe too hard, but I don’t care. I want you. I fucking miss you.

You don’t hesitate to kiss me back, just as passionately. Do you miss me too?

I grab you by the waist and hoist you up on the counter as we kiss. My hands fumble at the waistband of your pajama bottoms. I want you so bad. Why am I nervous? And then, you’re helping me, leaning back and lifting your hips to push them down. I pull them off and toss them on the floor beside us. I scoot you to the edge of the counter and lower myself to my knees.

You tangle your hands in my hair as I rub my nose along your slit, inhaling my favorite scent. You smell so good, baby girl. I use my tongue on you next, needing to have you with all my senses. You throw your head back and let out a quiet whimper as I continue to fill myself with what I’ve been deprived of. What I don’t want to go without.

You.

My hands grip your thighs and as I’m licking, lapping, fucking you with my tongue, the emotions I so desperately willed myself to experience earlier surface. And I know then. I know I’m done for. How can I willingly give this up?

I stand from my knees and pull you off the counter, covering your mouth with mine again.

Do you like the way you taste on me? Your moan says yes.

“My cock throbs every time I see you, y/n,” I tell you, breaking the kiss as I turn you around, groping your breasts over your t-shirt. Your head falls back against my shoulder and litter the side of your neck with kisses. I pull you against me and press my hips against yours. I want you to feel how hard I am. How hard you make me. I could come in my pants right now, without even fucking you.

I’m helpless when it comes to you. Can’t you see that?

“Tell me to stop,” I plead, resting my cheek on yours and thrusting my hips against you again.

You shake your head and lean over on the counter, poking your ass out at me. You’re such a good fucking girl. I slap your ass with the palm of my hand, watching as it jiggles in the dimly lit kitchen. I grab a hand full of it, squeezing tightly.

I push my shorts and boxers down and grab my cock with one hand, holding your hips steady with the other. I rub my cock up and down your slit, groaning at how wet you are. Your pussy is always so wet and ready for me. Do you need me just as much as I need you?

“Every time before I fuck you,” I say, teasing your opening as you moan, “I tell myself I can live without it.”

I ease myself inside of you and we both let out the biggest sigh of relief at the same time.

“But I can’t,” I continue, slowly withdrawing. “I fucking can’t.”

I thrust myself back inside of you with as much force as I can and all hell breaks loose.

I realize the precarious situation we’re in. In the kitchen. But I could not care any less. My cock is home inside of you. This is where I’m supposed to be. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.  

I keep thrusting into you and you fuck me back. You want me just as much as I want you, don’t you? But do you need me like I need you? I can’t ask you that, so I just fuck you harder instead. It’s not healthy to communicate this way, but I can’t bring myself to say these desperate words to you. You take each thrust of my hips without running away and I love it. I fucking love—

No. No. I can’t.

The sound of your hushed moans, combined with the knowledge that we could be caught at any second, have all of my nerves standing at attention. You grip the edges of the counter as I grip your waist, pulling you back against me as hard as I can.

Mine.

Right now, I don’t care if you’ve fucked Seungmin or Changbin or both. They can’t hold a candle to what we have when we’re together like this. That much I’m certain of.

You’re mine, y/n.

You stand on your tiptoes and arch your back. I grit my teeth, and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shake off my release. I need more. But even with my eyes closed, I can picture how you look in front of me. I have every curve of your body memorized; do you know that? The dimples on your back that I love pressing my thumbs into when I grip your hips. The thought makes me growl as I pummel into you harder and faster.

You’re perfect. I need you to know that. With every thrust, every grunt, every moan. I need you to know.

“Chan,” I hear you say and my eyes snap open.

I see your hand buried between your legs, rubbing your clit and working yourself to an orgasm.

Yes. Please, baby girl. Come on my cock.

I feel your pussy, my pussy, clench around my cock as your legs start to shake and I let myself go too; thrusting into you with reckless abandon as I come.

I’m convinced there’s no better feeling in the world.

I’m glad you stayed.

I’m glad I didn’t see your name on the list before you showed up.

Your legs continue to quiver as I lay myself across your back, leaving my cock inside of you.

I don’t want to move.

I don’t want you to leave me.

[ read chapter 24 here ]

a/n: HOW ARE WE FEELING, MY LOVES? poor baby chan is stuck between a rock and a (constantly) hard place. i am so so so excited to hear your thoughts.

[macfrog]

ride it, cowgirl cowboy like me chapter ten

hey dudes. anyone up for some dbf? i seriously can't thank you guys enough for all the love y'all show this series. blows my mind every time. i have been super excited for this chapter for a WHILE. might be my fave so far. who knows. you can grab chapters 1-9 on my masterlist and also my ao3 if ur feeling fancy. love u all sm!!!!!! ✨💘💫

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel picks you up from a girls’ night. you’ve plans for when you get home

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) reader isn't an astrology girlie (sorry), more pining beCAUSE, alcohol consumption + a mention of the devil’s lettuce, very quick bit of unwanted touching, even quicker bit of protective joel, soft!joel, softdom!joel, one tiny mention of daddy, protected piv sex this time (feeling conservative slutty max will return), reader rides him into the sunset, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand. His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper. “There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

You never believed much in the power of the universe. Astrology, moons, manifestation. Whatever. None of it ever really meant much to you. You knew your star sign, knew which cool little symbol resembled you, and that was about it. Everything past that was…confusing and, frankly, a little overwhelming.

However.

If the universe were to send you a sign, one huge, fluorescent, multi-colored, in-your-face sign, that it was on your side…this weekend might just be it.

Your dad’s downstairs, finishing up packing for his work trip. His departure is imminent. Sarah’s been in Nashville since last night. A series of texts she sent you at 3AM riddled with spelling errors and heart emojis tell you she’s been having a pretty good time so far.

You are Joel are…alone. All by yourselves. For a whole…twenty hours.

Can’t have it all, I guess.

Your eyes skim down the texts you sent him this morning, texts he is yet to reply to.

You: Merry Christmas!!!

You took his non-reply for confusion – he is almost fifty, maybe he doesn’t get the joke? It’s a pretty lame joke, anyways. Very lame. If your thumb hovers over the send button before you press it, it’s probably not that great a joke. And your thumb had most definitely hovered. So, you’d followed it up.

You: As in, today’s the day

You: I don’t mean it’s actually Christmas

You: I mean like, happy ‘we’re finally gonna be alone again’ day

You: Never mind

“Hello?” Anna’s voice cuts through your train of thought. “Are you even listening to me?”

You drop your phone, shaking your head clear of Joel. “Yep. Sorry. Just didn’t catch that last part. You froze.”

The image of her on your – pretty fucking dusty – laptop screen rolls its eyes, knowing you’re lying. “I don’t know whether to go with the pink or the black boots,” she says.

“Ain’t your dress yellow?”

Her head falls into her hands. She throws herself down onto her bed and slides her laptop closer. “That was, like, ten minutes ago. I’m goin’ with the pink strappy one now.”

“Pink does say rodeo.”

“Fuck you,” she snaps through a giggle. “Remind me what you’re wearin’, again.”

“Black hat, black boots, black dress.”

“You’re so boring.”

“Thanks. Really looking forward to our night out.”

Anna snorts and then stands back up, strides over to her closet and resumes rummaging. “Black jacket, too?” she calls over her shoulder.

“Uhuh,” you reply, glancing back down to your phone. “Although – it has rhinestones. And tassels. Not so boring after all, huh?”

Anna’s silence drags your eyes from the text thread back to your laptop screen. She’s frozen in place, twisted around with a dress in her hands, jaw on the floor. “Show it to me. Now.”

“Hold on,” you roll over and off your bed, your shoulder stiff from the position you’d been lying in, “I think I left it downstairs.”

“Tell your dad I say hey!”

You pad down the carpeted stairs in your socks, toward the sunlit hallway.

“Dad, have you seen my– Oh, fuck.”

As you round the corner at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over your left shoulder to the front door, your chest knocks into something hard. Steady. Strong.

Something you recognize the feel of before you’ve given him a proper look.

“Mind your step, baby,” Joel says, and your heart leaps.

“What the fuck are you doin’ here?” you whisper, peering around his body to look for your dad.

“He’s out front,” Joel tells you, then takes your shoulder and reels you in against his chest. “’m just here to help ‘im with his GPS.”

He plants a kiss on the top of your head and gives you a squeeze. Your head rests safely on his chest, arms link at his back. If you didn’t have plans tonight, and if your dad wasn’t, like, ten feet from you guys right now, you’d never let him go. Just follow him around, vice grip around his waist, surrounded by the smell and feel of him.

Not that that means anything. You’d do other stuff, too. You’re not…you know.

Your dad’s voice streams in through the open door and Joel releases you.

“It ain’t for workin’, Joel, I’m about to throw it at the f– Hey, kiddo.”

“Hey. What’s the matter with your GPS?”

You lean in to the tiny device in his hands. Joel’s elbow comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“Just won’t connect to the car. Every time I plug it in, it just…” He lifts his hands, screen loose in his fingers, and hands you a bewildered look.

You look at him, expressionless. “Why don’t you just use your phone?”

“Because I paid almost a hundred bucks for this thing, and I’ll be damned if I’m– Alright,” he stops himself, eyes shutting in exasperation, “I already explained this to him. I ain’t justifyin’ myself to the two of you.”

Joel’s laughing behind his hand, pretending to scratch his nose when your dad stalks off to the kitchen and throws the device down, snatching the instructions off the table.

The pair of you follow, both still trying to swallow your laughter. Joel wanders around the table and sits down beside your dad, fumbling with the screen. You dive into the coat closet at the bottom of the stairs and fish out your bejeweled, tasseled jacket.

“You lookin’ forward to your girls’ night?” Joel asks, eyes flitting up and down the leather jacket in your hands.

“Mhm,” you reply, opening your mouth to continue when your dad butts in.

“S’posed to be a girls’ night, but that boy Sam’s crashin’ it, ain’t he?”

“Well, we asked him.” You shrug. “It’s his night off.”

Your dad scoffs, shaking his head to Joel, who looks up to you with a confused expression. “’s the big deal with that?”

“Oh, wise up, Miller. He’s only goin’ ‘cause of…” He wags a finger in your direction, and a smirk peels across Joel’s lips.

“Is he, now?”

“Uhuh,” your dad replies, intense stare still on the instructions in front of him. “Makes no damn sense. I plugged it in using the cable they gave me in the box. Stupid thing…”

You shake your head to Joel, who’s still looking at you, bemused. He knows you and Sam are just friends. Also knows your dad is the most oblivious theorist to walk the planet. Just aiming his gun at the wrong target, is all.

“I’m gonna let you two get back to…that,” you say, turning to head back upstairs. “Anna says hi, by the way.”

Your dad’s eyebrows rise once, his eyes never lifting from his GPS. “Hi, Anna.”

“Hey, Anna,” Joel echoes, smirk on his lips.

“Not to you,” you throw back, hopping up the first step. You hear his chuckle as you disappear.

----------

Anna’s reaction to your jacket in person matches that over Facetime: a deafening squeal. A squeal which she repeats almost every damn time she sees you throughout the night.

“So – fucking – cute!” she exclaims for the fifth time, fingers dancing through the tassels. “And it goes so well with your hat.”

You sip on your cocktail, nodding enthusiastically, pushing your eyebrows up underneath the brim of the black cowgirl hat on your head. Trying to match her energy. Your mind’s elsewhere.

Joel texted you a few hours ago. Told you to have a good night, said something about Sam, but you were stood right next to the dude, so you quickly locked your phone and slipped it back into your clutch.

Now, standing with your back against the wall of Franks, watching Sam play pool with Eve, you feel safe enough to read over the message.

Joel: Have fun baby. Be safe. Tell Sam good luck from me.

You squint at the screen, pulling it away from your face and leaning back in to read it over. Good luck? The fuck does he mean –

You: Good luck??

He replies almost instantly.

Joel: Yeah. Good luck winning you over. Took me, what, a week?

Oh, fuck off. You roll your eyes and throw your phone facedown onto the table where Anna and Kara sit, about twenty minutes deep into a conversation you missed the beginning of.

Your attention turns to the room before you – brick-walled, metal dome lightshades hanging over each pool table. Glass-paneled door to your left leading back through to the main bar. For being a tiny bar on a backstreet, Frank’s is pretty lively. There are bodies everywhere, bumping by each other, drunken arms slung over shoulders, hips swaying with the soft rock song blasting from out front.

You imagine your dad here with Joel, maybe Hank and Bill, too. Playing pool, beer bottles resting on the felt while they take their shot. Or sat on the rooftop, sipping on a whiskey. Talking about you and Sarah. What does Joel say about you when you’re not around?

And what does he want to say, but can’t, ‘cause it’s your dad? What does he think, and bite back when it bubbles to the surface?

Your straw gargles, slurping up the last few sips of your drink. You lean over to Anna and Kara, holding your empty glass up.

“Another?”

They both shake their heads, and you nod, turning on your own back to the bar.

You squeeze between two older women, both dressed smart and sharp. One of them – clutching a Manhattan – shifts out of the way as you pass.

“…one more conversation with him about squash,” she tells her companion, “and I am gonna blow my brains out…”

You edge over to the bar and slot into a free space, propping your elbows up on the wood. One of Sam’s coworkers – her name escapes you – notices you and shuffles over, smiling sweetly.

“How you doin’?” she asks, running a damp cloth inside a tumbler.

“Good,” you reply. “Could I just get a Bud, please?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and reaches behind to grab one. You slide her a note and she hands you change, and then you’re on your way back to the pool room.

As you slink by the two women, a weight knocks into your shoulder, almost sending your beer flying out of your hand.

“Sorry,” a rough voice sputters on your left, and you glance in its direction. Some broad dude in a tight t-shirt.

“’s fine,” you mumble, clutching your hat; a smell of weed choking your throat.

He passes by behind you, one hand lingering a little too long on your waist, and you saunter back over to Anna and Kara.

“That dude stinks, right?” Anna whispers behind a cupped hand, and you snort.

“He smells like he’s having a good night.”

“We’re talking about Romeo and Juliet over there. We’re basically third, fourth, and fifth wheeling,” Kara says, nodding over to Sam and Eve, who’re finished their game of pool and have now graduated to darts.

“I don’t…think that’s a thing.”

“Eve asked me if Sam was single earlier,” Anna says, lifting her straw to her red lips.

“What?” Kara spits out, choking on her drink. “Eve has a boyfriend!”

Anna giggles. “He’s kinda an ass, anyway. Look at them, they’re so sweet.”

“You say sweet, I hear morally wrong.”

“Who says it’s morally wrong?” you chirp, alcohol pushing the words over your lips before your brain’s had time to stop them. Your fingers clutch your phone, still laying on the table where you left it. “You?”

“Uh, it’s cheating, dude. What if Nick found out?”

“’s not that big a deal,” you reply, phone screen lighting your face in a blue hue, “they’re just having fun.”

Anna points to you, lifting her glass. “Here’s to havin’ fun, I guess.”

Kara lifts her own reluctantly and they clink, but you’re distracted. Already typing a message to Joel. Bored. Drunk. Morally wrong.

You: What you doing?

Joel: Watching TV. What you doing?

You: What ya watvhin ?

Joel: None of your business. Go get another drink. Looks like you’re not drunk enough.

You lift your head with a giggle, almost ready to turn your phone around to Anna and Kara and say, look what the dude I’m sleeping with just text me. And then, thankfully, your good sense kicks in and you bring the screen closer to your chest.

You: Kinda bored. Wanna come home now please

Bored, horny. It all means the same.

Joel says he’ll be at Frank’s in twenty minutes. You rest your chin on your palm and watch as Sam cheers Eve for hitting bullseye.

“I think they’re cute,” you whisper.

Anna and Kara are already preoccupied, taking photos of one another across the table. Kara leans into you and you smile, flash blinding your hazy eyes for a few minutes afterward. A few more pictures, couple boomerangs of your glasses cheersing, and then your phone’s vibrating.

Joel: Outside. No rush.

That last part is where he’s wrong. There most definitely is a rush, and it’s in the form of the heat that starts to pool between your legs.

“Alright,” you shimmy off your barstool and stretch your back. “My ride’s here.”

“What?” Anna almost screams, her hand slapping down on the table. “You’re leavin’?”

You nod. “Sorry, babe.”

“Don’t babe me, traitor. It’s, like, midnight.”

“Uh, it’s, like, almost 2AM. I’m tired. I don’t know how y’all do it.”

She sighs, conceding, and agrees to walk with you to the front door. Kara and Eve stop off by the bar to grab another drink. Sam holds the door open for you and Anna and you’re hit by a wave of cold night air, instantly cooling your hot, sweaty skin.

“Is that…Mr. Miller?” Anna asks, mouth falling wide open.

You glance down the street and notice his black truck, parked up by the curb. “Mhm,” you reply, “my dad’s out of town, so he’s picking me up.”

“Can he take me home, too?”

Sam snickers. “Wow, Anna. That’s just…Wow.”

She shrugs, lips closing around her straw as she stares at Joel’s truck. Something inside you lurches at the idea of Joel sitting there, his eyes glued on you, watching everything you do, everyone around you. And then again at the thought of Anna and her doting gaze on him.

“Alright, I guess that’s my cue to skip.”

Anna pouts. “One more drink?”

“I’m good, thanks,” you scoff, patting her head affectionately. I got business to attend to.

You give her a quick kiss on the cheek and Sam wraps an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze before you’re wandering off toward Joel’s truck.

“Hey.” Something – someone – hooks around your elbow, and you turn back. It’s that same guy who stank of weed.

“Hi,” you reply, as sweet as you can, but trying to loosen his grip.

“Saw you inside, you out with friends?”

“Mhm. I’m just leavin’, my–”

“Few of us are headed upstairs. You wanna come?”

You glare at him a few seconds, before yanking your arm from his grasp. “Nah, no thanks. I’m leaving. Have a good night.”

You stagger off, feeling his eyes on you as you go. Joel’s truck headlights switch on, dazzling your eyes, and you quickly click around to the passenger side, throwing yourself in beside him.

Joel doesn’t say hey, doesn’t squeeze your thigh, doesn’t even look at you when you settle into the seat. Just asks –

“Who’s that kid?”

“Uh…not sure. Bumped into ‘im in the bar.”

“He give you trouble?”

“No,” you lean over the console, pulling your seatbelt over your body, and flash him a tipsy grin, “thought that was my job. Givin’ trouble.”

Joel doesn’t reply. Doesn’t take his scowl off the dude outside Frank’s, either. Your eyes meander across to his hand, locked in a tight fist around the wheel. Your smile drops.

“Joel. It’s fine. Can we go?”

When you lift a hand to the crook of his elbow and he feels your warmth on his skin, he tears his gaze away and it lands on you. Soft, gentle. His lip isn’t curled anymore. His brows lift.

His eyes watch your lips as you whisper the words to him.

“Want you to take me home.”

“’s go, pretty girl.”

----------

Joel refuses, no matter how many times you ask, how hard you bat your eyelashes, how many promises you make, to stop by a drive thru.

“Please?” you ask one last time before he’s pulling in to his neighborhood.

He shakes his head. “Look at that, we’re already home.”

“I ain’t takin’ no for an answer, Miller, not until the engine’s off. We’re still driving.”

He doesn’t reply. Just pulls up in his drive, cuts the engine, and looks at you. Shrugs. “Oops.”

“Fuck you,” you groan, sliding down in your seat. “I’m starvin’.”

“Make you a big breakfast in the mornin’, how’s that sound?”

“Wanted a Big Mac, but whatever.”

Your fingers fumble for the door handle, clicking it open. You roll out of the truck and stroll around to meet Joel at the driver’s side. He snakes an arm around your shoulders, steadying you as you walk up his porch steps and into the house.

“I’m fine,” you murmur, glancing around his living room.

“Alright,” he says, tossing his keys and kicking his boots off.

Your eyes settle on the TV screen, paused. Probably around the time you text him. There’s a crowded hospital room onscreen, doctors in dark blue scrubs, all surrounding someone lying on a bed, someone who looks pretty familiar…

“Is that…fuckin’…Grey’s Anatomy…?”

Joel chuckles, peeling your jacket from your shoulders.

“That’s Meredith! When she–”

“She fell in the damn river,” Joel mutters, placing the tasseled leather over the back of his couch. “Derek had to go in after her. Intense stuff.”

“Right? I told you it was good!” You smack his arm. “I can’t believe you’re watchin’ it without me.”

“I ain’t watchin’ it,” he protests, “it was just on, ‘n I needed something to keep me awake. I’m still rooting for Meredith ‘n George.”

“We can watch it from the beginning.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, moving over to him. “And then I can be over here all the time, and you can make me all the grilled cheese I want, and we can lie in bed and…do stuff.” Your chin rests on his chest, flashing him a toothy grin. Hands swinging in his at your side.

Joel’s eyes narrow, but there’s a smirk on his lips. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. I had a couple drinks. I’m not drunk.”

“H’many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Joel asks, raising his fist. You punch it away.

“Ha-ha,” you say tonelessly, and wander away from him.

“Baby,” he calls you from behind. Sure, you’re tipsy, and he can be a cocky asshole – especially when he has to take care of you, but that’s a sound you’ll never get tired of hearing. Baby. You’re his darlin’, his sweet girl.

You spin around, very nearly losing your footing, and he’s standing with an arm out, ready for you to take.

You smile dumbly. Meander over, and take his strong hand in both of yours, wrapping your fingers around two of his to let him reel you in against his body.

“C’mon,” he whispers, as you lean against his frame. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

You follow him up, knowing where he’s leading you. You’ve spent more time in there the last few weeks than you have your entire life.

His room is cool, not cold, but comfortable. It’s Joel all over; the muted colors, the décor, the smell that calms you as soon as you stumble over the threshold.

He sits you down on the edge of his bed and kneels, pulling your boots off one by one.

You giggle.

“You laughin’ at me?”

“You’re like my own personal tr…No, not trainer. Wait. Personal ch–”

“Chef?” he says, snorting. “Not chef. Try again, soberhead.”

“Oh, I dunno.” You throw your arms up as he sits your boots against the wall, then stands and takes your hat off.

“This,” he says, placing it on the nightstand at your side of the bed, “is very cute. I like it.”

“I’m cute, too, y’know,” you whisper, pouting.

He smiles, and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the lips, pointer finger under your chin.

“The cutest.”

“Ha!” you roar. Joel twists around you to undo the zipper at the back of your dress. “Joel Miller thinks I’m the cutest. Take that, Anna…”

He laughs. When he unzips you, he pulls the dress off your bare chest and down your legs. You don’t shy away, used to the idea now of him seeing you naked. Used to the idea of him seeing you in any vulnerable state; drunk, or naked, or in a sobbing mess on day two of your period.

You notice, even though you’re a tad dizzy with what alcohol is left in your system, that his eyes linger on your panties a moment before he turns and grabs a tee from a chair.

And something inside you ticks.

“Joel?”

He’s pulling the shirt over your head. It smells like him. Intoxicates you much more and much quicker than any drink you could order from Frank’s.

“Mhm?”

You feed both arms through the sleeves, swallowing the question you were about to ask. He’s standing up now, telling you to get into bed.

He walks over to his dresser and begins removing his own clothing. He only sleeps in boxershorts. Your eyes track him as he yanks his t-shirt up over his toned shoulders; fingers undo his belt, unzip his jeans. Everything is discarded to the side for now; he has something more pressing to attend to.

His best friend’s daughter, laying in his bed, a pool of wet forming in her panties.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

As he slips under the covers beside you, you pull off your underwear in one quick movement. Joel doesn’t seem to notice, or so you think; his arms immediately take hold of your waist and pull you against his body. You’ve gotten into the habit of sleeping pressed against his torso, his thigh between your legs. Joel settles comfortably with you draped over him, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Joel?” you whisper again into the darkness, growing braver.

“Hm?” he replies, starting to fall asleep.

You toss ideas over in your head. None of them good, you’re sure, but you’re getting desperate. How he can’t feel your damp core on his thigh, you’ve no idea.

But then, maybe he can? Joel doesn’t miss anything, especially not where you and your…arrangement are concerned. Can he feel you? Is he deliberately ignoring it?

Maybe he has something up his own sleeve?

“I…was just wondering…”

“Wondering what, darlin’?” His voice is muffled, spoken through unmoving lips. You glance up at his face. His eyes are closed.

You grow more desperate.

“…wondering what your body count is?”

You ask it as innocently as you can, your voice wavering on the words body count. It gets him, though, as his eyes blink open a few seconds after you say it.

“I ain’t tellin’ you that. Go to sleep.” He closes them again.

“I wanna know.”

He ignores you.

“Joel,” you moan.

He calls you by name now, and you’re not sure if you’re pissing him off or turning him on – or both.

“Go. To. Sleep.”

“I’m not tired, though. Not yet.”

In response, Joel lets go of his hold on you and rolls over without another word. It’d sting if you weren’t soaking wet right now, and didn’t have a strong hunch he was hardening under the sheets.

“Joooel…” you whine, sitting up on your elbow. No use.

You take hold of his shoulder and tug him back toward you, rolling him onto his back. Like a deadweight, he remains frozen.

“Ugh,” you groan, and drag yourself on top of him, knees either side of his waist, ass hovering. When you sit back onto him, your core lining up with his crotch, your suspicions are proven right.

He’s hard.

Not as hard as he can get, as you’d like him to be, as you’ve felt him before…but he’s hard.

“Joel…” you mewl into the darkness, starting to grind your bare center over his boxers. The friction feels good, so you apply more pressure.

“If you don’t stop that,” Joel’s voice finally grumbles, “I’ll be sleepin’ downstairs.”

“Sex in the living room sounds good to me.”

His eyes open. “We,” one hand comes up to point between the both of you, as if he doesn’t expect your sobering self to understand which pairing he means, “are not having sex. No sex tonight.”

You sigh, shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Huff all you want, baby, it is not happening.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you’re a few drinks too deep and it’s three in the morning. I’m tired, it’s been a long night waitin’ for you, I–”

“So let me make it up to you. I ain’t even drunk anymore.”

“No?”

“Nuh-uh. Could count any number a’ fingers you put in front of me.”

“Funny.” He closes his eyes.

“Joel.” You drag your hips again. If anything, he’s harder than he was when you first sat down on him. “I had a few drinks, I’ve sobered up. C’mon…”

You bend your waist and lower yourself to align your lips with the side of his head, peppering the skin under his ear with soft kisses.

“I wanna ride you, daddy.”

This gets him. His eyes open again, staring up at the ceiling. His hands slowly come up to rest on your hips.

“Don’t– That’s low, even for you, kid.”

You giggle and straighten up. When your hands lightly trace down his chest, onto his midriff and follow the trail of hair to his boxers, he doesn’t stop you. Just watches from beneath hooded lids, tensing at each point your fingers touch.

You raise your eyebrows, watching his expression for any sign to stop, and it never comes. He remains in place when your fingertips hook around the waistband of his underwear, slowly pulling down.

Joel breathes in deep when you reveal the tip of his cock, springing up to rest on his lower stomach. You feel your core clench. If he’s not inside you in the next five minutes, you might scream.

Well, you’ll be screaming either way.

You look back into his eyes and tilt your jaw, asking for permission.

“Go on,” he whispers.

Your hands take him eagerly, pumping up and down his shaft, and his head falls back onto the pillow with pleasure.

“Uhuh,” you mumble, focusing on his solid dick, but desperate for more. You give him a gentle squeeze and a groan passes his lips, his grip tightening on your body.

You let go of him and grind your hips along his length, folds coating his shaft in your wetness. Joel’s humming, watching as you pull yourself up and down him.

Then, you lean forward, and your hands take hold of him again. You give him a couple more strokes, eliciting a deep groan, and then line his bare cock up at your entrance, practically foaming at the mouth to sink down on him already.

“Woah, woah,” Joel takes hold of your wrist, “slow down, cowgirl. I gotta get a condom.”

You huff as he leans over to his nightstand and opens the drawer. “Don’t want one, Joel, I’m on the pill.”

“No way, baby,” he says through a chuckle, silver wrapper in his fingers. “We already did that, one too many times.”

“So just pull out?”

“Nope.”

You sigh, frustrated.

Joel holds the packet out to you, smirk on his face like he doesn’t expect you to take it.

So, you do.

You steal it from him and tear the wrapper, fishing the rubber out between your two fingers. Pinching the top, you roll it down his shaft and pump up and down for good measure.

“Ready?” you ask, head tilted, cocky smile on your lips.

“Wait, wait,” he whispers, shoulders lifting off the mattress. He lifts the hem of your shirt, telling you, “Off,” before pulling it over your head, exposing your bare breasts.

He stares you down; legs wide open, straddling him, completely naked, nipples hardened, figure silhouetted against the slivers of light peeking through the shades from the streetlights outside. You’ve never felt so confident, mounted on top of Joel fucking Miller.

His eyes roll back and his head falls against the pillow. “Fuckin’ – knock yourself out, baby.”

You steady yourself with one hand on his chest, the other taking hold of his cock and guiding it to your entrance. You push his head through your folds a couple times, and Joel hisses at the feeling, before you sink down.

You stop after the tip the first time, but it draws the same reaction from you both. Joel groans even louder than before, and you moan as you push yourself back up.

Then, without warning, you sink the whole way down.

He’s so deep it brings tears to your eyes, so big that he’s stretching you out more than you thought possible, hitting all the right spots already before you’ve even begun.

Joel’s eyes are screwed shut, his grip on your hips digging into your skin so tight it almost hurts. His jaw is tight, holding back what you can only imagine are the neediest moans he could sound.

So, you decide to draw them from him.

You lean forward and begin bouncing, feeling his thickness pull out and push back into you, both hands on Joel’s chest now for balance. You’re whimpering, the burn of his cock stretching your tight cunt so good and borderline painful at the same time, but you don’t stop.

“Good girl, good fuckin’ girl,” Joel moans, opening his eyes to watch you ride his dick. “’attagirl, just like that.”

“Joel…” you cry, letting him bottom out each time, feeling his balls slam into your ass with each bounce.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me, baby, use your words.”

“So – good – Joel – oh!” you shout.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl for me, huh?”

You fight against the urge to close your eyes; the pleasure between your legs and the knot beginning to tighten in your stomach are all you can see, hear, feel, but you want to watch him some more. You want to see what you do to him.

You lean forward even further, moving your hands to the pillow either side of his head, so you’re directly above him now. One of Joel’s hands comes to the back of your head, pulling you down until your foreheads are together, moans escaping your mouths only to be inhaled by the other.

Joel speaks to you quieter, through gritted teeth.

“Like ridin’ me, do ya? Like the way it feels?”

“Mhm,” you moan back, and he brings a hand down to slap your ass. You yelp. “Fuck…”

“You look so good, baby, so good. Such a fuckin’ whore for me, hm?”

Another stinging spank pulls a whine from you so filthy, so loud that you’re sure the neighbors will hear, even at this hour. Joel smirks back, resting his hand back on your hip, where he has a grip of you.

Then, he bucks his own hips, pushing into you deeper than before, so deep you see stars. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, panting through the searing pain so good that you never want it to end.

“Joel – I’m gonna – fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“That’s it, sweet girl, cum all over me. Let go, baby, I’m here.”

That does it. The coil snaps, your walls clench. Joel lets out a guttural moan as you throw your head back and ride him through your orgasm. He coos you through it, squeezing your hips, whispering, That’s my girl, doin’ so good, baby as your body rocks back and forth on his cock.

When you come back down to earth, your lids heavy and breathing staggered, you swear your body can’t take anymore. You feel so fucked out that you’re not sure you can sit up straight on top of Joel.

But he’s always been able to read your mind, and this is no different. He pulls himself up and into you, propped up with one strong hand on the mattress behind his back, the other wrapping around your waist. His cock is still buried deep inside you.

“Joel…” you whimper pathetically. “Can’t do it anymore…”

“That’s okay, baby, we’re gonna do this one together, alright? I got you. Can you do that for me? Just one more?”

You link your arms around his neck and lean into him; his strong form doesn’t shift, just takes on your weight and keeps the both of you upright as he starts to bounce you on his length again.

You’re overstimulated; your cunt swollen, fucked-out, drenched in cum, but Joel makes you feel so good that it’s impossible to let him stop. Your arms pull him in closer to your chest to steady yourself, and his groans echo in your ear.

“Good girl, that’s– that’s it, so fuckin’ tight for me, pretty girl.”

When it all becomes too much to take – Joel’s hand squeezing your waist, your clit rutting against the bottom of his stomach, his fucking cock buried so deep inside you that you swear you can feel him splitting you open – you push him back down onto the bed.

Once when you still lived in New York you read something in a Cosmo about spelling the word ‘coconut’ with your hips when riding a guy. You’d tried it a couple times with hookups, and it’d never done anything for you. They’d never done anything for you.

But here you are, nearing your second orgasm, on top of someone making such a mess of you that you brain can hardly compute to spell coconut, never mind your hips being able to round the shape of the word.

You lazily drag yourself over and over Joel’s dick, each stroke drawing you nearer and nearer to your high. When your body starts to falter, you feel him shift, and open your eyes to see him leaning over to the nightstand.

His fingers grip the rim of the black cowgirl hat you’d worn that night. He lies back, flat against the mattress, and reaches up, placing the hat on top of your head. You smile. Joel speaks in a low, gentle, but commanding whisper.

“There you go, cowgirl. Show me how it’s done.”

It’s all you need. It’s all it takes, by this point.

You brace yourself against his chest again, positioning yourself just right, and bounce on him until your vision starts to blur.

The noises slipping out of Joel’s mouth each time your bodies connect at the base of his cock push you closer and closer; every groan and whimper which passes his lips makes you sink your hips down even harder, pushing him deeper and deeper with every bounce.

“So – fuckin’ – big – inside me,” you slur, and Joel moans in response.

When he takes your hips in his hands again, you know he’s there. He’s just waiting for you to fall first.

You give in to him, feeling yourself close around his length, throwing your head back in pleasure as your second orgasm washes over you, igniting every inch of your body.

Joel’s groans meet yours as you lean forward again, slowly rolling your hips to coax him through his own orgasm. Watching him release, buried deep inside, he looks so good that you feel like you could cum again just at the sight.

You feel his cock start to go limp inside you and when he opens his eyes, panting, you smile sweetly at him.

“Fuck, darlin’.”

You giggle, hips still driving gently against his. “Good?”

“So good, baby, did so well. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispers with a trembling breath, taking your waist in both hands and giving it a tight squeeze. You roll to the side, letting his cock slip out of you, condom full of his seed.

You tumble onto the mattress beside him, both heaving, moaning messes. Your chests rise and fall in sync, fingers tangling and untangling by your sides.

Then Joel gets up, and wanders over to the bathroom, where you watch him through the open door as he pulls the filled rubber from his soft dick. He bins it, then runs a facecloth under the faucet, dabbing it across his own forehead as he makes his way back over to you.

You can’t hide your grin as you watch his naked form approach; tan lines where his t-shirt must end, dark hair decorating his arms, legs, chest, the base of his cock. He sits at the edge of the bed, arm outstretched with the flannel in hand.

You go to take it from him, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. Just pats it over your face gently, soft gaze on yours, your fingers intertwined around his wrist. Your eyes fall closed, the cold cloth a relief against your warm, sweaty skin.

“Feel nice?” he whispers.

You nod in response. Your chest swells at how soft he’s being, how tender. When he stands to throw the flannel back into the sink, you almost find yourself reaching out to hold him down.

He climbs over you, springing back down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

You prop yourself up and shimmy over, positioning yourself on top of Joel, chest-to-chest. He looks down and smirks, running a lazy hand across your cheek.

“You’re so good to me,” he mumbles.

You tilt your head with a smile and lay down on his chest. You can hear his heartrate slowly calming down. His fingers twist through your messy hair.

“I have no idea what you’re laced with,” he says, “but you got me.”

You smile. “Yeah?”

Joel nods. You shift positions, adjusting your aching hips safely between his thighs. “You hurtin’?” he asks.

You nod. “Mhm. But I like it. It’s you.”

Joel’s hands run through your hair and his fingertips trace your shoulders. His touch is so light it almost tickles. You turn your jaw and kiss the back of his hand.

“My dad gone, Sarah out, free house…” you mutter.

“Hm.”

“So, you invite your mistress over.” You lift your head, smirking at him.

Joel’s chest vibrates with laughter. “You ain’t my mistress.”

“Oh really? What am I, then?”

“I am not having this conversation at 4AM, kid. Ask me again tomorrow.”

You’d think of something to throw back at him, messing with him, but your entire body aches, and your heavy eyes are starting to fold closed with how sleepy you suddenly feel.

You pull Joel’s sheets over yourself, turning your back to him. Joel instantly follows suit, pulling up right behind you, your back tight to his chest, his thighs cupping the back of yours, then slipping one between your legs.

His arms lock around your torso under the sheets. Safe. Secure. Nothing can happen to you as long as he’s got you.

“Ten,” his voice mumbles against the back of your head.

You turn so your ear is pressed against his lips. “Huh?”

“Ten. That’s my number. Includin’ you.”

Oh.

He doesn’t ask to hear yours. You wouldn’t mind if he did, but he doesn’t. You don’t think he’s telling you to hear yours in exchange. He’s telling you because you asked. He’s telling you because, whether in attempt to turn him on or simply to know something about him that you didn’t before – something nobody else knows – it mattered to you.

He’s telling you because you matter to him.

You nuzzle back into him a little, a form of reply, and, as you start to fall asleep, you feel him place a gentle kiss to your ear.

----------

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[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 22 - I Stayed In The Darkness With You

Series Masterlist

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

Word Count: 24k

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ryan blinked at her. “Worrying?“

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

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

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

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

“What are you afraid of?”

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

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

“But I’ve hurt people, what if I am-“ 

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

“Are, are you afraid of anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You don’t get afraid, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t fucking-“ 

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

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

“I’m, um, not really that hungry.“

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

“You don’t have to-“

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

“I am not a fucking dog-“

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

Brat. 

Cunt. Go show Ryan how to punch stuff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she’d smile at him and say- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those things taste like fucking wax-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Guess again, lad.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie blinked. “I do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you ready to go?

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re fucking going to anyway-“

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

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

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

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

“With balls.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you care to respond-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You watch your fucking mouth-“

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

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

“Is she with you?”

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

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

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

“Ben.”

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

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

“Early. Lie the hell down-“

“Who are you talking to?”

“We’re fucking talking-“

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

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

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

“I’ll tell you in the morning-“

“Tell me now.”

He glared at Her. “You need rest-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked up at Ben with a frown. Lunch? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we have a few days?”

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

We need to run this past the team.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you-“ 

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

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

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

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

“My ass.”

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

“Cunt.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s Annie-“

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Ben, please-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you saying?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fucking hell did you know-“ 

“It’s kind of obvious-“

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

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

“Hughie, Butcher-“

“Annie-“

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

MM scowled, but fell silent as Annie continued.

“Frenchie, Kimiko, and A-Train-“

“Fucking A-train-“

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

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

Ben glared between them. “How.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You pussies haven’t fucking-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2 messages from Sunshine, take care of.

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

You forgot your coffee.

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

wut the fuckk am i sopossed to do abut it now 

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

Are you going to make any effort to spell?

He swallowed a chuckle. no

Please?

no

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

u textd me firs

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

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

do nut do that i havnet fuckingg watched thwm

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

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

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

like modicome

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

brat 

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

i dont trust the stream to be fucking right

Right??? About what?

game. its the principl Sunshine.

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

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

Who’s driving?

lady suit

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

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

yes

That’s it?

u dont need two peopl to drive

I meant is that it for security.

apperently 

Apparently.

shit the fuck up

Gross.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How the fuck did you get in-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck with Singer.

Try not to kill him.

Please tell me how it goes.

Make sure you get dinner.

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

singer is alive and talkig to cabnet for v

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

why would u be a lamb

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

the fuck would make u run from the law

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

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

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

but u wouldd

I would. Did you eat?

did u fucking eat

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

u saved me a dog

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

youre so fuckigg mean to me sunshine 

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

whyd she give us brownies 

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

brat

Cunt. Did YOU eat?

Ben paused, and sighed to nobody. i will

That’s a no.

i didnt fucking say no i said i will

But you didn’t.

shut the fuck up

Go eat.

you cant fukcig make me

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

why 

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

ill eat the brownies when i get home

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

u woulndt

Wanna bet?

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

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

its ten

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

what happpend

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

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

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

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

Ben.

swear it

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

i miss u ass well 

Another beat. I miss your ass as well.

Ben snorted. He fucking loved Her. go sleep sunshine

I’ll see you tomorrow?

u will or ill fucking run to jersey

Just steal a car. I know you can.

i thought I wasnt supposed too 

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

ill be home toomorow. godnight beuaitufl

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

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

“Where the fuck do I get food.”

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

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

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

Goodnight, Benjamin. I love you.

————————

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

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

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

Weak.

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

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

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

You’re so fucking tired.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d frowned. “Ben said what?” 

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

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

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

“Fuckin watch it, Love-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The bloody fuck are you doin’ here-” 

“We need to talk.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean we all know?”

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

“He wasn’t supposed to say anything-“ 

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

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

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

“Hey-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do fuckin what-“

“I want you to kill Homelander.”

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

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

“I ain’t-“ 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

We’re headed back, ETA around 10.

Soldier Boy broke his phone somehow btw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We need to fucking talk.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that what’s so goddamn important-“ 

“Answer the question, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Benjamin-“

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

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

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

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

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

“What have they been about?”

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

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

“Why are there sunglasses in your underwear drawer?” 

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

“I was folding laundry. Why.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck are you-“

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

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

“What made you hard?”

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

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

“How in goddamn hell-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Put something in you-“

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine, it’s-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I’m fine-“

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

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

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

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

“Are you fucking stupid-“

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

“You are not weak-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s only eleven-“

“Did you sleep last night?”

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

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

“But-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Both times?”

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

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

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

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

“How long until that stupid fucking pill-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

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

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

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

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

Rude. 

You love it.

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

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

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

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

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

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Taglist

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[mjolnirswriststrap]

Dark!Rafe Cameron x Plus size!Reader

Word Count: 2,223

Summary: You go on vacation to work on yourself, but what if there’s a guy on the beach who just won’t let you.

Warnings: No specific warnings for this chapter. SERIES WARNINGS-> 18+‼️, dark noncon themes, rich boy Rafe doesn’t take no for an answer, infidelity, reader cheats on fiancé in future chapters, SMUT.

Masterlist

Some things never change; the sand, the water, the moon rising over the horizon. You hadn’t stepped foot in North Carolina in almost 12 years, but you counted on one thing; the beach was the same. When your family moved back home, you cried for weeks, you knew the island was where you belonged. But years passed, and you didn’t see your extended family you left behind in North Carolina, and the yearning for home became too much. So here you were, on a vacation all alone.

You left your fiancé and family back home, you wanted them to come, but they all had plans. Your fiancé couldn’t call off work in time to heed your cravings for salt water. Assuring him that you’d be okay alone, you ran as fast as the wind could take you, for as long as your bank account could handle. You needed this escape from reality, life was becoming too real, too fast; you just wanted to feel like you were floating for another week or two.

You knew what waited on you when you got back home, your fiancé, buying a house, being terrified of getting pregnant every time you have sex. You weren’t ready for children, you wanted marriage, and to spend your life with someone, but things are moving too fast and you can’t even decide if that’s what you still want with him. You got together when you were fresh out of high school, getting engaged at 20, now you’re 23 and you just don’t feel the same that you used to.

You needed space most of all, space from your fiancé. He wasn’t suffocating you or anything, it was the opposite. He was good, too good for you. He tried his best, and it wasn’t enough for you, you hated to admit it; you felt an overwhelming guilt because of it.

Your fiancé held an innocence that was ripped from you when you were a child. He gave you his all, every second of the day. You cursed yourself for complaining that there’s no romance. You don’t dare speak a word to anyone on how unfulfilled you feel, like there’s more out there waiting on you. You live with a growing guilt, one that the devil on your shoulder tells you; you shouldn’t feel at all.

You were falling out of love with him, rapidly. Not wanting to be the villain, you knew this trip might fix you; you hoped it would. That’s why you sat in the sand with your suitcase beside you. Jean shorts and tennis shoes already covered in the tan substance. It was late when you got here, you missed check in at your hotel, so you asked your Uber to drop you off at the beach close to your aunts house, you’d walk there after you had some time alone.

The sun was setting behind you on the sound, the empty beach was a stark contrast to what it had been when you were a kid. Then you heard them, a group of younger guys laughing and carrying on as they walk down the beach. You try to ignore their conversation, focusing on the sand you have your fingers dug into. You look out into the water, watching the gentle waves come in, your eyes don’t even register the three boys walk past your eye line, instantly refocusing on the dark blue mass.

You cringe as sand suddenly flies in your direction. A body landing not too far from where you’re sitting. Another body lands on top of him and starts putting him in an arm bar. “Woah.” You say hopping up, grabbing your suitcase in an attempt to move away from the situation. You might not have given them a second glance but you knew it was the group that just blocked your vision, loudly taking up their own space on the beach.

“Watch out,” The third guy yells at his friends, he looks over at you and you can’t help but notice the way your heart starts beating faster, like you were being studied under his gaze. “There was a pretty lady sitting there.”. He says it smugly, but there’s no hint of a smirk on his face. It’s deadpanned, devoid of emotion, like he’s too focused on watching you.

The two guys obviously play wrestling break apart. “Don’t make me kick your ass again.” The dark haired one says to the blond; but the blond just laughs maniacally. Deciding now would be the perfect time to head back to your aunt’s house; you start pulling your suitcase away. You didn’t wanna get caught in the crossfire of some drunk frat guys.

“You need some help?” The tall, non-wrestling blond asks. You turn around to see if he’s addressing you, only to find that same dark stare, studying you, as if he hasn’t looked away once. “I’m fine.” You rush the words out, not knowing what to say even if you did need help.

His face finally cracks, forcing a fake smile to his lips, you can tell he didn’t like the instant rejection. “You sure?” He bites back, “That suitcase looks awfully heavy.”.

You can tell this guys no good, just by the way he talks, as if you’d give in to his persuasion. You can’t lie to yourself, of course you thought he was cute. A tall lean body with ocean blue eyes and blond hair, he was a model for a surf magazine. You can’t be thinking like this, he was everything your fiancé wasn’t, and you shouldn’t be wanting his help. “Thanks, but I got it.”. You nod slowly as you say the words, trying to reassure him.

The forced smile drops from his face and he takes one last look from your feet to your eyes, raking in every detail you have to offer. He drops his chin in, only what you could call acknowledgment; before walking back to his friends that were busy dusting themselves off.

Not wanting to wait around for another awkward interaction you skip steps as you hoof it to your aunts. This was the first night of your trip and what were you doing instead of working on yourself? Letting a guy ogle you, simply because he was cute. He could’ve been anyone, a trust fund baby from New York or a firefighter on a night out with his friends. He could be the sweetest guy in the world or the devil; you don’t know yet you still gave him your time, more than enough if it.

Your thoughts are cut short when you hear quick footsteps behind you. Then a hand on your arm. Before alarm bells could ring or you could scream, that familiar voice from before speaks, making you look into the blue eyes of the once thought assailant. “You didn’t really think I’d let you walk home carrying this, alone, did you?” He asks, with a deep serious crease in his brow.

Your mouth hangs open, searching for something to say. But you’re too stunned by his actions, meekly letting go of the handle of the suitcase when he snatches it from your grasp. You would think he was being chivalrous, if he hadn’t been so rough taking it from you. “Thank you.” You mutter, walking in step with him towards your aunt’s. You couldn’t place his slight agitation. Was it really because you didn’t want him carrying your suitcase? You barely knew him, what did he expect?

You can only figure one thing, most women agree with everything he says. Most women probably would’ve been more than glad to accept his offer of help. You could see yourself appreciating it too; if you were more secure in yourself and your engagement. To be honest with yourself, you didn’t know his intentions, maybe he really is a gentleman. But you can’t trust yourself, his intimidating aura and even sharper eyes are everything you were afraid of.

You decide to not spark up a conversation, knowing it will only dig you further into a hole. One that’s bottom will collapse open and you’ll free fall to the center of the earth. He notices the distant look in your eye, how you kept a few feet away from him as you walked down the skinny pathway. “What’s your name?” He asks, and there was that agitated tone again. “*you* didn’t give me the chance to ask.” He says it like an accusation, how dare you not give him more of your time.

You can feel a swirling feeling in your gut, one of defensiveness, and then one telling you to submit, do not bite back. Since you don’t know his intentions, you decide to be the bigger person, plastering a small smile on your face. “Y/N, and you?” You mistakenly look over at him, and he’s silently mouthing your name, testing it on his tongue. He feels your gaze and breaks out of his trance. “Rafe, Rafe Cameron.” He says.

You just hum and nod your head. The way he said it, was like his name was meant to mean something; but it didn’t. His eyes looked like they were expecting some kind of reaction out of you, and when he didn’t get one you saw a slight sneer appear. When you take a sharp right turn he stands there for a second, watching you walk ahead, his brain is about to short circuit, why are you being like this? You should be hanging off of him already.

He catches up to you before you notice, his steps matching yours. “What do you have planned for your trip?” He says, changing his tone. He’s trying to play nice, see if you’d open up for him. That has you looking over at him, and even the look on his face has changed, slight wrinkles under his eyes, and a smile that would make anyone drop to the floor.

You steady your mind, looking back at the sidewalk in front of you. “Just visiting family, learning to relax.” You say honestly, you didn’t need to tell him you were here to work yourself, but you didn’t see a point in lying.

“That’s nice.” He says, but it lacked enthusiasm. Nodding your head you can’t help yourself but to ask him. “You from around here?”, there it was, the bite. The proverbial shovel was already scooping dirt out of the hole. Rafe relaxes as you carry on the conversation, not feeling like he’s talking to a brick wall anymore. “Yeah, I live on the other side of the island.” He smirks.

Oh, so he was some rich boy. “That’s nice.” You say, looking around noticing the houses get more impoverished as you walk towards your aunt’s street. He scoffs, “I guess,” and pauses and watches your hair fan over your back as you walk. “By chance are you single?” He finally asks.

That has you bristling, of course he had to ask. Somethings telling you to say yes, he wouldn’t know if you were lying, you took off your engament ring, telling your fiancé you’d lose it in the ocean. But you knew you couldn’t, the universe was crafting a punishment for you, and lying would only make it worse. “I’m engaged, actually.” You say it almost as if you’re apologizing, for the inconvenience.

You can see him visibly react, the smile falling from his lips. “I figured you wouldn’t be.” He says dejected. You knew he’d ask, and you knew you’d have to tell the truth. You never thought of what happened after, you just expected him to accept it, understand that this couldn’t go any further than a friendly gesture.

You didn’t expect him to say what he says next. “That kinda thing doesn’t bother me much.”. It has you stopping in your tracks, your aunt’s house in view. You turn to him with a puzzled look, “What?” You blink, trying to reassure yourself that is just what he said. “I said, a ring hasn’t stopped me before.” He says it with a confidence that makes you cringe internally. You could see the look in his eyes, like a snake ready to strike. You hated snakes.

“I-“ You stutter, trying to find the right words. You couldn’t even chastise him for what he said, knowing that he would only continue bantering with you, drawing you in deeper. “I have to go.” You say, grabbing your suitcase from his hands, you could feel him hold onto it, as if he’s deciding whether or not to just let you go. But as he studies your hard pressed face and nervous reaction, he feels pity for you. And he likes you too much to make you suffer, he knows he’ll see you tomorrow; he’ll make sure of it.

So he releases the handle to your grip, raising his hands up in mock defense. “Alright, alright, I get it.” He says in a cool tone. But that smirk is back on his face, “I’ll see you around.” He says taking a step backwards, but he keeps facing you, waiting for your response. You shrug, turning to put your back to him. “It’s a big island, don’t hold your breath.”. He watches you walk away with a stunned look on his face, his mouth slightly hung open.

He knew what he was doing this summer, breaking you.

•••••••••••••••

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[luminoustarlight]

As Fate Would Have It | DILF!Anakin Skywalker

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer.

◂ previous ▸ chapter two

rating: explicit | pairing: anakin skywalker x afab!reader | wc: 3.7k | read on ao3

warnings: modern!au, undisclosed age gap, SMUT [use of toys (dildo and fleshlight), mutual masturbation, squirting, watching of pornography]

After midnight is Anakin’s favorite time of the day. His kids have been asleep since 8:30 pm— their weekday curfew— and he’s finally stopped working on the project he brought home from work. It kept him from watching 101 Dalmatians with Luke and Leia but “it needed to be done.” 

He completed it well after the twins went to sleep, his neck was aching, and he needed to unwind. Now, he’s settled on the left side of his king bed, back propped against the headboard and his tablet waiting for him on the nightstand. He’s been thinking about this all day. Ever since he got the notification at 1:48 p.m. that HoneySuckle uploaded a new video. 

While he was at work. On a very busy day, he might add. As much as he wanted to get away to watch it immediately, he couldn’t. But now he has uninterrupted time to enjoy himself and the woman he’s about to watch. 

Anakin watches HoneySuckle exclusively. For over three years now, he has been subscribed to her page for $7.99 a month, which is an absolute disgrace to the quality of content she puts out. That’s why he tips her at least $200 for each video. It’s a number that hardly means a thing to Anakin. But to HoneySuckle, it is everything. It’s a cushion for incidentals. For the flat tire on her Mini Cooper. The vet bill for her orange tabby, Panini. She has expressed her thanks to him in their private messages, but it never seems to be enough. 

Their casual conversations are never enough. 

It comes as a great surprise to Anakin to see that her newest video is dedicated to him. Him— Anakin Skywalker AKA skyguy81. AKA HoneySuckle’s biggest fan and number one supporter. 

Squirting for Sky 🖤

He’s never clicked on anything faster in his life. The edges of his brain are beginning to fog. The mere thought of Honey getting off to the thought of him makes goosebumps prickle along his skin and his cock begin to swell. But then he sees what she’s wearing. Or, not wearing for that matter. Usually, she’ll begin videos with a full set on. Whether it’s a lacy bra and panties, a teddy, or a babydoll, teasingly taking off her lingerie is part of her brand. 

Not in this video, though. In this new 23 minute video, she is wearing a black garter and thong with roses embroidered in the mesh along her hip bones. Sheer black stockings are pulled up to her thighs and as she spreads her legs— dear God— Anakin sees that her panties are crotchless. 

Every video is expertly angled so only the bottom half of her face is on camera. She’s mentioned to Anakin in the past that this is not her full time job and therefore some anonymity is important. He doesn’t need to see her whole face to know she is beautiful. 

“I bought this just for you,” Honey says directly to Anakin. “You said you liked black. I hope you like this.”  She goes to grab the vibrator next to the pink dildo on her bed. 

“I love it,” Anakin mumbles. Running her hand over one of her bare breasts, she turns on the vibrator. The familiar hum of the toy reminds Anakin to put on his headphones. Just in case. 

Now with that taken care of, Anakin can begin taking care of himself. It doesn’t take long for the guy to get hard when he’s watching Honey. Hell, he can just think about her and he’ll be horny. The melodic cadence to her voice, the angelic sounds she makes when she cums, the lustful desire to bury himself in her cunt. She is the only woman he has desired since his wife and he doesn’t even know her name. But he knows the curves of her body as if he’s felt them with his own two hands. God, how he wishes he could touch her, kiss her, pleasure her. 

It’s pathetic. He is pathetic for wanting the impossible. Anakin Skywalker is a smart man. A genius in many regards. Yet he’s delusional enough to think her messages might mean something. That this video dedicated to him means something.

Of course, it doesn’t. Everything about his conversations with Honey is transactional. It’s part of her job. That’s it. Nothing more. You’re not special. 

But fuck, does it make his cock hard thinking this is all for him. Well, this is for him. The title of the video says so. With her legs spread nice and wide, Anakin can see how wet she has become from the vibrator on her clit. 

Stiff and dribbling precum on his belly, Anakin wraps his long fingers around his equally long shaft. He swipes his palm over the tip to lubricate the rest of his dick. Honey has now turned off the vibrator and grabs the dildo. Despite its playful color, it’s a formidable size. A similar 7 inches to Anakin’s cock, she opens her mouth and the tip disappears. Then a little bit more… and a little more… until she’s gagging. She pulls it out of her mouth with a loud gasp. Messy strings of saliva fall on her chin and chest. 

“Fuck,” she breathes. “I love choking on your cock. Feeling it so deep in my throat until I can’t breathe.” 

This sends a jolt through Anakin’s whole body. His cock lurches in his hand and he knows all too well that his hand will simply not suffice tonight. He pauses Honey’s video and reluctantly gets off of bed to retrieve his Fleshlight from his hidden stash in the closet. Usually, his hand does just fine. He’s used to it by now. Being a single dad in his early forties and the CEO of his own company, he doesn’t have time to go on dates. He has one woman on his rolodex of hookup numbers and even then, he doesn’t contact her often. Usually it’s her who needs him. He prefers it that way, anyway. 

Anakin returns to his bed with the barely used Fleshlight in hand and immediately resumes the video. Honey continues to give the dildo a blowjob, making Anakin ache for it to be his cock in her mouth. He can only imagine how warm it is. How he’d make her relax so he can shove his entire length down her throat. How she’d sound choking on his dick and not some pink toy. 

Again, she holds it in her mouth until her lungs are screaming for air. Anakin ruts his hips up into his fist. He’s waiting to use the Fleshlight until she puts the toy in her cunt. 

Which is right now. She lines the tip of it to her opening, pushing the head in teasingly before removing it and dragging it along her folds. 

“Have you been good today? Do you deserve to fuck me?” The seductive nature of Honey’s voice is so familiar to Anakin, yet every time dirty talk drips from her lips, his spine tingles. 

“Please, Honey,” Anakin whispers, hovering the opening of the Fleshlight over his cock. “Put it in, baby.”

As if obeying his command, Honey pushes the toy into her hole. At the same time, Anakin lowers his own toy onto himself. The tight Fleshlight sucks in his dick and it damn near has Anakin’s eyes rolling to the back of his head. He’d forgotten what it feels like… how similar yet different it is to real pussy. Fuck, what he would do to have his cock in Honey’s actual cunt. The best he can do is use his overactive imagination. 

Honey is thrusting the dildo in and out of her and soft moans fill Anakin’s ears. He yanks the Fleshlight up and down—a lazy way of using it, he knows— but it does the job. “That’s it…” he breathes. His heartbeat is racing impossibly fast, chasing down an orgasm that is going to arrive far too soon. “I fuck you so well, don’t I, Honey?” 

“Mm…” she whimpers, pushing the toy deeper and further into her.  “Your cock’s so big… fills me up so well. Feels so good!” 

“You have no idea how good I could make you feel,” Anakin growls. In his mind she’s on her back, just as she is now. Her knees are pushed up to her ears and Anakin is thrusting into her tight hole to no end. He’s so deep, he can see himself in her stomach. He kisses her, finally tasting her on his own lips. Their tongues are doing a dance, his fingers are on her clit for maximum pleasure. And she’s screaming his name. She can’t believe how good he fucks. How he, at 42 years old, can last as long as he has. “I’m not fucking geriatric,” he’d say. He’d make her cum at least twice before he does, just to prove a point. 

Honey then takes the dildo out of her cunt and brings it back up to her mouth. Anakin removes the Fleshlight. She hollows her cheeks around it whilst reaching for the vibrator. She turns it back on and returns it to her clit. Her toes curl at the sensation and a moan is muffled by the cock in her mouth. 

“Let me hear you,” Anakin encourages, no matter how silly and pointless it is to do so. “Please, Honey. I love hearing you moan.” 

She takes the dildo out of her mouth to announce that she’s going to cum. “Oh, fuck. Fuck!” 

She’s squirming on the bed, mouth shaped in that glorious ‘O’. As her orgasm rattles through her body, she keeps the vibrator on her swollen nub and returns the dildo to her pussy. Anakin follows suit and sheathes his cock once again, thrusting his hips up to the speed Honey is fucking herself. 

“I hope you…fuck, that feels good,” she is interrupted by her own pleasure. It’s her authenticity that Anakin adores and enjoys the most. It never feels like she’s performing. “I hope you’re making yourself feel as good as I feel. Are you fucking your hand? Your mattress? A pillow? I bet you wish you were in my tight cunt. Don’t you?” 

“Yes,” Anakin breathes. He is on fire now. He’s not sure the coil in his belly could get any tighter. He’s going to cum soon and Honey hasn’t even squirted yet. There’s five minutes left of the video. “You wouldn’t believe—ah, fucking hell— wouldn’t believe how badly I want to fuck you.” 

“I’m gonna squirt! Oh my God…please cum for me. Cum while I squirt for you!” Honey removes the dildo as the clear liquid sprays from her cunt. Anakin abandons the Fleshlight and takes over with his tried and true hand. He’s pumping quickly, he’s mesmerized by Honey and how she squirts a little more each time she puts the dildo back inside of her and pulls it back out. Her back is arching off of the bed as she drops both toys and cums one last time. 

Anakin is cumming now, too. His sack twitches up toward him while he releases his load on his belly. He stuffs a fist into his mouth to silence his moan. He bites down on his own hand with fervor, and it hurts. He isn’t completely finished when he hears her utter the words ‘last video.’ 

Wait, what? 

He needs to go back. Surely, he didn’t hear her correctly. 

“I hope you all enjoyed yourselves while watching. I know I did. This is a bit of a last hurrah for me. I’m starting a new job next week and I just don’t think I’ll have the time to upload, so this might be my last video. Thank you for all of the support over the last three years. I had a great time. Kisses, HoneySuckle.” 

And that’s the end of it. Anakin is stunned. He watches her video again. And then once more. There's a lilt to her voice that makes Anakin think she is happy to be done with this. He should be happy for her. But he hangs onto the word ‘might’.  

Honey said this might be her last video. Anakin shouldn’t feel so fucking relieved that his favorite OnlyFans performer might still upload videos. What is wrong with him? He has no real connection to her whatsoever yet he feels disappointed by the idea of not having her videos in his life anymore. 

Fuck it. He sends her a $500 tip, a little message and goes to wash up. 

.

.

.

Panini is pressed against your side, purring contentedly while you stroke his back absently. You’re wrapped in a sherpa cozy in bed while watching The Great British Bake Off. It’s your bedtime show. You’ve probably seen every series at least 3 times, simply because it’s the show you put on to go to sleep. But most of the time, you end up staying up to watch it as if you’ve never seen it before. 

Your phone lights up with a notification. You glance at it but immediately do a double take. You grab your phone off of your nightstand and stare at the screen with your jaw dropped. 

Skyguy81 sent you a tip!

$500

You pause in the middle of Prue Leith giving her thoughts on someone’s Showstopper. You swipe right to open the message.

That was spectacular, Honey. From the lingerie to the beautiful way you cum. You certainly know how to put on a show. I must admit, I was a bit disappointed to hear that it might be your last video. You are the only performer I watch. I will miss you. I wish you the best of luck with your new endeavor. 

And I know what you are going to say. “It’s too much.” It is not. Please accept the tip as a token of my appreciation. You helped me feel less lonely on the days I needed someone the most. - Sky 

Why do you feel like you’re about to cry? Sky has been your top supporter since you began uploading videos during COVID. It was just supposed to be a way to make ends meet. To pay off the student loans and any other financials that came up. The tips started off relatively small. $50 here, $75 there. He was the first to give you a $100 tip. 

Then, after about a year, he upped it to $200 after each video. Your thank you messages to him turned into conversations. Short ones, never deep or personal, yet you feel like you know him. You feel like…no, it’s silly. You feel like he could be a friend. If you both weren’t hiding behind a screen and fake names, maybe you actually could be. 

You begin typing a response. 

Sky- I am going to say it anyway. THAT IS WAY TOO MUCH!!! You have been far too generous to me over the years. I don’t deserve it. 

 He replies in a matter of seconds. 

I have to disagree, Honey. I wish I could do more for you. 

Like what? 

I would take you out to a nice dinner. Perhaps share a bottle of wine while we get to know each other. 

Would you take me home after?

Whose home? 

Whichever you’d like. 

I’d take you back to your house and leave you with a goodnight kiss.

That’s all? 

You would like more? 

What the hell are you doing? Are you actually flirting with this man? He could be 60 years old and bald! Not that there’s anything wrong with being 60 or bald, but come on. You’re in your 20s. You have to have some limit. You stare at his username. Skyguy81. Maybe 81 is his birth year? So, that would put him at 42. 42 isn’t too bad… 

Oh, what the hell. It’s not like you’re actually gonna meet this guy, right? 

Well, I might wear something special underneath my dress. Something that I paid for with the money you’ve given me. Wouldn’t you want to see it? 

Yes. I would. 

What would you do if you took me home? 

When you don’t hear back from Sky after thirty minutes, you assume he fell asleep. It is nearly 1 a.m. on a Thursday night. Or is it early Friday morning? Regardless, he probably has work in the morning. 

With a rather loud yawn, you decide it’s time for you to go to sleep, too. 

.

.

.

Luke and Leia barge into Anakin’s room at 7:30, dressed and ready to go to school while their dad is still fast asleep. He must have slept through his alarm. Luke is poking him in the side and urging him to wake up. 

“Alright, I’m up,” he grumbles, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Have you two eaten?” 

Leia nods. “Eggos and orange juice.” 

“I wanted a Toaster Strudel,” Luke says. 

“And I told him we don’t have any Toaster Strudels,” replies his twin sister. 

“Yes we do! You just didn’t look hard enough.” 

Anakin pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels a headache coming on. He didn’t drink last night, so why does he feel hungover? “Ahsoka ate the last one when she was here on Tuesday, remember?” 

“Oh yeah,” Luke recalls. 

“Dad, we’re gonna be late for school if you don’t get out of bed,” Leia says. 

Anakin checks the time on his phone. Your message from last night is at the bottom of his notifications. He already has five work emails to answer. His calendar pings with reminders about meetings and his assistant’s retirement party. “Bring your things to the front door. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” 

In the rush of getting himself dressed, not only does he put on two different pairs of socks but two different pairs of shoes, too. He doesn’t realize this until after he enters the office and Dorothy, attentive as ever, points it out as he’s walking past her desk and into his office. 

Dorothy is 74 years old, a widow, and owl fanatic. She has been Anakin’s assistant since he started the company 20 years ago. “Did you get dressed in the dark, Mr. Skywalker?” 

Even after two decades of Anakin’s insistence on calling him by his first name, Dorothy continues to defy him. “I overslept,” Anakin answers. “I was rushing to get ready because you know how Leia gets when she’s late to anything.” 

Dorothy nods. “Yes, she is the most punctual 9 year old I know. I presume you did not eat breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.” Anakin opens his emails. 

“Why don’t I get you an egg sandwich from Dexter’s after I retrieve a matching pair to one of your shoes.” 

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t have to.” 

Anakin cracks a smile. Dorothy has always been two steps ahead of Anakin. She’s been somewhat of a mother figure to him over the years. She believed in him when no one else did. How many people are going to put their faith in a cocky 22 year old with wild engineering innovations? Dorothy was there when his wife passed away and nannied the twins off and on for a few years while Anakin regained his bearings. His heart contracts. He is truly going to miss her. “Do you have to retire, Dorothy?” 

“I’m afraid so,” Dorothy replies with a bittersweet smile. “You will be just fine. And I trust my successor will attend to your needs just as well as I have. I picked her myself. I know exactly what you need in an assistant, Mr. Skywalker.” 

Did Dorothy just wink at Anakin before leaving his office? What the hell does she have up her sleeve? 

.

.

.

Gold and brown leaves dance across the concrete in the courtyard of Skywalker Enterprises. The autumn air bites at your cheeks and you’re thankful you decided to wear a beanie along with your plaid pea coat. 

You notice Dorothy’s silver hair before the rest of her as she walks toward you with two cups of something hot in her hands. “Good morning, Y/N.” she hands you the cup. 

“Good morning, Dorothy,” you reply with a smile. You lift off the lid to smell the contents. The steam tickles your nose before recognizing the warm spices of Chai. “You remembered my drink order?” 

“Of course.” Dorothy sits across from you. “I trust you went over the files I sent you regarding Mr. Skywalker? How are you feeling about the job?” 

You take a meager sip of your Chai latte. It’s still too hot to drink. “I read all of them at least three times. He doesn’t seem too high maintenance.”

“Far from it,” Dorothy replies. 

“But…” you begin, wondering if you should even mention it. 

“What is it, dear?” 

“I just find it a little strange that I haven’t met him. I would’ve assumed he’d be part of the hiring process. Isn’t it important we get along?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Anakin gets along with everyone! He’s a charmer,” Dorothy sips on her drink. “He entrusted me with finding a replacement for myself because I know him better than anyone. I know his needs better than he knows them. And you, my dear, have shown you are more than capable to take over. Your references spoke very highly of you.” 

Right. Your references— one of which was your best friend who pretended to be a famous influencer who you “assisted” for 2 years after college. The other was a family you nannied for for only 2 weeks while the wife was out of town and the dad thought he could pull off some fantasy of fucking the nanny. The only good thing that came out of it was him telling you he’d give you a stellar reference for your next job. Turns out he wasn’t lying. 

“So, I’ll start on Monday? By myself? No shadowing or anything?” 

Dorothy nods. “I will officially be retired by 5 p.m. today. After which, Mr. Skywalker is yours.”

Don’t you wish. You’ve seen photos of him in Forbes. It’s an understatement to say he’s handsome. And it would be a lie to say you didn’t apply for the job because of his looks. By some miracle you were chosen out of hundreds of applicants and hired. You’ve signed the papers already. You’re officially on the Skywalker Enterprises payroll. Of course, you’ll be on probation for 90 days but Dorothy seems confident you’ll be a good fit. 

Hopefully you will live up to Anakin Skywalker’s expectations.

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◂ series masterlist ▸ chapter two

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 23) (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

Chapter Trigger Warnings: Kissing, rice cooking unrealistically fast... oh and external sexual stimulation to the female genitals

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

You smiled as the door clicked shut behind Laurence, silence falling over the house. The prospect of a whole night without him had your heart so light, it made you giddy. He’d be home for dinner tomorrow, once again. You had hated these business trips, once upon a time, though they had rarely come this close together.

Now, a little voice in the back of your head whispered that it wasn’t business he was leaving to do. Maybe he was actually going to see her, his other woman. It made you feel better about the fact that you had hoped to see him, your other man, while he was gone. 

That was presumptuous, to think of Alastor in any way that gave you ownership of him. You were married to another and there was no commitment between you. All there was between you was that unspoken thing and the kiss. Or was it kisses? Where did one kiss begin and the other end in such a situation?

Thinking about Alastor kept you from thinking about the feeling of Laurence’s hands on you. He chased away the thoughts of the pain in your core. It wasn’t as bad last night as it had been in the past, but you still ached in the aftermath. 

You simply had to lay down and let him have his way with you. Your body was for your husband’s pleasure. It was a sin to deny him, to resist. You were a weak woman and sometimes you failed to submit to him, to allow him to take from your body. 

It was better when you submitted, letting the tears slip down your face as he moved above you instead of fighting him. You knew it was your wifely duty. He had to do it if you were to have children, but you never could find yourself comfortable with the feelings of him against you, on you, in you. Even when he wasn’t hurting you, the idea of him touching you in the way a man touches a wife made your stomach roll. 

At least with Alastor, you didn’t have to be subjected to that. Alastor wasn’t your husband. He didn’t seek to sin with you. There was no danger with him. He would never hurt you. 

It was just after lunch when the knock came at the back door, a soft tap that you had been listening for all morning to hear. He waited on the back step, neatly dressed, smile growing all the wider as you opened the door. The sight of him had your heart leaping into your throat. 

“I was hoping to collect the lady of the house for a lovely evening, if she would be agreeable?” Alastor bowed at the waist as he spoke, offering you the utmost respect as a suitor would when asking to court a lady of standing. 

“She is,” you said, smile bright and a giggle slipping free from your lips as you gave him your hand. He made you feel young again. With Alastor, you felt the hope and giddy joy over the attentions of a handsome young man. By marrying so young, you had missed out on the magic and butterflies that were courting. “Should I grab the cape and hat?” 

“It’s not needed today,” Alastor said, tugging you through the door and onto the step with him. “It’s a simple evening in. Unless you would prefer a night out?” 

“An evening in sounds wonderful,” you said, face hot with the implications. If he was taking you for an evening in, would he spirit you away, back to his home? 

“Lovely,” he said, voice dropping the accent he wore for the single word. 

Your heart beat in your chest as you walked hand in hand through the yard as that single naked word ran circles through your mind. It was risky, walking hand in hand through the backyard like you were. There was a chance, ever so slight, that a neighbor could look over into your yard from one of their upper floors and see the two of you. It wasn’t enough of a risk to cause you to pull your hand from his. 

He had made it just past the apple tree before he turned on you, looming over you as you stood trapped between him and the tree, held in place by nothing but his eyes. 

“Would it be too forward for me to tell you I missed you?” Alastor spoke softly, his natural speech pattern slipping out at moments. “Or how delighted I was to find a response from you so soon?” 

“I missed you too,” you braved saying as his free hand reached up, tracing your jaw as he stepped closer. “Are you going to kiss me again?” you whispered timidly, afraid that you’d ruin the moment. 

“Would you like me to?” You could feel his breath wash over you with each word he spoke. 

Words failed you, locked in your throat as you nodded ever so slightly. It was selfish. It was risky. It was too close to home, but none of that stopped you from melting into his touch as he leaned in, closing this distance between you. His lips touched yours, soft caresses as he lightly kissed you. 

You sighed into the kiss as the contact between your lips became firmer as you leaned into him. How could a kiss feel so good? How could the touch of another’s lips on yours feel so different from what you had known? What else could feel better than you had known?

“We should get going,” Alastor whispered, voice rich, deep and naked before he cleared his throat and spoke again with, accent once again perfectly in place. “We don’t want to be seen.” 

Fresh nerves danced under your skin as you sat in the car, the world passing by as Alastor navigated down streets you had seen before. What a strange thought, that the way to Alastor’s home would become familiar to you. The nerves bunching in your stomach didn’t stop the easy conversation between you as Alastor asked your opinions on foods and different lunch options. 

Was it terrible that as you closed your eyes and relaxed into the seat, you imagined he was your husband? Was it wrong to imagine there was nothing horrible about this thing you two were doing? Was it horrible that you pretended it was your shared home you were on your way to? Perhaps it was, but that did nothing to stop the small smile from creeping up your lips as those thoughts ran circles through your mind. 

“You alright, darling?” Alastor asked, looking over to see the peaceful smile pulled across your lips.

“I am,” you whispered, eyes opening slowly to look at him. “Thank you.”

Alastor chuckled as he turned down the road you now knew lead to his home, tucked away from the city. Private. Alone. “Whatever for? I’ve not don’e anything yet.” 

“For bringing me out,” you said, eyes bouncing between him and the house, drawing closer. “And for passing the time with me.” 

“I’m just doing what I want to do,” Alastor shrugged as he parked the car, treating the statement as if it was nothing. For you, it was everything. He wanted to spend time with you, getting nothing but your time in return. 

He was out of his seat and around the car, opening your door for you before you opened it yourself. Ever the perfect gentleman, he held his hand out for you and waited for you to take it before stepping back and giving you room to exit the car. 

Without the rain and fog, you could see more of the area around Alastor’s home. Your eyes roamed the landscape, realizing how close to the swampy bayou you were for the first time. Tall trees reached toward the sky and swampy grass in the distance gave way to shorter wild grasses. It was a far cry from the neat and manicured properties found within the city. 

“Something on your mind?” Alastor asked as he slowly led you to the porch. 

“I like it out here,” you said after a moment of thought. 

“Do you, now?” You loved the softness in his face as he led you to the door. 

“I do. It’s peaceful out here.” 

The door opened with a soft click that felt somehow just as peaceful as the land around Alastor’s home. The afternoon sun illuminated the front room, bathing it in a warm light that made the space more inviting, not that it hadn’t been when you had first been here. Just inside the door, Alastor toed off his shoes again and you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“What?” The single worded question came out naked of the accent he wore so much of the time and made him all the harder to resist. 

“You had said it was because of the rain.” You hid your giggles behind your hand as he stood tall in his socks, a few stray threads of fuzz giving away thier well worn state.

The giggles died as he stepped closer to where you had leaned against a bookshelf, having intended to support yourself with it while you unbuckled your simple heels. Instead, you could do nothing as Alastor invaded your space, your mind struggling to put thoughts in order as you looked up at him with wide eyes. 

Now that you’ve crossed the line, that you’ve kissed him not once but twice, you struggled to know what the rules of your friendship were, what you could expect. It wasn’t a friendship; you reminded yourself. This was a tender flame of love and desire, an affair. 

He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before sinking to his knee in front of you. Your heart beat loud in your ears as his fingers easily worked the buckles free. Feather light touches of his fingers ghosted over your ankle as he worked.

He reverently lifted your foot, slipping your shoe off your foot with a quiet intensity the action had no business holding. After removing your shoe, he set it neatly by the wall, tucked right next to his. 

You watched, eyes wide, as he repeated the action with the other foot. 

Alastor’s attention left your foot as he guided it to the floor. His neck angled as he looked up at you. Your eyes met his as he took in the sight of you standing barefoot in his home. Your face was flushed as your fingertips rested against your lips as if they could steady your shaky breaths. 

Oh, what a sight you made! 

The pride that swirled in his stomach over the fact that he was responsible for the pretty look on your face. He was the reason you were flushed. It was his fault there was that soft affection in your eyes. 

“Did I overstep?” he asked as he rose to his feet again, sure he did not but offering you the chance to protest just the same. He needed you to want his touch, to want his time as much as he wanted to give it. It was a need he couldn’t begin to understand but a need just the same. 

More so, he needed you to be aware of your need.

“No, I…” You were not sure what to say exactly as Alastor took your hand in his. It was large and warm, the grip strong as he wrapped his fingers around yours. 

“You?” he asked as he led you through the living space and into his small, simple kitchen. You tried to gather your thoughts with each timid step you took. “Talk to me. There is nothing if we cannot talk to eachother.” 

“And if we do?” you asked, voice so soft you were sure he didn’t hear the question you dared to ask. “What is there if we do?”

“And if we do, it’s everything,” he said confidently, though you didn’t know what exactly that meant. “So tell me, my dear, what is on your mind, no matter how trivial?” 

“Why do you keep doing that?” 

“Doing what?” Alastor spoke with his back to you, picking up a few splintered logs into the stove in his small kitchen. They caught quickly, landing on the bed of coals that had been sitting hot and waiting for more fuel. The kitchen was small and cramped but reminded you so much of the kitchen you had grown up in. “I figured we��d make something simple.” 

“Kissing me?” You finally spat the question out. 

Alastor looked over at you, eyebrow raised as he scooped rice out of a bin. “Because I only have so much time to do so. Would you like me to stop?”

“No!” you answered too quickly, slapping your hands over your lips as if you could shove the word back into your mouth. 

“Wonderful!” Alastor all but cheered as he grabbed a few peppers from a basket. 

“I’m just not used to it, is all.” Your words came hesitantly as you opened the icebox, needing to look anywhere but at Alastor. 

There were packages wrapped in butcher’s paper sitting on the shelf, unmarked but neatly stored. You grabbed the first one and unwrapped it, peeling the paper back from the meat carefully, not wanting to touch the meat itself. The slab of meat was not something you recognized, though it looked somewhat like pork. While you didn’t know what the meat was, you knew it was not sausage. 

“This one, darling.” Alastor came behind you, plucking the package from your hand and re-wrapping it after pointing to a package tucked close to the side. “That’s for tomorrow’s roast.” 

“What is it?” you asked as you pulled out the package of sausages. 

“I figured you’d be far accustomed to little kisses,” Alastor said, instead of answering your question. He worked while chatting, rinsing rice, then put the pot on the stove. The heavy lid clattered loudly as he set it atop the pot. “Does he not kiss you?” 

“Not like that.” Your eyebrows furrowed as you watched Alastor set to work cutting an onion. Joining him at his side, you sliced the sausage into bite size bits to match. 

“Like what?” Alastor hummed as he worked, arm brushing against yours as he dumped the vegetables into the bowl sitting on the back of the small workspace. 

“Pleasantly?” You answered after a moment, unsure what the correct words to explain something that felt so private within your marriage were. “Softly?” 

“My dear?” Alastor asked softly, scooping sausage into the bowl as you finished cutting it. “I’m not sure I understand. Do you mean to tell me you no longer enjoy it when he kisses you?” 

His eyes were locked on you as you pulled your lip between your teeth. Talk. Tell eachother things. He said that was what made the things between you what it was… whatever it was. 

“I never did,” you whispered, tears gathering in your eyes as you confessed your secrets. “I didn’t know it could feel good.” 

“You didn’t know?” Alastor chuckled at you before realizing you were serious. “Darling?” 

You watched as Alastor put a pan on the stove to heat, pouring a dash of oil in before turning for the bowl. He poured the contents and a selection of seasonings into the pan and quickly set to stirring the contents. Rich aromas quickly poured into the kitchen.

Alastor had to ask his question a second time to get you to answer. 

“No,” you finally said. 

“Forgive me for prying,” Alastor said carefully as he watched you. “But have you ever enjoyed your marriage?” 

“No.” You looked away from him as you answered. He focused his attention on the tasks at hand, putting the pot of rice on a trivet. He hummed as he returned to the stove to continue stirring the pan. “It’s not a wife’s duty to enjoy marriage, her joy comes from motherhood.”

It was the same thing you had been told all your life by your mother. It was something you had believed whole-heartedly. 

“What about courting?” Alastor asked as he pulled the pan from the stove. “Did you at least get to enjoy your courting?”

He didn’t want you to have. It would have pleased Alastor to know that you had found every moment with Laurence torturous. He wanted to be the first touch you enjoyed, the first man who’s hand you wanted to reach out for. It would please him to know you had never wanted another before him. 

“No, I-” You sighed as you grabbed two bowls out of the cabinet and set them next to the pans. You continued speaking as Alastor grabbed the wine glasses. “Courting was quick. My parents arranged it and I hardly knew Laurence before we… you know.” 

Alastor was quiet as he dished food up. It felt strange and domestic and you wanted it to be your life so much. It hurt that it wasn’t. Every time you realized this could never be yours was physically painful. 

Alastor poured wine and let the topic of conversation return to lighter things, resisting the urge to pry deeper. You had given him enough, for now, to allow him to suspect things were just as he wished. He didn’t want to risk pushing more and having that illusion shattered. 

Jokes and witty remarks filled the space. Each laugh and smile soothed nerves that had been feeling rather raw in the prior conversation. Slowly, you fell back into the relaxed ease that came with being with Alastor. 

You didn’t know what it was you were doing with Alastor, not exactly. You knew you cared for him deeply, and thought maybe he cared for you deeply. As the first glass of wine became the second and he spun you around his living room, cast in the warm glow of the setting sun and gas lights, you were more and more sure that he felt the same. 

You should get going, you knew that. It was getting late and staying later would look bad. But you wanted to. Each sip of wine had you longing for the sound of his laugh and the way his hands ran over you as he spun you around the floor. The last thing you wanted was to leave. 

“Are you having a good night in, ma cherie?” Alastor leaned down and whispered in your ear as he caught you in his arms again, though he had no reason to whisper. 

“I am, yes.” You laughed, “I have the best times with you,” you confessed before you thought twice. 

“Good,” Alastor said, nose running up the side of your neck, coming so close to kissing it. Panic flashed to life in you as you squeaked away from him. “Is something wrong?” 

“I just-” Your face felt far too hot as you looked everywhere but at Alastor.

“Talk freely, my dear.” His voice was naked again, arms still wrapped around your waist. He had to allow some distance between your back and his chest so that he could look at you better. “Remember? What is it? If I overstep, darling, you need to tell me. I’ve never done this before.” 

You chuckled, the sound felt dry in your throat. “I’ve never been a part of… of an affair, either.” 

Alastor’s thumb ran along your jaw, “That too,” He chuckled, “But I meant, care. Felt this way. Wanted this. Wanted to do these things.” 

“I don’t-” Alastor spun you around the floor of his small living room. 

“I’m not inexperienced in anything but care. I care for you, deeply. Because I care for you deeply, I never wish to hurt you.”

“How does that work?” You asked, head tilted. The wine had made it easier to talk, to be open, but you hadn’t drunk enough to keep your mind from overthinking things. 

“I love you,” he said simply, as if the simple confession did not send a bolt of lightning down your spine. “And so I do not wish to cause you pain. It’s just that simple.” 

“Love is just pain, isn’t it?” you asked as you returned to the security of his arms. 

“No, I think not.” Alastor hummed a few beats of the music before continuing. “Often marriage is but love? Love is pleasure.” 

“Is that what I taste when you kiss me?” You knew what you felt for him but dared not say it, not when you struggled to wrap your mind around the idea that you could have love without pain. Loving Alastor was painful. It was the stabbing knowledge of the fact that he wasn’t yours and the fact that if he was yours, he would hurt you. “Is that what I feel when you touch me? Your- your love for me?” 

“Let me show you, Cher, how love can feel.” Alastor knew he was likely bending the truth. He didn’t know if it felt different for you when he kissed you than it had when he had kissed any of the other women he’d passed his time with. 

What he knew was it felt different for him. It was something he desired to do, that he had time and time again caught himself longing to do, instead pressing his lips to your hair as he got a grip on himself. He knew now what that feeling women were chasing when they clung to his coattails and fluttered their eyelashes at him. 

“I don’t,” you stumbled over your words as he danced you toward the couch tucked against the wall below the stairs. “I don’t know what that means.” 

Alastor sat down on the couch, pulling you near him “Do you trust me?” He asked as he held your hand, looking up at you as you stood in front of him. 

You hesitated as you looked down at him. This thing between the two of you was terrifying. It terrified you that it was turning more physical. You didn’t want to deny Alastor, but that was also not a pain you wanted to associate with him. The Alastor in your mind had nothing to do with the pain of the intimacy between men and women. 

“Trust me,” Alastor urged instead of asking again. You wanted to trust him. Alastor had never hurt you before. 

When you nodded, Alastor spread his legs wide, scooting back on the couch. You couldn’t fight the heat that rose in your face as he tugged you to him. 

“Sit,” he said, voice unadulterated and deep. 

You did, sitting stiffly, trying to ignore the way his legs felt pressing against your hips and the warmth of his crotch behind you. His hands brushed up your arms as his breath washed over your neck. A large hand snaked around your waist, pulling your back against his hard chest, causing you to let out a squeak. 

“Relax,” Alastor murmured, voice coming softly against your ear. “If you want me to stop, tell me. I won’t hurt you. I won’t force you.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, not really knowing what was going to happen. 

How you were sitting was improper. You had sat in Laurence’s lap more than once, never by your own choice, but your heart had never beat as hard as it did now. Never did you gasp the way you did when Alastor’s lips touched your neck, just where your collar gave way to skin. 

He placed soft, small kisses along the skin as he worked his way up your neck. There was nothing you could do to stop yourself from tilting your head to the side, giving him more room for his trail of fire. 

“Does that feel good?” Alastor asked in a husky whisper. You whimpered your agreement as his hand reached up, snagging your jaw and twisting so that you could meet him as he leaned around your shoulder. “Better than when he does it?” 

“Yes,” you admitted, “I didn’t know it could feel good.” You struggled to form a thought as his lips kissed along your jaw before finding your mouth. 

“It can feel good to be touched,” Alastor whispered, hand wrapping around the hand you had placed on his chest to brace yourself with. “It should only feel good. Let me show you?” 

You whimpered his name, torn between kissing him again and fleeing. It was so much, so fast. The world was spinning as you sat, wrapped up in his arms, twisted between his legs. 

“A taste?” Alastor offered. “Let me show you a taste of what he’s depriving you of.” 

“I don’t understand.”

Alastor chuckled softly as he shifted, leaning back against the arm of the couch and draping a leg across the cushions, pulling you against him. You didn’t know what to do with your hands or your body as he held you. Never had you lain with a man that was not your husband. 

“Lean against me, Cher and trust me.” He ran his hand up and down your side and your arms. “Remember, you can tell me to stop.” 

“Okay,” your voice trembled as much as the rest of you as he pulled your skirt to bunch around your thighs. 

Alastor’s other hand pulled your jaw up and back so that he could kiss you again. He shifted, rising on his side some, pinning you between him and the back of the couch to a degree. He kissed you with a hunger that you recognized and yet it made you feel hot all over in a way such a hungry kiss never had before. 

His lips matched yours, working with you, pushing and pulling. You wrapped your arms around his neck, dissolving into the kiss as fire caressed your body. Gripping your ribs, firmly but not painfully, his thumb caressed the side of your breast, earning a gasp from you. 

His lips parted to swallow that sound, his tongue darting out to taste you. It was a feeling you had never thought could be so intoxicating. Your mind swirled with the thoughts of what else could feel so different if Alastor did it. Fear lingered in the back of your mind that not everything would feel different. 

“I’m scared,” you whispered into the kiss.

“I will do nothing that will hurt you.” Alastor assured, kissing along your jaw as he ran his hand down your side, grabbing at your skirt and pulling it higher. “I’m going to make you feel good, that’s all,” he said as he took your earlobe between his lips. “You can trust me with that, right?”

“Okay,” you gasped as his fingers caressed your bare thigh, skin that none had touched other than you and your husband in so many years. 

Grabbing your leg, he pulled it up and hooked it over his knee, pinning it between his leg and the couch. You clutched his arm, one hand resting against his chest as you laid more on your back against him. Hot breath caressed your neck as he kissed the exposed skin while he held you tightly to him. 

His thumb brushed against your panties as he caressed higher. A squeak of embarrassment spilled from your lips before you could muffle it. 

“That’s alright,” he whispered, kissing your neck just below your ear. “It’s new and you’re shy. It feels good though, doesn’t it? My hand here?” 

“Yes, Alastor,” you whimpered. 

“Is that how you answer him?” he asked, voice hard in your ear. 

“I- yes.” 

“You don’t have to answer me like that.” His lips moved against your ear, pinching softly with each word they formed. “I’m not him. I’m not goin to hurt you.” 

“Oh,” you gasped as his hand gripped your hip, under your skirt before smoothing over the soft simple fabric of your panties, feeling the curve of your mound before running his hand down, between your legs and to the place that God had given women to share only with their husbands. 

“You feeling good?” he whispered between kisses.

You gasped as his fingers ran along your clothed slit, caressing over your hidden opening in a way that felt so foreign. It felt like your body was going to overheat as his hand ran up and down your core. 

“Can I feel you?” he asked as his hand ran up your core again, over your mound. His fingers caressed the edge of your panties. “Will you let me?” 

“Will it hurt?” you whimpered, longing for the way he had caressed you and yet terrified of the desire. 

“Was that painful?” he asked instead. 

“No,” you admitted. “Felt nice.” 

You gasped Alastor’s name as his hand slipped under your panties. They felt wet as he peeled them from your heated flesh. It made no sense to you. You’d not laid with Laurence recently enough for him to be spilling from you and you were not bleeding this time of month. 

“You’re so wet for me,” Alastor murmured in approval, fingers sliding along your slick folds. 

“I don’t-” you gasped as his fingers caressed the nub at the head of your folds, unleashing a pleasure you hadn’t felt before. It was wrong to touch yourself and so you had hardly touched yourself, only quickly for cleaning. You did not know that it could provide these feelings to be touched. 

“This is how it should be,” Alastor said, fingers working over you as he catalogued every gasping breath. “Have you truly never felt this?” 

“No, I-” You tried to squirm away as he ran his fingers over your clit again and gain, “Too much,” you pleased.

“Does it hurt?” he asked as he pulled his fingers from your folds, letting them rest against your mound. 

“No,” you gasped, body instantly craving the feeling of his touch. “Too much.” You said even as you tried to close your legs to get some friction somehow. 

“Do you want more?” Alastor asked, and you nodded, timidly.

His fingers slipped down along the trail of slick he had left, caressing down your slit as the pad of his finger caressed your opening. This was not for tonight, though he was confident that you would enjoy that as well. It was best to start small. His poor dear may as well be virginal for all the care and attention Laurence had provided you. 

He worked your body until your chest was heaving, a pressure building as he whispered praises and sweet words in your ear. How honored was he to give you your first orgasm, though you didn’t know what that meant until the waves crashed over you. 

When you came undone in his arms, you were ill prepared for the feeling. You twitched and shifted in his arms as the unfamiliar feeling washed over you, sending your muscles clenching and releasing as you cried out. His fingers slowed to a stop as your body relaxed, lessening the stimulation as you were left gasping against his chest. 

“What happened?” you asked, blinking your eyes as you tried to bring the room into focus. 

“You came,” Alastor said simply. “I’m honored to have been the first to bring you to completion.” 

“I thought,” heat rose in your cheeks though you struggled to feel shame in the afterglow of what happened. 

“That it was reserved for men?” Alastor chucked as he tugged your skirt down. “Hardly. A man who cares will see to it his lover sees her completion before he takes his own.” 

“That happened because you- you love me?” you asked, turning in his arms to face him as you knelt between his spread legs. 

“It happened because I know how to touch a woman,” Alastor admitted, cradling your face in the hand he had left clean of your juices. “But I did it for you because I care.” 

“Alastor, I-” You wanted to ask him why your husband never did that for you. Alastor acted as if it was normal for your body to make itself so, how did he call it, wet, but that had never happened before. Your body failed to respond that way to Laurence’s touches. 

You didn’t get to finish your question as Alastor leaned forward and kissed you softly. “That’s all for now, darling. I won’t ask for any more from you tonight.” 

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[hyuckswoman]

37. homie hoppering

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notes: i am sick as fuck and fucked for my finals cause i didn't study enough (i WILL kill myself.. let's just hope i don't have to retake this semester) if you sent me an ask in april, i will work on it right after my finals are done!!!!

ALSO on slide 23 it’s supposed to say why you prefer jaemin over me but im sick and never proofread so cut me some slack

i HADDD to insert jaem's insta post bc it really has been running on my mind ever since he posted it... crazy ass fucking man omg also had to make it my haeder on here AND on my twt acc and have him as my pfp on my tiktok acc

taglist: @imsiriuslyreal @iscocohere @simpforarmihn @replayenthusiast @lovm4rk @youreintheclubb @polarisjisung @sour-chaos @jising-jisang-jisung @aerivrs @multifandomania @tiddygang2020 @roseangelxfuma @skepvids @morkiee @yangasm @artstaeh @pussyslayerhd @bacons-thighs @bugcattie @leefullsun @jkslvsnella @alethea-moon @marvelahsobx @haechansbbg @katsukis1wife @winuvs @n0hyuck @whats-my-question @jaehyunastico @hibernatinghamster @user7520 @m1dn1ghtv1olet @starwonb1n @lostinneocity @miniature-tragedy @llearlert @haezyhyuck @inosfavgf @bluesinfinities @calumsfringe@cigarettesafterjae @defzcl @delfdiary @minkyuncutie @bunnyjaycheoluwu @sofix-hc7