#the world: imploding around them

[icewindandboringhorror]

January 2025 moodboard

[thefandomexpert]

MAN

i am once again thinking about how fucking funny a wh40k/ffxiv crossover would be

[leyiorr]

i can't stop looking at her t-t-t-t, FACE!

mdni.

satoru gojo is doomed.

why is he doomed, you ask? well, put bluntly, you, his girlfriend of five months, are driving him absolutely crazy.

crazy is an understatement, actually. insane, mad, mental, unhinged, deranged, bonkers - whatever you want to call it. he's holding on by a thread; the thinly woven string known as sanity growing ever weaker as the days roll by and turn into weeks.

of course, he's only blaming you. you hadn't actually done anything wrong.

you're the first relationship satoru's had in his life, and he'd be damned if some inappropriate thoughts ruin his chances with the love of his life. he'd never been happier - dating you gave him the kind of happiness he thought only existed in movies; the kind of giddiness of a child in a candy store.

he was devoted to you in every way, shape and form - you are everything he's dreamed of and more.

more.

that's right, you were more.

recently, you were the devil's temptation personified.

surprisingly, even after twenty-odd years of being one of the most attractive guys around, and having women throw themselves at him like he's some kind of greek deity, satoru is a virgin. i'll repeat that, he is a virgin. a fact that only suguru knows. a fact that he's neglected to tell his girlfriend.

he may have a flirtatious personality and the ability to charm ninety percent of the human race with one of his thousand-kilowatt smiles, but in truth, he had never dated anyone. ever. let alone got his dick in a pussy.

so when he starts wanting to go further, he's not sure how to bring it up without sounding like a horndog.

it all started when you wore a sleek black dress to one of your dates. it clung to your figure, fabric wrapping shamelessly around your every curve and tickling your midthigh at its end. and if that wasn't bad enough, it had a plunging neckline, giving the world - satoru specifically - an eyeful of the assets god gifted you with. your boobs were practically spilling out of your dress, the light catching your cleavage as you held his arm. he could feel himself salivating like some sort of perv. how was he supposed to focus with aphrodite's personal creation hanging off his arm?

his eyes began to drift to the flesh of your chest more than he'd like to admit. all sorts of r-rated scenarios ran through his head and he dared to entertain every. single. one. he could do so much with them, tease them, spit on them, pinch them, suck on them, put his dick between them-

“satoru?”

his gaze snaps back to your face at record speed. you notice how he's chewing his bottom lip, flush creeping onto his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. his hands are clammy; there's suddenly too little oxygen in his room.

“did you listen to anything i said?” your arms fold beneath your bosom and satoru almost implodes.

what do you expect him to do? the necklace around your neck has his initial on it, and it hovers over your tits almost mockingly. if it snapped, the letter would fall right between the valley of your breasts-

“satoru!”

he's choking on his saliva, apologizing profusely as he encourages you to continue your story - though he hasn't heard shit over the blood pumping loudly in his ears.

it's a battle no, a war between his rationality and his desires and he doesn't know which is winning. his rationality wins when he's around you - he just sucks in a breath and thugs it out, no matter how much his dick shouts at him. but in private, he's letting the desires win as his fists himself to the thought of you, your lips, your ass; your boobs.

the first time he sees you in a bikini he has to take a breather before he can get into a game of beach volleyball with you and the group.

(and even then he was struggling. every time you jumped for the ball the only thing he was looking at was your tits.)

he should be neutered. effective immediately.

it drags out for so long that you finally notice, and force him to talk to you about why he's avoiding you, and if you'd done anything wrong. but all you get is:

“baby, i'm so sorry- you're so pretty and i can't help myself. i didn't know how to bring up that i wanted to take our relationship to the next step, you mean the world to me and i'd hate to make you uncomfortable-” he trips and stumbles over his words-

“...is that it?”

and his eyes bug out of his head as he stares at you. weeks, months of agony over this and all you have to say is 'is that it'?

he doesn't even have chance to respond; to process your words before you're popping the top button of your blouse.

yeah, satoru gojo is doomed.

[strangelittlestories]

It is a little known fact that angels cannot step foot in hell.

Note: this does not mean that angels *don’t* enter the burning depths, only that they cannot touch the floor. You see, the fires that rage below are not regular fire. They do not consume fuel and oxygen and spit out heat. Instead, they chew on reality and drink down order, and the flames that lick up at you are made of chaos-filled void.

This is antithetical to the very substance of angels. If it touches them, at *best* the angels will be spat out as they are forcibly reminded that *they don’t go here*.

At medium, they will be unmade.

At worst, they will be *changed*.

You might think they could avoid this by simply flying through the pit, right? Oh, would that it were so simple. Remember the flames that burn up reality? Hell is an alchemical reaction of exploding space and logic and time and souls. You try flying through a place that is not a place, where up and down can hardly agree on which is which for more than an instant.

But there is a way around this. It was originally discovered by the guardian angel Cambiel. You see, under Cambiel’s protection was a woman named Ruth. Ruth was a shining light who Cambiel cared for greatly.

Ruth, in turn, had a woman she cared for very much. And, sadly, a demon had stolen Ruth’s love away from her.

“Do not follow her,” warned Cambiel, “for if you follow your heart through the gates of perdition, I cannot go with you.”

“Sorry, babe,” replied Ruth, “but I am *very* gay and *very* romantic and that has made me reckless.”

And Cambiel nodded sadly, for all of this was true and good.

But as Ruth walked the lonely, tortured path into the underworld, an idea occurred to Cambiel.

Sure, they couldn’t walk or fly into hell, but maybe they could *ride* there.

Now, a fully grown horse could not hope to navigate the depths beneath the world, for their sense of self-preservation was too strong. An adult horse would flee from the screams of imploding souls and the winding geometry of impossibly winding roads.

But a young horse? With a child’s innocence, with bright young eyes, who had not yet been tricked into believing in its mortality?

That was a mount that could bear an angel (who was, after all, light enough to dance on the head of a pin) into the fearful caverns of the beyond. Honestly, the little horse seemed weirdly enthused about the whole thing. 

And so did Cambiel guide a pair of reckless and romantic (and useless) lesbians out of hell.

When the pair thanked the angel, all they said was this:

“Don’t thank me, thank the little horse. It turns out … foals rush in where angels fear to tread.”

[jupiterpilgrim]

Attitude

Kim Chaewon x Male Reader

word count: 13K

It's Friday.

The office is dead quiet, the kind of silence that feels too heavy after hours. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting pale, washed-out light on the few desks still occupied. Yours is one of them.

You’re slouched over your keyboard like roadkill, head resting on your folded arms. Everything feels muted—your energy, your mood, the world in general. You haven’t eaten all day, and the cold leftover coffee in your mug tastes like despair.

But before you can continue to suffocate in your cocoon of sadness and self-pity, her sharp voice cuts in:

“Wow. You look like shit.”

You lift your head just enough to glare at Kim Chaewon. She’s leaning against the side of your desk, arms crossed, her sharp bob framing her face like she stepped off a Pinterest board for "hot office chic." Her tailored pants sit perfectly on her hips, sharp creases cutting down her turned legs, emphasizing every curve. The blouse she’s wearing is neatly tucked in, accentuating that unfairly tiny waist. The coat? New, for sure—some designer nonsense, knowing her. Her expression is as sharp as ever, her dark eyes cutting right into you.

“Thanks,” you mumble, dropping your head back down. “Really needed that.”

She doesn’t move. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You groan into your arms. “Just tired, okay? Long day.”

Chaewon snorts, a sound that’s half amusement, half derision. “Yeah, because you’re known for working so hard. Sure.”

“I’m serious.” You finally sit up, running a hand through your hair. It doesn’t matter how you try to play this; she can see right through you.

She always does.

“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice softens, just a bit, but there’s still an edge. “I know something’s up. You’ve been moping around all week like someone kicked your dog.”

“It’s nothing.”

She tilts her head, her sharp gaze narrowing. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

You tense up, your fingers clenching around the edge of your desk. “I, uh… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I knew it.” She exhales through her nose, shaking her head like she’s disgusted. “God, I told you this was going to happen.”

There it is. The last thing you need: Chaewon’s patented I Told You So energy. “Seriously, I’m fine,” you lie, your voice cracking in a way that betrays you completely.

“Oh, you’re fine?” She raises an eyebrow, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Cool. That’s why you look like someone just ran over your soul.”

You press your palms into your eyes, trying to block her out. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well, tough.” She uncrosses her arms, resting a hand on her hip. “Let’s go get a drink.”

You blink up at her. “What?”

“A drink,” she repeats, like you’re an idiot. “You know, alcohol? That thing you drown your sorrows in?”

“Why?”

“Because sitting here sulking is pathetic, and I can’t stand looking at it anymore.” Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smirk. “And let’s be real, you’ll be slightly less annoying when you’re drunk.”

You hesitate. The thought of spending more time with Chaewon—queen of snark, master of unsolicited opinions—isn’t exactly appealing. But then again, neither is going home to your empty apartment.

And besides, she is your friend after all. Even though she seems to care about you in a way that is particularly hers.

“Fine,” you mutter, grabbing your bag and coat. “One drink.”

Her smirk widens. “Make it two. You’re going to need it.”

—

The two of you walk down the hallway toward the elevators, your steps heavy, hers sharp and purposeful. The silence stretches between you, awkward and suffocating, so you try to fill it with literally anything else.

“So… did you see the email about the quarterly report updates?” you ask, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Looks like the finance team is gonna implode again.”

Chaewon glances at you, her expression blank. “Uh-huh.”

Encouraged by the lack of immediate judgment, you keep going. “Yeah, they keep messing up the projections. I mean, how hard is it to use a spreadsheet, right?” You force a chuckle. “Maybe we should give them remedial Excel classes or something. Like, step one: stop sucking.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, noncommittal.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye. She’s staring straight ahead, her lips twitching like she’s holding back a laugh—or gearing up to kill you. It’s hard to tell with her.

The elevator dings, and you step inside, immediately finding something—anything—to stare at. The buttons, the wall, the floor.

God, the floor is fascinating.

Is that gum?

No, just a weird stain.

“Okay, what the hell are you doing?” Chaewon’s voice slices through the awkward silence, sharp and irritated.

“What?” You glance at her but quickly look away again. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” She crosses her arms, leaning against the side of the elevator, her dark eyes locked on you. “You’re acting like a guilty teenager. What’s your deal?”

“I’m not—” You pause, frowning at the ceiling now like it holds the answers to life’s mysteries. “I’m not doing anything.”

Her gaze feels like a laser, burning into the side of your head. You swallow hard, desperate to shift gears. “Hey, uh, did you cut your hair?” You gesture vaguely at her head, avoiding her eyes. “Looks shorter.”

Chaewon’s brow furrows, then her lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk. “Wow. You’re really gonna do this, huh?”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning confusion.

“Run away from the conversation like a little bitch.”

Fuck.

“I’m not running away,” you mumble, staring at the floor again.

She straightens, taking a small step closer, and you can feel her eyes boring into you. “Oh, you absolutely are. It’s almost impressive, honestly.”

The elevator dings again, signaling you’ve reached the ground floor, and you practically lunge for the door. Anything to escape the suffocating space and her relentless gaze. But as you walk out, her voice follows, resonant and unforgiving:

“You know you can’t avoid this forever, right?”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. You’re not sure if the drink she promised will make this better—or worse. Probably worse.

Now outside the building, the city feels colder than usual, the January air slicing through your thin coat. You jam your hands deeper into your pockets as Chaewon strides ahead, leading the way to a bar you’ve been to a few times after work. It’s nothing fancy—dim lighting, common wooden tables, decent drinks. The kind of place you don’t have to think too much about, which suits you fine right now.

She’s quiet for once, her steps crisp against the sidewalk. You trail behind, trying to figure out how to fill the silence. Talking feels safer than letting her drag you into emotional territory.

“I, uh, I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift lately,” you blurt out.

That gets her attention.

She slows, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Taylor Swift?”

“Yeah. You said I should give her a shot, remember? You’re always going on about her lyrics or whatever.”

Chaewon’s mouth quirks, like she’s fighting a smile. “And?”

“And…” You hesitate, feeling oddly self-conscious. “She’s good, okay? I’ve had Blank Space on repeat all week.”

At that, she lets out a short laugh, the sound cutting through the cold. “Oh my god. That’s such a basic choice.”

“Hey, it’s catchy,” you protest, grinning despite yourself. “And relatable. You know, the whole ‘darling, I’m a nightmare’ vibe.”

“Relatable?” She tilts her head, smirking. “You think you’re the nightmare, or…”

“Can we not analyze my music choices right now?” you cut in, shaking your head.

For a moment, the mood feels lighter. She’s distracted, you’re distracted, and the tension hanging between you starts to dissolve. But just as you’re beginning to think you’ve dodged the worst of it, she pulls the rug out from under you.

“So,” Chaewon says casually, “about your relationship…”

You groan, throwing your head back. “Seriously? I thought we were bonding over Taylor Swift!”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.” She stops walking, turning to face you with her arms crossed. Her eyes are sharp again, cutting right through your defenses. “When did it end?”

You hesitate, your mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“That’s what I thought,” she says, filling the silence.

Desperate to steer the conversation away, you blurt out, “What about you? Any big plans for 2025?”

She blinks, caught off guard for half a second before narrowing her eyes. “Nice try.”

“No, really. What’s the plan? New job? New hobbies? Finally learning to not be such a pain in the ass?”

Chaewon rolls her eyes but humors you. “I don’t know. Probably more of the same. Working, eating overpriced sushi, babysitting your emotional meltdowns.”

“I don’t have meltdowns,” you mutter.

“Sure you don’t.”

You both start walking again, the bar now just a block away. The cold bites at your face, but her presence feels oddly warm, even when she’s being difficult.

Then, she strikes. “When did it end?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and this time, there’s no escape. You shove your hands deeper into your coat pockets, staring at the ground as you mutter, “Four days ago.”

Chaewon stops again, her boots scuffing against the pavement. “Four days?” she repeats, her voice softer now.

You nod, your throat tight.

She doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at you like she’s trying to figure out what to do next. Her usual sharpness fades, replaced by something you can’t quite name.

“Come on,” she finally says, her voice quieter. “Let’s get that drink.”

You follow her into the bar, bracing yourself for whatever’s coming next.

—

The bar is dimly lit, the kind of place where the furniture doesn’t match and the music is just loud enough to drown out awkward silences. It smells like spilled beer and fried food, comforting in a low-effort kind of way. You follow Chaewon to a corner table, sliding into the seat opposite her. Your back is hunched, arms resting on the table like they might just hold you together.

Chaewon doesn’t even ask what you want. She waves down the bartender and orders your usual—a whiskey soda—and something for herself. The fact that she remembers your drink feels both reassuring and mildly irritating, like she’s been quietly cataloging your life just to one-up you at moments like this.

When she comes back with the drinks, she slides yours across the table, taking her own seat. “Here,” she says, setting her glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Drink. You need it.”

You pick up the glass, taking a slow sip. The burn of the whiskey settles in your chest, warming you in a way the freezing walk over couldn’t.

For a moment, you think she might let you enjoy the drink in peace. But of course not.

“So,” she starts, leaning back in her chair. “What happened?”

You sigh, swirling the ice in your glass. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” Her tone is firm, unrelenting. She sips her drink, her eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass. “Spill.”

You set the glass down, running a hand through your hair. “We just… weren’t compatible anymore.”

Chaewon snorts. “Bullshit. What does that even mean?”

“It means we had different tastes,” you say, glaring at her. “She liked going out all the time; I’d rather stay home. She liked clubbing; I liked reading. She thought Netflix was boring—who even thinks that?!” You pause, rubbing your temples. “And then she started getting distant, like she didn’t even enjoy talking to me anymore. Everything I said felt like it annoyed her. Until…”

“Until?” Chaewon prompts, her tone sharper now.

“Until she snapped,” you mutter. “She said I was boring. And too nerdy. For her, apparently.”

Chaewon’s jaw tightens. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Nope.”

“That’s such bullshit.” She slams her drink down on the table, the glass clinking against the wood. “What the hell is wrong with her? I mean, boring? Nerdy? Please. She’s just projecting her own basic-ass insecurities onto you.”

You let out a weak laugh, staring into your drink. “Yeah, well, you warned me, right?”

“You’re damn right I did.” She points a finger at you like she’s scolding a misbehaving child. “From the second you introduced her, I knew she wasn’t worth it. God, the way she talked about astrology like it was a science? Red flag. Huge.”

“Okay, she wasn’t that bad,” you mutter.

Chaewon narrows her eyes. “Don’t defend her. She literally called you boring, and for what? Because you’re not into overpriced cocktails and pretending to enjoy techno music?”

You chuckle despite yourself, shaking your head.

“And another thing,” she continues, clearly warming up now. “Why the hell do you always go for these girls, huh? These… these cookie-cutter influencers or wannabe fashionistas or whatever? It’s like you have a radar for people who are only gonna treat you like crap.”

“Wow, thanks for the support,” you say dryly.

“I’m serious!” She leans forward, her voice dropping slightly. “You could date someone who actually appreciates you. Someone who doesn’t think liking sci-fi is a crime or that staying in is a death sentence. Someone who…” She pauses, looking away briefly before shaking her head. “Anyway, you have terrible taste, is what I’m saying.”

You rest your arms on the table, elbows planted firmly as your hands cradle your head. The whiskey soda sits half-finished in front of you, the ice already starting to melt, but you barely notice it.

“I don’t think I’m compatible with anyone,” you mutter, more to the table than to Chaewon.

She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms as she watches you with that unreadable expression she’s so good at. “Oh, here we go.”

“I’m serious.” You glance up at her, your face twisted in defeat. “I think I’m just… done. With all of it.”

“‘Done’?” she repeats, her tone dripping with skepticism.

“Yeah.” You sit up slightly, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Love. Dating. Relationships. The whole thing. What’s the point? It’s just rejection after rejection, disappointment after disappointment. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m the problem.”

Chaewon snorts, swirling the drink in her hand. “That’s dramatic, even for you.”

“Is it, though?” You lean forward, resting your chin on your hands. “I mean, think about it. Every time I try, it ends the same way. They get bored, or I annoy them, or they find someone else who’s, I don’t know, less me.”

Her brows knit together slightly, the teasing edge in her expression softening just a bit. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being realistic,” you counter, sitting back in your chair with a defeated sigh. “Maybe I’m just not meant to be with anyone. Maybe I’m one of those people who’s better off alone.”

She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose. “God, you’re exhausting.”

“See? Even you can’t stand me for too long,” you joke bitterly.

Chaewon sets her drink down with a loud clink, leaning forward to glare at you. “Stop it. You’re not the problem. Like I said, the problem is your taste in women.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Don't play dumb.” She waves a hand, dismissing your confusion. “You keep picking people who don’t deserve you. People who don’t get you. That’s on them, not you.”

“Or maybe,” you say, lowering your voice, “I’m just not worth getting.”

Her glare sharpens, and for a second, you think she might actually throw her drink at you. “Don’t. Don’t do that self-pitying bullshit. You’re worth it. You’re just too stupid to see it.”

You let out a humorless laugh, rubbing your hands over your face. “Thanks for the pep talk. Really uplifting.”

Chaewon exhales sharply, sitting back and crossing her arms again. “Look, you’re not perfect. You’re stubborn, and you overthink everything, and sometimes you talk about The Legend of Zelda like it’s a religion.”

“It is a religion,” you mutter.

“But—” she continues, ignoring you, “—you’re also kind, and funny, and smart. And you care, probably too much, which is why these assholes keep hurting you. That’s not a bad thing, okay? It just means you need to stop wasting your time on people who don’t care back.”

Her words hang in the air, heavier than you expected. You stare at your glass, tracing the condensation with your finger. “I’m tired, Chaewon,” you admit quietly. “I’m just… tired of trying.”

Her expression softens, the sharp edges dulling slightly. She reaches across the table, nudging your hand with hers. “Then stop trying so hard. Let the right person find you.”

You glance up at her, and for a moment, you think you see something in her eyes—something that makes your chest tighten. But before you can figure it out, she leans back, grabbing her drink again.

“And in the meantime,” she adds, her smirk returning, “stop being such a drama queen. You’re not giving up on love. Think of it like you're taking a break.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “Fine. A break. But if I die alone, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.” She clinks her glass against yours, a crooked smile on her lips.

You take another sip of your drink, feeling the warmth seep into your bones. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter now, though not by much. Chaewon watches you over the rim of her glass, there’s something softer lurking in her gaze—a flicker of concern she’d probably deny if you brought it up.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “did you actually cut your hair?”

Chaewon huffs, rolling her eyes. “Yes. Why?”

You shrug, trying to sound casual. “It suits you. I mean, it’s good. Really good, actually.”

She pauses mid-sip, her eyes flicking to yours. “Thanks,” she says, her tone vague, but the way she fidgets with her glass gives her away.

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “You’re bad at taking compliments, you know that?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile, and for a second, the tension between you dissolves completely.

The conversation drifts to safer territory after that, and you find yourself updating her on the games you’ve been playing. “I’ve been sinking way too many hours into that new RPG,” you admit, swirling the ice in your glass. “The one with the insane skill trees? It’s stupidly addictive.”

She tilts her head, genuinely interested. “The one with the branching storylines?”

“Yeah! I’ve already screwed up like three questlines because I made the wrong dialogue choices. It’s brutal.”

Chaewon chuckles, resting her chin on her hand as she listens. “Sounds like it’s punishing you for being indecisive.”

“Exactly! It’s like the developers made it specifically to torture me.”

You keep talking, describing the game mechanics, the world-building, the characters. And she listens. Really listens. She’s not scrolling through her phone or zoning out or pretending to care just to be polite. She’s engaged, asking questions, making observations that show she’s actually paying attention.

It hits you then, how different this is. How different she is.

Your ex never really cared about this stuff. She’d roll her eyes the moment you brought up a game, tuning out or flat-out telling you she wasn’t interested. Conversations with her always felt like walking a tightrope, trying to find the one topic that wouldn’t bore her. With Chaewon, it’s… easy.

“Honestly, I think you’d like it,” you say, gesturing with your glass. “The story’s your kind of thing—morally gray characters, lots of political intrigue. You’d probably end up siding with the villain, though.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Why would I side with the villain?”

“Because you’re a menace,” you deadpan, grinning when she rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m not the type to get emotionally attached to fictional characters,” she fires back, smirking.

“First of all, rude,” you say, pointing at her. “Second of all, you cried at the end of Fullmetal Alchemist, so don’t even.”

Her smirk falters, and she narrows her eyes. “That doesn’t count. That was different.”

“Sure it was.”

The banter flows easily, the kind that feels effortless, natural. You realize, not for the first time, how much you enjoy talking to her. How much you look forward to these moments when the world feels less crushing and complicated.

And then there’s the way she’s looking at you now, her dark eyes steady and focused, her chin still resting on her hand. Like she’s actually glad to be here with you.

You don’t say it out loud, but it’s nice.

It’s more than nice.

“Anyway,” she says, breaking the silence, “if you’re going to recommend a game, you better let me borrow it. Why waste money when I've got you, my walking game library?"

You laugh, raising your glass in mock salute. “Consider it done.”

You can’t help but smile as Chaewon takes a sip of her drink, the corners of her lips quirking upward in that way that says she’s amused but refuses to fully admit it. Her eyes glimmer in the low bar lighting, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you are in your own little bubble, separate from the hum of the bar around you.

“You know,” you say, swirling the last of your whiskey, “I wasn’t kidding about you siding with the villain. You’ve got that whole morally ambiguous vibe.”

Chaewon raises an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. “Excuse me? Morally ambiguous? Care to elaborate?”

“Sure.” You grin, resting your elbows on the table. “You’re always roasting me for no reason. You have a resting bitch face so intense it scares the new hires. And don’t think I didn’t see you steal the last donut at the office meeting last week, even though you knew I hadn’t had breakfast.”

Her jaw drops in mock indignation. “Okay, first of all, the donuts are fair game. It’s survival of the fittest.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it?” you tease. “Because it looked more like petty theft.”

Chaewon snorts, trying to stifle her laugh, but it escapes anyway—a melodic sound that fills the space between you. It’s unguarded, real, and it makes your chest feel a little lighter.

“Second of all,” she continues, still smiling, “you were too slow. Not my fault you can’t fight for what you want.”

“Wow,” you say, feigning a wounded expression. “Cold. Absolutely ruthless.”

“I’m a realist,” she quips, smirking.

“No, you’re a donut thief.”

That gets her again. She leans back, laughing openly now, her shoulders shaking as she tries to catch her breath. The sound is warm, bright, and for some reason, it feels like a reward—a moment of connection you didn’t realize you needed.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” she says, wiping at the corner of her eye.

“Maybe,” you admit, grinning. “But at least I’m not the office villain.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes but doesn’t stop smiling. “If anyone’s the villain, it’s you. You’re the one who keeps stealing my stapler.”

“Only because you keep hiding my mouse batteries.”

“That was one time.”

“And it was chaos,” you retort. “I couldn’t even Google how to fix it because I didn’t have a mouse!”

She laughs again, her head tilting back slightly, and you realize how rare it is to see her this relaxed. There’s always a sharpness to her—an edge—but right now, she’s softer, her usual armor cracked just enough for you to peek through.

“You know,” you say after a moment, your tone more thoughtful, “you should laugh more. It suits you.”

She blinks, caught off guard, her smile fading just slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it’s nice,” you say simply, leaning back in your chair. “Seeing you like this. It’s… nice.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she clears her throat, sitting up straighter. “Don’t get sappy on me, okay? I don’t do sappy.”

“Noted,” you say with a mock salute, though you can’t help but notice the faint blush creeping up her neck.

The conversation drifts again, this time to lighter topics—shared office gossip, the weird guy who sits by the printer, and that time Chaewon accidentally sent a snarky email to the entire department.

But through it all, you find yourself stealing glances at her, marveling at how she seems to know exactly how to pull you out of your own head. How she listens, really listens, in a way that makes you feel seen. And how her laughter—bright, unrestrained, and unapologetically her—lingers in the back of your mind, long after the sound fades.

—

The bar has emptied out a bit, the din of voices replaced by the soft hum of the jukebox in the corner playing some indie song you don’t recognize. Three rounds have come and gone—the whiskey soda you started with, smooth and sharp; a pint of amber ale, bitter enough to match your mood; and finally, a vodka tonic that sits untouched, the ice long since melted into a watery mess. You’re slumped over, your head resting on your arms, the fatigue creeping in after a long, emotionally draining day.

Across from you, Chaewon is still sitting upright, her glass half-empty as she watches you with an expression you can’t quite place. The faint buzz of alcohol has softened the sharp edges of her usual demeanor, leaving her looking almost thoughtful.

You lift your head just enough to look at her, squinting through the dim light. “What?”

She blinks, startled, as if she didn’t realize you’d noticed her staring. “What, what?”

“That look,” you say, waving a hand vaguely in her direction. “You’re doing that thing where you’re thinking too hard. What’s on your mind?”

Chaewon huffs, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” you murmur, resting your chin on your arms. “You’ve got that little smile thing going on. Spill.”

Her lips twitch, betraying her, and she glances away like she’s debating whether or not to answer. Finally, she sighs, shaking her head. “It’s just… you’ve got this thing about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued despite your exhaustion. “What thing?”

“This… helpless puppy vibe,” she says, her voice laced with reluctant amusement. “Like you’re just wandering through life, looking all lost and sad, and it makes people want to take care of you.”

You stare at her, caught between offense and confusion. “A puppy? Really?”

“Yeah, a puppy,” she repeats, smirking now. “Big, sad eyes. Kind of scruffy. Probably needs a bath. It's dangerous, you know?”

“Wow,” you say, sitting up slightly. “Thanks for that vivid and insulting description.”

“You asked.” She shrugs, but there’s something softer in her gaze now, a flicker of vulnerability she’s trying to hide.

You rest your head back on your arms, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “So what’s so dangerous about this hypothetical puppy version of me?”

Chaewon hesitates, tapping her fingers against her glass. When she speaks, her voice is quieter, almost hesitant. “Dangerous for… someone who thinks you deserve better. Someone who wants to see you happy.”

The words hang between you, heavy and unexpected. For a moment, you’re not sure if you heard her right.

“Someone like that actually exists?” you ask, your tone a mix of skepticism and self-deprecating humor.

She doesn’t answer immediately, her eyes flicking up to meet yours. There’s something in her expression now—something raw and unguarded that you’ve never seen before.

“You’re looking at this person,” she says simply.

The room feels too quiet all of a sudden, the music in the background fading into nothing. You stare at her, trying to process the weight of her words. There’s no teasing smirk, no sarcastic remark to soften the blow. Just Chaewon, sitting there, her gaze steady and unapologetic.

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Your brain is scrambling for something—anything—to say, but all you can do is stare at her like an idiot.

Finally, she breaks the silence, her lips quirking into a small, self-conscious smile. “Don’t look so shocked. It’s not like I’ve been subtle.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, your voice cracking slightly.

She laughs softly, the sound both nervous and amused. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you admit, still reeling. “I’m starting to get that.”

Chaewon leans forward, resting her elbows on the table as she studies you. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says quietly. “I just… I thought you should know.”

You nod slowly, your mind still spinning. The warmth in her gaze, the way she’s looking at you now—it feels like a lifeline, pulling you out of the fog you’ve been drowning in.

“Thanks,” you say finally.

“For what?”

“For… being here.”

The bar feels quieter than ever, as if the world has tuned out everything except the two of you. The moment feels too big for words, so you don’t try.

Instead, you ask:

“Can I hug you?”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Right now? In the middle of the bar?”

You glance around, gesturing vaguely at the room. “Why not? Nobody’s paying attention.”

She hesitates, lips pursed as if she’s weighing the pros and cons. Then, with a small huff of resignation, she nods. “Fine. But if this gets weird, I’m blaming you.”

You stand up slowly, your heart beating a little too fast as you make your way around the table. Chaewon stays seated for a moment, like she’s still deciding if she’s really going to go through with it, but then she rises to meet you.

Her arms come up awkwardly at first, like she’s not sure where to put them, but then you pull her in, and everything just clicks.

Her small frame presses against yours, fitting perfectly into the curve of your arms. She’s warm, her body soft but firm where it leans into you. Her hair smells faintly of citrus and something floral—clean, crisp, and distinctly her. And her perfume… it’s subtle but intoxicating, a quiet reminder of how she always seems to take your breath away without trying.

You hold her tighter, your hands resting gently on the small of her back. She doesn’t pull away—in fact, she leans in just a little more, her cheek brushing against your chest.

“This is nice,” you murmur, your voice low and almost sleepy.

She chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against you. “You sound like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, your eyelids drooping. “Could totally sleep here, just like this.”

Chaewon tilts her head back slightly to look up at you, her eyes catching the dim light in a way that makes your heart do something weird and uncoordinated. “You’re such an idiot,” she says, but there’s no bite to her words.

“An idiot who’s comfortable,” you counter, letting your head rest lightly against hers.

She hesitates for a beat, then says, “Come to my place.”

You blink, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “What?”

“My apartment,” she says, her voice quieter now but steady. “It’s close. You can crash there. No point in going all the way home when you’re about to pass out.”

For a moment, you just look at her, trying to process what exactly she’s offering.

“That’s… a great idea,” you say finally, your lips curving into a small smile. “Let’s do it.”

Chaewon steps back, giving you one last once-over like she’s making sure you won’t collapse on the way there. “Good. But if you snore, I’m kicking you out.”

“Fair,” you reply, grinning.

As the two of you leave the bar together, stepping out into the crisp night air, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted—something subtle but undeniable. The space between you feels smaller now, the connection deeper.

—

Chaewon’s apartment greets you with a kind of stillness, like it’s been waiting quietly for her return. She’s ahead of you, shrugging off her coat and neatly hanging it on the hook by the door before toeing off her boots and lining them up with precision against the wall.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, her voice casual but carrying that hint of expectation, like she’s daring you to do anything but comply. “Want some tea?”

“Tea sounds great,” you say, still standing awkwardly in the entryway, unsure where to step in a place that looks like it belongs in a design catalog. To avoid mistakes, you mimic her movements, hanging your coat next to hers, same thing with your shoes. You place your bag on the floor beside the sofa to keep it from being in the way. "I love tea, it's very, uh, natural."

She nods and disappears into the kitchen, leaving you to take it all in.

The space is pure Chaewon—clean, clinical, with sharp angles and muted tones. The furniture is sleek and minimal, not a throw pillow out of place. Even the books on the shelves are organized by size, their spines forming a perfect gradient from light to dark. There’s no clutter, no mess, not even a stray sock to prove she actually lives here.

You wander further in, the floor under your socked feet smooth and cool. There’s a single potted plant on the windowsill, its leaves glossy and impossibly green, like it’s been getting five-star treatment since birth. You stop to study it, half expecting to see tiny instructions taped to the pot—water twice a day, rotate for even sunlight, apologize if you overwater.

The shelves catch your eye next. Books, a few picture frames, a small collection of vinyl records. You tilt your head, curious, but resist the urge to reach out and touch anything. The last thing you need is to knock over some rare artifact of her highly curated life.

“You’re snooping,” Chaewon’s voice comes from behind you, startling you enough to make you flinch.

“Not snooping,” you protest, spinning around. “Just… looking. Observing. Admiring?”

She raises an eyebrow, one hand holding a mug, the other a small tray with a teapot and another mug. “Uh-huh. You're acting like a nosy puppy.”

“Err, I really don't understand this correlation between puppies and me... Maybe I’m just trying to figure you out,” you quip, though your face feels a little warm at being caught.

Chaewon smirks, setting the tray down on the coffee table and gesturing for you to sit on the couch. You oblige, sinking into the surprisingly firm cushions as she pours the tea with careful precision.

Her movements are methodical, each gesture deliberate, like she’s done this a thousand times before. When she hands you the mug, her fingers brush yours for just a second, and you’re hit again with that faint citrus-and-floral scent that clings to her.

“Thanks,” you say, wrapping your hands around the mug for warmth.

She sits down beside you, her posture as precise as everything else about her. For a moment, neither of you says anything, the silence filled with the soft clink of the teapot as she sets it back on the tray.

“So?” she asks, finally breaking the quiet. “What’s your verdict?”

“On what?”

“My place,” she says, gesturing around with one hand. “You’ve been staring at everything like a toddler in a museum.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s… very you.”

Her brow furrows slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Organized. Clean. Intimidatingly perfect,” you say, taking a sip of tea to hide your smirk.

Chaewon narrows her eyes at you, but there’s no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky you’re tired, or I’d kick you out for that one.”

“You’d miss me,” you shoot back.

“Drink your tea,” she says, turning away, but you don’t miss the faint smile tugging at her lips.

The tea’s warmth seeps into your hands as you cradle the mug, its steam curling lazily into the air. Chaewon sits beside you, legs crossed, her own mug resting on her knee as she watches you with that quiet intensity she’s so good at. The conversation has drifted to safer topics—work drama, the weird quirks of your mutual coworkers—but the energy feels heavier now, like there’s something unspoken hanging between you.

You laugh at something she says about your boss’s obsession with motivational quotes, but it comes out thinner than you intended. Chaewon notices immediately, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head.

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the mug. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “You’ve got that weird energy again.”

You laugh nervously, setting the mug down on the coffee table. “Weird energy?”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back against the couch. “Like you’re trying to calculate how to escape a room without making a scene.”

You rub the back of your neck, looking away. “It’s nothing. Just… tired, I guess.”

Chaewon isn’t buying it. She sets her mug down beside yours and shifts slightly, turning to face you more directly. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You glance at her, then quickly look away again, focusing on the pattern of the rug instead. “It’s stupid.”

“Good thing I’ve got time for stupid,” she says, her voice tinged with amusement. “Come on. Out with it.”

You sigh, your shoulders sagging. “It’s just… I don’t want to ruin things.”

“Ruin what?” she asks, her brow furrowing.

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely between you. “Us. I’ve messed up before, you know? With other girls. I always say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing, or just… end up being too much. And I don’t want to lose you. You’re one of the few people who actually seems to get me.”

The words hang in the air. You immediately regret saying them, your stomach twisting as you brace for whatever sharp, sarcastic response she’s bound to throw your way.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Chaewon shifts closer, her movements slow and deliberate. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she looks at you, her face unreadable. “You won’t ruin anything,” she says quietly, her voice steady. “I promise.”

You glance at her, startled by the softness in her tone. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” she counters, her gaze unwavering. “You think I don’t know who you are by now? All the awkwardness, the overthinking, the dumb jokes? That’s you. And I like you just the way you are.”

Her words make you feel something strange in your chest, leaving you momentarily speechless. Chaewon doesn’t look away, her expression open and sincere in a way that feels almost vulnerable.

“I’m serious,” she continues, her voice softer now. “You don’t have to try so hard with me. You’re not gonna scare me off or mess this up. So just… relax, okay?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight. “I don’t deserve you saying things like that.”

Her lips curve into a small, wry smile. “Probably not. But lucky for you, I’m generous.”

You laugh, the sound shaky but real, and she smiles wider at that. The tension in your chest eases a little, replaced by something warmer, something that feels suspiciously like hope.

Chaewon leans back against the couch, close enough now that her shoulder brushes yours. “Better?”

“Yeah,” you say, your voice quiet. “Thanks.”

She shrugs, reaching for her tea again. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t make me say all that sappy stuff twice.”

“Deal,” you reply, grinning despite yourself.

You pick up your mug again, staring into it like the tea holds the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Chaewon’s sitting close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off her, which is both comforting and mildly distracting. You decide to lean into it, though—into her, into this whole vibe.

“So,” you start, trying to sound casual, “what kind of guys are you into?”

Chaewon doesn’t even blink. She raises an eyebrow, her lips quirking in a way that tells you she knows exactly what you’re doing. “Seriously? That’s where you’re going with this?”

“What?” You shrug, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious. You never talk about that kind of stuff.”

“Because it’s none of your business,” she says, her voice dry, but she’s smirking now, her amusement clear.

“Come on,” you press, leaning a little closer. “Humor me. What’s your type?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think about it. “Hmm. Let’s see. I guess I like someone who’s kind of a mess, but in a lovable way.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are starting to heat up. “A mess?”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding seriously. “Like, they’ve probably got zero game, but they’re sweet, and funny, and they care about people even when they shouldn’t.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Are you describing me right now?”

She doesn’t answer directly, just sips her tea with an exaggerated innocence that makes you want to throw a pillow at her.

“Okay, fine,” you say, leaning back against the couch and crossing your arms. “What else?”

“Hmm,” she hums, dragging it out on purpose. “Definitely someone who’s way too into nerdy stuff. Like, they could probably write an entire essay on the politics of some random video game world.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my god.”

“And they’ve got to be a little awkward,” she continues, her smirk growing. “Like, they think they’re flirting right now, but they’re just embarrassing themselves.”

“Okay, I get it!” you cut her off, your voice muffled by your hands.

Chaewon laughs, the sound bright and unapologetic. She reaches over, nudging your shoulder. “What? You asked.”

“Yeah, and I regret it,” you mutter, peeking at her through your fingers. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” she says, looking far too pleased with herself.

There’s a pause as you both settle back into the couch, the playful tension between you easing into something quieter. Then Chaewon stretches, rolling her neck like she’s trying to work out a kink.

“Ugh,” she groans, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think I’ve been sitting at my desk too long this week.”

You glance at her, raising an eyebrow. “What, you need a massage or something?”

“Actually, yeah,” she says, turning to look at you with an expression that’s far too smug. “Since you’re offering.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Wait, I wasn’t—”

“Too late. Offer accepted,” she interrupts, shifting to sit sideways on the couch and giving you her back.

You hesitate for a second, then sigh, setting your mug aside. “Fine. But if you complain, I’m stopping.”

“Just shut up and get to it,” she says, tossing a glance over her shoulder.

You roll your eyes but move closer, placing your hands lightly on her shoulders. Her body tenses slightly under your touch at first, but as you start to knead gently, her posture softens.

“Not bad,” she murmurs, tilting her head forward to give you better access.

“Not bad?” you echo, your fingers working into the knots in her shoulders. “I’ll have you know, I give amazing massages.”

“Sure you do,” she says, her voice slightly muffled.

You work silently for a bit, your hands moving with more confidence as you get into a rhythm. It’s oddly intimate, this moment between you, and you’re not sure whether to be grateful or terrified by how comfortable it feels.

Your hands move slowly, working into the tension in Chaewon’s shoulders, but the longer you touch her, the harder it is to focus. She feels warm under your hands, soft in all the right places, and the faint scent of her perfume is messing with your head in a way you’re not sure you’re ready to deal with.

Chaewon lets out a quiet sigh, tilting her head to the side to give you better access. Her short hair falls away from her neck, exposing smooth, pale skin that catches the dim light just right. You pause for half a second, your hands hovering, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you are to her.

“You okay back there?” she asks, glancing at you over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you mutter, quickly resuming the massage. “Just… trying to find the knot.”

Her lips twitch like she doesn’t entirely believe you, but she doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, she leans forward a bit, giving you even more space to work. “Well, don’t chicken out. I could really use this.”

Your hands move lower, grazing the tops of her shoulder blades, and you feel her shiver slightly under your touch. It’s subtle, but it’s enough to send your thoughts spiraling. Suddenly, the innocent, friendly massage doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.

Chaewon shifts slightly, her back arching just enough to make you notice, and you swallow hard, your fingers faltering for just a second. She doesn’t say anything, but the air between you feels thicker now, charged with something you’re not sure either of you expected.

You clear your throat, trying to focus. “You’ve got a lot of tension here,” you say, your voice coming out lower than you intended.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, her tone almost teasing. “Guess you’d better keep going.”

You can’t help it; your eyes drift down her back, tracing the curve of her spine under her blouse. Your hands move on their own, pressing into the muscles just below her shoulders, but all you can think about is how much you want to touch more. Explore more.

She tilts her head back slightly, her neck exposed, and you’ve never seen her look more beautiful. It’s not just the way her body reacts under your hands—it’s the way she’s completely at ease, trusting you in a way that feels almost vulnerable.

“You’re good at this,” she says, her voice softer now, almost breathy.

“Yeah?” you say, trying to keep the nervous edge out of your voice. “Maybe I missed my calling.”

She chuckles, the sound low and warm, and something about it makes your pulse pick up. “Don’t get cocky.”

Your hands move lower again, brushing against the edge of her lower back, and she shifts under your touch, her breath hitching just slightly. It’s enough to make your resolve start to crumble.

You want her—have wanted her for longer than you’re willing to admit—but now, with her so close, so warm, so utterly Chaewon, it feels impossible to ignore. Every time your hands move, every time she sighs or shifts, it pulls you deeper into something you don’t think you can back out of.

But you hesitate, your hands lingering on her back, unsure of how to bridge the gap between what’s happening and what you want to happen.

Your hands pause for just a moment when Chaewon shifts again, her body leaning slightly forward. Her shoulders tense briefly before relaxing, and then, in a voice quieter than you’ve ever heard from her, she says, “You can go lower… if you want.”

Time stops.

You’re not even sure you heard her right at first. Your brain scrambles to process the words, but your hands are already moving, sliding lower down her back, fingertips brushing over the curve of her waist. You swallow hard, every nerve in your body buzzing.

Her blouse is soft, thin enough that you can feel the heat of her skin beneath it. Your hands press into her, kneading gently, and she lets out a quiet sigh that shoots straight through you.

“That’s… nice,” she murmurs, her head tilting slightly forward.

You chuckle nervously, trying to play it cool even though your heart feels like it’s about to break through your ribs. “Yeah? I’ve got skills.”

She lets out a soft laugh, the sound breathy, and shifts again as your hands move down to her lower back, squeezing lightly. Her body reacts under your touch—a slight arch of her back, a shiver that you feel more than see—and it’s driving you insane.

“Seriously,” she says, her voice muffled as she rests her arms on her knees. “You’re too good at this.”

“You’re welcome,” you tease, your voice low, though you’re barely holding it together.

Her sighs grow softer, more frequent, and her breathing starts to change, deepening slightly. You’re not sure what’s happening anymore, but you don’t care. You’re touching her, she’s letting you, and it feels like the world has narrowed down to just the two of you.

Then she mumbles something, so quiet you almost miss it.

“What?” you ask, leaning in instinctively, your ear close to her lips. “What did you say?”

She doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move. For a moment, you think she won’t answer, but then, in a voice so small it barely feels like her, she murmurs, “Kiss me.”

Oh.

Your breath catches. You pull back slightly, just enough to look at her, but she’s still staring down at her knees, her face half-hidden by the angle.

“Chaewon,” you say softly, her name catching in your throat.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, but her body shifts toward you, and that’s all the confirmation you need.

You lean in slowly, your lips brushing against the curve of her neck. Her skin is warm and soft, and she smells so good it makes your head spin. You start with a gentle kiss, hesitant, testing, but when she doesn’t pull away—when she lets out the quietest, softest sigh—you lose what little restraint you had left.

Your lips press more firmly against her neck, trailing downward, tasting her skin. Her body tilts toward you, her breathing uneven now, and one of her hands comes up to rest lightly on your arm, her fingers curling against your sleeve.

“God,” you murmur against her skin, your voice barely audible.

She doesn’t say anything, but the way she shifts closer, the way her fingers tighten on your arm, tells you everything you need to know.

Your lips trail up from her neck, slow and deliberate, savoring the warmth of her skin and the way she tilts her head to give you more access. Each kiss pulls a soft sigh from her, barely audible, but enough to set your blood on fire. You can feel her pulse quicken beneath your lips, her breathing uneven as you move closer to her jawline.

And then, without really thinking, you shift your angle and capture her lips.

She turns slightly, just enough to meet you halfway, and the kiss is soft at first—tentative, testing. The faint taste of tea lingers on her lips, mixing with a trace of whiskey, and it’s so much better than you expected. You kiss her deeper, and she responds, her lips parting slightly as the kiss grows more insistent.

You’re still behind her, one arm slipping around her waist to pull her closer as your other hand trails up her side. Her body melts into yours, her back pressing against your chest, and you can feel the subtle tremor running through her as your lips move together.

Her blouse is in your way. It’s driving you crazy.

Your hands start to move without thinking, sliding down her front and finding the buttons of her blouse. The fabric is soft, just like her, and your fingers fumble slightly, but you manage to undo the first button, then the second, all while keeping your lips locked with hers.

Chaewon lets out a quiet gasp as your hand brushes against her bare skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Her hand reaches up, tangling in your hair, pulling you closer as her other hand grips your arm, her nails digging in lightly.

“Are you…” she starts to whisper, but her words are lost in a gasp when you undo another button, your hand slipping inside her blouse to rest against her stomach.

She feels so warm under your touch, her body soft and perfect, and you can’t help but move your hand upward, brushing the edge of her bra. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her breathing heavy, and you take the opportunity to kiss her neck again, trailing upward to her ear.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

Chaewon freezes for just a second, like she’s caught off guard, but then she turns her head slightly, meeting your lips again in a kiss that’s more desperate than the first. Her hands pull you closer, her body pressing against yours as her blouse falls open, the fabric slipping from her shoulders.

You barely notice the sound of her breath hitching, too focused on the way her skin feels under your hands, the way her lips taste like tea and warmth and Chaewon.

The blouse clings stubbornly to Chaewon’s waist, but you’ve had enough of it. She seems to share the same feeling, raising her arms without a word, your fingers find the fabric, and with one smooth, determined motion, you slide it up and over her head, tossing it behind you without a glance. Now she’s facing you, her skin flushed, her breathing shallow, and for a moment, all you can do is stare.

Her tiny waist curves perfectly into her hips, her perky breasts framed by a simple black lace bra that somehow makes her even more devastatingly beautiful. Chaewon shifts slightly under your gaze, her cheeks turning pink, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she smirks faintly, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head.

“You done staring, or should I charge you for the show?” she teases, her voice light but tinged with nervousness.

You grin, your heart pounding. “Sorry, just… wow. You’re gorgeous, Chaewon.”

Her smirk falters, her lips parting slightly, and for a moment, she looks almost shy. But then she steps closer, fingers already moving toward the buttons of your blouse. “Okay, your turn. Fair’s fair.”

She starts unbuttoning slowly, each flick of her fingers deliberate, grazing your skin just enough to send shivers down your spine. Once the last button is undone, she slides the blouse off your shoulders, taking off one sleeve at a time before tossing it somewhere behind her like it doesn’t matter.

Her hand comes up, hesitating for a moment before she places it on your chest, her fingers trailing lightly over your skin. “I’ve imagined this,” she says quietly.

You swallow hard, your breath catching at the honesty in her words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs, her eyes meeting yours. “More than I’d like to admit.”

Her hand continues its slow exploration, her touch sending shivers down your spine. You feel completely exposed, but not in a bad way. There’s something about the way she’s looking at you—like she’s seeing you, all of you, and she likes what she sees.

Unable to resist any longer, you reach for her, pulling her close and guiding her back to the couch. She lets you, her body soft and pliant under your hands as you lower her down onto the cushions.

Her hair fans out against the dark fabric, and her lips curve into a small, teasing smile as you settle on top of her, your weight braced on your elbows. “Comfy?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Very,” you reply, grinning down at her. “How about you?”

“I’ll let you know,” she says, her hands sliding up your back to pull you closer.

You kiss her again, slow and deep, savoring the way her body responds beneath you. Her fingers dig into your shoulders, her legs shifting to tangle with yours, and the soft sounds she makes between kisses are enough to drive you insane.

Chaewon’s lips are addictive. Every time you think you’ve had your fill, she moves just right, sighs into your mouth, or tilts her head to let you deepen the kiss. It’s impossible to stop, and honestly, you don’t want to.

At some point, she breaks the kiss, panting lightly, her eyes half-lidded as she smirks. “Weren’t you exhausted ten minutes ago?”

You grin, brushing your thumb against her cheek. “Not anymore. Maybe it’s the tea.”

She arches an eyebrow. “The tea?”

“Or maybe it’s you,” you admit, leaning down to kiss her again, softer this time but no less intense.

She lets out a quiet laugh against your lips but doesn’t pull away. Her hands trail down your back, her nails grazing your skin lightly enough to make you shiver. You shift slightly, pressing your lips to her jaw, then down to her neck. She tilts her head automatically, giving you more room to work, but when your mouth latches onto the delicate skin below her ear, she gasps.

“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice breathy. “You’re gonna leave marks.”

You pause, your lips hovering over her neck. “Do you want me to stop?”

There’s a beat of silence where she doesn’t answer, just stares at you, her cheeks flushed and her breathing uneven. Then, almost too quietly, she whispers, “No.”

You grin against her skin, nipping lightly at the same spot before sucking gently, drawing a soft moan from her. Your hand moves to her waist, holding her in place as your mouth continues its path along her neck, alternating between kisses and playful bites.

Chaewon’s fingers thread through your hair, tugging slightly as she arches into you. “You’re such a nerd,” she mutters, though her tone lacks any real bite.

“And yet,” you reply, moving back up to kiss her mouth, “you’re here.”

She laughs, muffled by your lips, and then gasps softly as you bite her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her squirm. Her hands tighten on your shoulders, and her legs shift, tangling further with yours as your kiss deepens.

Your hands slide up her back, finding the strap of her bra. The clasp feels impossibly tiny beneath your fingers, but you work at it, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing as her body presses closer to yours.

“Having trouble?” she teases, her lips brushing against yours.

“Shut up,” you murmur, grinning as you finally manage to unhook it.

Your hands work the clasp on Chaewon’s bra, finally unhooking it with a small triumph you try to play cool. The straps slide off her shoulders, and just as you’re about to toss it aside, she holds it against her chest, her fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

“Wait,” she says, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

You freeze, leaning back slightly to meet her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips slightly swollen from your kisses, but there’s a different kind of vulnerability in her eyes now.

“You’re not just doing this because you’re… you know, hurting, right?” she asks quietly. “I don’t want to be just some kind of band-aid for you.”

For a moment, all the heat between you cools just enough for you to realize how much weight she’s carrying in this moment, how much she’s letting herself be exposed.

“Chaewon,” you say, trying to lighten the mood a little, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was already planning the wedding.”

Her eyes widen for a split second before she laughs, a short, startled sound that breaks the tension just enough. “You’re such an idiot,” she mutters, shaking her head.

“Yeah,” you admit, smiling softly. “But seriously…” You reach up, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not a band-aid. You’re… special. You’ve always been special, and I’m sorry it took me this long to see it.”

Her breath hitches, her eyes searching yours for something you hope she finds. Then, with a faint smirk, she murmurs, “Damn right I’m special.”

You chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. “Yeah, you are. And I’m lucky. You’re… kind of the best thing in my life right now, you know that?”

Chaewon doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with an expression that’s so raw and open it makes your chest ache. Then, slowly, she lets the bra slip from her hands, her arms falling to her sides as she finally lets you see her.

Her perky breasts are small but perfect, her pale skin flushed and warm. You take a moment to just look at her, taking her in, and the way she shifts slightly under your gaze, her lips parting, makes your breath catch.

“You’re gorgeous,” you murmur, your voice low and reverent.

She huffs, clearly trying to deflect. “You’ve said that already.”

“Yeah, well, it’s true.”

Her eyes meet yours again, and this time, there’s no hesitation, no barriers.

Your lips find hers, and this time the kiss is slower, deeper, your body pressing down against hers as you settle into the couch. Her arms wrap around your neck, pulling you closer, her fingers tangling in your hair as if she’s trying to anchor herself.

Your hand moves almost instinctively, sliding from her waist up to her chest. When your palm finally covers her breast, you pause for just a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your hand, the softness yielding perfectly to your touch.

Chaewon lets out a quiet, breathy sound against your lips, her back arching slightly into your touch. It’s all the encouragement you need. Your fingers squeeze gently, testing, and her response—a soft moan that she tries to muffle—sends heat rushing through you.

You break the kiss, trailing your lips down her jaw, her neck, leaving small, open-mouthed kisses along the way. She tilts her head back, her breathing uneven, her fingers tightening in your hair as your mouth makes its way lower.

When your lips reach her collarbone, you pause to glance up at her, your eyes meeting hers. Her cheeks are flushed, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and there’s something so intoxicating about the way she’s looking at you—trusting, wanting.

You kiss the top of her breast first, softly, reverently, before moving lower. Your hand slides away, making room for your mouth as you finally reach her nipple.

It’s small and perfectly pink, the areola slightly darker and tight against the cool air of the room. You pause, your lips hovering just above her skin, and then you take her nipple into your mouth, sucking gently.

Chaewon gasps, her body jolting slightly beneath you, her hands gripping your shoulders now. “God,” she breathes, her voice trembling.

You swirl your tongue around the hardened bud, teasing, tasting, savoring the way she reacts—her quiet whimpers, the way her fingers dig into your skin. You suck a little harder, pulling her nipple further into your mouth, and she arches her back, pressing herself closer to you.

When you move to the other breast, you take your time, kissing your way across her chest, letting your lips linger on her skin. Her other nipple is just as perfect, already taut with anticipation when your tongue flicks over it for the first time.

Her response is immediate—a soft moan that makes your chest tighten, your name falling from her lips like a prayer. You suck gently, then harder, alternating with flicks of your tongue that make her shiver beneath you.

You take a moment to glance up again, her face flushed and her eyes half-closed as she watches you, her lips parted, her breathing uneven. There’s something about the way she looks right now—completely undone, completely yours—that makes you feel like you’re falling and never want to stop.

You return to her breasts, your mouth working over her soft skin as if you’ve got all the time in the world. Each kiss, each lick, each gentle nip earns you another sigh, another soft gasp that makes your pulse race. Her nipples are sensitive under your tongue, tightening further with every flick and suck, and you savor the way her body responds—how she arches toward you, her hands restless against your back, her quiet sounds growing needier.

Eventually, you pull away, leaving her flushed and breathing hard, her chest rising and falling beneath you. You kiss your way back up to her collarbone, her neck, and finally her lips, her taste familiar now but still somehow electrifying.

You pause for a moment, your forehead resting against hers as you catch your breath. “Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low and a little rough. “Do you… want to move to the bed?”

She looks at you, her dark eyes hazy with want but still sharp enough to catch you off guard. For a second, she just stares, like she’s weighing the moment, before finally whispering, “Yeah.”

Her answer is simple, but it’s all you need. Without hesitating, you slip your arms around her, lifting her from the couch with surprising ease. She gasps softly at the sudden movement, her hands automatically gripping your shoulders for balance, but she’s smiling, her lips curving into a rare, unguarded grin.

“You didn’t have to carry me,” she says, her voice teasing but breathy as you press a kiss to her cheek.

“I wanted to,” you reply, grinning against her skin as you kiss your way down to her neck.

She chuckles, the sound soft and breathless, and hooks an arm around your neck, guiding you toward the hallway. You follow her lead, your lips never leaving her skin as you walk. You kiss her jaw, her ear, her throat, savoring every quiet sigh and shiver as her fingers tangle in your hair.

When you reach her bedroom, you fumble briefly but manage to switch on the light without releasing Chaewon from your grasp. A soft, amber glow floods the room, painting her delicate features in hues of warmth. You lower her onto the bed gently, taking a step back to admire the sight in front of you.

Chaewon lies there, half-naked and impossibly beautiful, her flushed skin glowing in the soft light. Her blouse is gone, her bra discarded, and her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath. Her pants are still on, but the way they cling to her hips and thighs makes your throat tighten.

You swallow hard, stepping closer as she watches you, her lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. Slowly, you reach for the waistband of her pants, your fingers brushing against her skin as you undo the button.

“You okay?” you ask, glancing up at her.

She nods, her gaze steady but warm. “Yeah. Keep going.”

You slide the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room, and begin to ease the fabric down her hips. The process is slower than you expect, your hands trembling slightly as you reveal inch after inch of smooth, pale skin.

And then her panties come into view.

They’re simple but beautiful, black lace with intricate floral patterns that contrast perfectly against her soft skin. The delicate fabric sits low on her hips, hugging her in a way that leaves little to the imagination. The edges are trimmed with a subtle scalloped design, the lace slightly sheer, hinting at the curves beneath without fully revealing them.

For a moment, you just stare, your breath catching as your hands linger on her hips. You never imagined you’d find yourself here—literally undressing your coworker, who you’ve argued with over staplers and coffee orders—but here you are, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re staring again,” Chaewon says, her voice tinged with humor but softer than usual.

“I think you better get used to it.” you reply, your voice low as you run your fingers lightly over the waistband of her panties.

She huffs, her cheeks turning pink, but she doesn’t look away. “Just don’t make it weird.”

You chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to her stomach, just above the lace. “Too late.”

As your fingers trail along the waistband of Chaewon’s panties, her breathing hitches, her body shifting slightly beneath your touch. The delicate lace is impossibly soft under your fingertips, a fragile barrier that feels both tantalizing and maddening. Slowly, you slide your fingers under the fabric, your knuckles brushing against her skin as you begin to ease the panties down.

She lifts her hips just enough to help you, her legs bending and turning slightly as you pull the lace down her thighs, over her knees, and finally off her feet. The room feels impossibly quiet, every rustle of fabric and soft exhale amplified in the charged air between you.

When you glance back up, she’s already spreading her legs, the invitation clear. Your breath catches as you take her in fully for the first time.

Her pussy is beautiful, her lips soft and slightly swollen, glistening faintly in the low light of the room. The pink of her inner folds is just visible, a delicate contrast against the smooth skin of her thighs. She’s bare, her skin perfect and inviting, the sight enough to make your mouth water.

You lean down slowly, your lips trailing kisses along the inside of her thigh. Her skin is warm beneath your mouth, impossibly soft, and she lets out a quiet, shaky sigh as your kisses move higher. Her scent hits you then—subtle, musky, intoxicating. It’s uniquely her, a mix of clean and raw and heady, and it pulls you in like nothing else.

Your hands rest on her thighs, holding them gently as you kiss closer to her center. When your lips finally brush against her, she gasps softly, her body tensing for a moment before relaxing into the touch. You start slow, your tongue flicking lightly over her folds, tasting her for the first time.

She’s warm, slick, and utterly addictive, her taste filling your senses as you suck gently on her clit. Her body jerks slightly beneath you, her thighs trembling against your hands as she moans quietly, her voice soft and breathy.

“God,” she murmurs, her fingers gripping the sheets tightly as her hips shift toward you.

You smile against her, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, savoring every sound she makes, every small shiver of her body. Her scent grows stronger as you continue, her arousal unmistakable, and it’s everything you can do to keep your movements controlled, purposeful, to draw this out as long as you can.

Chaewon’s hands find your hair, her fingers tangling in it as she pulls you closer, her breaths coming quicker now. Her quiet gasps and soft moans are music to your ears, each one driving you further, pushing you to explore every inch of her with your mouth.

Your lips stay locked onto her, tongue flicking and teasing, savoring the way she’s opening up for you, literally and figuratively. Chaewon’s taste is rich and intoxicating, a mix of salt and sweet that you could drown in and never come up for air. As you suck gently on her clit, your tongue presses just enough to send a ripple through her body, and her moan—low, breathy, needy—reverberates straight through you.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible but dripping with desperation. “That feels… so good.”

You hum against her, the vibration making her legs tremble. “You taste so fucking amazing,” you mutter between licks, your lips brushing against her slick folds as you speak. “Could do this all night.”

She gasps, her thighs tightening around your head for a moment before relaxing again. “You’re such a fucking nerd,” she says, trying to sound teasing but failing miserably as her voice cracks into a moan.

“And you’re so fucking wet,” you shoot back, your fingers sliding along her folds to prove your point. The slickness coats your fingertips instantly, and you bring them to your mouth for a quick taste, groaning softly at the sheer decadence of it. “Jesus, Chaewon… you’re delicious.”

Her cheeks flush even darker, her hips jerking slightly as you lean back in, your tongue diving between her folds to lap up every bit of her arousal. She’s wetter now, her juices pooling at her entrance, and you don’t waste a second, licking her clean like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“God, yes,” she whimpers, her hands clutching at your hair as her back arches off the bed. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” you reply, grinning against her before wrapping your lips around her clit again, sucking it gently but firmly.

Her response is immediate—a sharp intake of breath, her body tightening as if she’s trying to hold herself together but failing miserably. “Fuck… oh, fuck,” she moans, her hips grinding against your mouth, chasing the pressure.

You slide a hand up her thigh, your thumb teasing the edge of her entrance as your tongue works her clit. “You like that?” you ask, your voice muffled by her heat.

“Y-yeah,” she stammers, her head falling back against the pillow. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop.”

Her words spur you on, your movements growing bolder, more confident. You suck harder, alternating with quick flicks of your tongue, and she’s practically trembling now, her body taut like a bowstring.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” you murmur, your fingers dipping just slightly inside her, feeling how wet and warm she is, how her body clenches around the slightest touch. “Can’t believe I didn’t do this sooner.”

“Shut up,” she gasps, her voice ragged as her hips buck against you. “Just—fuck—keep going.”

You oblige, your tongue and fingers working in perfect tandem to drive her higher, her moans spilling out unfiltered now. Chaewon’s normally sharp, snarky voice is reduced to breathless gasps and broken curses, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

Your tongue circles Chaewon’s clit with deliberate slowness, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves with just enough pressure to make her squirm. Your fingers slide deeper inside her, curling slightly to find that sweet spot, the one that makes her hips jerk involuntarily. She’s soaking wet now, her slick heat coating your fingers, making every movement easier, smoother.

“Fuck,” she moans, her voice breaking as her legs spread wider, inviting you to take everything she’s offering. Her hands are still tangled in your hair, tugging, pulling, as if she’s trying to ground herself while her body writhes under your touch.

You lift your head slightly, your lips brushing against her inner thigh as you speak. “Look at you,” you murmur, your voice low and rough. “So fucking wet for me. You’re dripping, Chaewon. You like this, huh?”

Her response is a strangled moan, her back arching off the bed as you press your thumb against her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles. “Y-yeah,” she gasps, her voice trembling. “I fucking love it.”

You smirk, leaning back down to suck her clit into your mouth, your tongue flicking over it in quick, teasing motions. “Good,” you say, your voice muffled by her. “Because I’m not stopping until you’re shaking.”

She whimpers at that, her hands tightening in your hair as her thighs clamp briefly around your head. “God, you’re such a fucking tease,” she mutters, though the breathless laugh that follows makes it clear she doesn’t mean it.

You grin, your fingers thrusting deeper as you suck harder, pulling a broken cry from her lips. “You love it,” you reply, your tongue swirling around her clit before flicking it sharply.

“Fuck—yes,” she moans, her voice growing louder now, more desperate. Her hips grind against your mouth, chasing the friction, and you can feel her getting closer, her body tightening around your fingers with each thrust.

“God, Chaewon,” you murmur between licks, your lips brushing against her slick folds. “You’re so fucking needy. You’re dripping all over me, baby. Can’t get enough, huh?”

“Shut up,” she gasps, though her moans tell you otherwise. Her head falls back against the pillow, her chest heaving as her nails rake lightly against your scalp. “Just… just keep going.”

You oblige, your tongue and fingers working in perfect rhythm now, pushing her higher, closer to the edge. Her clit is swollen and sensitive under your tongue, every flick and suck pulling another moan, another gasp, another curse from her lips.

“Come on, Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low and teasing. “Let go for me. I want to feel you come, baby. I want to taste you.”

Her only response is a sharp cry, her body arching off the bed as she clenches around your fingers, her thighs trembling. She’s so close now, her moans turning into desperate whimpers, her hips grinding against your face with reckless abandon.

“Fuck—don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice breaking. “Please, don’t fucking stop.”

You don’t.

Your tongue drags over her clit with precision now, relentless and firm, while your fingers pump into her soaked pussy, curling perfectly against that sensitive spot deep inside her. Chaewon’s breaths are shallow, gasping, her chest heaving with every movement. The taste of her, that musky, sweet cream she’s releasing for you, coats your tongue, addictive and intoxicating.

Her thighs tremble on either side of your head, twitching every time you flick your tongue just right. She’s not quiet anymore—she’s a beautiful, messy symphony of moans and gasps, her voice cracking into broken sentences.

“Fuck—oh god—don’t—don’t stop—” she babbles, her words tumbling out without control. Her hips buck wildly, her hands gripping the sheets so tight her knuckles are white. “It’s—it’s so good—fuck—so fucking—”

You glance up for just a second, your eyes locking onto her flushed face. Her head is thrown back, her lips parted, and her hair sticks to her damp forehead. She’s beautiful, absolutely wrecked, and knowing you’re the reason she’s like this makes your blood pound in your ears.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” you murmur, your voice low and muffled against her pussy. “Can feel how close you are, baby. You gonna come for me?”

“Y-yeah,” she gasps, her thighs twitching against your head as her body trembles. “Fuck—I’m so—oh god, I can’t—”

“You can,” you insist, sucking her clit hard and thrusting your fingers deeper, curling them perfectly. “Come for me, Chaewon. I want to feel it. Want to taste every fucking drop.”

Her entire body goes taut, her back arching sharply as a scream rips from her throat. “FUCK—I’m—oh, oh, oh—” Her thighs snap shut around your head, trapping you there as her pussy clenches hard around your fingers, waves of wet heat flooding against your hand and tongue.

You don’t stop. You keep sucking her clit, even as her body shakes uncontrollably, even as her legs try to squeeze you out. She’s soaking now, her juices dripping down your fingers, her moans turning into breathless whimpers as she rides out the intensity of her orgasm.

“Too—too much—fuck—” she cries, her voice trembling, her hips jerking away from your mouth even as her legs keep you pinned.

You finally ease up, pressing soft, teasing kisses to her clit as her body twitches beneath you. Her thighs slowly loosen their grip, and you pull back just enough to watch her, your lips and chin wet with her arousal.

Chaewon’s chest heaves, her face flushed and glowing as she tries to catch her breath. Her eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused, and when she meets your gaze, her lips curve into a weak, satisfied smile.

You trail kisses up her trembling body, taking your time as you savor every inch of Chaewon’s soft, warm skin. Her chest rises and falls beneath you, still heaving from her orgasm, and you pause to press a kiss to her collarbone, then her neck, before finally reaching her lips.

She meets you halfway, her kiss slow but insistent, her fingers threading into your hair to hold you close. There’s something almost intoxicating about the way her lips taste now, mingled with the faint, musky tang of her own release.

When you finally pull back, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips curl into a teasing smirk. “You’re surprisingly good at that,” she says, her voice still breathless but laced with humor. “For a nerd.”

You laugh, the sound low and warm, leaning down to brush your nose against hers. “Even nerds have their talents.”

She quirks an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh? And what other talents do you have, exactly?”

Before you can answer, her hand slides down between your bodies, pressing against the hard length of your cock through your pants. The pressure makes you inhale sharply, your hips jerking slightly as her fingers curl around you.

“Because I’m curious,” she continues, her tone dripping with mock innocence as her thumb rubs slow circles over the fabric.

You groan softly, dropping your forehead against hers. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Chaewon.”

“Am I?” she asks, her voice light and teasing, though her grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch.

You lift your head to meet her gaze, your eyes dark with intent. “Guess I’ll have to show you.”

Her eyes widen slightly as you reach down, your hands brushing against hers as you unbutton your pants. The metallic click of the zipper echoes in the quiet room, and you can feel the way her breathing quickens, her body shifting beneath you as her curiosity gives way to anticipation.

You push yourself up slightly, Chaewon’s hands falling away as you shift to sit on your knees. Her gaze follows you, her chest still rising and falling, her lips parted slightly as she watches you reach for your waistband.

Slowly, deliberately, you push your pants down your hips, the fabric sliding down your legs until they’re off completely. Then comes your underwear. Her eyes don’t leave you for a second, dark and intent, and when you finally free yourself, her lips part in a soft gasp.

She’s staring now, her cheeks flushed, her pupils blown wide. “Holy shit,” she murmurs.

You smirk, crawling back over her until you’re close enough to kiss. “Like what you see?”

Chaewon huffs out a breathy laugh, her hand reaching down to wrap around your cock. Her grip is warm, her fingers soft but firm as she strokes you slowly, making your hips jerk slightly. “Didn’t expect you to be… this big,” she says, her tone teasing but tinged with genuine surprise.

“Guess nerds have surprises too,” you manage, though your voice comes out rough as her thumb brushes over your tip.

She laughs again, the sound low and sinful, before pulling you down into another kiss. Her mouth is warm and insistent against yours, her tongue slipping past your lips as her hand keeps working you, slow and deliberate. You groan into her mouth, your hips moving involuntarily into her touch.

When you finally pull away, panting slightly, you rest your forehead against hers. “Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice low. “What about a condom?”

Her eyes flick up to yours, her gaze steady and full of intent. “Don’t need it,” she says softly, her legs shifting to wrap loosely around your hips.

“Are you sure?” you ask, your cock brushing against her thigh as you shift slightly.

“I’m sure,” she says, her voice firmer now. Her hands move to your shoulders, pulling you closer as she tilts her head up to kiss you briefly. “I’ve been waiting for this. For you.”

Her words make something in your chest tighten, and you nod, swallowing hard as you position yourself between her legs.

You reach down, guiding your cock to her wet entrance, teasing her folds with your tip. The heat of her, the way her slickness coats you immediately, sends a shiver down your spine. You rub yourself against her slowly, deliberately, savoring the way her hips jerk and her breath catches.

“Fuck,” she mutters, her hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You’re such a tease.”

You grin, leaning down to kiss her neck as you keep teasing her, your cock sliding against her clit. “Just want to make sure you’re ready, baby.”

“I’ve been ready,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. Her hands slide down your back, her nails digging in lightly as she arches toward you. “I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this. For you. Totally for you.”

Her words hit you like a spark, and you can’t hold back anymore. You line yourself up with her entrance, pressing forward just enough to feel her warmth envelop you. Her body tenses beneath you, her breath hitching as you begin to push inside, slow and deliberate, savoring every second.

You sink into her inch by inch, her wet pussy pulling you in so perfectly it feels like nothing else has ever mattered. Chaewon gasps beneath you, her hands flying to your back, nails biting into your skin as her legs tighten around your hips.

“Fuck,” she breathes, her voice trembling, almost desperate. “You feel so—God, you’re so fucking—”

“Perfect?” you finish for her, grinning against her neck as you push deeper.

“Shut up—” she gasps, her nails dragging down your back as you bottom out, your hips flush against hers. “You’re so fucking cocky—”

“Yeah, and you’re so fucking tight,” you growl, pulling back just enough before thrusting back in, slow and deep, making her gasp sharply.

Her thighs clamp around you, her heels digging into your lower back as if she’s trying to keep you buried inside her. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop,” she babbles, her voice breaking with every word. “I’ve wanted this—so fucking long—”

“Yeah?” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear as you start moving, setting a steady rhythm that has her clinging to you like a lifeline. “You’ve been thinking about me, baby? Thinking about me fucking you like this?”

“Fuck—yes,” she moans, her back arching as her hips lift to meet your thrusts. “Every time you—stole my stapler—every time you—looked at me like that—”

You laugh breathlessly, your mouth trailing down her neck to her collarbone. “Possessive, huh? Didn’t know you were so obsessed with me, Chaewon.”

“Shut up—” she says again, but the way her nails rake down your back and the way she moans your name tells you exactly how much she loves this.

Her hands find your face, pulling you into a desperate, messy kiss that’s all teeth and tongue, her breath hot against your mouth. “You’re mine,” she murmurs against your lips, her voice trembling but firm. “You hear me? Mine—don’t you fucking forget it—”

“Yours,” you rasp, your thrusts growing harder, deeper, each one pulling a broken cry from her lips. “All fucking yours, Chaewon—fuck—you feel so good, baby—so fucking perfect—”

“Don’t stop—don’t you dare stop—” she moans, her voice rising, her body tightening around you like she’s trying to pull you even deeper. “I love this—I love you—God, you’re mine—mine—mine—”

Her words, the way she’s gasping and clinging to you, sends you spiraling. You bury your face in her neck, your thrusts becoming rougher, more erratic as you chase the high building between you. Her moans turn into cries, her voice breaking with every thrust as her body arches against yours.

“Fuck—fuck—oh my God—” she cries, her voice high and trembling as she comes, her pussy clenching hard around you.

You keep moving, pushing her through it, her cries turning into breathless whimpers as her body shakes beneath you. She clings to you like she never wants to let go, her lips brushing against your neck as she murmurs your name over and over again, a mantra that makes your chest ache with something deeper than just lust.

You thrust into her again, deep and deliberate, feeling the way Chaewon’s pussy tightens around you with every movement. She gasps, her head falling back against the pillows.

“Fuck—” she breathes, her voice trembling as you pick up your pace, your hips slamming against hers in a rhythm that has her thighs quivering around you. “You’re so—God, you’re so deep—”

“You love it, don’t you?” you growl, leaning down to nip at her neck, your teeth grazing her skin. “Love how I fill you up. You’re so fucking tight, Chaewon. Feels like you were made for me.”

Her response is a strangled moan, her legs wrapping tighter around your hips as her hands grip your back. “Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—”

“I wasn’t planning to,” you reply, grinning against her collarbone as you thrust harder, your cock sliding in and out of her slick heat. “You’re too fucking good, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

Chaewon’s nails dig into your back, her voice breaking into a series of gasps and half-formed words. “Fuck—yes—more—just like that—”

You shift slightly, angling your hips to hit that spot deep inside her, and her reaction is immediate. She cries out, her body arching off the bed as her pussy clenches around you.

“Right there?” you murmur, your voice low and teasing as you grind into her, drawing another sharp gasp from her lips.

“God—yes—right there—” she stammers, her hands sliding down to grip your ass, pulling you even closer. “Fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good—”

You speed up, your thrusts growing rougher, more erratic, and her cries grow louder, more desperate. She’s a mess beneath you now, her hair sticking to her damp forehead, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” you murmur, your lips brushing against her ear. “All mine. Say it, Chaewon. Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours—” she gasps, her voice trembling as she clings to you. “All yours—fuck—I’ve always been yours—”

Her words spur you on, your hips slamming into hers harder, deeper, your cock throbbing inside her as her pussy grips you tighter with every thrust. “Good girl,” you growl, your hand slipping between her legs to rub her clit, making her moan louder.

“Fuck—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—” she pleads, her voice breaking as her hips buck against yours, chasing the release that’s just out of reach.

You keep pounding into her, your rhythm steady but hard enough to make the bed creak beneath you. Chaewon’s moans spill out unfiltered, her hands clutching at your shoulders, nails dragging across your skin in a way that only fuels your drive.

Then you get an idea.

Your hand slides down her stomach, your palm flat against her soft skin. When your fingers reach just above her pubic bone, you press down lightly, applying pressure right where you know it’ll make a difference.

The reaction is instant.

“Fuck—what—” she gasps, her thighs tightening around your waist as her body jolts beneath you. Her pussy clenches hard around your cock, the extra stimulation driving her wild as her head tilts back, exposing her flushed throat.

“Feel that?” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her neck, your hand staying firm against her lower abdomen as you thrust into her, each movement rubbing her G-spot perfectly. “Right here, baby. I can feel how close you are.”

“Oh my God—fuck—” she moans, her voice rising as her hips buck up to meet yours. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—oh, God, it’s so good—”

“Yeah, you like that?” you growl, your pace quickening as you press down harder, feeling the way her body reacts to every thrust. “You’re so fucking tight, Chaewon—Jesus, you’re squeezing me so good—”

Her response is a broken cry, her thighs trembling around your hips as her hands grip you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. “I can’t—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what?” you tease, your voice low and rough as you lean closer, your mouth brushing against her ear. “Gonna come all over my cock? Do it, baby—I want to feel it. Come for me.”

“Fuck—yes—” she chokes out, her voice trembling as her body tightens beneath you, her pussy clenching harder, wetter.

You push yourself up, your hands gripping Chaewon’s hips for leverage as you lift your body above her. With nothing to hold you back, you start pounding into her, hard and fast, your cock driving deep into her soaked pussy. Each thrust is accompanied by the wet, obscene sound of your bodies meeting, the noise blending with her uncontrolled moans into a symphony of raw lust.

Chaewon’s head tosses back against the pillow, her hair splayed out like a dark halo. Her hands clutch at the sheets now, her knuckles white as she fights to hold on, her voice spilling out in broken cries and gasps.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re so deep,” she stammers, her words slurring slightly as her legs tighten around your waist. “I can’t—GOD, it’s so good—”

Your hand returns to her lower abdomen, pressing down firmly just above her pubic bone. The moment you do, her body jolts, her pussy clenching hard around you like she’s trying to pull you in even deeper.

“Feel that?” you grunt, your voice rough as you look down at her, watching the way her body reacts beneath you. “I’m fucking you so good, baby. You’re so fucking tight—so wet—Jesus—This pussy is perfect.

Her response is a string of broken sounds, her eyes fluttering shut as her hips jerk up to meet yours. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—” she gasps, her hands flying up to grab at your arms, nails digging in as her thighs tremble.

You lean down slightly, your cock driving into her harder, deeper, as your thumb rubs circles into her clit while your hand presses her abdomen. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” you murmur, your voice low and commanding. “Do it. Cum for me, Chaewon. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Her eyes snap open, wild and glassy, and she lets out a cry that’s half your name, half a desperate moan. “Fuck—I’m—I’m cumming—”

You don’t let up, your pace relentless, your cock pounding into her slick heat as her entire body tenses beneath you. Her pussy clamps down on you, tight and pulsing, and you can feel the gush of wetness as her orgasm hits her full force.

“Oh my—fuck—oh my God—” she babbles, her voice breaking as her back arches off the bed. Her head thrashes from side to side, her hands gripping your arms like a lifeline as her body trembles violently.

Her eyes roll back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream, and you watch, mesmerized, as she completely falls apart. Her body shakes with the force of her orgasm, her thighs quivering as her pussy spasms around you, milking your cock with every wave of pleasure.

“Look at you,” you murmur, your voice rough but softening as you slow your movements, letting her ride it out. “So fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

Chaewon’s response is barely coherent, a string of inaudible murmurs and random words that dissolve into breathless gasps. Her body trembles beneath you, her chest heaving as she comes down, her hands loosening their grip on your arms.

You slow to a stop, your cock still buried deep inside her as you lean down to press a soft kiss to her temple. She’s radiant, her skin flushed, her eyes half-closed as she looks up at you with a dazed, blissed-out expression that makes your cock throbs.

Chaewon lies beneath you, her chest still rising and falling as she struggles to catch her breath. Her skin is flushed, her hair a wild mess against the pillow, and she looks utterly wrecked in the most beautiful way. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just stares at you with wide, slightly dazed eyes.

Then she finally speaks, her voice a little hoarse but still carrying that sharp edge that’s so uniquely hers. “Holy shit. I didn’t know you had that in you.”

You grin, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. “What, you didn’t think I had any attitude in bed?”

She laughs softly, the sound half incredulous, half amused. “No! You’re like… a puppy most of the time. All lost eyes and awkward energy. And now this?” Her hand gestures vaguely between the two of you, as if she can’t even put it into words.

“Even a puppy’s got teeth,” you tease, nipping lightly at her jaw before trailing kisses down her neck.

“Clearly,” she mutters, her fingers sliding up into your hair as you kiss her. For a few moments, there’s nothing but the soft sound of your mouths meeting, her legs still loosely wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

You pull back just enough to look at her, your smirk widening. “You okay down there?”

“Oh, I’m better than okay,” she says, narrowing her eyes at you, though there’s no mistaking the warmth in her gaze. “But I’m also pissed.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Pissed? Why?”

“All this time,” she says, her tone half scolding, half playful, “you were this good in bed and you deprived me of it? Do you know how unfair that is?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”

“Not funny,” she snaps, though the way her lips curve into a smirk betrays her. “You’re lucky I’m not kicking you out right now.”

“You’re right,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her again, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I deserve to be punished.”

Her eyes glint with mischief as she kisses you back, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Oh, you definitely deserve it. Bad puppy.”

“Yeah?” you murmur against her lips, your voice dropping. “How should I make it up to you?”

Chaewon pauses, pretending to think about it as her hand slides up your arm, her fingers brushing your shoulder. “For starters, you’re not leaving this apartment all weekend.”

“All weekend?” you echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, her legs tightening around your waist again, keeping you firmly in place. “You’re staying here. With me. Making up for lost time.”

You smirk, your hips shifting slightly to remind her that you’re still buried inside her. “Sounds like the best punishment I’ve ever heard.”

“Good,” she says, her tone playful but firm as she pulls you down for another kiss.

“No complaints,” you whisper against her lips.

“None allowed,” she replies, her voice low and teasing.

You can’t help but laugh softly, the sound blending with hers as you kiss her again.

Between soft pecks, she murmurs, “Now I want to suck your cock.”

Her words send a jolt of heat straight through you, and you groan softly, brushing your thumb against her flushed cheek. “Yeah?”

She nods, her smirk growing, her teeth catching her bottom lip in a way that makes your cock twitch inside her. “You’ve been driving me insane. Let me make it up to you.”

You laugh softly, leaning up to kiss her again before murmuring against her lips, “Turn around, baby. Sit on my face while you do.”

Her eyes darken, and she doesn’t need to be told twice. She pulls herself off your cock slowly, the sensation making both of you gasp, and you watch as she moves with a kind of confident grace that has your heart racing.

You shift onto your back, your head sinking into the pillow as she climbs over you, her knees straddling your shoulders. Her pussy is right there, glistening, flushed, and still slick with her creamy release. The sight alone is enough to make you groan.

But she doesn’t stop there. Chaewon shifts again, leaning forward and gripping your cock in her hand. It’s still wet with her juices, shining in the soft light, and she doesn’t waste any time. Her tongue darts out, licking a long stripe up the length, tasting herself on you.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you breathe, your hands gripping her thighs as she lowers herself onto your mouth.

The first taste of her is overwhelming—warm, wet, and utterly intoxicating. You dive in, your tongue sliding between her folds to lap up the creamy slickness she left behind. She gasps, her body jerking slightly as you suck on her clit, your hands gripping her hips to hold her in place.

“Shit—” she moans, her voice muffled as she takes your cock deeper into her mouth. Her tongue swirls around the tip, teasing the sensitive head before sliding down the shaft, her lips stretching as she takes more of you.

The room fills with the obscene sounds of wet sucking and muffled moans, the vibrations of her throat around your cock sending shocks of pleasure through your body. But you’re just as relentless, your tongue circling her clit before dipping back into her entrance, tasting the creamy slickness she’s giving you.

Your hands grip her hips tighter, guiding her movements as you suck and lick, driving her higher. Her moans grow louder, vibrating around your cock as she bobs her head, her hand stroking the base in rhythm with her mouth.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” you groan, your voice muffled against her pussy. “So fucking wet, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

She pulls off your cock with a wet pop, gasping as her hips grind against your face. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters breathlessly before taking you back into her mouth, her tongue working you with an intensity that makes your head spin.

The heat, the wetness, the overwhelming pleasure—it’s too much and not enough all at once. Your world narrows to the feel of her pussy on your tongue, the taste of her, the way her lips glide over your cock.

Chaewon’s hips rock against your face, her movements desperate now as her moans grow louder, more urgent. “Fuck—this is so good—” she gasps, her lips wrap tighter around your cock, her movements slow and deliberate as she takes you deep into her mouth.

Chaewon is dripping saliva now, her mouth working expertly as her tongue flicks along the underside of your shaft with every bob of her head. You glance down and see the way your cock glistens, a mix of her drool and the remnants of her creamy juices pooling at the base and dripping down to your balls. It’s filthy, and it’s driving you insane.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you groan, your voice muffled as your mouth stays latched to her pussy. You tighten your grip on her ass, spreading her cheeks as you pull her even closer, her wet heat pressing firmly against your lips.

She lets out a muffled moan around your cock, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through you. Her hand wraps around your base, stroking the length she can’t fit in her mouth, her movements slick and messy.

Your tongue moves with purpose now, circling her clit before dipping down to lap at her entrance, tasting the creamy slickness she’s giving you. She’s so sensitive, her pussy twitching against your mouth every time you press harder.

Your fingers dig into her ass, holding her firmly as you suck her clit into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the swollen bud. Chaewon gasps around your cock, her hips jerking against your face as her thighs tremble.

“Shit—oh fuck—” she gasps, pulling off your cock for just a second to catch her breath. A string of saliva connects her lips to your tip, and she doesn’t even bother wiping it away before diving back down, taking you deep with a lewd, wet sound.

You moan into her pussy, the vibrations making her shudder above you. Her hips grind against your face now, her body moving on instinct as her moans grow louder, more desperate. You focus on her clit, sucking and flicking your tongue relentlessly, feeling the way her body tightens beneath your hands.

“God—fuck—I’m so—” she stammers, her voice trembling as her thighs begin to shake. “I can’t—I’m gonna—oh my god—”

Her words spur you on, your mouth and tongue working overtime as you push her closer and closer to the edge. Her pussy clenches and spasms against your tongue, her juices flowing freely now, soaking your face as she loses control.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m cumming—” she cries out, her voice breaking as her body tenses.

Her orgasm hits her like a wave, her hips jerking wildly as her pussy pulses against your mouth. You don’t stop, your tongue lapping up every drop of her release, the salty-sweet taste of her flooding your senses.

Chaewon’s moans turn into sharp cries, her hands clutching at your thighs for balance as her body trembles violently. Her head tilts back, her hair sticking to her damp forehead as she gasps for air, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.

Her entire body shudders, her hips grinding one last time against your face before collapsing, her chest heaving as she lets out a shaky, satisfied moan. You pull back slightly, your lips and chin glistening with her release, and watch as she tries to catch her breath, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.

Chaewon’s body glistens in the dim light, her flushed skin still recovering from the intense orgasm you just gave her. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, shining with lust and something deeper—something unspoken but undeniably there.

You reach out, your hand sliding down her body slowly, tracing the curve of her spine before settling on her hip. “Turn around,��� you murmur, your voice low and thick. “Get on all fours.”

She doesn’t hesitate. With a languid grace, Chaewon shifts onto her hands and knees, her back arching as she adjusts herself. The sight in front of you is fucking breathtaking—her perky ass tilted up, her waist impossibly small, her thighs trembling just slightly as she steadies herself. Her pussy is glistening, swollen and wet, and your cock throbs painfully at the sight.

“Holy fuck,” you mutter under your breath, stepping closer. Your hands move instinctively to her waist, gripping it gently at first, your thumbs brushing the soft skin just above her hips.

Chaewon glances back over her shoulder, her hair falling messily around her flushed face. Her lips curl into a sly smile as she notices the way your hands tighten on her. “Fits perfectly, doesn’t it?” she teases, her voice still breathy but filled with confidence.

“Perfect doesn’t even cover it,” you reply, your fingers digging into her waist slightly as your cock brushes against her wet entrance, teasing her. “You’re fucking incredible, Chaewon.”

She huffs out a soft laugh, then she bites her lip, her gaze steady as she says, “Go hard, okay? Make me scream.”

“You sure about that?” you ask, your voice rough as you press the head of your cock against her slick folds, teasing her clit.

“Don’t make me beg,” she mutters, her voice trembling slightly. “Just fucking do it.”

That’s all the encouragement you need. With one firm thrust, you push into her, burying yourself to the hilt. Her pussy is impossibly tight, wet, and warm, gripping you perfectly as you stretch her.

“Fuck—” Chaewon gasps, her back arching sharply as her hands clutch at the sheets. “Oh my God—”

Your hands tighten on her waist, holding her steady as you pull back slowly before slamming into her again, harder this time. Her cry echoes through the room, raw and unfiltered, and it only spurs you on.

“You feel so fucking good,” you growl, your hips snapping against hers with each thrust. “So fucking tight, Chaewon. Taking me so perfectly.”

“Fuck—yes—” she moans, her voice high and breathy as her body moves with yours. “Harder—please—don’t stop—”

Your grip on her waist tightens, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as you pound into her, each thrust sending shockwaves through both of you. The sound of your bodies meeting—wet and obscene—fills the room, mixing with her breathless moans and your low groans.

“Scream for me, baby,” you growl, thrusting into her harder, deeper, making her cry out. “Come on, let me hear how much you love being my slut!”

“OH GOD—FUCK—You're fucking me so good!” she cries, her voice trembling as her head drops forward, her hair sticking to her damp skin. “You’re—oh fuck—”

You grip Chaewon’s waist tighter, your fingers digging into her soft flesh as your hips snap forward, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.

“Fuck—yes—fuck!” she screams, her head thrown back, hair sticking to her flushed skin. Her hands clutch at the sheets, pulling them tight as her body rocks forward with every thrust.

“Chaewon,” you growl, your voice low and rough, completely lost in the way she feels around you. “You’re so fucking perfect. This pussy—fuck—it’s mine. All fucking mine.”

“Yes—yes—it’s yours!” she gasps, her voice cracking as you drive deeper, harder, her words trembling with each thrust. “God—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

Her legs tremble beneath you, her body arching beautifully, giving you an even better angle as you slam into her. You pull her closer, her ass pressing firmly against your hips with each rough thrust. The way she takes you—so tight, so wet, so eager—fuels something primal inside you, pushing you to fuck her even harder.

“Listen to you,” you murmur, leaning forward slightly, your lips brushing against the damp skin of her shoulder. “Screaming for me like you were made for this. Like you were made for me.”

“Fuck—yes—I was—I fucking was,” she babbles, her voice barely coherent as her nails dig into the sheets.

Your hand slides up her back, pressing her down just enough to make her arch even more. The new angle has you hitting deeper, and her response is immediate—a loud, desperate scream that sends a jolt of heat through your veins.

“That’s it,” you growl, your hand returning to her waist, gripping her like you never want to let go. “Tell me, baby, tell me you're my whore. I wanna hear you scream it.”

“Yours—fuck—oh God—I’m your whore!” she cries, her voice raw and filled with nothing but pleasure. Her body tightens around you, her walls clenching with every thrust as if she’s trying to pull you even deeper.

“That's it, baby, you’re mine,” you growl, your pace relentless as you slam into her over and over. “All fucking mine. Say it!”

“I’m yours—oh fuck—I’m yours!” she screams, her voice trembling as her hands clutch at the bed, her back arching beautifully. “God—you’re so fucking good—I’m so close—”

Her words send a wave of possessive need through you, chasing her pleasure as if it’s your own. The sound of her moans, her cries, her desperate gasps—it’s all too much and not enough, spurring you on like nothing else ever has, every thrust sending shockwaves through Chaewon’s trembling body as the bed creaks beneath you both. Her cries fill the room, loud and desperate, and the way she moans your name like a mantra only makes you go harder, deeper, until the sound of your hips slamming into her drowns out everything else.

Then an idea strikes, and without warning, you grab her arms, pulling them back until you’ve got both of her wrists in your grip. The shift makes her back arch further, her ass pressing harder against your hips, and the change in angle has her screaming almost immediately.

“Fuck—oh my God!” she cries, her voice trembling as her head falls forward.

You lean over her, keeping her wrists pinned as you growl into her ear, “You’re so fucking good like this, Chaewon. Letting me use you. Letting me make you mine.”

“Y-yes,” she gasps, her voice breaking as she shudders beneath you. “I’m yours—God, I’m yours—”

Your grip tightens on her wrists as you fuck her harder, her body jerking forward with each thrust. Her submission is intoxicating, the way she gives herself to you completely, her moans turning into needy, desperate whimpers that make your cock throb inside her.

“Look at you,” you growl, your voice low and filled with possessiveness. “So fucking slutty for me. Taking me so well. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes—fuck—” she babbles, her words slurring together as her walls tighten around you. “I love it, baby—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Her legs tremble beneath her, her body quivering with every rough thrust as you pound into her without mercy.

“You’re perfect,” you mutter, your hand releasing one of her wrists to grab her hair, pulling her head back so you can see her flushed, tear-streaked face. “So fucking perfect, Chaewon. My good girl. My little slut.”

She whimpers at your words, her lips trembling as she looks back at you with lust-glazed eyes. “Yours—I’m yours—I’ll be whatever you want—just don’t stop—please—”

Her submission sends a surge of heat through you, and you tighten your grip on her hair, your other hand still holding her remaining wrist as you thrust into her harder, faster, your cock hitting deeper with each movement.

“Fuck—you’re so good—so fucking good,” you growl, your voice rough as you watch her completely fall apart beneath you. Her body is yours, her moans and cries yours, and the way she clenches around you, wet and tight and perfect, makes it clear she wouldn’t want it any other way.

Your pace doesn’t falter as you release your hand from the grip on Chaewon's hair to move to her ass, her smooth skin practically glowing in the dim light. The sight of her beneath you—arched, trembling, taking every rough thrust—is enough to make your heart race with possessive pride.

Without warning, you bring your hand down hard against her cheek. The slap rings out loud and sharp, the sound almost deafening over the wet, obscene rhythm of your fucking.

“Ah—fuck!” Chaewon screams, her back arching further as her body jolts from the impact.

You grin, your palm tingling as you rub the spot where you struck, feeling the heat blooming under your touch. “You like that?” you growl, your voice low and teasing.

“Yes—fuck—yes!” she cries, her voice trembling. “Do it again—please—”

Her begging ignites something feral inside you, and you don’t make her wait. You bring your hand down again, harder this time, the sound even louder as it echoes through the room. Her ass jiggles from the force, the skin already turning a faint pink.

“Fuck, Chaewon,” you growl, gripping her waist tighter as you keep pounding into her. “You look so fucking good like this. Screaming for me, begging me to spank you. Such a good little slut.”

“Y-yes—God—please—more,” she babbles, her voice breaking into desperate gasps as her hands clutch the sheets beneath her.

You oblige, spanking her again, harder, the sting vibrating up your arm as her moans grow louder. Her ass reddens under your hand, the marks spreading with each slap, and the way she writhes beneath you, pushing her hips back for more, only makes you lose yourself further.

“Look at you,” you murmur, alternating between rough spanks and squeezing her reddened cheeks. “So fucking perfect. You love being punished, don’t you? Love being my little plaything.”

“Fuck—yes—I love it—” she gasps, her voice high and strained. “Please—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

Her pussy clenches tighter around your cock, her slick heat dripping down your length as you keep pounding into her.

“I'm gonna ruin you every fucking day from now on,” you growl, your voice thick with possessiveness. “This is what you’ve been craving, isn’t it, Chaewon? To be my dirty little whore, used and fucked exactly how I want.”

“Y-yes!” she cries, her voice cracking as her body shakes beneath you. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you to own me—since the first moment I saw you!”

Her words send a wave of heat through you, and you spank her again, your handprint glowing red on her perfect skin. She moans louder, her cries turning into broken whimpers as her body quivers with pleasure and pain.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against Chaewon’s back as your weight settles on top of her. The new position forces you even deeper inside her, and the moan that rips from her throat is nothing short of desperate. Her ass is still red and warm under your hips, and you grab her waist tightly, holding her in place as you grind into her, your cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside her.

“Fuck—oh my God—” she cries, her fingers clawing at the sheets as her head tilts back, pressing against your shoulder. “You’re so fucking deep—I can’t—I can’t take it—”

“Yes, you can,” you growl against her neck, your voice rough as your lips trail along her flushed skin. “You’re made for this, Chaewon. Made to take me. You feel that? How perfect you are for me?”

Her response is a strangled moan, her legs trembling beneath you as you thrust into her harder, deeper, the wet sound of her pussy clenching around your cock mixing with her breathless gasps. Your hands slide up her body, gripping her shoulders as your mouth latches onto her neck, sucking and biting just enough to leave marks.

“Mine,” you murmur against her skin, your teeth grazing her ear. “You’re mine, Chaewon. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else gets to see you like this.”

“Yes—yes—I’m yours!” she gasps, her voice trembling with lust and something more. “You’re mine, too—fuck—you’re all mine—don’t forget it—”

Her words spur you on, your hips slamming against hers as you fuck her harder, your cock driving into her soaked pussy with relentless intensity. She’s writhing beneath you now, her hands reaching back to grab at your thighs, trying to pull you even closer.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” you growl, your lips still pressed to her neck. “So perfect, baby. Letting me fuck you like this...”

“Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop,” she cries, her voice breaking into a series of gasps and moans. “You’re so—so fucking good—I can’t—I’m gonna lose it—”

You pull her closer, your chest flush against her back, your hands sliding up to tangle in her hair as you kiss her neck, her jaw, her shoulder. “You drive me crazy, Chaewon,” you murmur, your voice thick with need. “No one else—fuck—no one else makes me feel like this.”

She whimpers, her body arching against yours, her nails digging into your thighs as her pussy clenches tighter around you. “This fucking cock belongs to me,” she mutters, her voice low and fierce even through the haze of pleasure. “No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to fuck you like this. Just me.”

“Just you,” you agree, your lips brushing against her ear as you thrust into her harder, the sound of your bodies meeting filling the room. “Only you, Chaewon… Only you.”

Her moans grow louder, more desperate, her possessiveness fueling your own as you fuck her with everything you have, your mouth never leaving her skin, marking her as yours.

You feel Chaewon tighten around your cock, her walls clenching rhythmically, as her breath hitches and her body trembles beneath you. Her voice rises into a desperate, shaky moan.

“Oh my God—fuck—you’re—you’re gonna—” she stammers, her words barely coherent as her legs tremble and her hands grip the sheets. “You’re gonna make me cum—oh, fuck—”

Her warning lights a fire in you. You plant your hands on the bed for leverage, lifting your chest off her back as you start pounding into her with renewed intensity. Chaewon’s body is fully pressed into the mattress, her moans loud and uncontrollable with every thrust.

“You’re so fucking close, aren’t you?” you growl, slamming into her harder, faster, your cock driving deep into her soaked pussy with every stroke. “Come on, baby, let go for me. I want to feel you cum.”

Chaewon lets out a strangled cry, her words spilling out in broken fragments. “I’m—I’m gonna—fuck—it’s so—oh my God—it’s too much—”

You grip her hips tightly, your fingers digging into her soft skin as you pull her back onto your cock, treating her like a perfect, desperate fucktoy. The obscene sound of your thrusts fills the room—wet, loud, and relentless—and it’s all too much.

Her voice climbs higher, her moans turning into desperate screams as she writhes beneath you, her body completely at your mercy. “I’m—I’m cumming—I’m cumming—oh, fuck—fuck—fuck—”

Her orgasm crashes over her like a wave, her entire body tensing as she lets out a guttural scream. Her pussy clamps down on you, tight and pulsing, soaking your cock with a flood of wetness. The sheets beneath her are drenched as her release gushes out, her legs trembling uncontrollably.

Chaewon’s cries turn into babbling, her words slurred and disconnected as her head thrashes against the pillow. “Oh—God—I can’t—fuck—it’s too—so good—fuck—you’re—”

You don’t stop, driving her through the peak of her orgasm, your hips slamming against her as she quivers beneath you, her body shaking with aftershocks. Her nails claw at the sheets, her thighs trembling violently as her moans dissolve into breathless whimpers.

Finally, you slow your movements, your hands sliding up to soothe her hips as her body collapses fully onto the bed. Chaewon’s breathing is ragged, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath, her face flushed and glowing with the aftermath of her release.

You feel the heat building fast, your cock throbbing inside Chaewon’s soaked pussy as her walls pulse around you. The slick, tight heat of her drives you closer to the edge, and you know you’re seconds away. Your thrusts grow erratic, your breath ragged, and you groan deeply.

“Chaewon,” you manage, your voice strained. “I’m gonna cum—where do you want it?”

She’s still panting beneath you, her body trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. Her hair is a messy halo around her flushed face, and her eyes, half-lidded and lust-filled, meet yours. “All over me,” she breathes, her voice husky and demanding. “I want it all over my body.”

Her words send a jolt through you, and you pull out of her slowly, groaning at the wet drag as her pussy reluctantly lets you go. “Lie back,” you tell her, your voice low and rough.

She obeys immediately, shifting onto her back and spreading her legs, her body sprawled out for you. Her skin glows in the soft light, flushed and glistening with sweat, her chest rising and falling as she stares up at you.

You kneel between her legs, your cock slick with her juices, throbbing and aching for release. Wrapping your hand around your length, you start stroking yourself, the wet sound of your movements mixing with the heavy breathing between you.

The head of your cock brushes against her entrance as you jerk off, rubbing against her folds, teasing her clit as you use her heat to drive yourself further. She gasps softly at the contact, her hands gripping the sheets as her hips shift slightly, her body instinctively chasing the friction.

“Fuck,” you mutter, your eyes locked on her. “You’re so fucking perfect, Chaewon. Look at you—messy, panting—so fucking gorgeous.”

She smirks faintly, her voice still breathless as she murmurs, “It’s all for you. I’m all for you.”

Her words fuel your need, and you stroke yourself faster, the tightness in your abdomen coiling as you feel the orgasm building. Chaewon notices, her gaze dropping to your cock, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

“Come on,” she whispers, her voice low and possessive. “Cum for me. Cover me with it. I want all of it—all of you.”

Her dirty encouragement pushes you to the brink, and your strokes grow faster, harder, the head of your cock pressing against her entrance with every movement. “Fuck, Chaewon—” you groan, your voice breaking as the tension snaps.

The first spurt of cum shoots out hot and thick, landing just below her breasts, painting her flushed skin. Another follows, splattering across her abdomen, her pelvis, dripping down toward her pussy. You keep stroking, the pleasure overwhelming as you empty yourself onto her, every spurt marking her as yours.

Chaewon moans softly, her hands sliding up her body, spreading the sticky heat of your cum over her skin. Her eyes gleam as she looks up at you, her voice low and sultry. “That’s it—so good—so fucking good. Your cum is so warm, damn....”

You shudder at her words, your hand slowing as the last few drops spill from your cock, dripping onto her already glistening skin. Panting, you lean back slightly, your cock still throbs, the sensitivity almost unbearable, yet there’s more—your balls feel heavy, not yet spent. Chaewon lies beneath you, her body painted with streaks of your cum, her fingers lazily tracing through the mess on her skin as she gazes up at you with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

"That can’t be all you’ve got," she teases, her voice soft but dripping with hunger. She trails a hand down to her stomach, scooping some of your cum onto her fingers before bringing it to her lips, sucking them clean. "I know there’s more in there. I want every drop, every fucking bit. I’m your cumslut—give it to me."

Groaning, you grip your cock, still hard and slick from your first release. "You greedy fucking slut," you mutter, your voice strained, raw. "You’re not satisfied until I empty myself completely, are you?"

"Never," she breathes, spreading her legs wider, her body arching slightly as if inviting you back inside. "Cum for me again. Paint me. Use me however you want—just don’t stop."

You shift between her thighs, lining up your cock with her swollen, soaked entrance. Even with your sensitivity, the sight of her, her body glistening with sweat and cum, drives you forward. You push into her, groaning as her tight, slick heat engulfs you again, every nerve ending screaming in overstimulation.

"Fuck—this is so good," you growl, gripping her hips hard as you start moving. The wet slap of your thrusts fills the air, mingling with her cries of pleasure as you pump into her with a slow, deliberate rhythm, determined to coax every last drop from yourself.

Chaewon clings to you, her nails dragging down your back, her breathless voice pleading. "Yes—more—fuck me harder. I want it all, every fucking drop!"

Her words fuel you, your pace quickening despite the overwhelming sensitivity. Your cock twitches inside her, the ache in your balls intensifying as you edge closer again. You pull her legs higher, changing the angle to drive deeper, her cries turning into high-pitched whimpers as her pussy clamps down around you, desperate and needy.

"Chaewon," you groan, your voice breaking. "I’m close—fuck—you’re gonna take everything."

"Yes, yes, please!" she begs, her hands roaming her cum-covered body, spreading it across her breasts, her stomach, even up to her neck. "Fill me with cum—own me!"

The sight of her—her fingers rubbing your cum into her skin, her lips parted in pure ecstasy—is too much. You pull out suddenly, climbing up her body until your cock is level with her face. “Open your mouth,” you command, your voice rough and trembling.

She obeys immediately, her lips parting as she looks up at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. Her tongue flicks out slightly, teasing, as if she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

You stroke yourself quickly, your cock slick and throbbing, the tension building impossibly fast. “Fuck—Chaewon—I’m gonna—”

Your words cut off as you cum, the first thick spurt landing directly on her tongue. She moans softly, her eyes fluttering closed as more of your release fills her mouth, hot and heavy.

Each spurt is stronger than the last, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Your body trembles, your groans filling the room as you spill everything into her waiting mouth.

When it finally subsides, you watch as Chaewon looks up at you, her tongue still out, showing you the thick pool of cum resting there. Her lips curl into a mischievous, naughty smile before she closes her mouth and swallows it all in one go, the motion deliberate and slow.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your chest heaving as you watch her.

She grins, her tongue darting out to lick her lips before leaning forward. “Missed a spot,” she murmurs, her voice low and teasing.

Her lips wrap around the head of your cock, soft and warm as she sucks lightly, her tongue swirling to clean the remnants of your release. Even with the sensitivity, it feels incredible, and you groan softly, your fingers brushing against her cheek.

When she finally pulls back, she looks up at you with that same naughty smile, her lips glistening. “All clean,” she says, her tone playful.

"Goddamn, you're such a slut," you mutter, your body trembling, utterly spent but unable to tear your eyes away from her.

She grins. “I told you—I’m your cumslut.”

languidly you sit up on the edge of the bed, still catching your breath, your body slick with sweat and the aftermath of everything you’ve just done. Chaewon lies sprawled out on the bed, hair messy and sticking to her face, her chest still rising and falling.

“Fuck,” you say, running a hand through your damp hair. “That was… pretty intense, huh?”

She snorts, throwing an arm over her eyes as she stretches, the movement casual but still impossibly sexy. “You’re calling it intense? My ass is still burning from all those slaps, thanks to you.”

You glance over at her, a flicker of guilt crossing your face. “Shit. Uh, sorry about that…”

She pulls her arm down to glare at you, but her lips twitch with a smirk. “Don’t apologize. I liked it.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “Oh. Uh. Good?”

“Great, actually,” she says, laughing softly as she shifts onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “But now I need to ask. Was this all part of some master plan?”

You frown, confused. “Plan? What plan?”

She gestures between you. “This. You acting like a sad, helpless puppy so I’d feel sorry for you and bring you here. Then, bam—you flip the script, fuck me senseless, and prove you’re not as pathetic as you looked at work.”

You stare at her for a beat, then burst out laughing, shaking your head. “Come on, Chaewon. You really think I’m that calculated?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You tell me.”

“Trust me,” you say, still laughing, “if you hadn’t dragged me out of the office, I’d be at home right now. Sad. Lonely. Probably halfway through a tub of ice cream and binge-watching Breaking Bad for the third time.”

Chaewon snickers, clearly enjoying the mental image. “Ice cream and Walter White. God, you are hopeless.”

“Exactly,” you reply, grinning. “So no, this wasn’t planned. But… I’m not complaining about how it turned out.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, me neither.”

A comfortable silence falls between you for a moment before she sits up slightly, glancing at the nightstand. “What time is it?”

You lean over, squinting at the alarm clock. “Almost ten-thirty.”

She groans, falling back onto the pillows. “No wonder I’m starving. We didn’t eat shit at the bar.”

Your stomach growls loudly, and you laugh. “Yeah, same here.”

Chaewon looks over at you, her hair falling into her eyes as she smirks. “Pizza?”

“Pizza,” you agree immediately.

She scoots over to the other side of the bed, grabs the pants off the floor, and pulls her phone out of the pocket, scrolling through her delivery app. “What do you want on it?”

You shrug, lying back down beside her. “I’m not picky. Whatever you want.”

“Dangerous words,” she teases, glancing at you. “I could order anchovies and pineapple, and you’d have to deal with it.”

You mock gasp. “You wouldn’t.”

She grins, nudging your shoulder. “Relax. I’ll pick something safe. Pepperoni and sausage okay?”

“Perfect,” you say, watching her as she places the order.

As the confirmation screen pops up, she sets her phone down and looks at you, her eyes still holding that familiar mischievous glint. “You better have enough energy left to help me eat it, because I’m not carrying your dead weight through another round tonight.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fair enough. Let’s refuel, then we’ll see who’s carrying who.”

Her smirk widens. “You’re on, puppy.”

Without warning, Chaewon approaches and settles onto your lap, her thighs straddling yours, her body warm and soft against you. The heat of her skin pressed to yours grounding you in a way that feels almost surreal. Her arms loop loosely around your neck, and her face is closer than you expected, her dark eyes searching yours with a softness that contrasts her usual sharpness.

“So,” she begins, her voice quiet but laced with a teasing edge. “How are we gonna handle this… thing now?”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. “This thing?”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no malice in it. “Don’t play dumb. Us. This.” She gestures vaguely between your naked bodies.

“Right,” you say, your hands sliding up her sides to rest on her waist. “I guess… we should figure that out.”

She smirks, leaning in slightly, her nose brushing against yours. “You’re not going back to pretending this didn’t happen, are you?”

“Not a chance,” you reply quickly, your tone firm. “How could I, after… everything?”

Chaewon’s smirk softens into a small, genuine smile, and she tilts her head, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of your neck. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle watching you mope around the office pretending this didn’t mean something.”

“It means something,” you say quietly, your thumbs brushing against her waist. “I just… didn’t know it meant something to you too.”

She looks away for a second, her cheeks turning pink, but then she sighs and meets your gaze again. “It always did,” she admits, her voice softer now. “I’ve liked you for a long time. I just didn’t know if you felt the same way—or if you were too busy chasing every girl who wasn’t me to notice.”

You wince slightly. “Ouch.”

“I’m just saying,” she teases, though there’s a hint of truth in her tone. “You always seemed to go for the ones who didn’t care about you. Meanwhile, I…” She trails off, biting her lip. “I noticed you.”

Your chest tightens at her words, and you reach up to cup her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin. “When?”

Her lips curve into a faint smile, her eyes flicking to the side as if she’s remembering something. “There were moments,” she says after a pause. “Like the time you stayed late to help me with that awful report, even though you didn’t have to. Or the time you lent me your jacket after I spilled coffee all over myself, even though it was freezing outside and you looked like an idiot walking around in just your shirt.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I remember that. I thought you were going to yell at me for being too nice.”

“I almost did,” she admits with a grin. “But then I realized… I didn’t want you to stop.”

Her words settle between you, heavy and meaningful, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. Then Chaewon leans in, her lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss that feels more like a promise than anything else.

When she pulls back, her eyes are brighter, her expression teasing again. “Anyway, you’re stuck here all weekend, remember? I think we’ve got plenty of time to figure this out.”

You grin, your hands sliding down to rest on her hips. “You’re right. And for the record, I’m not complaining.”

“Good,” she murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. This one is deeper, slower, her fingers tangling in your hair as your hands tighten on her waist, pulling her closer.

The kiss breaks only when she laughs softly, her forehead resting against yours. “This feels… nice,” she says, her voice quiet.

“Yeah,” you agree, your thumb tracing small circles on her hip. “It does.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, exchanging kisses and soft touches, the weight of the moment settling into something warm and intimate.

It’s simple, and yet it feels like everything.

[borathae]

Kiss the Cook

“Yoongi loves to cook for you. You love to watch him as he does and soon you can’t take it anymore. You have to kiss him or you will implode.”

Pairing: Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: established relationship!AU, Slice of Life, domestic Fluff

Warnings: cutie!Yoongi, Yoongi being a sexy cook, i said what i said, he blushes!, she feeds him some tangerines <3, as she sits on the kitchen counter, making out on said counter, Yoongi in a woolen jumper, idk but this is so hot to me and therefore needs a warning, they’re grossly in love!!!, i want what they have #bigsad

Wordcount: 2.7k

a/n: i love him, i love them, i love her, i love this :( enjoy besties, oy!Yoongi is going to be the fucking death of me fjdjasf he is such a cutie ❤ ps: does a story sometimes make you feel so single or discontent with your current love life that you want to claw your own eyes out? yeah. this is that story for me. i want what they have fuxkxk they feel so mature and settled and :( grrr spreading negativity all around me grrrr

You invited Yoongi over for dinner and wine. Which means that he comes over to your place to cook while you watch him and sip on wine. Now, this isn’t because you are lazy or you are forcing him to cook. On the contrary, it was Yoongi’s idea. He loves cooking for you, so you learned, and these little dinner dates have become a regular thing in your relationship.

And it is perfect. You get to see him and talk to him. He gets to do something he loves whilst talking to you. And at the end of it, you can share the yummiest dinner ever and experience a giddy tingle in your stomachs.

You invited him over tonight for exactly such a dinner date. You dressed up in a thick jumper and some woolen socks and even did your hair.

It has been snowing rather vividly all day, turning the roads into one powdery white plane with the rest of the world. The weeping willow in front of your sunroom is bending under the weight of the snow and the frozen stream is covered under a heavy layer of it as well. It is such a beautiful view, making you happy to be inside where it is warm and cozy.

Levi, your cute little cat, hasn’t left his spot by the fireplace all day. He spends most of his winter days napping where it is warm or watching the very few winter birds eat from your bird feeder. He will not leave for outside, however, that much is sure. It is way too much work to soil his good fur with sticky, wet snow.

You check the time again. Ten past eight. Yoongi should have been here by eight. You pace in front the sunroom windows, looking at the faint lights where his house might be. He decorated the outside with lots of Christmas lights and on the nights where you miss him, you like to stand in the sunroom and look up at the lights. Whenever you do, it feels as if he was right there with you. 

Tonight however, the view makes you uneasy. Where is Yoongi and why isn’t he here yet? Did he slip and hit his head? Did a huge chunk of snow fall on him and he is now buried alive somewhere? Is he stuck somewhere? Did he forget?

Nervously biting your own nails, you hurry to the front door to take another peek outside. 

“Oh, shit!” Yoongi exclaims, stumbling back and almost dropping the grocery bags he is carrying under his arms.

You flinch back too, not having expected him to literally stand right in front of the door in the midst of ringing your bell.

“Sorry, you scared me”, he apologises for his cursing. He is bundled into the thickest winter coat ever, wearing a beanie, scarf and gloves with it. His snow pants are covered in snow up to his thighs, his winter boots are basically white from all the snow. The last few inches of his coat are opened. Holly, wearing a little beanie as well, is peeking out from it. Yoongi must have bundled him up in it to keep him warm. The view is adorable.

“You scared me too. I wanted to check if I could spot you. Come in”, you say, stepping out of the doorway.

“Yeah, sorry for being late. I underestimated the height of the snow. I had to fight my way down here without falling on my butt. I waddled like I was ninety.” 

“No worries, I’m just so happy that you’re here now and that you’re safe. I already pictured the worst scenarios ever.” 

Yoongi chuckles, “I survived. Barely, but I survived.”

You laugh. He is so funny, making you laugh again when he struggles with undressing.

“Wait. Let me take the bags so you have your hands free.”

“Thanks.” 

“Of course, I’ll carry them to the kitchen if you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead, I’ll be with you soon.”

You are in the midst of unpacking the groceries when Yoongi and Holly join you in the kitchen. Holly greets you first, jumping up your leg and barking excitedly. 

You coo, picking him up to let him lick your face. 

“I missed you too, you little stinker. Aw big kissies, yes big kissies.”

“He really missed you”, Yoongi says, walking to you. 

“Yeah, I missed him too.” You hand him Holly. “And I missed his dad even more. Hey there, handsome”, you say, stealing a kiss. 

Yoongi smiles into it, rubbing your waist as the kiss breaks.

“Hey there, beautiful. I missed you too.” He says and then takes a step back to set down Holly. The little toy poodle instantly sets off to explore your home and look for Levi. 

Yoongi studies your get-up, “I love what you did with your hair. It suits you.”

“Thank you, heh. I tried something new.”

“It’s nice, really beautiful.”

“Thankies. Uhm, wine?” You offer. “I might have already started without you because I was picturing you dying somewhere.”

He laughs, “what a relaxing thing to do. I won’t say no to some wine, thank you.”

You prepare him a glass, then cheer with him. He enjoys it with a hum. Afterwards he touches your hip and kisses your cheek. You lean into it, smiling from ear to ear. He is always so gentle with you. You love it so much.

“I hope that you’re hungry. I’m making risotto tonight”, Yoongi says.

“Yes risotto! I love risotto. I haven’t eaten since twelve because I wanted to be really hungry tonight.” 

Yoongi smiles and begins. He puts on the apron you made for him and rolls up his sleeves. Well, at least he tries to because you stop him before he can.

“Wait, let me.”

He gazes at your face as you work, cheeks slightly flushed and heart racing. 

“Thanks”, he whispers, trying oh so hard not to expose how giddy he actually feels. Spoiler alert, he feels very giddy. You are always so tender with him. He loves it so much.

Yoongi is wearing a brown jumper made out of the softest wool. It is warm and sits on his body in the most perfect of ways. His chest and back are defined in it, but he still looks snuggly. You feel so attracted to him that it is difficult not to bite him. In an adoring way of course. 

It also isn’t helping that he is wearing your favourite cologne and a watch which really fits his wrist. Once his sleeves are rolled up, you can’t help but feel up his arms just once. You trace his veins, squeeze him and play with his fingers.

Yoongi chuckles lazily, closing his hands around yours.

“Is this still part of the service?” 

“No, this was for me. You look really sexy in this jumper.”

He smiles and pulls you close to steal a kiss. You give it to him with a fluttering heart, gazing deep into his eyes once it breaks. He has the most beautiful eyes.

“I put it on for you. Because you once said that you like me in a jumper.”

“I do. I could bite you, I’m serious.”

“Please don’t”, he laughs and pecks your cheek, “I’ll be quick with dinner, promise. No biting needs to happen.”

“Maybe a little bit of biting.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“If I knew that I would be dating a biter, I might have reconsidered”, he jokes, busy with setting up some pans.

“You like it. Don’t lie”, you say and sit down on the kitchen counter.

“Maybe I do.”

You snicker, picking up a tangerine to peel it as he cooks.

And so it begins. One of the coziest and most beloved date activity as a couple. He cooks while you watch him. There are only a few things better than this. 

You have the radio playing. Christmas songs because it is almost time for the holidays. The tangerine fills the air with a cozy scent and the wine tastes especially good. Whenever you and he aren’t lost in conversation, you can listen to Yoongi hum to the songs on the radio. He has a very nice singing voice. Deep and warm. You could listen to it for hours. Just as you could listen to him talk for hours.

“How are your legs by the way? Did the snow soak through your snow pants?” you ask him, staring at his butt. 

It isn’t your fault, he is wiggling it to the music. It is his fault that you have to take a sneaky look.

“Mhm? No, my legs are fine. The snow didn’t soak through.”

“That’s good to hear. How was your day?”

“It was good. I fixed some things in the upstairs bathroom and started with the chaulking.”

Yoongi is still renovating his house. It is a very big project and he isn’t stressing himself, so it’s been taking some time already. You don’t mind. It just means that he will have to stay over more often whenever the building site is too dirty. Quite frankly, a part of you secretly wishes for the renovations to take forever just so he will keep coming over to sleep in your bed. You really love having him sleep in your bed. Not only because he is a total cuddlebug (don’t spread these news to anyone, he is very shy about it) or because he always smells so good, but also because you feel safer with him close. 

“Chaulking? Wow, this sounds like process”, you say.

“Yeah, it’s been going really well lately.” He turns for a moment. “And you? Did you have a good day?”

“I had a really good day. I made some progress on the scarf and then did some yoga. Tangerine?” 

Yoongi closes the distance, snacking on the slice you’re offering.

“This sounds like a good day. You have to be finished soon, don’t you?”

“Yeah, it's almost finished, which is very exciting if you asked me.”

You are currently knitting a scarf and have been regularly sending updates to Yoongi via text messages. His reactions to the messages vary from “good job!” all the way to the very rare and precious thumbs up emoji. He is honestly such a cutie.

“I can imagine. Do you have a new project in mind after you finish the scarf?” Yoongi takes one more slice of tangerine before he returns to the stove. 

While you begin telling him about all the knitting project ideas you have. You don’t leave out any details. The material of the yarn, the design, the colours, even what kind of stitches you plan on using. And Yoongi listens gladly, he asks questions and reacts with his very endearing version of enthusiasm. It means so much to you. Being loved by him is so fulfilling. You feel so important, as if your existence has purpose. There is not one thing about you which isn’t important to him or which you feel like you have to hide from him.

It might sound strange, but being loved by him is so freeing. You feel so whole and so happy and you love him so much in return. 

Yoongi steals one more slice of tangerine, staying close to you afterwards as he slices some mushrooms for the risotto.

“And what about you? Any new music projects you are working on?” you ask him, switching your adoring gaze between his face and his hands. He has such sexy hands.

“Yes, so many”, he says, nodding his head.

“Tell me everything.”

You listen to everything he has to tell you, gazing at him with the biggest heart eyes. He is so interesting and exciting. His hobbies are so wonderful to listen to. As much as you love talking to him, you love listening just as much.

Yoongi feels content with you. He feels utterly and completely happy. There is nothing missing with you. When he is with you, he feels whole and like himself. There is not even the littlest thing about him he feels like he has to hide from you and whenever he comes out of one of his accidental monologues about his interests, he isn’t met with boredom but enthusiasm and questions. Truly, his nerdy little heart swells thrice its size when he is with you. 

A moment of silence follows after you and he exchanged interests. Happy and jazzy Christmas music fills it. Yoongi picks up the cutting board, carrying it to the pan so he can sauté the mushrooms in some butter. He adds the rice afterwards, seasoning it before he pours white wine into the pan. He pours some of the wine in his glass afterwards, closing the distance to clink glasses with you. 

“To this evening”, he says, smiling one of his pretty, soft smiles he always does.

“To this evening and to you, the best boyfriend ever.” 

“Be quiet”, he mumbles and drinks from his glass, looking to the side shyly. He blushes.

“Never. You need to know”, you say and lean in to munch on his cheek. 

“Hey. No biting”, he laughs as he complains, moving back. 

“Mhm, then how about I kiss the cook instead?” you say, setting the wine aside to pull him closer.

He lets you tug him between your legs, smiling at you and setting the wine aside. His eyes fall to your lips, his hands dance along a path which consists of your waist, hips and the side of your thighs.

“You’ve got a minute before I have to get back to the risotto”, he says.

“Then let me make the best of it”, you say, pulling him into a kiss. 

How you make the best of this one minute. You kiss him as if you missed him for a million years, as if you needed him for survival, as if his lips are all you ever wished for. It might only be a minute, but Yoongi comes out of this kiss with slightly wobbly knees and a racing heart. His cheeks are flushed, his lower lip tingles as you end the kiss by biting on it gently. 

“What was that for?” his voice is raspy, his eyes foggy as they gaze at your lips.

“Just felt like it”, you whisper, playing with his soft hair at the nape of his neck. 

“Should we like, I don’t know, should I remove the pan from the stove for a moment?” 

You laugh, scrunching your nose. You know what he is insinuating, stomach tingling at the aspect of it.

“And why should you do that?” you tease him, tinting his cheeks an even deeper pink. He curses under his breath, giving your hips a gentle squeeze.

“You drive me crazy, you know. First kissing me like this and then acting innocent.”

“Shouldn’t you check on the rice?”

Yoongi lets out a whine of discontent, but breaks away from you to stir the rice. He glances at you. You retort the glances, heart racing like crazy. His hair is a little messy because you played with it as you kissed him. His lips are slightly puffy and flushed pink. Quite frankly, he has never looked more attractive than he does right now in your little kitchen wearing the black apron you made for him as he cooks you dinner and seems just a little ruffled from your kiss. 

You lift the glass of wine to your equally as puffy lips, giving him an eye smile as you sip the sweet alcohol. Yoongi blushes, shifting his gaze to dinner. He rolls his lower lip between his teeth mindlessly while his hands are busy with pouring chicken stock over the rice. 

You and he both feel the electric sparkles in the air. The feeling is addicting, just as it is addicting to spend time with each other. You just work so well together, you are so right. 

“You know”, you begin.

“Yes, baby?” he answers you, voice warm and caring.

“I love having you over.” 

He glances again. His eyes sparkle, his teeth show in the shiest of smiles.

“I can look at you, I get to listen to you and talk to you. I love it.”

“Yeah, I love it too.”

“And I get to kiss you. It’s pretty awesome.”

He looks at your lips, raising your pulse with it.

“You know. I, theoretically, have one minute again”, he says, giving you puppy eyes.

You laugh because you love when he flirts. You set the wine aside, making grabby hands at him.

“Then come here and make it count.”

Yoongi sets the spoon aside, closing the distance. How he is going to make it count.

[demonic0angel]

Everyone talking shit about Clockwork shoving time missions on the Phantoms. Nobody ever talks about how hard he works to keep space/time from collapsing in on itself from bad timelines.

(You’re right 😔 he needs some appreciation. I had a lot of fun with this one lmao)

Part 3 of this post and this post.

Clockwork resisted the urge to sigh as he watched another world implode via the timeline shifting from the speed force. He silently sent another note to his children workers to solve the problem. As he monitored the situation in other worlds, he kept an eye on the collapsing timeline.

Soon enough, Dan swooped in before the catalyst to beat the crap out of the person who had accidentally created a zombie apocalypse and then he was stomping his feet and throwing a rage-induced tantrum within the poor scientist’s lab, destroying everything. He was shouting and overturning tables, but couldn’t be heard through the time stream.

Clockwork resisted a sigh again. He didn’t like overworking his children employees so much either, but it had to be done.

Just as Dan left the world to rejoin his boyfriend, Clockwork continued to watch the other timelines. Three more worlds suddenly took a turn for the worst and Clockwork sent more messages to the rest of his children workers in order to fix it. He paused as the door to his lair opened and Dan burst inside.

Clockwork tried not to tense. Dan was his most volatile child employee, and he was prone to attacking anything that enraged him. Jazz had once explained that it was his coping mechanism as a decade of grief and loneliness had completely corrupted his impulse control.

Clockwork turned, pretending that he didn’t feel apprehensive about Dan’s presence. “Is there a problem…?”

Dan strode forward with a cool, almost indifferent expression. Without warning, Dan threw himself forward and onto Clockwork’s lap. Clockwork tensed, but Dan only held onto him tightly, wrapping his arms around his waist and then burying his face into his ghostly stomach.

The presence of his child someone near his stomach made him recoil tightly, but he held still.

“Clockworkkkkkk,” Dan whined. “Can’t I kill the Flashes? Please? Just one! I’ll settle for killing Wally West. Can I please kill him?”

Clockwork couldn’t help the chuckle that burst out of him. “No, you cannot. They are vital for that world’s survival.”

“They’re not vital to my sanity!”

The door burst open again and his other three children poured in, also having just finished fixing another world from collapsing. Dani immediately gasped at seeing Dan in his lap. “What! I want Clockwork cuddles too!”

The three of them joined their brother in crowding him and cuddling him, until eventually, he had all four of his children within his embrace. Clockwork released a sigh as he was forced onto his back and rubbed at Danny’s hair, who was lying on his spectral tail. Jazz leaned against him unhappily, and both Dani and Dan were laying on his stomach.

“I’m sorry for overworking you four,” Clockwork said, despite knowing that it wasn’t his fault. He had no one else to solve the problems of the Flash family, not when he was needed to watch over the time stream. “But it is necessary in order to help as many worlds as possible.”

“We don’t blame you,” Jazz said, ever the most empathetic, “it’s all of the Flashes’ faults!”

“I propose that we kill them and save us the headache!” Dan said.

Dani sighed, but also laughed. “Well, Bart is one of my best friends, but I guess he’ll have to go.”

Danny grinned and said, “Cool, I’ll take Flash.”

Clockwork smiled as his children (his wonderful, powerful, extraordinary children) started squabbling over how to kill or whether not to kill someone with the speed force. Work was difficult as someone who was devoted to protecting other timelines and worlds, but with his family by his side, life wasn’t too hard. In a way, Clockwork was almost grateful to be reborn as an Ancient.

Perhaps now, his family and existence wouldn’t end as tragically as before, with his children by his side.

[alchemistc]

Part One

They don't tell anyone. Not about the marriage certificate, at least. Buck comes back from his conference with a new-old boyfriend and money exchanges hands despite protest from the losers that Bobby had inside knowledge.

(He did not.)

They put the rings away. They talk a bunch of shit out that they'd only skimmed the surface of on the patio of that dingy bar.

Buck buys him that beer.

Finally.

Things are - things aren't easy. Buck skips ahead in his own mind and desperately backpedals before Tommy notices (he hopes). Tommy continues to be tight lipped about things, goes with the flow more often than he should and absolutely hates being called out about it.

Eddie is slow to readjust to having Tommy back in their lives.

With Chris back, he swears up and down he believes Buck that they're both serious about this, but he invites Tommy over less, doesn't involve him in Chris's life as often. Buck tries desperately not to let Eddie's hesitancy inform any of the feelings bubbling in his chest, any of the half-formed futures in his head.

Bobby calls Tommy and they go out for coffee and Tommy spends a week pretending to be so fucking fine about whatever they talked about that Buck starts baking again.

Tommy's abs get a little less defined.

Buck takes him to a gay bar, because they never did that before, never explored anything that wasn't just the two of them, never talked about the community or the history or the impact of being queer. The first time someone approaches their spot at the corner of the bar, Tommy seems to be trying incredibly hard not to read into any of the reactions Buck is having, and failing miserably.

But the thing is. The thing is Buck did this on his own. Petty, unhappy, Tommy's words swirling in his head, he's tried a few dozen times to find another person remotely as appealing as the one at his side, and they'd all fallen short.

When the guy asks Buck if he wants to dance Buck blurts out words before he can think about it that he's absolutely certain are gonna send Tommy spiraling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm here with my husband. We're celebrating."

The guy blinks. He's young. Younger than Buck, slim and attractive, dark brown eyes and light brown skin that glows golden even in the crappy bar lighting. His gaze darts almost eagerly between them, like he's seeing something he hadn't expected. Something hopeful blooms in his gaze, and Buck - oh.

Buck gets it.

That's a lot of weight to carry just for existing in the world and trying to snatch some happiness from it.

Buck smooths a hand over Tommy's knee and smiles at him, something soft and settled that has been harder to find this time around but still curls up against his spine like it belongs there.

The kid buys them a round and leaves.

"What are we celebrating?" Tommy asks, and Buck pretends not to notice the way his thumb is rubbing over the bare patch of skin where Buck had slid a ring, a few months ago. He's not freaking.

"Whatever we want," Buck says with a shrug, and doesn't mention that neither one of them have brought up the marriage certificate tucked away in Tommy's safe since they got back from Vegas.

---

"The Abby thing is still weird," Buck says, breath heaving as Tommy rearranges Buck's legs and tucks himself into Buck's side. They'd spent an evening talking candidly about their exes because Buck can't understand how they went six months without realizing.

Tommy's hands shift through the hair Buck stopped shaving the first time Tommy admitted he preferred it to the baby smooth skin Buck had tried desperately to maintain for the first four months. It's just now feeling normal, after so many years of keeping it smooth.

"I think she'd freak more than you did."

"I managed to implode a six month relationship with my freak, Tommy."

Tommy chuffs a laugh. Slides his calf up and down Buck's lower leg, and despite the fact that Buck has a few more notches in his belt that'd had that same scritch of hair against his, Buck relishes the feel just because it's Tommy.

"You had help." He pauses, though, tips his chin and tucks it against the give of Buck's shoulder. "I'm not implying her reaction was particularly homophobic, but - I think that was the worst part, for her. The fact that I hadn't just lied about how I felt. It was - she assumed I couldn't feel it."

Buck can't help the brow raise. "Tommy, you're a Kinsey six."

"I still loved her."

He's been working his way through romantic vs sexual vs platonic and learning a whole hell of a lot in the process. He gets Tommy's point. He's thrilled that Tommy is still in a sharing mood. It's just -

Tommy shifts, noses into Buck's underarm. Breathes deep, and Buck has to fight the urge to shove him away.

"If I'm totally off base here tell me, but I think you loved her like I love Eddie."

Tommy narrows his eyes. Contemplates. "Tell me again how jealous of his hair you were when you met," he decides on, and shrieks when Buck digs a finger into his ribs in retaliation.

---

They fight, and it's thrilling.

They never did that before. Minced their words and apologized and let it all drop away but never actually let it go, and when Tommy gets on a roll he's bitchy as hell. It drives Buck insane. He wants to wring his fucking neck. He wants to take him to the mat and actually learn enough about Muay Thai to stand a chance lasting two minutes. He wants to throw him against a wall and jack him off until he sees stars.

"He wouldn't do the same for me, Evan, so why should I bother?!"

Tommy's dad is dying. According to Tommy, it's days or weeks, not months or years, and Tommy had said it so emotionless that Buck had jokingly tried to check him for panels and plugs and wiring. Tommy hadn't appreciated the robot joke.

"Screw your dad, Tommy! Do it for yourself."

"I'm not like you, Evan! That bridge burned a decade ago. I don't need - ." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Grimaces and sucks in a breath. Usually that means he's yanking back words he knows he'll regret. Rearranging them in his mind until they're less likely to sting. "I don't want a death bed reconciliation any more than I want to be proven right about him."

Buck takes two weeks off to help Tommy plan the funeral.

Tommy tosses the contents of the urn into the ocean two weeks later, and when Buck asks about it, Tommy gives him a shifty look, like he thinks the answer might send Buck running. "He hated the ocean."

It's the last time they talk about his dad, for a while.

[little-pondhead]

DP x DC Prompt

…

There are no more heroes.

Well, okay. Rewind a bit.

Danny has been doing the hero thing for a while now. He’s had a big reveal; everyone has accepted him (including his parents), the GIW disbanded, the Anti-Ecto acts repealed, and generally, everything is going great. Some of the A-Listers are even training as junior ghost hunters to help give him a break from his rogues! (Being Ghost King makes things hectic sometimes, and he just needs the extra help. Sue him!)

The point is, literally nothing is wrong with Danny Phantom’s afterlife.

And then Valerie Gray, the Red Huntress, disappears in front of his eyes.

Danny is baffled! She’s just…gone! Valerie just popped out of existence, like she was never there. But no matter how hard he searches in the Ghost Zone, he can’t find her soul anywhere. His core isn't broken in grief. So she’s not dead. Which is good. So then, where is she?

Some of the others come forward with ideas on how to find her. A few ghosts volunteer to go out into the mortal realm, an area Danny had declared off-limits, to see if she was out there. Danny approves it. He rounds up some of the friendlier (i.e., discreet) ghosts and Amity Parkers and demolishes the outside travel ban.

So everyone spreads out, looking for their dear frenemy and teammate. But it becomes apparent very quickly that something is wrong with the rest of the world.

There are no more heroes.

Every single living superhero on the face of the Earth has just…vanished. Villains are running amok; the countries are in chaos! Some aliens are invading Earth, mythical deities are trying to take over, and society is crumbling to the ground. Everything is on the brink of collapse.

Well, Danny was still there. And so were his people. They were pretty spread out, so could they just…take up the mantles? He also knew where to find the souls of dead heroes in the Zone; surely they wouldn't mind coming out of retirement for a little bit, especially if they couldn't die again. Oh! And that skeleton army leftover from Pariah Dark's reign might be useful in repelling those invading forces.

Honestly, there were more than enough hands to go around! And with the heroes gone, Danny didn't mind letting everyone out for a little break, as long as they followed his rules. They wouldn't stop the search for the other heroes, but hopefully, when they found them, the heroes wouldn't mind Danny's intervention too much. :)

In other words:

Someone fucks up, and all of Earth's living heroes are either wished out of existence or are whisked away to some far-off realm where Danny hasn't checked yet. In the attempt to figure out what's going on, Danny lets the dead run amok over the Earth as they search for clues. The skeleton army repels the invading armies, the souls of dead heroes deal with the world leaders, and his rogues and other Amity Parkers set up shop in place of famous heroes, trying to get the cities under control again.

Basically, they just do their best to keep everything from imploding until the Justice League and others are back.

(And why is it that Danny hasn't disappeared? Well, whatever caused everyone to go poof! only affected living heroes. Anyone heroes that were dead in the first place, or even just half-dead, stayed behind.)

[nerianasims]

There was not a time when working hard was the way to make your fortune. Sometimes -- very rarely -- someone could make their fortune by working hard and being lucky. Just as today, this was quite rare. Part of what our ancestors did work so incredibly hard to do was to make it much less rare, and also to make it so that while most people still couldn’t become wealthy by working hard, most people could have pretty comfortable lives by doing so. Reagan, Thatcher, and their ilk did their damndest to smash that, which means we have much of the work to do all over again.

In almost all of the past, the way to get rich was to be born rich. You could also get loot from war, if your society was set up to allow you to do so (like Rome.) But even then, the truly rich were the ones who owned the land and the labor of the people working on the land, including the land and labor that was gained through conquest. The industrial revolution upended that. Nothing but force -- governmental or otherwise -- will stop the rich from hoarding wealth, though.

What does seem to be more unusual is the rich not realizing this. They no longer understand that if they don’t share some of the wealth, they’re in trouble. We know where they live.

[misaerabl]

She Won't Go Away...

CONTENT: wc… 8.2k ✦ sub!ellie,dom!reader, ellie is readers ex, reader get’s off on ellie’s misery, u make her beg, dry humping, fingering e!receiving, oral sex e!receiving, overstimulation, cheating, lowkey pathetic ellie, no use of y/n, PLOT W SMUT/SMUT W PLOT (totally not proofread!) SUMMARY: Months after your messy breakup, Ellie pretends she’s moved on—but the cracks are showing. She’s got a new girlfriend, a doe-eyed freshman trailing after her like a puppy, but one rainy night, she shows up at your door, desperate and drenched. She’s begging for just one night—to feel what she’s been missing since you. Will you give in, or is this your chance to turn the tables?

It’s been six months since she kicked you out—six months since your relationship with Ellie imploded. She had always been a storm waiting to happen, volatile and unpredictable, and that night was no different. You should’ve seen it coming, the way she turned everything upside down and left you stranded in the wreckage of your own life.

You blocked her on everything. Deleted her number, unfollowed her accounts, erased every trace of her from your digital world. But the real world wasn’t as simple. Your drama-loving friends, always hungry for the latest gossip, couldn’t help themselves from slipping in updates about her spiral.

And honestly? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel a little satisfying. Hearing about Ellie’s downfall—how she’d moved back in with her parents, how her rebound was barely old enough to vote, how she was making a spectacle of herself downtown—was a strange kind of vindication. She’d kicked you out of your own apartment, thrown your life into chaos, and now the universe seemed to be paying her back.

You tried not to dwell on it, but the memories lingered, sharp and bitter. That night had been the culmination of weeks of fighting over something Ellie refused to own up to. She was in the wrong—clearly, unmistakably in the wrong—but you’d let her steamroll you anyway. Maybe it was pity, or maybe you’d just been too exhausted to keep fighting her battles for her.

Your phone buzzes relentlessly, teetering on the edge of the table as notifications pile up from your group chat. You need to see this, one of them says, accompanied by a link to Ellie’s latest post. You hesitate, thumb hovering over the screen, before giving in to curiosity—or maybe morbid fascination.

The image loads, and there she is: Ellie, arm slung around some girl who looks like she’s trying way too hard to keep up. Your chest tightens involuntarily, but it’s not jealousy. It’s something darker, sharper. Disbelief.

The girl—doe-eyed, awkward, and dressed in that painfully calculated way that screams I swear I’m cool—looks like she stumbled out of a thrift store with no clue what she was doing. You almost laugh, but it’s not funny. If Ellie thought this would get to you, it hasn’t. The only thing you feel is pity.

The longer you stare, the clearer it becomes: she’s a downgrade. Massive. The kind that makes you wonder if Ellie’s doing this to punish herself or to prove some kind of misguided point. The girl’s charm feels forced, like she’s trying to mold herself into something Ellie’s already lost.

And then it hits you. The girl isn’t just a downgrade—she’s a replica. Or at least, an attempt at one. The shaggy hair, the oversized flannel, the too-big grin—it’s like looking at a ghost of Ellie herself, back when you first met. Back when she still had that spark, that reckless, magnetic energy that pulled you in before it burned you alive.

Figures. Ellie’s always been in love with herself, even if she never admitted it. Or maybe this isn’t love at all. Maybe she’s chasing a memory, a version of herself that felt invincible—before the mess, before the break, before she lost you.

It’s almost poetic, in a way. Ellie, so desperate to reclaim what she had, clinging to something that’s already gone. And you? You’re here, watching it all unfold, the bitterness in your chest laced with the faintest trace of satisfaction.

It would be cruel to admit it out loud, but deep down, you knew the truth—you got off on Ellie’s misery. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t kind, but there it was, simmering under your skin like a guilty thrill.

Exhibit A: A month after your breakup, she moved back in with her parents. Jesse and Dina told you, of course, slipping it into conversation with cautious glances, like they were testing if you’d even want to hear it. They were your closest friends once—back when Ellie still held her shit together, back when you thought the two of you were untouchable.

Exhibit B: Just a week later, she was spotted at some party, bruised and beaten. She’d gotten into a fight, according to Sydney, a mutual friend who loved to keep tabs on everyone’s business. You could almost picture it: Ellie, fists flying, fueled by some combination of alcohol and self-destruction, still trying to prove she was untouchable.

Exhibit C: Her social media was practically a highlight reel of “I’m fine.” Carefully curated posts of nights out, new hobbies, and a string of new faces, all plastered with that same cocky grin. But you knew her too well. The cracks in her facade were glaringly obvious. The oversharing, the desperate attempts to prove she was thriving—it screamed the opposite.

And the list went on. Every new piece of information was like another point scored in some unspoken game. By some sick, twisted reason, you loved it. Watching her stumble and fall, knowing that she was unraveling—it gave you a satisfaction that felt both intoxicating and shameful.

Ellie thought she was the one who broke you. Maybe she did, for a while. But the real truth? She was the one breaking, piece by piece, and you couldn’t help but savor the view.

You were mid-sip of your coffee, half-listening to Dina ramble about her latest project, when she suddenly gasped, her eyes widening as she stared out the cafe window. “Oh my god,” she whispered, leaning closer like she’d just spotted a celebrity or a crime scene.

“What?” you asked, setting your cup down, already bracing for whatever drama she was about to unload.

Dina didn’t say anything, just tilted her head toward the window. You followed her gaze, and there she was—her. The fucking freshman Ellie was supposedly dating.

Your chest tightened, but not in the way it used to. This wasn’t jealousy. It was something colder, sharper, tinged with disbelief and a twisted sense of amusement. The girl was standing across the street, balancing an oversized tote bag and looking all of eighteen years old, fresh-faced and clueless.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms as you watched. “That’s her?” you asked, tone flat.

Dina nodded, her expression unreadable, but you could see the gears turning in her head. “Yep. That’s the one.”

The girl was painfully… average. Awkward, even. She had this overly eager energy, the kind that screamed pick me, with her oversized hoodie and the way she kept glancing around like she was lost. If Ellie thought this was an upgrade—or even a distraction—she was delusional.

“She’s…” Dina trailed off, struggling for the right word.

“A kid,” you finished for her, your voice laced with disdain.

Dina winced. “I mean, yeah, kind of.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your coffee, trying to pretend you didn’t care, but the sight of the girl lingered in your mind. It wasn’t jealousy—Ellie’s life was her own mess now—but seeing the girl in real life made it all the more ridiculous.

“She’s trying too hard,” Dina muttered, almost to herself. “Like she’s auditioning for something.”

You smirked, swirling your coffee absently. “Figures. Ellie always did like a good project.”

And as much as you hated to admit it, there was a small, dark part of you that couldn’t wait to see how this one would end.

A few minutes later, the door to the café swung open, and in came Jesse, his laughter ringing out before he’d even reached your table. His grin was wide, his energy electric, and you knew before he even said a word that he was about to deliver something chaotic.

“Did you see her?” he asked, barely getting the words out between fits of cackling. He plopped into the chair next to Dina, grabbing one of her fries without so much as a greeting.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference even as your stomach tightened. “See who?”

“The kid,” Jesse said, smirking. “Ellie’s little… whatever she is.”

Dina groaned, rubbing her temples. “Jesse, come on.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Jesse said, leaning back in his chair. “She looks like she wandered out of a high school open house. Please tell me you saw her.”

You kept your expression neutral, though the corners of your lips threatened to curl into a smirk. “Yeah, we saw her,” you said, taking a casual sip of your coffee.

Jesse snorted, shaking his head. “Man, I don’t know what Ellie’s thinking. It’s like she’s doing everything in her power to scream, ‘I’m totally fine, guys!’”

“She’s not,” Dina said, her voice soft but firm.

You glanced at her, but she didn’t elaborate. Jesse, however, didn’t seem to care. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at you.

“Tell me you’re at least enjoying the show,” he said, his grin sly.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I’m just minding my business.”

“Bullshit,” Jesse said, laughing. “You love it.”

You didn’t respond, just leaned back in your chair and let the conversation flow around you. But deep down, you couldn’t deny the flicker of satisfaction Jesse’s words brought. Ellie’s mess was her own to deal with now, and you? You were just here for the coffee.

Finals week brought a brief, blissful silence. Everyone was too busy cramming and stressing over grades to care about the aftermath of your breakup or the whispers of Ellie’s spiraling life. For once, the campus drama machine took a breather, and you got to relish the peace.

But finals ended, and the parties began.

Celebrations cropped up everywhere, and your friends were relentless about dragging you out. At first, you resisted. Maybe you were still riding the exhaustion from finals, or maybe you just didn’t feel like pretending to enjoy yourself. But eventually, you caved. Blame it on the free drinks or the fact that Dina and Jesse had bailed to spend time together like the nauseating lovebirds they were.

The house buzzed with energy, bodies packed into every corner, and music so loud it felt like the floorboards might give out. Conversations competed with the bassline, creating a chaotic hum that filled the air. Laughter and shouts spilled out onto the front lawn, where clusters of people stood smoking or catching their breath. You hung near your group, drink in hand, soaking in the chaos without engaging too much. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

And then you saw her.

She was in the kitchen, beer in hand, laughing at something the guy next to her said. From a distance, she almost looked like her old self—confident, collected. But you knew better. The forced laugh, the way her eyes flickered around the room when she thought no one was watching, the tension in her shoulders—it all screamed try-hard.

And clinging to her arm, like some desperate groupie, was the freshman. You had to give her credit for persistence; not many people would still fawn over someone this obviously falling apart. Ellie threw her a smile, but it was hollow, like everything else about her these days.

You turned back to your drink, feigning disinterest, but one of your friends nudged you. “Isn’t that Ellie?”

“Yep,” you said flatly, not even glancing back.

You weren’t going to let her ruin your night. No, that privilege was yours alone now.

Still, Ellie had a way of making herself impossible to ignore. Everywhere you turned, there she was, laughing too loud or gesturing wildly like she was the life of the party. She wasn’t. She was flailing, and it was almost embarrassing to watch. Almost.

At one point, your group migrated to a quieter corner, gossiping over drinks. The conversation was mindless, but it passed the time. You were just starting to relax when one of your friends leaned in, smirking. “Yo, isn’t that your ex?”

You didn’t need to look to know who they meant.

“She looks like shit,” someone muttered, and you couldn’t help but agree.

Ellie was leaning against the wall now, beer bottle nearly empty, her grey hoodie rumpled like she’d pulled it from the bottom of a laundry basket. The jeans she wore hung loose, the way clothes did on someone who’d lost weight they couldn’t afford to lose. Her glasses sat perched on her nose, slightly askew, the way they used to always be—an effortless part of her polished appearance. Her hair, once perfectly messy, now just looked like she hadn’t bothered. She was a shadow of the person she used to be, and you loved it.

“She’s trying so hard,” another friend snickered, and you smiled into your drink.

It was true. Ellie was a disaster, and she didn’t even know it. Every movement, every laugh, was a performance meant to convince everyone—including herself—that she was okay. But the cracks were there, and you had a front-row seat to watch her crumble.

You caught her looking at you once, just for a second, before she quickly looked away. That single moment of eye contact was enough to tell you everything. She was spiraling, and she knew you knew.

You raised your glass in a mock toast, a smug grin tugging at your lips as her expression darkened.

God, it felt good to see her like this.

Every stumble, every fake smile, every awkward interaction was proof that she hadn’t moved on, and that knowledge was sweeter than any drink you could have had tonight. Ellie might’ve been the one to end things, but you were the one thriving now.

And as you watched her shrink further into herself, you couldn’t help but savor the irony. She’d thought she was better off without you, but now? She was the punchline to a joke only you truly understood.

Karma had never looked so good.

Eventually, you grew tired of your so-called friends and their endless gossip, their voices blending into a monotonous hum that felt more high school than college. Rolling your eyes, you muttered a half-hearted excuse and slipped away, heading outside for a smoke.

The night air hit you like a reset button, cool and sharp against your skin. Away from the suffocating noise of the party, you finally let yourself breathe.

You were halfway through your cigarette when the back door creaked open, the familiar sound of footsteps following immediately after. You didn't have to look to know who it was—Ellie’s presence was unmistakable, like a ripple in the air that made everything feel off-kilter.

She came into view, cigarette dangling between her fingers, the glow from the ember briefly lighting up her face in the dim backyard. She stood there, awkwardly shifting on her feet, her posture too stiff to be casual. The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air, but she didn’t take a drag immediately—she was eyeing you, as if deciding whether to approach.

You didn’t make any move, just took another slow drag from your own cigarette, watching her from the corner of your eye.

“Can I join?” Ellie’s voice was rough, a little too slow, but she made her way over, unceremoniously leaning against the brick wall beside you.

You exhaled, the smoke curling into the cold night. “It’s a free world,” you said flatly, not bothering to acknowledge her much beyond that.

She nodded, as if to herself, and then lit her cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating her face in a flickering moment of vulnerability. She dragged deeply, her eyes closing for a brief second as she exhaled, the cloud of smoke mixing with the night air.

You couldn’t help but glance at her—she was wearing the same loose grey hoodie, her glasses perched just so, like they had always been a part of her signature style. The jeans she wore hung too loosely on her frame, the sign of someone who had lost more than just weight. The way her hands shook slightly as she took another drag was a stark contrast to her usual confident facade.

The quiet stretched between you both as she smoked, and you weren’t sure if it was the booze or just the weight of everything, but Ellie spoke up again, her voice softer now, too soft.

“Sometimes I think I fucked up more than I thought,” she said, her gaze fixed on the ground.

You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you took another drag, letting the silence hang, thick and heavy. She had this way of saying things she didn’t really want to say—things she thought she could bury under the weight of her act, but here she was, practically inviting you to take the shot.

Ellie looked back at you, meeting your eyes briefly before quickly looking away, uncomfortable again. "I didn't mean for it to go this way," she muttered.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smirking. “No one ever means it,” you said coldly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the grass.

Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond. She just took another drag, trying to keep it together, though it was clear her mind was somewhere else entirely.

You couldn’t help the satisfaction that crept through you as you watched her like this—so far from the confident, untouchable girl who used to walk around like she owned every room. Watching her crumble, piece by piece, had always been more satisfying than you'd ever care to admit.

“Well,” you said, voice almost light, “at least you’re consistent in how much of a mess you are.”

She flinched at that, but didn’t retaliate. Instead, she just stared at her cigarette, the smoke curling upward, her shoulders slumping a little more with each breath. You didn’t care to pretend you cared about her sadness. It was better this way. She’d made her choice.

You finished your cigarette first, tapping it out and flicking it into the yard. "Have fun with that," you said with a sneer, before turning on your heel and walking back toward the house, the sound of the door closing behind you louder than any of the bullshit you’d just walked away from.

You didn’t see her again at the party, at least not until later when you were waiting for a cab, conveniently she was too. You were standing near the curb, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, ready to call it a night. The air had cooled further, and the sounds of the party were slowly becoming a distant hum. That’s when you spotted her—Ellie, standing just a few feet away, looking like she was trying to make herself small despite being too tall and noticeable.

She didn’t see you at first, and you almost considered pretending you hadn’t noticed her. But then, as if the universe had other plans, she glanced in your direction. Her eyes flickered for a moment, just a brief flash of recognition before she looked away.

You started to turn your attention back to your phone when the cab you’d called pulled up, but then Ellie surprised you. She was already walking toward it, the same cab, as if fate had decided to throw one last curveball.

Her eyes met yours again as she reached the door, and she hesitated for just a moment before saying, “You waiting for a ride too?” Her voice had a touch of awkwardness, like she wasn’t quite sure if she should even ask.

You paused for a second, then shrugged, stepping closer to the cab. “Guess so,” you replied, your tone flat but not unkind. You didn’t really feel like arguing, and she clearly wasn’t going to back down.

It was too late to back out now, so you both climbed into the backseat, the door shutting behind you with a soft thud. The car started moving, and for a moment, the silence was just as thick as it had been when you were standing outside.

The ride was quiet, the kind of silence that felt thick with unspoken words. Ellie sat beside you, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her face illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights passing by. You could feel her tension, the way she fidgeted with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, clearly trying to fight off whatever thoughts were eating at her. You didn’t bother to break the silence, letting the hum of the car’s engine fill the space between you both.

When the cab finally pulled up in front of your new apartment building, you were already reaching for the door handle, ready to escape the awkwardness. But before you could step out, Ellie surprised you again. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed the door open too, stepping out of the cab at the same time you did.

You blinked in confusion as she closed the door behind her and walked toward you, her pace slow but determined. “I’ll walk you to your apartment,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. It almost sounded like a statement rather than a suggestion, like it was something she had already decided in her head.

You stared at her for a moment, trying to process what she was saying. It wasn’t like Ellie to make such an offer, not after everything that had happened. You were about to ask her what she was doing when she tilted her head slightly, looking at you with a mix of resolve and something else—vulnerability, maybe.

She didn’t wait for your response, already starting to walk toward your building. You found yourself following her without thinking. There was something about the way she was acting tonight, something different than the reckless, unbothered Ellie you were used to. You couldn’t quite place it, but for some reason, you didn’t protest.

It felt almost like a routine, walking beside her in the quiet of the night. The distance between you wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to feel the strange tension in the air, the unspoken words hanging between the two of you.

The elevator ride up to your floor felt like an eternity, the space between you both growing with each passing second. Ellie was unusually quiet, her hands shoved deep in her hoodie pockets as she stared ahead, her lips pressed together in a line. You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol or something else, but she seemed more... guarded, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

You were about to say something when she spoke, her voice low but pointed. “You know, you’re not as over this as you act.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face. You snapped your head toward her, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged nonchalantly, but the edge in her voice was unmistakable. “Just saying. You act like you don’t care, but I’ve seen you watching me tonight. You don’t fool anyone.”

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open, but neither of you moved immediately. You could feel your heart beating faster, your temper flaring. “I don’t care? You think you know me? You’re the one who left, Ellie. You don’t get to make assumptions about me now.”

She rolled her eyes, her usual sarcastic smirk creeping onto her face. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you didn’t move on. I saw you at that party, having the time of your life with your little friends.”

That did it. You stepped toward her, your voice rising. “You don’t get to act like I’m the one who moved on too quickly. You don’t know what it’s been like for me, and frankly, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Ellie’s expression shifted, and for the first time that night, you saw something softer in her eyes. But before you could process it, her tone sharpened again. “I never said you owed me anything, but I didn’t expect you to throw it all away like I meant nothing.”

“Stop acting like this is all my fault,” you shot back, your voice barely controlled now. “You pushed me away. I had no choice but to move on, Ellie. You made sure of that.”

The argument hung in the air, thick and tense. But before you could say another word, Ellie closed the distance between you, her breath warm against your skin. In one swift motion, she cupped your face, pulling you in. You didn’t fight it. The anger, the hurt, all of it seemed to melt away in the heat of the kiss.

It was raw—desperate even. Her lips were hungry against yours, and you kissed her back, your hands coming up to tangle in her messy hair. It felt like everything you’d been holding back, every word you hadn’t said, was pouring into that kiss.

But as quickly as it started, reality crashed back in. You broke away, gasping for air, your heart pounding in your chest. Ellie stood there, her face flushed, eyes wide with the same shock as yours.

You stepped back, shaking your head. “This... this doesn’t change anything, Ellie. Just go home.”

Her gaze softened, and you could see the disappointment in her eyes. But she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, turned, and walked away.

You stood in the cold, the echo of her footsteps fading down the hallway as you finally unlocked your door. The kiss lingered on your lips, but it wasn’t enough to make you forget why you had to push her away. Not now. Not like this.

A few days had passed since that night, but it felt like everything from then had been a twisted joke you were still trying to figure out. You weren't sad about the breakup; no, that ship had sailed. You were pissed that you’d ended up making out with her—Ellie, of all people—after everything.

It wasn’t supposed to be like that. You weren’t supposed to let her back in. And yet, there you were, rolling around with her in the elevator like some lovesick idiot. You had to keep telling yourself it was a mistake—a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment. But you couldn’t deny the satisfaction that came with seeing Ellie in such a mess. The messy flannel, the loose jeans, the awkward way she was trying so hard to pretend she didn’t care. It was delicious.

You were in your room now, screaming into your pillow because, honestly, what the hell had you just done? Dina was on the bed, far too entertained by your complete frustration.

“So, you and Ellie kissed,” Dina said, her voice dripping with amusement. “Or should I say, ‘ate each other's face’?” She leaned forward, practically glowing with excitement. “How was it? Did she kiss like she still had a chance?”

You groaned into the pillow, the sound muffled. “I didn’t eat her face, Dina. It wasn’t anything like that.” You lifted your head just enough to glare at her. “She’s a disaster. She came on strong, and I was—ugh—I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

Dina was laughing so hard she almost fell off the bed. “Oh, come on. You’re so into her. I can tell. And you’re acting all annoyed, but I saw the way you kissed her. Don’t lie. It was intense.”

You sat up, scowling at her. “I’m not into her, Dina. I just... I don’t know, she pissed me off so much, and then bam—we're making out like idiots. But it’s not like it meant anything.”

Dina’s smirk didn’t fade. “Right, sure. Whatever you say, but I bet Ellie’s loving it right now, huh? She’s probably regretting her whole life choices while you’re sitting here getting off on her misery.”

That hit a little too close to home. You were enjoying the way she was falling apart. Seeing her so wrecked, so desperate to hold on to something that had already slipped through her fingers—it was delicious. Karma had never tasted so sweet.

You flopped back onto your bed, rolling onto your back with an exaggerated sigh. “She looked pathetic, Dina. But it’s like—ugh, I don’t know. Seeing her like that... It was so perfect, you know? She’s this whole mess, and I’m over here just... thriving.”

Dina raised an eyebrow at you, clearly enjoying the way you were reacting. “I get it. You love watching her self-destruct. It’s like everything she put you through is finally coming back around. But you’ve got to admit, kissing her like that—it’s got to mean something.”

You shot her a glare. “No. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m just enjoying the fact that she’s miserable now. She thought she could walk away, but now she’s the one suffering, and I’m just... here for it.”

Dina grinned, clearly not buying your act. “You can try to act all tough, but I see you, dude. You’re not as over her as you think.”

You groaned and buried your face back into the pillow. “Just drop it, okay? I don’t need to hear your analysis right now.”

Dina’s laugh rang through the room, making you just a little more annoyed. “Fine, fine. But you’re so into her. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The rain pounded relentlessly against the window as you stepped out of the shower, steam curling in the air around you. Dressed in a pair of pajama shorts and a matching top, you walked into your room, ready to collapse into bed and lose yourself in mindless scrolling or random videos.

But before you could settle in, a soft knock at your door froze you in place.

You sighed, already dreading who it could be. Opening the door, you found Ellie standing there, drenched from the rain. Her auburn hair stuck to her face, and her usual cocky confidence was replaced by an almost hesitant shuffle.

“Can I come in?” she asked, her voice low and thick with something unspoken.

You crossed your arms, glaring. “What do you want, Ellie?”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor before meeting yours. She looked out of place, like she didn’t belong here but couldn’t stay away. “Just... please.”

You stared her down, letting the silence linger until it became unbearable, then stepped aside reluctantly. Ellie walked in slowly, dripping water onto the floor as she fidgeted with her hands. She always did that when she was nervous.

Closing the door, you leaned against it and crossed your arms again. “Well? Spit it out.”

Ellie’s shoulders tensed. She avoided your gaze for a moment, exhaling sharply before finally looking at you. “I miss you,” she said, her voice quiet, almost trembling.

A laugh escaped you, sharp and cold. “Bullshit. You have a girlfriend, Ellie. Why the hell are you here?”

“I know,” she replied quickly, holding her hands up as if to defend herself. “I know, but… she’s not you. No one has ever made me feel like you do. I miss you. Please.”

Your heart clenched, but you buried it under your growing frustration. “You’re unbelievable,” you said, your voice cutting. “You’re with her now. What’s her name again? Oh, right, the freshman who follows you around like a puppy on a leash. Does she know you’re here, begging me for crumbs?”

Ellie winced, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that,” she said, her voice barely audible.

“Isn’t it?” you shot back. “You’ve got her wrapped around your finger, Ellie, and now you want to come crawling back to me because you’re bored or because she can’t give you whatever it is you’re looking for. Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” Ellie snapped, her voice breaking. “She’s not you. She’ll never be you. I need—”

“You need to leave,” you interrupted, cutting her off. “Go back to your little puppy. Play house. Whatever it is you do with her.”

Ellie stepped closer, her hands trembling at her sides. “I don’t want her,” she said, her voice softening again. “I want you. Just… just one night. Please.”

You raised an eyebrow, a cruel smirk tugging at your lips. “You think one night is going to fix this? After everything? You’ve got some nerve, Ellie.”

“I don’t care,” she said, desperation lacing her words. “I don’t care how much you hate me right now. I just—please, I miss how we used to be. I miss you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, stepping closer to her. “If you want me that badly, prove it,” you said, your voice sharp and unrelenting. “Beg for it, Ellie. Get on your knees and show me how much you miss me.”

Ellie’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock, but she didn’t hesitate for long. Slowly, she sank to her knees, her trembling hands resting on your thighs. “Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ll do anything. Just… let me stay. Just for tonight.”

You tilted your head, looking down at her with mock pity. “Is this what you do when things don’t go your way? Crawl back to me while your girlfriend waits at home, none the wiser? Pathetic.”

Ellie flinched but didn’t move, her grip on your thighs tightening. “Say whatever you want. I don’t care,” she said, her voice shaking. “Just… please, let me stay.”

For a moment, you let the silence hang heavy between you, the sound of rain pounding against the window filling the room. You could feel her desperation, her raw need, and—god help you—it made you feel powerful.

Finally, you leaned down, tilting her chin up with your fingers so she had no choice but to meet your gaze. “You don’t deserve it,” you said, your voice low and cruel. “But I’ll give you what you want. Just this once.”

Ellie’s breath hitched as you leaned in, capturing her lips in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was rough, desperate, and laced with all the frustration, hurt, and longing that had been simmering between you for months.

Her hands slid up your legs, pulling you closer as she kissed you back with equal fervor. It was a mess of emotions—anger, desire, and something neither of you dared to name—but for now, it was enough.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathing hard, you stared down at her, a smirk playing on your lips. “Get up,” you said, your tone sharp but teasing.

Ellie stood, her eyes never leaving yours. The night was far from over, and you both knew it.

A sly grin tugs at Ellie’s lips as she watches you sink into the couch, legs splayed wide. Her hesitation lasts only a heartbeat before she steps forward, closing the space between you. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers herself onto your thigh, her breath hitching as she settles in, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.

Her body sinks into yours as if she’s trying to melt away the distance between you. Her arms coil around your neck, fingers threading through the hair at your nape. She starts to move, a slow, deliberate grind, her breaths hot against your skin. Her voice, soft and raw, spills into the hollow of your neck like a confession wrapped in velvet. “God… I missed you so much,” she murmurs, the words trembling with a teasing ache, her desperation weaving itself into every shift of her hips, every flicker of heat that blooms. 

She tries to press her knee against you, sliding between your legs with a boldness that only fuels your frustration. But you’re quicker, pushing her back with a firm hand. “No,” you bite out, your voice cold and unyielding. She doesn’t get to have this her way—not after everything. She doesn’t deserve to touch you, not until you decide she’s earned it.

When you shove her knee away, a soft whimper escapes her lips—fragile, pleading, yet laced with determination. She leans closer, her breath warm against your skin as she murmurs, “Let me touch you, baby.” Her voice trembles, a delicate mix of desperation and longing, as if she’s begging for permission to worship what she knows she doesn’t deserve.

You tilt your head, locking eyes with her, your expression cold and unyielding. Her desperation clings to the air between you like a suffocating fog. “You don’t deserve to touch me,” you say, your voice low but cutting, each word sharp enough to pierce through her resolve.

Her breath hitches, her hands faltering where they’ve dared to rest on your thighs. “Please,” she whispers, her voice breaking just slightly, the word hanging in the silence like an offering.

You lean forward, closing the distance just enough for her to feel the weight of your presence without granting her the satisfaction she craves. “You don’t get to beg for what you threw away,” you add, your tone cruel, though the flicker of heat in her gaze tells you she doesn’t hate it. If anything, she leans into it, her fingers curling tighter against your legs.

“I’ll make it up to you,” she says, almost breathless, her voice trembling with urgency. “I’ll do anything. Just—”

“Anything?” you interrupt, your lips curling into a slow, taunting smile. “You really think anything will erase the mess you made? You want to earn this? Then prove it. Show me how pathetic you can be.”

Her cheeks flush, her eyes dropping to the space between you as though she’s already considering how far she’ll go. And when she looks up again, there’s a spark of something reckless in her gaze—something that says she’s willing to sink lower if it means she can have even a fraction of you.

She knelt on the ground, her hands bound behind her like a captured bird, the belt tight against her wrists. You moved around her slowly, like a predator circling its prey, the tension in the air thick enough to taste. Her eyes flickered to you, but her body remained still, the soft rustling of fabric the only sound as you drew near.

Every bone in your body screamed at you to walk away, to resist the urge, but seeing her—especially earlier, drenched in rain, her eyes pleading for your touch—was a temptation you couldn't ignore.

You’d moved past her. Moved past everything. She was a lousy girlfriend then, and nothing had changed. Now, she had a new girlfriend—if you could even call that wide-eyed freshman a girlfriend. More like a puppy, really. But seeing her, broken and desperate, begging for what you used to give her? You couldn’t help yourself. You were going to make her feel everything she did before—and then some.

It was a striking thing, seeing her so completely at your mercy. She used to be the one in control, always dominant, always pushing you around—and you, you let her. But not anymore. Not now. Now, the tables have turned. She needed you, not the other way around, and you made sure she understood that. With a sharp tug on her hair, you forced her gaze to meet yours.

With a slow, deliberate motion, you used your foot to spread her legs wide on the cold ground, ensuring her gaze stayed locked on you. 

Ellie's breath catches as you spread her legs, the motion bold, deliberate—sending a shudder through her that you can almost feel in your own chest. She glares up at you, but now there's something else in her eyes—something uncertain, a crack in the defiance. Ellie licks her lips nervously, her usual bravado slipping away like a mask, leaving her raw and exposed in a way that stirs something in you. This isn't the Ellie you once knew, and that makes everything so much more... thrilling.

Her heart races as she feels your foot firmly press against her center through her jeans. Her eyes widen in shock and humiliation, but she can't help the way her body responds. Her breath catches in her throat as you maintain eye contact, dominating her completely.

Her face burns with embarrassment and arousal, but even she can't deny the heat building between her legs. "Fuck-" she whispers harshly, trying to maintain some dignity despite her vulnerable position. Her legs want to close, but your foot presses harder, keeping them firmly apart.

"Please, let me touch you, baby... That’s all I need..." Her voice trembles, low and pleading.

You chuckle darkly, the sound low and dangerous, before replying, "I told you, Ellie... you don’t get to touch me."

Ellie's lips part in disbelief, a frustrated whimper escaping as she realizes the cruel game you're playing. Her body aches to touch you, but your cold words remind her of the power she's lost. She glare up at you, her eyes flashing with mingled fury and desperate need.

Ellie's teeth grind together as she fights back a groan, your cruel denial stoking the flames of her arousal higher. 

“Stand up.” You commanded

Her legs tremble slightly as your foot leaves its intimate position, leaving her feeling empty and aching. She struggles to stand on shaky legs, her pride demanding she maintain some semblance of dignity, despite the obvious effect you're having on her. 

She stumbles forward, her hands reaching out to steady herself on the couch. You push her down roughly, making her sit on the edge of the cushion. Before she can react, you grab the hem of her pants and yank them down her legs, leaving her in nothing but her boxers.

She gasps in surprise as you quickly remove her boxers, leaving her completely exposed. Before she can process what's happening, your face is between her legs, your tongue delving into her soaked pussy. Ellie's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips as you devour her.

Her hands fist in your hair, pulling desperately as she tries to pull you closer. Her hips buck against your face, seeking more contact, more friction. "Dammit, dammit," she pants, her body tensing as she tries to hold back the release you're pushing her towards.

As you continue to eat her out, you suddenly push two fingers inside her, stretching her open further. The sensation is too much, and Ellie's back arches off the couch as she screams in ecstasy. Her pussy clenches around your fingers, gushing with juice as you finger fuck her alongside your tongue.

Your fingers push inside her, stretching her tight pussy as you continue to lick and suck her clit. Ellie's legs shake violently, her whole body trembling as the dual sensations overwhelm her. She screams in ecstasy, her pussy clenching around your fingers as she cums hard, her juices flooding your mouth.

As she rides out her orgasm, you don't let up, continuing to eat her out and fuck her with your fingers. When she finally starts to come down, you add a third finger, scissoring them inside her to stretch her pussy even further.

The combination of your fingers and tongue becomes too much, overstimulating her. Ellie's vision starts to blur, her mind going blank as she's hit with an intense wave of pleasure. She screams again, her body convulsing as she experiences what feels like an endless orgasm.

“Mmm... you asked for this,” you murmur, a smirk tugging at your lips as you slowly withdraw your fingers, taking a deliberate step back. “You said you wanted me to make you feel good.”

You knew, deep down, that this wasn’t what she had in mind when she came to you, desperate for a ‘blast from the fucking past’. But that’s exactly what you intended to give her—whether she was ready for it or not.

The next day, the news came—she and her little freshman had broken up. You didn’t need the details; you already knew how it went down. It was always going to end like this. She’d come crawling back to you, driven by some half-baked nostalgia, thinking she could reclaim something that was long gone.

But she was foolish if she thought you’d take her back. That door had closed, and she had no one to blame but herself.

After class, you glance at your phone. A single message from Ellie: "Can we talk?"

You pause, the weight of her words settling in. She thought this was some simple conversation—someway to undo what had been done.

You don't rush to reply. Instead, you let the silence stretch. When you do finally respond, it's deliberate, cold: "What’s there to talk about?"

Her reply comes quick, desperate: "I need to explain..."

You smile to yourself, a small, satisfied thing. She needed to explain? There was nothing left to explain, but you knew what she wanted. She always did, didn’t she?

You meet her at the old usual spot, a dimly lit corner outside the café where you used to sit and talk—before everything went to shit. The air feels thick, charged with the weight of what happened, and Ellie stands there, fidgeting, her eyes on the ground.

You take your time walking toward her, letting the silence hang between you before you speak.

“I’m listening,” you say, your voice steady, almost too calm for the storm brewing beneath it.

Ellie looks up, her face flushed, eyes wide with that familiar desperation. She takes a step forward, her voice shaky but insistent. “There has to be something, right? After what happened… after that night… You made me feel something again. You made me feel so good. That has to mean something.”

Her words hang in the air, and you almost feel sorry for her, but the truth is, you don’t. Not anymore.

Ellie swallows, her gaze softening as if she’s trying to pull you back into the past. “You still love me. You have to. I know you do.”

You stare at her for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch uncomfortably before your lips curl into a cold, empty smile. “Love you?” you say, your voice low, almost mocking. “No, Ellie. I don’t love you.”

She flinches at the words, her eyes searching yours for something—anything—that would contradict what you just said. But there’s nothing there.

“You think I did this because I love you?” You shake your head, the laughter that follows bitter. “No. I did it because it felt good. Seeing you beneath me, broken, desperate—it gave me something I didn’t know I was missing.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, you almost feel the weight of her confusion, her shock, but you push it aside.

“You want to get back together?” you ask, the words dripping with disdain. “You’re pathetic, Ellie. You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

She tries to reach for your hand, but you step back, coldly rejecting her touch.

“No. You’ve had your chance. You don’t get to come back and rewrite what’s already been done.”

Low and behold, like the asshat she was, you'd heard from Dina how Ellie had been talking shit about you—spinning stories about how cruel you were, how you had used her, how you made her feel worthless. Typical Ellie, always turning herself into the martyr. Always blaming someone else for her own mess.

You hadn’t been surprised when Dina had spilled the details. You knew Ellie. She was the type who would do anything to make herself feel like she hadn’t been the one left behind, the one who hadn’t been able to make things work. The truth was, Ellie wasn’t strong enough to face what she had done, to admit that she had come crawling back to you, begging for something that she could never have again.

She couldn’t stand the thought of losing control over you. It was always about that. But now, that power was gone. She didn’t get to walk away from this with her head held high. No, she had made her bed. And you weren’t going to lie in it with her anymore.

You’d already heard her excuses, the things she’d said to Dina, how she made herself out to be the victim. And as much as it pissed you off, you weren’t surprised. This was Ellie’s game. It was always her way or no way. But you knew better than to get dragged back into her toxic cycle.

You remembered that night—the way she had begged, the way she had been so desperate for something, anything. But what had she really wanted? To feel wanted again? To feel like she still had some hold on you? To make herself feel better about all the times she’d walked away from you, played you like a fool?

Well, now, she was just another piece of your past. She wouldn’t go away. But you were done.

Even after everything, she kept finding ways to crawl back into your life—whether it was through casual texts, uninvited visits, or her half-hearted attempts to rekindle what was lost. She couldn’t just accept it. Couldn’t just walk away like she had all the power in the world. But you were done.

She kept telling herself that you’d come back. That you’d always come back. She couldn’t fathom that there was no room for her in your life anymore, no place for her desperate pleas to fit in. It didn’t matter how many times she tried to make herself the center of your world.

And yet, she wouldn’t go away. Not entirely.

Even now, you could feel her presence lingering, like some shadow that just wouldn’t dissipate. You weren’t sure what she expected from you, or why she kept thinking this twisted version of “us” could work, but there was no denying it. Ellie wouldn’t just let you move on. She had to cling to the past because, for her, it was all she knew.

But you? You were done. You weren’t going to chase after her anymore. You wouldn’t keep playing her game.

You couldn’t make her disappear, but you could walk away.

[lalunanymph]

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 — n. seishiro + i. rin

what’s better than one football prodigy in your bed? that’s right—two.

"move your lukewarm ass—"

"s'not my fault you couldn't get a bigger bed!"

"if i have to see your foot right in front of my face again, i'll—"

"rin," you pouted. "sei."

the unlikely pair turned to you, teal blue eyes and steel grey ones focused on your flushed face.

you were naked from the waist down, legs spread and ready for the both of them to take you... if only they would just stop bickering for a second.

the story of how you landed in between two of blue lock's most lethal players was a funny one, but you couldn't recount it right this second.

after all, history was the furthest thing from your mind when you were waiting for either of them to just fuck you.

rin, the hot-headed one between him and nagi, tossed a baleful glare at the white-haired man. "can't even finish what you started right—must i always teach you what to do?"

"careful, itoshi," nagi mumbled breezily, though the threat behind his casual tone was clear as day. "i could beat your ass anytime on the field."

"you barely have any talent, you lukewarm—"

your arms around his shoulders stopped rin from his tirade. the only thing in the world that could calm him down was you and your sweet smile which could rival the sun.

"be nice to each other, please," you whispered, and for good measure, placed a kiss on rin's warming cheek. "i really need you both. don't keep me waiting?"

you left an open-ended question for either man to follow through. nagi was the one who didn't hesitate to meet your needs in the middle.

curling his large palm around your ankle, you fought a shiver at how the veins on the back of his hand seemed more pronounced now that he was tensed. he yanked you from rin, and you tumbled back onto the bed, legs falling wide open for him to dive in between them.

his lips were swollen, shaded close to cherry wine when he latched onto your clit again, slowly sucking it and massaging it with his mouth. your head tossed back, and rin's presence was felt by his hand on your throat, turning your face towards him.

your mouth parted open in a silent scream, and rin took the chance to ease his cock down your throat.

the walls of this love hotel which had seen numerous affairs would implode if news of this tryst reached the wrong ears.

news would pour out, and disgust would be splashed across the pages of every tabloid.

it would ruin both your lovers' careers.

but, like an asteroid approaching the burning surface of the sun, a collision of epic proportions was inevitable.

you white-knuckled the sheets, hips writhing like a pit of snakes with nowhere to go. trapped in between two football prodigies, you could only take their merciless thrusting and licking, until the tight ball of heat in your lower belly was threatening to explode.

white light flooded through the cracks of your barely opened lids. rin was speeding up his thrusts, the sensual sounds of wetness and your throat taking him second to nagi's lewd moaning and lapping in between your legs.

you threaded shaky fingers through his frosty silver locks, trying to anchor yourself from flooding away in a sensation of pleasure.

"focus on us," rin's voice tainted by the searing pleasure roiling in those beautiful teal eyes reverberated through your ringing ears in a low growl. "don't tap out now, baby."

something physical and hot curled in your lower belly at rin's term of endearment. the famed stoic striker rarely ever doled out pet names, and something about being called rin's baby—the one to spark his natural instinct to protect—had your heart cartwheeling in your chest.

"mhm, tastes s'good," nagi's slurry groan added a layer of sensation you couldn't keep up with. he nuzzled your pubic bone, a momentary break, only to rub his slick lips over your clit in his rendition of a lazy, sensual kiss.

an electric feeling of darkness slithered down your spine, and you moaned around rin's length.

you were wet everywhere.

drool dripping down your chin. juices staining your thighs. sweat seeping into the sheets.

every second that passed in this blissful suspension of time and space was filled with unbearable pleasure. your hips twitched, stuffed moans trying to creep past the willing obstruction choking your airway.

you tasted rin's musk, the smell of him—soap and salt—springing tears to your eyes.

above you, his fall of dark green hair shaded his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead. a snarl was etched across his mouth, the shine of his perfect white teeth flashing like a quick camera light in your hazy mind's eye.

flickering your gaze to the man between your thighs, your hips undulated when you noticed nagi removing his pants. the white-haired prodigy had zero patience when he slid his pretty, veiny cock against your folds, testing the waters and your eagerness.

your body responded instantly, lower half angling upwards, legs falling wider to accept his larger frame comfortably.

in between two men who were easily over six foot, it was hard not to be smothered by their bodies—but you adored the suffocation.

you loved the feeling of nagi's bigger body caging you on the bed, while his heavy hips collided with yours in a bruising pace that almost made you spit out rin's girthy length.

"fuck," rin huffed, craning his neck back to loll his head, eternal bliss written on his pretty features. "so good. f-fuck. best mouth..."

he trailed off in a whimper which would've been unnoticeable if seishiro had not stopped fucking into you.

"told ya," the white-haired striker mumbled triumphantly. "told ya to take a chance on us."

you could actually hear rin gritting his teeth.

"just focus on fucking her," he spat, murderous glare fracturing into heated pieces from his faltering expression. it was hard to hold onto anger when you were tonguing his balls.

he slid his gaze to your grinning mouth split open by his fleshy globes and felt a surge of love so strong that if he were standing, rin would've been knocked to his feet.

luckily, he was already on his knees for you.

the one woman who could put him there without a single complaint.

"i wuv you," your cute confession while your mouth was full of him made rin almost tear up. those lukewarm feelings would never see the light of the night—not when nagi was opposite of him, fucking into your pussy like he might never have it in his life again.

rin eyed the frothing, creaming mess in between your thighs born from the other striker's precise, clean strokes.

was there anything that this stupid white-haired bum couldn't do?

rin tamed down his jealous thoughts, reminding himself again that you three were a team. an unlikely one—but still a team nonetheless.

as for the other man, he was completely drunk on the sway of your hips and tits, eyeing the hypnotizing way your throat bulged when it was full of rin only to smooth out and repeat again. and again. and again.

he felt his own balls tighten when you pulled your face off rin's cock, running your hot pink tongue over his taint and balls.

it was like he could feel it gliding across his own skin—

"fuck!"

seishiro fell into a heap on top of you, completely spent. his heavy breaths fanned across your neck and chest, his cum spilling out in milky stains onto the sheets, cock pulsing pathetically in you, like his soft whines which begged for your attention.

luckily, your hands were offloaded from stroking rin's pretty and thick length when the other man's hips stuttered and he gripped the back of your head, holding you in place.

seishiro could tell when the younger itoshi had come—his face would crumple first, like a paper doily that was unable to fight off the force of his body's baser instinct. then, a pinch of pain in between his brows, a heavy sigh and half-lidded drunkenness.

when those teal eyes fluttered wide open again and he stumbled back onto his haunches, you were there to catch rin.

how the hell did you manage to cuddle in bed with two really tall, athletic men—you would never know.

but with nagi's head on your chest, and rin curled into your side, you were floating on a cocktail of hormones and pride at bringing two of blue lock's most talented men right into your bed.

a coasting sensation that was dragged down the corners into reality for a split second like a curtain pulling back when you heard rin mumble: "next time, i'm getting her pussy," loud enough for seishiro to hear.

nagi grunted, not giving the younger man the time of day or space to breathe when he uttered his next words.

"why don't you score a scorpion trap against me first and then we'll talk."

every reblog and (nice!) feedback given gets your delulus closer to trululus

©️ all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[zara-renata]

Supernova | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Caleb's POV of the events of the previous part. Non-canon compliant, as I started this fic before he was released, and it turns out Caleb and mc were in the shelter together after the chronorift catastrophe, whereas I have them meeting at their gran's house for the first time in this fic. I also wrote Caleb and mc only being one year apart, unlike in the game, where they seem to be 3 or 4 years apart. Otherwise, I've tried to incorporate everything we've learned about him so far into this fic. This story contains: obsessive, possessive, jealous behavior. codependency. angst. yearning, mutual pining. some sexual fantasy on Caleb's part. I lean fully into the yandere Caleb that infold gifted us with. i hope it's enjoyable!

He is a star, just on the edge of going supernova. His rage at his lack of control, the voice in his head predicting he’ll become as destructive as a black hole someday, the mass of his emptiness and the twinned want for it to be filled—always on the verge of crushing his soul.

You are his twin, his other, his only, in his binary system, anchoring him with your gravity—your pull, the defiance of physics, as your force on him prevents him both from careening out alone in the dark and from imploding into himself, collapsing into the black hole he knows his truest form to be.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

When it becomes too much. When the feelings inside him feel too big for his skin. You have always been there, a steadying force, a constant companion as he burns through the universe, through life. He is shaped, contained, filled by you, as you are carved, eroded, sculpted by him.

One bright day, Gran brings you home. Introduces you to your new big brother. You look—naked. Exposed. All of your feelings, right on your face. Your fear, hesitation, pain, all clear as the bright sunny day for him to read in your big, bright, sad eyes. He doesn’t know why, but it hurts his heart, to see how scared you are of his reaction to your presence in his home, now yours.

He smiles wider, offers you his hand.

The moment you reach for him, big eyes never leaving his, and he feels your soft skin against his palm, he somehow knows it’s over, and just beginning.

Perhaps it’s his evol. The fact that he can bend, control, subdue gravity, gravity which is so closely linked to time. Because the moment that you touch his hand contracts and expands, stretches—everything narrows to his skin against yours, to this point in time. Perhaps his evol allows his future, past, parallel selves to infuse him with knowledge, because he somehow knows he will never escape you, the pull of you, no matter what the rest of the world says, from this moment onward, suspended in time—your hand in his, a butterfly smothered in sap, hardened into amber. Amber that he carries in his hand, when yours isn’t there to fill it.

Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Something in him, recognizing something in you. Your fear. Your hollow eyes. The anger, underneath the fear. You’re so, so pretty. Like a living doll.

You take his offered hand, despite your fear, the pain in your eyes, and Caleb feels for the first time like he has a purpose. Value. Something he can control, in a life that has spun out of his control more times than he can count. He’s not just a threatening black hole. He can look after you. Keep you safe. Remove that fear from your eyes. He can nurture, instead of only destroy.

He’s a boy, offering a gentle hand to a scared girl, who needs him. And in the offering, and her acceptance, his own need comes into existence, a bright flash in his dark universe.

He shows you around, friendly, earnest for the first time in a long time, chattering about anything he can think of to keep your eyes on him, you listening to him, your attention on him. It feels so, so good.

But he has to go to school. He has to leave you behind, during the day. He spends his days lying, pretending to listen attentively, pretending to be interested in the same things his friends are interested in. He mimics the laughter of his friends, smiles his empty, useful smile, as he thinks of all the ways he can alleviate the pain, the fear in your eyes. As he imagines your hand in his.

He finds you in closets, curled up on yourself, a tightly furled flower. He doesn’t want to pluck you from where you feel safe.

He just wants to change what makes you feel safe. A gardener, repotting a rose. A rose he knows that has thorns as deadly as his own.

He squeezes in next to you, in the dark. Puts his arm around you. Chatters again, telling you stupid stories, making stuff up, anything to help you relax, distract you from what haunts you, melt into his side. You eventually let him lead you from the dark, into the light. You curl up next to him, as he puts together a model airplane. Your eyes watch his hands as he fits the pieces together, as he carefully glues them.

He pauses, holds one hand up. When you just stare at him in confusion, he gently takes your wrist, and pulls your palm to his.

Already, his hands are bigger than yours.

I’m bigger than you. So I’ll always be able to protect you.

He gently sets your palm back into your lap. You snuggle closer to him.

He feels so, so good.

But there’s something wrong with you. Gran sits him down at the kitchen table, looks earnestly at him. She tells him about your heart. 

It’s our job to take care of her. Can you help me?

He knows what she is asking.

He knows about her migraines. How hard she works. He doesn’t know why, or what she’s doing.

He just knows that she’s telling him what he already knew, from that first moment. He needs to look after you.

But she didn’t even have to ask. He has already been doing this, from the moment you took his hand. It is easy for him to nod in response to Gran’s question. Of course.

For the first time in his life, he has something of his very own, giving him purpose. He can nurture, instead of destroy. Is it selfish, if it gives him so much pleasure? Seeing you slowly unfurl, and come to depend on him.

You start seeing your doctor, taking the pills to stabilize your heart. You always come home exhausted, drained, from your appointments. He sits with you, sharing a thick blanket in his room with the big bay window, and reads to you. Books from Gran’s library. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he feels like he’s flying, like he’s finally not alone, for the first time in his life. The more time you spend reading together, the more you begin to speak, giving him your thoughts on what you are reading.

You give him the gift of seeing the world not only through his own eyes, but through yours.

The medication is horrible for you.

He understands what Gran was asking, the first time you choke on the pills. The first time he finds you vomiting, huddled over the toilet.

It feels like a part of himself is in pain, watching you in pain. He hates it.

He hates it, but he loves it.

Soothing you. Comforting you. Watching your face, drawn in a frown of pain, relax under the wet cloth in his hand, as you manage to swallow, under his palm on your throat.

As he cares for you, carries you to bed in his gangly, too long arms, he isn’t a black hle, destroying anything, everything. He’s nurturing. And he also doesn’t have to control his face, hide his feelings, pretend to be normal and interested in normal-people things. He’s just himself, taking care of what’s his.

Slowly, slowly, the medication is adjusted, you’re no longer sick all the time. He’s happy to see you regain strength, color in your face.

He takes you for walks, out in the sunshine, under the open sky, in the fields of wildflowers beyond Gran’s house. You cling to him, complain of vertigo, staring up into endless blue. There were no skies, in the labs where you lived for so long.

His heart aches. He thinks of lifting you into the air, letting you experience flight, the flight he yearns for, the only time in his life he ever feels free. Before you came. But now, having you at his side, feels like flying.

But he doesn’t want to scare you. He pulls you down with him, to the earth, surrounded by so many living things, so different from the lab that kept you caged for so long. He thinks such a lovely rose deserves the soil, the fireflies, all the growing things as companions.

He pulls you down into the wildflowers, and he tells you about his dreams of flying. He wants to share this part of himself with you. He holds your hand in his, index finger pointing, and names the types of airplanes that fly overhead.

Later, you’ll ask him to make you fly, and he will. Your body weightless, in a field of flowers, as you laugh, one of the few times you actually ever smile. A smile only he sees. A laugh, and a smile, that belong to him, only to him. In a world where he’s never had anything to call his own before, he now has your smile, and your laugh.

One night, he comes to check on you, as he often does when you’re sleeping. But you’re not huddled in your bed, long lashes sweeping across your soft cheek. The window is open, curtains whispering in the chill breeze. He finds you on the roof, shivering. He doesn’t know why you didn’t bring a coat. He just knows that you are cold, and he is big, and his body is warm, and already what’s his, is yours. He wraps himself around you, feels you melt against his chest.

He tells you about the stars. Again, he holds your hand in his, index finger pointing, and names the constellations, the bright planets that look like stars.

The night you begin dreaming about flying, high in the sky, amidst the stars, he begins to dream about you. His anchor. His north star. The point around which he revolves.

When you finally start school, he’s so excited. Helps you pick out your backpack, your school supplies at the corner store. But he can tell, from the moment you walk into the crowded hallways, how overwhelmed you are. You revert to that strange frozen stiffness you had, when Gran brought you home. He hates it. He looks around. Finds a quiet classroom. He uses his size, his presence, to wrap you in safety, resting his elbows on either side of you against the classroom wall.

Look at me. Look only at me. 

So what, if what he wants is selfish, and gives him what he wants, if it helps you too? If its primary purpose is to calm you, soothe you, help you at school, in every aspect of your life? 

Caleb is hungry, selfish. He knows this. As long as he can control it, it’s okay. As long as his selfishness aligns with helping you, it’ll be okay, right?

You calm down, as he tells you to look for him, anytime you’re overwhelmed. That he’ll be there. A promise he’ll always keep, forever.

He sees how the other kids respond to you. They see your unsmiling face, your quiet, ever-vigilant stillness, and they immediately recognize you as different. Strange. Their base animal instincts are to distrust anything that’s other. 

Caleb is a star, the rage fueling his core, boiling. He still smiles. Charms. Draws people in with his wholesome apple boy mask. He learned this, long ago—to get what you want, to control what happens to you, means controlling other peoples’ perceptions of you.

He wears a mask, like he wears his school uniform. As easy as breathing, most of the time.

When he sees people bothering you, he flies to you. Smiling. Putting his arm around you, guiding you away. He will protect you from the entire world, including other children—they were simple props before. An unavoidable reality, to charm, neutralize, recruit to his side so ease his path to the future, his path to escaping this school and this youth where he has so little control. But now, he considers them hardly more than animals, as he watches them scent you, and begin to growl.

Are you his sister? Why do you walk home together all the time? What’s wrong with you?

He intervenes. Draws you into his side, pulls you close. No, she’s not my sister.

Despite how much he already loves you, how close he feels to you, he balks at the idea of you being his sister.

He crushes the soda can in his hand, no evol necessary, the first time it occurs to him that if he accepts that you’re his sister, like the adoption papers say, like Gran says, like the kids at school say, then one day he won’t be the most important person in your life. He’ll just be your brother.

He can’t stand it.

He has friends at school with siblings. They complain about their annoying little sisters, their jerk older brothers. They joke and laugh and pester each other, and also defend each other when someone else is doing the bullying.

Caleb could never, ever complain about you. He has never found you annoying. He already knows that he is prepared to crush anyone who would dare look at you strangely, let alone bully you.

He wants to spend all of his time with you. He wants to keep helping you grow. He wants to be the soil in which you flourish.

Even as a boy, he knows that he’s not satisfied with being just your brother. He wants to be everything, if it’s to you.

He knows that he hurts you, every time he denies that you’re his sister.

But you’re more. He can’t explain it yet, or claim it yet. He tells himself: he’ll tell you, when you’re older. When he has more control of his own life, and can do even more than just making sure your life is as easy as possible, as he cooks for you, cleans for you. As he helps you wash, care for your hair, his rose, his doll. 

He hopes you can forgive him, in the end, for carving out this future for the both of you, where he’s not just your brother, and you’re not just his sister. Brothers and sisters part ways. Move into their own houses. Marry other people.

He tells himself that he’ll make up for every grievance you have against him, every time he hurts you when he denies you as his sister, when you’re both older, when he can actually do something about what he knows is his fundamental truth.

You’re not his sister. He’s not your brother. 

You’re just his, and he is yours.

Time passes. Each day, he gets to walk with you to school, holding an umbrella over your head when it’s raining. Handing you his aviator sunglasses when it’s too bright. He gets to see you in the halls, across the meaningless crowds.

Holding your hand through it all. 

One spring day, as you’re walking home from school together, you find a cat, mewling pathetically from the bushes. It has crawled underneath, hiding in the thick foliage in an effort to protect itself.

It’s hurt. Caleb is sympathetic, but he would have kept walking. He has his own injured creature to care for, after all. But you—you’re absolutely distraught. You beg him to pick it up, carry it home wrapped in his jacket.

You never need to beg. But he doesn’t mind when you do.

As he lifts up the scruffy cat, which doesn’t scratch or bite, seemingly resigned to its fate or too scared to resist, it reminds him of you, the first day you came home. Your pain, and your fear. Your rage, banked for fear of retribution.

He carries the cat home, wrapped in his jacket.

You consult Gran on how to care for it. You do so, diligently, getting up at all hours in the night to check on it. Which is the only reason it doesn’t manage to escape.

Finally, Caleb gets fed up with the ridiculous thing trying to slink away while it’s injured. Trying to avoid the care you’re so faithfully offering it. Foolishly rejecting what’s best for it.

He buys a collar with his allowance, and a bell. Slips it around the shivering thing’s fragile neck.

It occurs to him how pretty you’d look, with something similar.

He’d hear you, wherever you were. In the night, crawling onto the roof alone. Vomiting at the toilet, alone.

Walking in the halls at school, surrounded by so many people in the world who do not matter. Who simply present a barrier, when he’s trying to maneuver through their mass of bodies to get to you when he can see you freezing, withdrawing into yourself. When he knows you need him.

He wants to put a pretty collar with a bell on you, and listen to the tinkling, meant for his ears, and his ears alone.

Thanks to the bell, the cat heals. As it frolics away, free at last, Caleb watches it go, a twisting, painful sensation in his belly. He turns, looks at you. You’re not smiling, but your face is shining, your eyes bright. He can see that you’re happy with the work you both did for the cat.

He hates himself, for the feelings inside of him. 

He wants to reach over, put his big hand around your neck. Loosely. Just to feel your heartbeat in your throat under his palm. To reassure himself that you’re still here. That you still need him. That you’re not going anywhere, and that you won’t be leaving him alone, anytime soon.

He’s so, so selfish. He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

Time passes. 

One morning, he finds you thrashing in bed, breathing heavily, an animal panic choking your lungs. He thinks it’s a normal panic attack for you, is prepared to help you breathe, to walk you through it, as he always does, but then he sees the blood in the sheets.

He’s read about this. He paid attention in health class. He needs to know everything about you, your body, how it’s different from his, and how to care for it, if he’s to look after you properly.

Gran isn’t always around. In fact, she’s away more often than not.

In her bedroom, with a migraine. Or working so hard, on something she can’t talk about.

You’ve had your first period. 

He’s heard boys talking, joking, jeering at school. It disgusts him, how they talk about girls, as if girls aren’t people too. He looks at you, and all he sees is a person—pretty as a doll, but full of life. Of fear and dreams and the longer you’re with him, you feel safe enough to demand anything, everything of him. He hates how the guys at school talk about girls. Because you’re a girl, and you have a whole universe inside of you, one that he’s so happy to discover every time you open your mouth. Every time you discover something new that you like, or hate, or annoys you.

How can you, as a girl, and your body, experiencing something outside of your control, be fodder for a joke?

He strides into your bedroom, grabs your wrists. Look at me. Don’t look at the blood.

Your breathing calms, as your big, bright eyes stare into his own.

It feels so, so good, as you relax. As you look to him, for help, for comfort, for soothing all of your fears. He wants, needs you to know how good it feels for him, to be able to do this to you, with you. You’re so, so good.

Good girl.

Your face does something funny, when he says these words. He thinks that the look on your face right now mirrors the feeling in his chest, when you listen to him, rely on him, let him open the pickle jar, let him smooth the way of any obstacles you have. When you smile for him, and no one else. When you allow him to nurture, instead of just destroy.

He helps you with the laundry. Finds himself regretting dumping the stain remover on your blood, stuffing the sheets in the washer. Your blood is a part of you, as much as your beautiful hair, your soft skin, the sharp tongue in your mouth.

Caleb thinks there might be something wrong with him, with how much he wants to keep your sheets, just as they are, tucked away somewhere in his closet. 

He resists the urge, just barely.

Later, after he’s bought you pads with his allowance. After you walk around the house with a strange gait, like you can’t stand to bring your legs together, he teases you. You throw the apple at him, eyes bright—defiant, annoyed. He enjoys watching you take the bite, because he told you to. He loves it, every time he tells you to do something, and you do it, no questions asked. 

Proof of how much you trust him. How much you need him.

Just like he needs you.

Later, at school, he catalogues the boys who make jokes about girls, and periods. He watches, listens. Lies through his teeth, chummy and just a normal teenage boy himself, of course. He notes the worst offenders.

It’s unfortunate, how they trip. Down the stairs. On nothing. Rumors start going around the school that there’s a ghost haunting a particular flight of stairs, right outside of Caleb’s homeroom.

He loves you so much, it hurts. He enjoys passing the pain along, to others who also deserve it.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

Years pass.

You become accustomed to the confined chaos of school, interacting with so many people. You seem calmer, in the busy hallways. You snort, joke, even if you don’t smile at school, when he has to leave you for awhile, so he can continue his wholesome apple boy lie. Student council president, captain of the basketball team, MVP for the football team, medal winner in track and field. He lifts weights after school, is diligent about his diet, his protein intake, each week new gains bulking out his already tall body. He must do everything possible to lay the foundations for his future success, so he can provide for you. Be a constant pillar of strength for you. Continue giving you everything you need.

You come to him, when you’re upset. When everyone, everything begins to overwhelm you. He holds you. He jokes with you. He tells you stupid stories. He cooks for you. He feels satisfaction, deep in his blood. 

And then, somehow, maybe while he wasn’t looking—although he’s always looking, so when would that even have been? He hasn’t stopped looking at you, from the first moment you came home.

But from one day to the next, you are a girl—pretty, cute, still, solemn.

And then—you are still all those things, but you are also beautiful.

Beautiful in a way that turns his brain into mush. A pretty living doll, but one that he wants. Not just to care for her hair, feed her, rock her to sleep. He wants all that, and more. 

His heart races when you come close, when he can smell the scent of your skin, your shampoo, your sweat, your breath. You’re so beautiful, it hurts.

For the first time, he wants more than to hold you in his arms.

He wants to put his mouth on you.

He wants to put his hands all over you, not to check to see where it hurts, but to check where you feel good. Where you like to be touched the most.

The size of his want terrifies him.

He tries to control it. To laugh, and joke, to pat your head, mess up your hair. He wears a new mask, over his old one.

Wholesome apple boy, who has never once imagined putting his tongue in his sister’s mouth.

And then, one night, you have your first nightmare. About what, you never say. You tell him you don’t remember. He doesn’t know if he believes you. It drives him insane, not knowing. 

He hears you, your hoarse cry, in his sleep. He jolts up in bed, hears it again. Gran will sleep through it, as she always slept through the side effects of the pills, slept through when you had the flu.

It’s up to him, to go to you.

He stands in the doorway of your room, and feels so big. A looming monster, his shadow stretching across your bedroom floor, blanketing your small body. You’ve always been small, but this time, the first time you reach for him in the night, body and nightclothes wet with sweat, you feel so fragile to him, in his big arms. He could crush you. 

It terrifies him.

It turns him on.

He’s a liar, and he’s so, so selfish.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

He clutches you to him, makes another selfish decision. Instead of stripping your bed, helping you put on new sheets, tucking you back in, he takes you to his own bed. Pulls you close against his body, under the covers. Blanketing you with his own smell, his own arms. His.

You fall asleep like that. He stays awake, his body aching painfully with want. If you notice how hard he is in the morning, tucked against your back, your ass, you never say anything.

Your worst nights are his favorite nights.

He’s so, so selfish.

After so many years together, you have fully come out of your shell, when you’re with him. Not only do you turn to him for comfort, reveal your smile, only to him, you also show him the full spectrum of your inner world, your feelings. From sorrow, fear, need—to frustration, rage. You hold it in at school, carefully blank, until you get home, and then you explode. 

He loves it.

It’s a fireworks show that only he ever gets to see. He’s relieved that you have so much fire inside of you, after spending so long being afraid to express it.

He feels a sense of accomplishment, for being the soil in which you could flourish in all of your explosive colors.

Only he gets the privilege of watching your face, watching you throw things, screaming about your stupid schoolmates, your stupid teachers, the shit you hear people still saying about you.

He notes names. He catches the plates, the glasses, the vases. He absorbs it all, a gravity field pulling everything into him, into the hungry black hole at the heart of him. Whatever you have to give, he’ll take. He’s strong enough for the both of you.

After you seem to lose steam, he pulls you into his arms. I wish I could create a world with just the two of us. He savors how you melt into him, let him get so close to you, when you don’t even seem to be aware of anyone else in the world unless they draw your attention to them by being mean to you. You’re perfect just the way you are.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t like the fact that your attention is drawn to the people who say things about you.

So he’ll fix it. For you. And for him. He wants you to pay attention only to him.

He’s so, so selfish.

Do you feel better? He’ll ask, as your breathing slows, your heart rate lowers. You nod into his big chest, and it feels so, so good.

Sometimes, he pulls you to him too quickly, before you’re done exploding. You’ve bitten him, more than once.

The first time, you bit so hard that the mark lasted for weeks. Deep red marks from your cute, sharp teeth, buried in the meat between his thumb and forefinger.

He jerked himself with that hand, multiple times, every night, until the marks faded. Each time, he couldn’t take his eyes off the proof of your teeth in his flesh.

He wants to mark you in turn.

The size of his want terrifies him.

He is a black hole, and he is hungry. And you are the only thing that can fill him.

The kids at school who made the unfortunate decision of shit-talking you, of pulling your attention away from him, find items of contraband in their lockers that they never put there. They find themselves being accused of plagiarizing on extra credit papers that they never turned in. Their boyfriends, or girlfriends, break up with them, claiming they have a crush on someone new. Someone really popular, who unexpectedly paid so much attention to them that they felt like they were the only people in the world.

Sad really, that once they had broken up with their partner, he seemed to lose complete interest in them.

He is selfish, and he is a black hole, and he is hungry.

But once people learn not to fuck with you because of his efforts, your fits of fury become less frequent.

He misses them.

He wants you to explode all over him, like you used to.

He begins to intentionally provoke you, telling himself it’s healthy for you to be challenged, pestered, to face adversity, feel all your big feelings, and then safely let them go, into his gravity well, the deep well of his want.

When he eats your ice cream, he ends up hurting you much more than he intended. Denying you as his sister, again.

He hates it. He hates that he hurts you, every time.

He has to hope that you’ll forgive him, someday. That someday, you’ll understand why.

For now, he tries to soothe you with all of your favorite ice cream. A plan he already had in mind when he ate the last of the old stuff. You let him make you feel a little better, at least. He has to hope that someday, you’ll understand why he can’t fully make it up to you yet, because he has no idea what he’ll do if you don’t.

If you were to drift away, pull away from him, spin off into the universe without him, he would explode, collapse. The mass of his emotions—fear, anger, guilt, love, want, so much want—would implode, collapse, compound into the ever hungry black hole of his soul.

He would be lost without you anchoring him.

He’s so selfish. He hates himself. He can’t stop himself.

He is no longer satisfied, with you simply coming to him when you’re upset. Hugging him when you’re scared, and overwhelmed, recharging yourself like he’s a battery pack and you’re an empty little triple A.

He wants you to come to him when you’re happy. Because you’re as drawn to him as he is to you.

He always finds a reason to be in the bathroom at the same time you are, before school, or getting ready for bed. He brushes his teeth while you shower. He watches your blurry form in the mirror, and barely resists the urge to throw open the curtain, every time. To climb in with you, clothes on, and kiss your wet mouth. Get on his knees, and see where else you’re wet.

He hates himself. He can’t stop himself.

When he does pushups, he asks for your help. Your light weight on his back does nothing for his workout, but feeling your hands on his sweat-slick skin keeps him up at night in the same way your bite marks do.

He brings you the tiger balm, feeling so transparent, so pathetically obvious, insisting you help him apply it to his back.

He stares at your face in the mirror. Your little frown of concentration. The color in your cheeks again. He can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips along his skin. He wants to pull your hands from his back, place them on his chest, his big pecs. He wants to guide your hands lower, lower, past the hair beginning at his navel, down below the band of his basketball shorts. He wants you to take your hot little hands and wrap them around his big dick, tiger balm at all, make it sting for him, as he burns under your touch.

He is so, so selfish, and he hates himself.

He is an endless hole of voracious destruction, and you are the only thing that fills him.

He knows you’re isolated, that he’s all you’ve ever really had to fulfill any, every role for you. He knows you want him, that you watch him, that the color rises in your cheeks now when he’s close, but he’s so scared that it’s just a result of your isolation, of your dependence on him.

He’s so selfish, and he’s a coward. He’s so scared that if he acts, he’ll somehow be hurting you, exploiting you.

If you accept him, he’ll never know for sure if you love him for him or simply because he was the only one there. But you never show interest in anyone else.

He’s afraid that if you reject him, you’ll also end up hating him, and you’ll spin away from him into the dark velvet night.

He has to wait. Until you’re older, until you’ve seen more of the world. So that you’re sure you want him, after experiencing other things and people.

The idea makes him want to go supernova.

But no matter how selfish he is, he has to offer you the opportunity to know more than just him. And he needs to know your feelings for him are real. Maybe that’s a form of selfishness too, as he watches in satisfaction as your want for him, his big body, makes you pant, lean toward him as if pulled by gravity, as your brow furrows, and the yearning on your face is obvious for only him to read as your frustration grows when he doesn’t act.

It turns him on, seeing how much you want him.

It infuriates him, seeing how much people want you.

And you can feel it. He can see how your body tenses, how you begin to freeze, being the object of so many gazes.

It’s the worst at track practice, when you’re wearing those tiny as fuck running shorts. It boggles his mind, how they’re part of the standard track uniform for the girl’s team. 

His teammates, the other guys, openly gawk at your long, beautiful, naked legs. At your easy, graceful gate around the track.

He wants to use his evol to yank their eyes right out of their skulls.

Instead, he focuses on your needs first.

Jogs over you, blocks your view of their leering. 

You look up at him, your big bright eyes calming as he looks down into them. He lets his hands wander, like they always want to do. Fingering the hem of the shorts. Touching you, where no one else can. Where no one else will ever be able to.

Just because he wants to let you experience the world, does not mean the world gets to touch you. He’ll make sure of it.

You agree to put on his compression shorts.

His dick is rock hard in his own shorts, as he helps you change, as you lift your legs, one by one, as his barbell-roughened hands drift along your soft thighs, clutching the slippery material in his fingers, as he inhales the scent of your body, as you stare down into his eyes with your desire filling them like unshed tears. Tears he wants to make you cry.

You’re so fucking sweet. He loves you when you’re furious, spitting and biting. And he loves you when you’re like this, trusting him with your body, your needs, pliant and docile.

All for him. Only for him.

After, you seem calm, comfortable in your own skin again. You run so fast, your hair a flag behind you, as if you’re declaring war.

He turns to the guys who were ogling you, endures their stupid fucking jokes and sleazy comments. He bides his time. Waits until practice is over, and they’re in the boy’s locker room.

He pulls an apple from his duffle, floats it in the air.

Hey.

His voice is low, serious in a way it rarely is. It echoes through the mostly empty locker room, bouncing between the metal lockers, the tiled floor. It pulls their attention, the jarring disparity between his current tone and how he normally sounds. 

Their eyes widen as they see evidence of his evol for the first time. Everyone knows he has it. But he doesn’t use it at school. He doesn’t need it to stand out. He saves its tricks, its delights, for you, and you alone.

About the bullshit you were spouting on the track. She’s not my sister. And you don’t look at her.

They glance nervously at each other, the obvious, imperious order rankling their juvenile egos.

One of them pipes up. What’s the big deal? If she’s not your sister, why do you care who looks at her?

This asshole isn’t entitled to an answer from him. Doesn’t matter. You just don’t fucking look at her. He forces calm authority into his voice. Forces himself to smile, to wear the lower part of the mask, the part that doesn’t reach his eyes.

One of the guys, the one who always says the most disgusting shit about girls, about guys he doesn’t think are masculine enough, scoffs. What’re you gonna do to us, huh? You gonna chew my ass, like you chew your dumbass apples?

The other guys exchange nervous glances, nervous chuckles.

I’m not interested in your ass, bro. He grins. It probably looks wrong, based on their reactions. I’ll just… he begins, casually. He flicks his wrist.

The apple explodes, as if crushed by hammer—the pieces of the fruit spatter the faces and chests of the guys standing around him with wet, fleshy impacts. The pieces that would have hit him fall to the ground with heavy-sounding splats.

He smiles cheerfully into the ringing silence. We good?

The fuckhead still doesn’t seem to have quite gotten the memo. He swats the apple sticking to his face, sneers. You’re so full of shit. A golden boy like you with your entire future ahead of you wouldn’t commit murder over a piece of ass.

Caleb sighs. Leans back. Shrugs. True. Killing your dumbass outright isn’t worth being sent to prison. But you know, he says thoughtfully. He spreads his legs wide on the bench. Talks like he’s just shooting the shit, waves his hand leisurely. Accidents happen, all the time. You’re throwing a baseball, and suddenly something snaps in your shoulder. It would be a shame, if you could never throw a ball again. Or say, you’re about to cross the finish line, and you step funny, you know? And you never do walk right, after that. Or you’re playing basketball, and suddenly, poof—burst aneurysm, bleeding out, right in your brain. That shit can happen to even the healthiest of athletes. Just, bad luck, man. The human body is so fragile. As fragile as the skin of an apple.

The guys stare at him in silence. A droplet of water drips from a showerhead, splashes onto the floor. Even the biggest idiot seems to be at a loss for words. 

He smiles, smiles, smiles. 

Don’t look at her ever again, and you won’t have to worry about all that. He gets to his feet, slings his duffel over his shoulder. Puts his hands in his pockets. Whistles, as he meanders out of the locker room.

Later, he’s doing the household’s laundry. He’s lifting dirty clothes out of the combined dirty clothes basket from the bathroom, and your little slippery running shorts fall out of the handful he’s trying to stuff into the washer.

He stares at them on the floor. Slowly puts the stuff in his hand in the machine, thinking.

He’s a black hole, and he’s so fucking hungry.

He squats down, lifts the shorts. They’re tiny, in his big hands. He sits quietly, listening. You’re upstairs in his room, doing homework. Gran’s at work. He’ll hear you, if you come down. You tromp through the house like an elephant. It’s adorable.

He lifts the shorts to his face, shoves his nose in them. Inhales.

He’s squatting at your feet again, in the locked bathroom at school. He’s looking up at you, your chest rising and falling with your rapid breath. He can smell you, the intensity of your excitement at the proximity of his face to where you want him the most. As he opens his mouth, as he extends his tongue to the built-in underwear of the little slip of fabric, he imagines that he’s back in that bathroom, leaning forward, bringing the flat of his tongue between your legs. He imagines that you thread your pretty hands in his hair and pull him closer, urging his tongue deeper into you. He imagines, as he fills his mouth with as much of the fabric as he can, breathing through his nose, that you come on his face, with your soft noises of pleasure echoing through the tiled bathroom.

He comes in his pants.

He hates himself, as he pulls your shorts out of his mouth. As he places them gently into the washer. He hates himself, but he can’t stop himself. He knows he’ll do this again, and again, until he can have the real thing.

That was towards the end, of everything.

Even as he was packing his bags, he didn’t see it coming. 

He made you so many promises that he, in all of his youthful hubris, believed he could keep. About how often he’d be home. About how often he could be in touch. About how close he’d still be able to stay to you, through time and distance.

He lifted you with his evol in a field of wildflowers, watched your lovely hair float around your beautiful face, and he came so close to losing control, and kissing your soft lips.

He made you so many promises, and he broke one the first day he was gone.

Because when he arrived for basic training, they took his phone away, and didn’t give it back for six weeks. Something about fostering camaraderie with his fellow cadets. Bullshit.

It got worse from there. Basic training. Specialized training. Combat missions. Flight missions. He was either out of range, or the op required radio silence. He was determined to reach the highest ranks. To be able to best provide for you. But that required confidentiality, restricted security clearances. More and more things he couldn’t talk about. More and more important holidays and events he was forced to miss.

And then one day he came home, after having been away on a longer-than-usual undercover mission, and instead of his still, quiet girl with the serious face, who only smiled for him, who crawled all over him, and treated him like her personal servant, who blew up at him, bit him, screamed, threw shit at him, and was the sweetest little thing, soft and pliant in his arms, only for him, waiting for him, he found…

You. Wearing a mask so obvious that he could see its ribbon tied through your lovely hair.

By the time he finally made it home again, he had already lost you.

You smiled at him, and it didn’t reach your eyes. You smiled at Gran. You smiled at the checkout boy at the corner store. You smiled at random fucking strangers on the street.

You smiled, smiled, smiled.

You smiled, and it looked wrong on your lovely face. Not the smile of when you’re flying, when he would make you fly.

Something artificial, and empty. Your smile was a pot, filled with a plastic flower instead of a living rose.

You talked about your friends at school. Your sudden, numerous extra-curricular activities.

You smiled at him so politely, with such empty eyes, he wanted to flip the fucking table.

You treated him like a stranger.

No matter what he did, no matter how much he poked you, teased you, tried to corner you and interrogate you about your sudden change, you slipped away, with a false, cheerful laugh.

He wanted to crush his own eardrums, instead of hear that fucking fake laugh again.

And then he had to go back to the DAA.

He had to keep leaving you, and the visits in between became fewer, and fewer, as his training intensified, as he failed psych eval after psych eval, despite his perfect marks in everything else, his perfect mask that drew people to him like flowers to the sun.

You stop responding to his calls, his texts. 

He can’t get you to respond, but he can use his newly acquired hacking skills, his new security clearances, to keep track of you even if you won’t even say hello.

When he gets back from one particularly grueling, strange mission in the Deepspace Tunnel, he reconstructs your movements of the past few weeks based on your phone’s location, your socials. He sees that your phone spent the night at an unfamiliar address. It’s not one of your new friend’s places. You’ve never done that before. You stay at your dorm. You stay at friends’. You stay at Gran’s.

He breaks so many security regulations, civil rights laws, identifying the person who lives there.

Some random guy, who is built just like Caleb. Big, tall. Handsome, dark hair.

Caleb sits on his bunk, his hand over his mouth.

He feels like he needs to vomit.

He has never vomited after the highest g-force training required by the DAA, but he needs to vomit imagining you letting someone else touch you, exposing your most vulnerable self to him, while wearing your fucking mask.

Caleb wanted your first time to be soaked in pure, overwhelming love. To be with someone who’d watch every single fleeting expression on your beautiful face, who would kill himself to make you feel cherished, to make you feel as good as physically possible. To feel safe enough to wear your real face, the whole time, safe enough to tell him what you want, so he can give you everything you deserve.

And Caleb knows that he is the only person in the universe who could give you that, in the way that you deserve. He was built to protect you. His purpose is to love you. You are his anchor, his twin star, the only thing keeping him from exploding into blinding supernova light, collapsing into his own devouring dark. He knows you best. He knows everything about you, and he would use that knowledge to make you feel like you were flying as he made love to you.

What if that fucker hurt you? What if he made you cry? 

Caleb rushes to the toilet, vomits for the first time in years. 

While Caleb was hallucinating about the past, present, future, lifetimes that haven’t happened yet, reliving strange memories of being in a lab, observed through glass, as he was adrift in deep space during his last mission that so quickly went sideways, dying from oxygen deprivation, you were having your first one-night stand.

You fucked a guy that looked just like him.

The only thing that prevents that motherfucker from suffering a terrible, unfortunate accident, is the fact that you ghost him, after. 

Caleb knows, because he tracks every fucking thing you do, after that, every time he is within range in Skyhaven.

He forces himself to check, to look at your socials, to see who’s posing in pictures with you.  He forces himself to know, when your phone starts to spend time at random peoples’ places, almost every weekend. 

Each time, a different guy. Each time, they look like Caleb.

Each time, their lives are spared because you ghost them.

He tells himself that there’s still time, a chance, to salvage things. To make up for every single grievance you have against him. To make up for every promise he didn’t mean to break.

Your fake smile tells him that he is no longer your safe space. But he can rebuild himself for you, turn himself into what you need to feel safe, protected, cared for, cherished. He did it once, when you came home for the first time.

He just has to do it again.

You’re an adult now. You’re a Hunter now. 

He comes home on a break. You politely pour him water. He smiles at you with his mask, and you smile at him with its twin on your face. He did this to you. But he will make it right.

He’s going to tell you. This visit. Before he goes back to Skyhaven. He’s going to tell you, how much he loves you, not as a brother, but as a man, and always has. How he’s finally in a place to care for you, as an adult, without the restrictions of childhood, of societal expectations. He’s going to tell Gran about how he has never felt like you were his sister.

He almost loses his shit, when he sees the scratch on your arm, when you insist on sending him to the store instead of letting him back you up while you investigate the alert on your Hunter’s watch. So desperate to show him how much you don’t need him anymore.

He breathes deeply. Says something stupid, out of frustration, about hiding your bloodied sleeve from Gran.

You say something biting to him in return, your own mask slipping a little, as your genuine frustration, your anger at him slips through. He cherishes it, feels triumph rise in him.

Yeah, he’s gonna make things right. He’s going to tell you that he loves you, and that he’s yours, and always has been. He’ll beg, if he has to, for you to say that you are his in return.

He goes into the house first.

On a bright, sunny day, filled with determined hope for the future, Caleb Xia dies in the bright, supernova flash he always knew had been waiting for him.

[leonkennedybreedingkink]

BRING TO BOIL

coworker!leon x reader

tags: mention of child abuse (non-explicit), semi-nsfw. i be thinking about subleon ngl

Leon hasn’t heard a word of this meeting. Virus this, real life supervillain that, blah, blah, blah. Proper noun, adjective, verb—none of it means a damn thing when you’re standing across from him, looking vaguely irritated in your little black dress.

God, what were you doing? Were you in a club? Were you with friends? He hopes you were. What else is the purpose of a dress that could bring a man to his knees?

That’s Leon’s favorite place to be, on his knees in front of a beautiful woman. He doesn’t even have to be doing anything, either, he could be happy just having his head pet by said beautiful woman.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he notices he’d been staring at the freckle on your left tit for a bit too long, clearing his throat quietly and looking away. He looks back over when you shift a little, the sequins on your dress shimmering in the fluorescents.

When there’s a sufficient pause in the briefing, you raise your hand like you’re a schoolgirl again. “Excuse me?”

Leon wishes that hand of yours was on him, preferably on his back as you scratch him up.

“Is it necessary that I’m here? It’s my day off.” You continue, the hand holding your clipboard of the meeting minutes crossing your body to land on the opposite hip, then folding your arms.

You’re leveled with an unimpressed glance over Hunnigan’s glasses. “Yes.” She says shortly, continuing with the briefing.

Leon watches your jaw flex as you hold back some sort of snarky remark, visibly making an effort to calm yourself down despite the way you’re simmering with the way you measure your breaths in and out.

It’s easy for him to tell when you’re pissed off, you’re too expressive for your own good.

The meeting draws to a close and he flips over the notes to get the gist of it—exactly as he bet earlier—before handing his clipboard to Hunnigan’s assistant and letting you wave him and everyone else out before you, chalking it up to self-consciousness.

He’s less than a foot away from the door and into the hallway when you hurl your clipboard against the wall as hard as you can.

You throw the clipboard the way you throw a punch, shifting your weight in your hips and shoulders. “Fuck!” Papers flutter to the floor as he watches the board bounce off the wall and land with a quiet thud on the linoleum, pink plastic splintered in the middle.

You stand there in silence, chest heaving and fists balled up.

Leon turns around because he could never resist a woman who could kick his ass, chalk it up to mommy being a little heavy handed in her discipline. Well, that, and he’s never seen you so pissed off.

While he can read your face like a book, you also tend to swallow your pride and any emotion in favor of focusing on the mission. Eventually, you calm down, you’ve just gotta steam about it.

He leans against the wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. “‘S this about your day off being interrupted?”

Eyes up, Kennedy.

He watches you push a hand through your hair, hands shaking minutely with the adrenaline rush.

“Yeah.” And he can see you rearing up for a fight, as if he’s about to taunt you for being a very stupid little girl to be so upset about a day off being interrupted.

Leon holds his hands up, taking a step in. “I get it. This exact thing has happened to me more times than I can count.”

Somehow, this seems to placate you. He watches you clean up the papers, crouched down on the floor in your heels. When something’s too far out of reach, you kneel and reach out for them and he has to swallow.

“I feel like the maid.” You grumble, standing up and straightening the papers haphazardly before clipping them against the board again. “Can the world just not implode for one day?”

Leon snorts and you mistake it for him laughing at you, head snapping up and eyes narrowed.

“Hey, easy.” He speaks to you the way one does an angry tiger, taking a few more steps into the room to be by your side. Moth, meet flame. “I’m right there with you. Next time I go on vacation, I’m leaving my work phone here and not telling anyone.”

Your shoulders droop. “I should’ve done that.” You sulk, mouth twisting to the side.

“Yeah, well, now you know.” Leon muses, gently taking the abused clipboard from you and taking care not to look you in the tits instead of in the eye.

He sets a gentle hand on your shoulder, leading you out of the meeting room. “Maybe you should get changed.” He says carefully, his hand having migrated down to between your shoulder blades.

Then, an idea occurs to him, a small smile appearing on his face as he says casually, “Not that I’m not thankful for the view or anything, but—“

“Leon!” You swipe at his arm and he has to fight a lovesick giggle. Mission accomplished, your mind’s off your disrupted day off and he has your hands on him.

Leon has to stifle a piteous sigh when he sees you again, this time in a leather jacket and jeans. On one hand, he’s grateful you’re not torturing him anymore. On the other, he’s never gonna be able to get that view out of his head. On the other other hand, you walk around looking like that, no matter what you wear.

He’s between a rock and a hard place, except he’s the rock and the hard place.

The helicopter ride is always bumpy to wherever you’re dropped off. At least it’s somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere this time, Leon’s full from his previous, more exotic missions.

You fold your arms around yourself once you’re off the helicopter, looking around with a frown on your face.

Leon chuckles quietly, pushing a comm into his ear and threading it over the shell. When you have trouble, he reaches over and helps you pull it on. “You’re still mad about being called in on your day off?”

You grumble, holding your hair out of the way for him. “Wouldn’t you be?”

“Oh, of course.” He threads the cord around your ear, making sure it’s snug and coming to your side, keeping the wire pressed to your skin with his fingertips. “I think that once we have something to fight, you’ll quit brooding so much.”

“I don’t brood.” You huff, stuffing the comm thread down your shirt.

Leon looks away to preserve your dignity.

“That’s more you, in any case.”

Leon smiles, jamming his hands into his pockets. “That may be true.”

You sigh, pulling your hair up. Leon imagines tracing the slope of your neck with his nose, mouth watering at the thought. “Let’s go, I wanna be able to go home and brood in peace, sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You’ll never know the kick he gets out of being able to say that to you.

Real-life supervillain and cronies gone, you can focus on information. He was right, you look a lot lighter when you’ve had the chance to beat the shit out of something and kill it dead. You walk with a little spring in your step, now, and he so dearly wants to sweep you into his arms.

He refrains, but watches you hunch over a table and break into the mainframe of this little facility for a moment. He needs to write a cease and desist for your jeans, God. While you do that, he scopes out the rest of it, his hand on the gun at his hip with a flashlight in the other hand.

Pause, glance, listen down one side, then the other. Too quiet, it shouldn’t be this quiet. If Raccoon City taught him anything, if something’s quiet, something’s wrong.

Pause, glance, listen down another side. Leon wanders down the hall slowly, senses primed for whatever jumps out at him.

He gets his wish, tackled from the front by some abomination of nature and hitting his head on the linoleum on the way down. When it spits stomach acid at him, he dodges with a sluggish grunt, trying to shake it off and get out from under it.

At least he isn’t being choked.

Still, Leon can’t grab his gun or knock the thing silly, he’s not even sure this thing has a brain he can concuss. It’s almost sad that this thing and him are about equal in strength, maybe he should hit the gym.

Leon’s saved when you put two holes in the thing’s head. Unfortunately, it looks up and bares its teeth at you, getting up from straddling him as some drool lands on his face.

You empty the chamber into it with fear rapidly appearing on your face. He knows that look, he’s felt it more than once. Leon spots the fire axe on the wall and gets to his feet, breaking the glass with the butt of his gun and yanking it out.

He cleaves the abomination in half, splattering him and you in blood. “Are you okay?” He huffs, hauling the axe out of its shoulder and tossing it aside with a metallic clatter.

You nod, wiping some of the blood off your face. He wonders if you can hear after using a gun without ear protection, but that’ll be catalogued later, when you’re both home.

Leon registers the burning on his face a moment later, wiping fervently at his skin and wiping it off on his jeans.

“I can’t believe this.” He mutters, not even bothering to worry about his shirt rapidly succumbing to the acidic blood. You glance down, eyes wandering to the spots of skin you can see. “You get called in on your day off and I almost die because this thing is acidic.”

“Was.” You mutter back, putting your empty gun in the holster. Good, you’re still in good spirits. “Maybe I should be asking if you are okay.”

“I’ll be fine.” He’s a little woozy from hitting his head, but he’s a big boy, he’ll live. He might not if you check him over, only thing you’d be missing is a sexy nurse outfit.

“Good.” You hold up a thumb drive. “I got what we needed.”

“Good.” Leon takes your hand and pulls you out of the facility—but he’s maybe not the best man for navigation right now. You swiftly change roles with him, leading the two of you out of the facility and to the rendezvous point.

When you’re finally back at HQ being checked over, he slides a page over to you, his number messily scrawled on it. “Next time you’re wearing a dress like that, call me.” He murmurs, eyes half-shut, “Almost brought me to my knees.”

Chalk it up to the concussion.

[cumironi]

I DARE YOU .ᐟ

BABYSITTER‘S PUNISHMENT : TOJI FUSHIGURO

when you tryna steal from toji to only end up getting fucked by him.

CONTENT WARNING : smut! toji, rough sex, spanking.

P.S this is from toji's pov

ever since my marriage fell apart, and my bitch of an ex-wife (pretend it's not megumi's mom) left me for some hunky personal trainer, I’ve been a little short-tempered. you see, we had built a home together and raised a beautiful son, megumi, who I love more than anything else in the world. we had a gorgeous house in the suburbs, complete with a swimming pool and a large garden with a playground for megumi to entertain himself. I couldn’t have asked for a better home to start a family. so when the aforementioned whore decided to destroy our family, my spirits were crushed and I started to lash out on everyone around me. my secretary at the office was the first to feel my wrath, as I blamed her for every little thing that went wrong, whether it was her fault or not. she was forgiving, though, and ignored my raging temper.

then, I started to shout at people while I was driving, frequently cursing other motorists and swerving erratically so I could make obscene hand gestures at them. I never lashed out at my daughter, I should add. no, she was the one thing that gave me joy in those dark times. a few months after the divorce proceedings, my wife’s ridiculous relationship with her new boyfriend imploded on itself and she came crawling back. I was having none of it and made sure she stayed away.

of course, with the bitch out of the picture I needed some help to look after Megumi whenever I worked late or had to attend meetings at weekends. Luckily, I managed to find a perfect babysitter whose situation suited all of my needs. She was free to work practically every evening and was able to pick up Megumi from school, take him home, feed him, and put him to bed before I even got back. It was an ideal arrangement, not just because of her seemingly constant availability, but because she was absolutely smoking hot. When I interviewed her for the position, I had to keep pulling my eyes away from her chest. Her juicy, round breasts were pressed up against the fabric of her shirt, and I’m pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra as I could see two prominent bumps at nipple height.

Her name was Y/n, and her cute smile and flowing hair instantly made the blood rush to my cock. I hired her on the spot, and ever since that day I reveled in the sight of her perky ass whenever I returned home. I could hardly believe my luck— she was stunning, she also got on very well with Megumi and seemed to be totally professional in her duties. However, my opinion of her changed somewhat when I discovered a truth about her that sent me into a rage.

It all happened one day when I was supposed to be working late. I had arranged for her to pick up Megumi as usual and I was set to return home around 10 P.M that night. y/n was totally obliging and supportive, and so the evening seemed to be set. As it turned out I finished work an hour earlier than I’d expected as the person I was supposed to be having a video conference call with didn’t show up. So, I headed home in a somewhat disgruntled and annoyed state. I pulled up at the front of the house, got out of the car, and walked up to the door.

My bedroom light seemed to be turned on, which was strange as I always made sure to turn lights off whenever I left a room— my OCD-like behavior was one of the things my ex-wife hated the most about me. I thought nothing of it and continued up the garden path to the front door. As I walked inside I looked into the living room and then the kitchen. There was no sign of y/n or Megumi, so I assumed that she was busy putting my son to bed. I walked around on my tip-toes for a while, removing my jacket while I got a drink of water from the tap.

Finally, I decided to go up and get changed, so I snuck up the stairs. Megumi’s bedroom door was slightly ajar, but his light was turned off. I thought maybe the lamp should have been on if y/n was in there. I looked at my bedroom door and again saw the light was turned on. I made my way to the door and pushed it open gently as the suspicion flooded my mind.

I peered inside and saw y/n’s ass wiggling around at me as she bent underneath the bed. She was rooting around for something, and when I saw her bag next to her with a small candle-stick holder poking out, I realized she was stealing things from my room. I was horrified that I had let such a criminal into my house and left her alone with my precious son.  However, the sight of her ass moving around turned my anger into something else. Within a matter of seconds, I could feel my cock getting harder.

She hadn’t noticed I was back yet, as her head was well and truly under the bed as she searched for items to plunder. I watched for a few seconds as the rage built inside me, and then stepped inside, closing the door shut as quietly as I could. I crouched behind her and watched for a moment, contemplating the best course of action. The blood was rushing out of my brain to my cock, though, so there was only really one thing on my mind. I knew exactly how to punish her.

”What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I said in a stern voice. She froze and then shuddered as she realised she had been caught. It must have been a massive shock to her system, as she didn’t say a word for what seemed like an eternity. I repeated myself, and then grabbed her feet and dragged her out from under the bed. She tried to claw the carpet to stop me but I was far too strong. As her head appeared from under the bed, she looked up at me with pleading eyes, no doubt presuming she could buy her way out of the situation with a suggestive wink and a squeeze of her breasts. Such leniency was most definitely not on the table, though. I grabbed her arms and pulled her up to her feet, and then turned her around and forced her up against the bed.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!“ she kept repeating, but I wasn’t listening.

“You think you can steal from me?” I scowled, pushing her back down on to the bed as she tried to stand up again. Her ass stuck out as she bent over the side of the bed and I continued “I’ll teach you not to steal from me!”

“What are you going to do with me?” she pleaded, but as she looked back she already knew what I had in mind for her. I kept her chest firmly pressed down on the duvet and raised my hand up above her ass, striking it down with a loud crash. She yelped in horror as I spanked her ass, but I kept going, slapping each cheek over and over again. She tried to push herself up, but I just pushed her back down. She kept resisting, so I grabbed her wrists and yanked them behind her back, holding them in place with one hand while I continued to spank the naughty bitch. She winced and groaned with every hit that thrashed across her ass, but I didn’t feel like she had nearly learned her lesson.

“Are you sorry?” I growled, finding myself getting more and more turned on by her whimpering. Her screams to be let go almost sounded sexual in nature, as if the spanking was turning her on more than it was hurting her.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she cried, repeating it after every strike that landed over her ass. My cock was rock hard and almost bulging from my trousers. Then I had a much better thought of how to punish her more effectively. I pulled her back up and stood her at the side of the bed, letting go of her arms as I wrapped mine around her chest, constraining her movement completely. She wiggled her body to loosen herself from my grasp, but my arms were far too strong. I ran my hands over her stomach, feeling the material of her vest top as I moved higher and higher towards her breasts.

Once again she wasn’t wearing a bra, and her nipples were poking out firmly through her top. I groped at them and squeezed the warm, fleshy lumps in my fingers as she squirmed around in my arms. No doubt she could feel my massive, hard cock rubbing against her ass cheeks as I held her breathlessly close. I could smell the shampoo she had used to wash her hair that day, as the warmth of her body rose up from the top of her head. I was so turned on, I started to pinch her pert nipples and slap the sides of her tits. She cried out loudly, so I placed the palm of my hand over her mouth to silence her, and then moved it down to her neck and squeezed firmly and menacingly at her windpipe.

“Ssshhh!” I whispered as I continued to fondle her tits, digging my fingers into her skin as I enjoyed the feel of her supple mounds. She could feel my breath on her neck as I leaned in and stared down her cleavage, watching her delicious breasts wobbling around in my fingers. They truly felt fantastic, and I would have happily stayed there for hours playing with them, had it not been for her constant struggling.

“I’m not done with you yet!” I said as she tried to bolt for the door. I pulled her back, grasping at her waist as I pushed her back down on to the bed. She squealed for mercy as I climbed on top of her back, and then started to peel her top up over her head. I pulled her arms up and held them above her head while I pulled the vest up and discarded it on the floor. She lay on the bed with her arms wrapped under her chest, preserving her modesty. I wanted to see those juicy tits, though, so I rolled her on to her back and pulled her arms open to expose them.

They were even more beautiful in the flesh than I had imagined – perfectly round and just enough to fit in my hands. I held her down and started to fondle them some more, rolling my thumbs around her nipples and pinching them sharply as I pulled them away from her body. Then I began to slap them from side to side, and as I watched them repeatedly jiggling back into position, my cock became almost painfully hard. She spat in my face, with a small blob of saliva landing on the side of my cheek. I wiped it away carefully and stared gruffly in to her eyes, and then slapped her across the face.

She recoiled in horror, turning her head away for a moment before looking back at me. A tear formed in her eye, but she was clearly excited on a sexual level. She was fighting the urge to shoot me a wry, dirty smile. I slapped her again, firmer and faster that time and across the other cheek. I slapped her a few more times, making her cheeks red from the impact of my hands. Saliva spilled out over her face, and I let go of her body for a moment while I undid my tie.

She watched me remove it, trembling on the bed and glancing at the door to plan her escape route. She wasn’t going anywhere, though, and I rolled her on to her back again and forced her wrists together. I wrapped the tie around them, binding her arms securely so I could have some fun. I slowly removed my shirt as I watched her ass shuffling off the edge of the bed, and pressed my foot on to it to keep her from moving any further.

Her ears pricked up when she heard the jangle of my belt buckle as I unfastened it, removing my trousers and boxer shorts to free the enormous, throbbing cock within. With all of my clothes nestled in a small heap on the carpet, I crouched behind her and started to feel her ass through her tight jeans, smelling the crack and running my fingers in between her legs as she moaned lightly.

I couldn’t wait to see her bare ass, so I reached underneath her waist and unzipped the denim flaps, before yanking the jeans down her legs to reveal her sexy little thong. I pulled the jeans away, turning them inside out as they gripped to her legs. She remained huddled over the bed, and I leaned in and felt the warm skin as I pressed my lips up to her ass cheeks.

I gripped the sides of her thong and peeled it down her legs, allowing it to rest around her knees while I moved back up to play with her ass some more. She was still making the occasional move to get away, and each time she bolted I lashed a fresh smack over her now bare ass cheeks. Red hand marks started to form on the soft, delicate skin as I peeled them apart; exposing her tight little anus and her dripping wet labia below.

There was no doubt in my mind that she was gagging for it. I buried my face between her legs and began to lick passionately around her pussy, lapping up her juices as she groaned with pleasure. I continued to spank her, and every time I cracked my hands over her ass, she let out a fresh painful shriek. As I ate her out, I moved my hand up and started to massage her clitoris with my fingers, rubbing her flowing juices all over it as I flicked my tongue over her pulsating vulva.

I moved up and began to lick at her ass hole, prodding my tense tongue around the incredibly soft puckering rim. I lapped up and down her crack, pulling her cheeks as far apart as they would stretch and causing her anus to open up slightly. I spanked her again, even harder and she whimpered pathetically. Then I had a fantastic idea.

I untangled my belt from the waist of my trousers and looped it around. She looked back and gulped, bracing herself for what she knew was to come. I pressed her firmly down on to the bed, pushing her arms even tighter against her back, and then I thrashed her ass with the belt. A thunderous crack sounded out and echoed off the walls as she squealed in agony. I didn’t wait for the pain to subside, and immediately lashed her again and again. Her ass was red raw and started to turn purple as faint blotches of bruising appeared. I moved down and smacked it over the backs of her thighs, each impact sending a fresh set of ripples rolling over her flesh.

“Are you sorry? I don’t believe you!” I kept stating, not letting her answer. She could barely speak through her agonised groans, but her pussy was wetter than ever. I dropped the belt on the floor and positioned myself behind her ass. As the pain subsided, she started to sigh with relief. I pushed the head of my cock up to her pussy lips, rolling it up and down between them before plunging my rigid girth deep inside her.

She gasped and strained her neck out in front of her as she let out a loud, ecstatic moan. I started to thrust it in and out of her pussy, slowly at first as I coated it in her pussy juices, and then faster and harder as I became better lubricated. Her labia stretched around it nicely, contorting sideways as my penis passed through them. As I fucked her I continued to spank her ass, causing her to yelp in between her breathless panting. The sight of her arms bound behind her back had transformed me in to a wanton sex beast, and I didn’t care about anything other than fucking her as hard as I could. Every single other thought and consideration in my life was second to brutalising her and obliterating her pussy right there and then.

I pounded her as hard as I could, still bending her over the side of the bed. Her head rocked back and forth on the duvet helplessly under the force of my powerful thrusts, and she had given up trying to get away. She had become completely obedient and was accepting her punishment gracefully. I quickly tired of fucking her from behind though, and I desperately wanted to play with those glorious tits some more, so I flipped her over on to her back again.

She grimaced as her weight shifted, trapping her arms underneath her body. There wasn’t time to untie her, though. She would just have to get used it. I grabbed her throat and squeezed, choking her for a moment as I kissed her lips, stroking her tongue with mine and smelling her sweet candy breath. My cock was throbbing like crazy, so I pushed it back inside her pussy once again and instantly began to fuck her vigorously as she bounced up and down on the spring mattress.

The springs in the bed were creaking like crazy under the weight of our bodies. I grabbed her legs and placed them flat against my chest with her ankles behind my ears, and watched my cock sliding deep inside her over and over again while her amazing sweet tits bounced around atop her chest. I pressed her legs forward and reached down to slap her breasts again, and she screwed up her face with every strike that landed across her soft skin.

The sound of my skin slapping against hers was almost as loud as the spanking I had given her earlier. We were both sweating and writhing together as I pushed her further onto the bed with each thrust. My cock was buried entirely within her pussy, penetrating her all the way down to my balls as she groaned in uncontrollable pleasure. I doubt she had ever received such a strenuous fucking, but she was loving every second of it.

I spread her legs wide open and leaned down to kiss her neck passionately, smelling the hair under her ears as my moist lips pressed up to her skin. The sound of her panting in to my ear just turned me on even more, and after a minute or so I could hear the unmistakeable noise of an impending orgasm. She wheezed and cried out in ecstasy as her hips began to tremble, and then all of a sudden the extreme pleasure took hold of her and her eyes rolled into the back of her skull.

I continued to pound her even harder, relentlessly fucking her wet pussy as she squirmed with gratification on the bed. It was only when she came down from her breathless climax that I remembered I was supposed to be punishing her.

She went limp on the duvet and tried to catch her breath while I pressed her thighs up to her chest, exposing her insanely tight little ass hole. I didn’t want to have to keep struggling with her, so I took the belt and quickly wrapped around her legs, fastening it just under her knees and binding them up to her chest. She hadn’t even noticed what I was doing as she was still coping with the aftershocks of her intense climax.

I crouched in front of her ass again and pushed her cheeks slightly further open— they were already well parted by the position of her legs. Her vaginal muscles were still contracting and causing her labia to pucker up as I leaned in. I stretched out my tongue and licked over her anus once again, tasting the pussy juices as they flowed from her vulva and down through her ass crack.

Her cheeks were still red raw and burning with pain, but I continued to lightly spank them as I licked around her ass hole, prodding my tongue against her rim for a little while. I ran my finger around her pussy lips, lubricating it in her juices before pushing it through her sphincter. She tensed up as she finally realised what I was doing, and started to grimace and moan anxiously. I slid my finger inside her ass hole and pulled it out repeatedly, watching as her hole enclosed around it.

I stood up between her legs and rubbed the head of my cock around her quivering, wet vulva for a moment, coating it in a mixture of spit and her juices as I had done with my finger. I pushed my dick up to her ass hole and started to nudge it gently through the small opening. Her rim stretched around my cock as I pushed it through, expanding the soft ripples of her anus to a smooth, gaping hole.

The juices and saliva squelched out around the sides of my cock under the intense pressure of her tight anus as I started to thrust it in to her rectum, tunnelling my way deeper and deeper inside. With each insertion I was able to gain an extra quarter of an inch and after a minute or so of gruelling ass fucking I was burying my cock balls-deep in her colon. “Ah fuck, yes Toji— shit shit, ahh! fuck me like I'm a slut!” She started to scream loudly with each thrust that I slammed in to her ass, so I slapped her face again, sending a trail of saliva across the bed. She continued to groan noisily despite my defiant slapping, giving me no option but to silence her.

I reached down to the floor and picked up her thong, rolling it in to a tight ball as I jammed it between her jaws. She tried to clamp them together, but I squeezed firmly at her cheeks to pry them open and wedged the screwed up knickers between her teeth, holding my hand over her mouth and pressing her head back down to the bed as I continued to destroy her ass hole. I heard her trying to squeal in pain as my cock slid in and out of her anus, but the sound was nicely muffled by my makeshift gag.

I knew the ultra-tight young ass hole was going to make me cum soon, so I fucked her even harder and a few moments later I felt a great swell inside my balls. I moaned and stretched my neck, and she could see the veins protruding from the skin on my neck as I started to pump my hot, milky semen deep in to her ass hole. The orgasm seemed to last for hours and the cum shot out of my cock endlessly, oozing out between the sides of my shaft and the walls of her rectum.

I removed my penis from her ass and watched the thick, white fluid seeping out of her asshole. It was too hot of a moment not to get at least a souvenir, so I picked up my phone and took a few pictures of her hot, naked body and her obliterated pussy and ass hole.

“So, have you learned your lesson?” I asked, leaning over her exhausted body as I unstrapped the belt and freed her arms from behind her back. Her skin was marked with red lines from the various spankings and the force of being tied up so tightly. She laughed and said “I’ll have to steal from you again as I enjoyed the punishment,” she smiled sweetly.

“Good. So, same time tomorrow?” I said, helping her to stand up from the bed. Her legs were like jelly and barely supported her weight as she rose to her feet.

“Yes sir.” she said in a subdued but slightly naughty fashion. She tried to hide her smile as she reached for her clothes, but I caught it regardless. I was worried that I had lost a great babysitter, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Not only did I retain her as a babysitter, I gained her as a slave and that first encounter was just the tip of the iceberg.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 15 - I Found A Martyr

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Me, reading more and more smut the further we get into the story: I’m studying. I’m improving my craft. It’s for the people. Chapter Title from Coming Down by Halsey

Word Count: 23k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You have a revelation. Nasty fucking smut. Just so much smut. And usual warnings.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, fluff, angst, pining, smut

Read on A03!

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

This was bad. This was really, really bad. 

You loved him. 

You loved Ben.

You totally, completely, wrathfully and comfortably loved Ben.

That’s what this was. This eternal feeling of need and want and safety. Love. For Ben. Infinite and indestructible love. No way around or over or under it. No way to talk or twist yourself out of it. You loved Ben. With every bloody and broken part of you, you loved Ben. You burned because Ben was there. He didn’t even have to burn with you, because that’s how strong your love was. You would burn for him, and it would be an inferno that carried you both. He would burn with you though, because he was an idiot. Your idiot. Your idiot, because you loved him.

It had pushed so close to the surface, when Violet had almost said it for you. That you only silently communicated with people you loved. But you’d rationalized. You’d been doing that with Ben for months now. Love had nothing to do with it. You just understood each other. That was all it was. Not love. Just the implicit knowledge that Ben had you. Got you.

Then he’d held you again. He’d moved you and danced with you, still touching you so gently. He had been everything around you, the song, and the rhythm, and his chest rising and falling as your head had pressed into it. And it was all so painfully obvious that it was love. You loved Ben.

You loved his stupid face. His stupid, handsome, stoic face that starred in your dreams. It was a little mean, actually, that he was so attractive. That his jaw was sharp and his lips were full and his eyes were pretty and green and boundless. It would be unfathomably easy to just get lost into his eyes forever. So easy it was downright cruel. Nobody should be allowed to have eyes like that. To look like that. But Ben did. When he slept his face would grow slack and peaceful as his lips parted and his hair fell across his face, and you’d always need to brush it away so it didn’t have a chance to wake him. When he was focused his brows would knit and his eyes would grow intent, and you’d always need to be the thing he was watching and picking apart. When he scowled at stupid things his nose scrunched slightly and all the lines on his face deepened, and you’d always need to run a hand over them until he smiled again. Because Ben’s smile was the most amazing thing you’d ever seen. It was so rare, because he’d wink and smirk and grin all the time—and it would always make you want him more—but his smile was rare. The wide, toothy, carefree smile that made his whole stupid face happy and brighter than any star. And when he laughed with his smile, he might as well have just shot you. It would make your heart stop, ruin and implode your world, and spill your heart out of your chest faster.

Nobody’s laugh had ever sounded as powerful and consuming as Ben’s. He made a lot of sounds that drove you insane—grunts and moans and snorts and low growls that always moved through you—but his laugh, his real, full laugh, was like a song. Full and deep and loud, filled with genuine amusement and digging into your brain. It moved mountains, it parted oceans, it made you warm and happy and love him so much more. Impossibly more. Because it meant he was happy, and he was the most handsome, idiotic, amazing person in history when he was happy. And it made your whole world solid and clear to feel his joy, made you feel just a little more real yourself when it was you making him happy. When he laughed at your joke or completed a task you’d set for him or you did something for him. Just for him. To make him happy. You’d do anything to make him happy. If he was happy he might stay with you, so you’d do anything. There were frighteningly few lines you wouldn’t cross for him. You’d be more worried about it if you didn’t trust him so completely. If you weren’t full of so much faith that Ben wouldn’t throw you across those lines, or even bring you anywhere near them. You wouldn’t love him if you thought he would. He might not love you, but he understood you, and understood what things you’d never do. And you’d make that enough. You make him staying with you and caring for you and keeping you safe worth his time. You’d keep holding his head and healing his PTSD, even when he bitched and moaned about not needing it. Because he was noticeably less paranoid, more often at ease. He didn’t have as many nightmares anymore, you didn’t feel the drums pound inside him when someone said Russia or sleep. It was the very least you could do for him, when he chased away your nightmares just by existing in your orbit. By surrounding you with his body and smell and making you fly out of your mind with desire, chasing away every shadow in the night and stifling every hateful part of you.

He was everywhere around you. Everywhere you looked was just Ben. Everywhere you looked would always be Ben. That was one of the more detrimental parts of living with him, was that every corner of your home was Ben. The fridge was full of strawberry cream cheese and the freezer had three pints of malt vanilla because he’d tear through one in a day. There were apples instead of oranges on the counter because oranges were a goddamn disgusting ass of a fruit. The carpet in your bedroom was there because Ben asked for it, and the bathroom had a razor because Ben needed to shave. His shield rested at your bedroom door, and there was a page bookmarked in your cookbook for pancakes. His clothes were mixed in with yours, so even when you wore one of your shirts they smelled like him, and when you showered you had to stare at his half-used shampoo that was evidence. Evidence Ben existed here, with you.

He was woven all through the world as well. You saw Ben everywhere in the world. You’d look at the map of the United States hanging in the dining hall and frown at Florida. You’d eat lunch with Annie, and she’d serve you strawberries and your whole body would start to search for him. You’d glance out a window and see the sky and a voice in the back of your head would go Blue. Pussy fucking color. You’d never be able to go outside again. Because you’d look at the grass and the trees and the bushes and only think Ben. Ben’s eyes are green like that. You’d never be able to do a lot of things again, especially if you lost him. Nobody would be allowed to address you, because it would just make you think that Ben had said your name better. The sun would have to stop shining because sunshine wouldn’t be allowed to exist anymore, and everyone would have to stop swearing because nobody would do it as well as he did. And nobody would touch you again. They wouldn’t do it like Ben did it. They wouldn’t wreck you just with hands on skin or names hummed into mouths. If someone held you, it wouldn’t be like you were holy. They wouldn’t be everything.

It wasn’t healthy. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t healthy. But you didn’t care. Healthy was a privilege. Healthy was for people who budgeted out their months and worked semi-stable jobs and had been born half-sane. Healthy was for people you could get their heart broken and have enough of themselves left to heal it. Healthy was for people who had a heart that was capable of remolding to fit in place with a new, different one after the heartbreak was over. Your heart was for Ben. It didn’t fit anywhere else. It could either be in your chest, or in his hands. It wouldn’t survive anywhere else. You’d survive without Ben. If you lost him, the world would keep spinning and your heart would keep beating and you’d heal after a very, very long and lonely time. But that would be it. It would just be you. No one else. If Ben left you’d let him and mourn it for the rest of your life, alone. If he went back to sleep, you’d burn everything to wake him up, and not just because you’d promised. Because you wanted him awake and happy and holding you. You wanted him. You needed him. You loved him.

And now you have to live with that. You’d have to learn how to love Ben like this. In this way that sat in your brain and made everything clear as your whole body was wrapped in some kind of cocoon, some sort of shield that kept you warm and alive because you loved Ben. You have to learn how to love him in this infinite way and never let it show.

You’ll keep going like you have been. Because you’ve loved him for a long time, if you think for just a second about it. You don’t know when it began, and you’re a little afraid to search for the exact moment where it became something of no return. The turning point, the moment that made your thoughts and feelings about Ben change from understanding and friendship into love. Horrible and loud and glorious love. Because it feels a lot less recent than it probably should be. It doesn’t feel like something that happened last week, or two weeks ago, or even a month. If you concentrate and comb through the past maybe you’d find when this became love, but it doesn’t really matter. Because it feels old. It feels like it’s something ancient that was dormant and now will never stop raging inside you. Just because you’re aware of it now doesn’t mean it wasn’t strong and fixed like this before. 

So you’ll love him like you have been. Because you have been. Nothing needs to change because you have been loving him in secret for a while, it’s only just no longer a secret from you as well.

The only difference is now that chorus of Ben that runs through your brain all the time is followed by I love you. You wake up the morning after Violet’s visit, with Ben’s body heavy and secure over yours—his head pressed into your neck and his snores reverberating through your bones—and your mind goes Ben. Ben, I love you. You lay there for a while, waiting for him to wake up because you could. You had all the time in the world to lay in bed with the man you loved, letting his hands drift in sleep to the hem of your shirt and his legs tangle thoughtlessly in yours. To let your brain go Ben, I love you over and over until he made that small grunt that always preceded his waking.

Ben’s eyes open slowly, looking at you from underneath his eyelashes, and even those are pretty. You’d never stood a chance.

“Mornin,” he grumbles, and you smile at him.

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper. Already, acting normal is not going well.

“Benjamin?” He drawls, smirking up at you. “The fuck did I do to earn a Benjamin this early in the day?”

You wrinkle your nose at him, pushing your knee up into his gut. “It’s your name. Am I not allowed to call you your name?”

“Not when I’ve barely opened my damn eyes.” Trying to knee him was fully ineffective, because he's completely unaffected and now your calf is brushing against his half-hard cock. And he’s still looking at you. “You only call me that when I’ve pissed you off. Tell me what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything.” Ben, I love you. “You’re doing something, right now. But I was just saying your name.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Then say it again.”

“What?”

Ben grins, shifting up on his arms and hanging over you. His face only a slight movement from yours. “Say my name again. My full name.”

“Why-“

“Because I want to hear it when you’re not mad at me for some shit reason.” His breath is moving from his mouth into yours. “Say it.”

You swallow, his lust sitting somewhere with your own in your chest and throat, but still manage to say, “Ask nicely.”

“Brat.”

“I’ll never say your name again-“

He kisses you, sloppy with his tongue falling into your mouth and his hand coming up to cup your face. He’s groaning your name, and his voice is so deep and he smells like pine and his body is warm and he tastes like mint-

You push up on his chest, gaping at him slightly. “Did you fucking brush your teeth?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“No, you brushed your teeth!” You grin at him, feeling the closest thing you’ve ever felt to embarrassment course through him. It’s sore and hot, crawling along his skin as he avoids your gaze. “I can taste it, Benjamin, so don’t even think about lying to me.”

“I wasn’t goddamn going to lie to you.”

“Because you’re not a pussy.”

“Because I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“But you brushed your teeth?”

Ben’s still glaring at you, but there’s nothing cold or sharp behind his eyes, or in his body. You can feel more of a sour annoyance, like he’s mad he got caught. “Brat.”

“Cunt.” You whack his chest lightly. “Are you just not going to admit it? Or am I going to have to get up and check your toothbru-“

You choke on your words as Ben drops back to your neck, sucking a line up your jaw.

“Ben-“

“I fucking brushed my teeth,” he growls into your ear, and somehow it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “Are you happy now?”

You want to say yes, or very, or Ben, I love you, but all you can manage is a strained, desperate sound that’s half-sigh and half-moan.

“Good. Now say my name and I’ll-“

You’re moving so fast to grab Ben’s face and pull him back against yours that whatever he was about to promise you is lost in a groan down your throat. You don’t care, because it can’t be better than this. It can't be better than Ben over you, his hand kneading the skin at your hip and his teeth making your lips swell. It can’t be better than the heat of him around you, the power of his hunger in you.

It’s so easy to moan, “Benjamin-“

He’s gone, hauling himself off of you in a second, so fast you can’t grab his arm and yank him back down.

“You asshole-“

“If you had let me finish my fucking sentence,” Ben grins down what’s meant to be your murderous glare but—based purely on his amused expression and teasing tone—is more likely a pout. “You’d have heard the part where I’m making you breakfast now.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you grumble. “Get your ass back down here.”

Ben hums. “No.”

“Benjamin-“

“There she is,” he leans down, pulling you up just enough that he can kiss the top of your head. “That’s how you always fucking say it.”

Before he can draw back up again, you grab his wrist with one hand, pushing your jaw up into the air to try and move his mouth to yours. He lets you, kissing you far too sweetly for the thirst to be overflowing like this, for the ache between your legs to be growing painful.

When Ben moves away once more, he presses another kiss to your forehead and all your thoughts become clear. It’s only Ben. Ben, I love you.

“Pancakes?” He mumbles against your skin, and you nod.

“Of course I want pancakes, but you-“ His mouth is gone again, hands still holding your face as he draws to his full height. “Ben-“

“I’m going to pick you up.” He says firmly, watching you carefully. It’s not a question, but he doesn’t move. Towering over you, waiting for you to prompt him. You nod, and the rough feeling in his chest pulses slightly as his arms drop under your knees, pulling you up into him.

“I hate you.” Your tone, quiet and gentle, isn’t convincing. Your movement isn’t convincing, arms wrapping around Ben’s neck and body leaning into his hold.

He chuckles, “No, you don’t.” 

And you don’t. You love him. But you still glare at him, and revere in the complete concrete safety of Ben touching you. The strength of his body, the power of his resolve coursing through your bloodstream. The way you barely jostle against him when he walks down the stairs, how carefully he sets you down. How—once the coffee is brewed—he pours your mug first and places it in front of you. Shooting you a sharp glare when you start and stand up to help him.

“Get your fucking ass back in the chair, Sunshine,” he snaps. “I can cook my goddamn self.”

“I know,” you walk over to his side, holding his glower with an overly sweet smile. “But I want to cook with you.”

He’s still frowning, looking you up and down. “Why.”

“It’s fun,” you shrug. Ben, I love you. “You get mad at some really stupid shit. I’ve never seen someone snap a bowl in half before, I didn’t know you could snap a bowl in half.”

“It was broken already,” he grumbles. “Wasn’t fucking mixing the batter.”

“That’s not how bowls work, and you know it.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Shut up and get the milk or sit the hell back down.”

You smile at him, wide and light, and start to turn to the fridge. You don’t even take a step before Ben’s hand catches the top of your arm and spins you around, his lips crashing into yours in a long, needy, marked kiss. Walking you back into the kitchen counter, going and going until you’re breathless and moaning his name.

He smirks against your lips, sucking slowly on your top lip before moving away. Staring at you with the lust shining in his eyes. The lust and another, louder, fiery thing that’s roaring somewhere near his lungs. He says your name, voice hoarse, and you think it might kill you. “You’re a real fucking pain in my ass.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I can really tell how hard all this is on you.”

He groans, because your words were carefully chosen. “Fucking hell-”

“Is there a problem, Pretty Boy?” You smile at him, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky you’re beautiful.” He kisses just the tip of your nose, and your whole body sings. “Get the milk.”

“Cunt,” you mutter under your breath as he walks away, and his laugh echoes through you. Ben, I love you.

This will work. You’ll love him like this. Keeping your lines set in stone rather than sand, because as much as you need him to walk back over to you—to pick you up again and just fuck you—you can’t. Knowing you love him made it easier to not chase after him, easier to stop yourself from giving him everything as you were now certain he couldn’t return it. But it made you want everything so much more. So you had to keep your head on your shoulders, and let him call you beautiful and kiss him until he was hard and you were wet, and never let it go further. You can love him like this. And it will be fine.

You master it, over the next three days. You get in stupid fights about nothing—Ben uses an abominable amount of toothpaste per brushing for someone who probably hasn’t done any sort of dental care in almost a century—and they either end with you winning, Ben’s tongue down your throat, or some combination of the two. And your brain always goes Ben, I love you, and you turn it into a whack of his arm or a wordless moan into his mouth or against his skin. You snark at him, and he chuckles and teases you, and instead of climbing on top of him and grabbing his face in your hands and screaming Ben, I love you, you make him laugh. You savor the sound as it fills the apartment, and squeeze your thighs together because everything this insufferable ass of a man does turns you on. It was a problem before, and now it might be starting to actively hinder your life. You’re training with him—Ben has insisted you learn how to coordinate fire in with your combat so you don’t rely wholly on your power, saying any supe worth their goddamn salt can do more than just party tricks, Sunshine—and your task is to knock him down.

It’s not going well. 

“You did this better when you hated me,” Ben taunts, side-stepping you again.

“Fuck you.”

He laughs. “Maybe I will, once you’ve earned it.” 

You scowl, lunging at him again. This time, when Ben doges, he moves right into the column of flame you’d risen in his path.

“Fucking Christ-“ He jumps away, shooting you a glare and snapping your name.

You don’t let him keep going, rushing another wall of flame at him. You’d learned to control the temperature—hot enough for Ben to feel, not hot enough for it to burn—and he takes a stumbling step back.

“That’s more fucking like it,” he’s grinning now, fists up. “Keep it coming, at this rate you’ll get me down by April.”

You flip him off, wrapping your hand in fire and throwing a punch right at his stupid, handsome face. “I’m going to wipe the floor with you Pretty Boy.”

He fakes left, the fire shooting up to block him in the wrong spot when he ducks right, under your arm. You recover fast, but Ben’s already grabbing you by the hook of your elbow, pinning you against his chest.

“Those are some big words,” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as his arm snakes around your waist. “For someone who can’t even land one damn punch.” 

You angle your head back and kiss him. Rough, sudden, and harsh. It catches him off guard, and his grip loosens just enough for you to turn and jump up. He catches you as your legs wrap around him—you knew he would—and growls into your mouth as your hands pull at his hair. You keep going, Ben matching every bite of his lips with a bite of yours. Every groan you pull from him makes him harder and harder against you, makes his hold on you like steel and his hunger start to burn in your body. You lean your chest forward slightly—still holding his mouth against yours—and he moans. Ben moans, and your whole plan almost goes entirely out the window. The only thing that keeps you on track is the fact that if you don’t move now he’ll moan again and not a thing in the universe could stop you from fucking him. 

You shove down on Ben’s shoulders, your whole body going up in flames. It does the trick, and Ben loses his balance just enough for you to push harder. Make him drop down to the floor as you straddle his chest, grinning triumphantly at his adorable, befuddled frown.

“I win.”

The disbelief and shock dies in Ben fast, and suddenly the hunger is bigger. Everything in him is bigger. Hunger and affection and a strange feeling that makes you light-headed and giddy. 

“Dirty fucking trick, beautiful.” He says, smiling widely up at you as his hands find your hips. “Don’t think that’ll work on the average opponent.” 

“Worked on you,” you say smugly, and the feelings somehow grow in him. In you. It makes you blink, your whole body consumed by it, and you don’t see or feel Ben grab your wrists until it’s too late and he’s flipping you over. 

He’s above you, he’s everything, and nothing in you wants to try and get him away. You’d won already, and even if you hadn’t you can’t think of a way out of this. Not when his face is so happy, not when you can feel all of him. His body and his desire and his care. 

“Fucking brat,” he mutters, mouth lowering just over yours. “Too smart for your own damn good.” 

“You love it,” you mumble. I love you. 

Ben snorts, and your whole world is just that sound. Content and moving through and around you. Just Ben, kissing you until your back is arching off the floor. Picking you up and dropping you both on the couch, going and going until you’re both out of breath. Then just touching you. Thumbs tracing circles on your skin, head resting against yours, all just Ben. 

You look up at him, and he’s watching you. He’s always watching you. You don’t ever want him to look away. You move your hands up into his hair, palms pressed against his head, and his brows raise. 

“I feel goddamn fine,” he drawls your name. “You don’t have to keep fucking doing this.” 

“You had a nightmare last night,” you glare at him. “I decide when I stop doing this.” 

Ben scowls, but doesn’t move your hands away. Sulking as your grip tightens and you set to work. You’re grateful for it, because his nightmare had scared you. It had been the first in a while, and while he hadn’t fallen into the drums and exploded, the pain he’d felt was still sitting in your bones. The strained sounds of suffering and fear that he’d made were rattling around in your head. It was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. Ben wasn’t made to make those sounds. So you’d keep doing this until he never had to make them again. It wasn’t hurting you at all anyway, you felt fine. Were shadows a little darker in corners and sounds a little louder at night? Maybe, but you were fine. And this wasn’t about you. It was about Ben.

It was about how soft his hair was in your hands, and how handsome his face looked when it was relaxed. It was about making him keep looking at you. All the time.

“We have dinner in an hour,” you say after a while, mostly to try and drown out the song in your head of Ben. Ben, I love you.

“I know,” he grunts. “It’s the same time every fucking night.” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Someone’s grumpy.” 

“Shut up.” 

“What, not looking forward to Butcher’s nightly interrogations about if we’re fucking yet?” 

Ben smirks at you. “You’d think he’d realize that the moment we start fucking we’d stop coming to dinner.” 

“We’d still go to dinner-“

“You wouldn’t leave the bed for a week,” his voice is low, taunting, and your nails start digging into his scalp. “Longer if you wanted.” 

Ben, I love you. “Someone’s real cocky.” 

“And one day,” he winks. “You’ll find out why.” 

You snort, even as your whole body starts to feel like putty. “Okay, Pretty Boy.”

“Are you fucking doubting me?”

“No,” you scoff. “Before we met, about 85% of the things I heard about you were that you were an asshole manwhore. I don’t think I ever doubted that you could fuck.”

“An asshole manwhore?” Ben scowls. “Who called me an asshole manwhore?”

“I think that asshole manwhore was Butcher.” 

Ben grunts, “fucking pussy.”

“If it helps,” Ben, I love you. “You are an asshole manwhore. But you’re also the most aggressively caring person I’ve met.”

“Aggressively caring?”

“You give a shit about me. More than anyone ever really has. In a very violent, mean, asshole manwhore way.” Ben, I love you. “But it, it means a lot.”

“You mean a lot,” Ben grumbles. “And of course I give a shit about you. It’s not like you don’t give a shit about me.”

“Yeah but that’s not my point-”

“Sunshine, just take the fucking compliment.” 

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

Ben winks, still watching you. So full of lust you might pass out from it. “You need to shower.”

“You need to shower.” You mutter, and he grins.

“We could do it together-“

“Fuck off,” you mutter, face heating and eyes moving to stare at his forehead. Looking at him right now—with his face alight and the hunger and want painting his every feature—would be counterproductive. “Once I’m done with this you’re showering, without me, and then we’re going to dinner.”

“You’re going first.” 

“Ben-“ 

“I take longer showers than you,” his tone is firm, and you can feel his eyes on you. “So your options are going first and having warm water, or going second and freezing your beautiful fucking face off.” 

“But-“ 

“You could always just shower with me,” he continues, and your eyes drop back to his against your will. They’re bright, and so green, and boring right through you in a way that makes you think he can see your thoughts. See the way your whole mind is just going Ben. I love you. “Eliminate the damn problem altogether.” 

“Shut up,” you mumble, and Ben chuckles, pulling your hands down from his head. 

“Then you should get a fucking move on,” he says your name, eyes never leaving yours. “Don’t want to be late to our stupid dinner, do we?” 

“Cunt.” 

He kisses your knuckles, and your whole brain is Ben. “Brat.” 

You shoot him one last glare as you stand, and try not to let your whole body feel cold without him as you climb up the stairs. You turn the shower handle so steam fills the room and the water is scalding. It doesn’t hurt, heat never hurts anymore, but the sensation still exists. You know it’s hot, you know it burns and would’ve hurt before, but now it just feels good. It would’ve, once, been used to wipe your head clear of him, used to chase the thoughts of Ben away into the water and down the drain at your feet. But now it just amplifies them. You don’t know how long you can keep this up, when everything Ben does is like a river that sweeps you up into him, that’s started to smooth rules you’d carved into stone about not going everywhere with him. It’s only been three days. Three long days of knowing you love him. How you managed this before you knew is a mystery, how you didn’t know for so long is even more baffling. Maybe it’s because you didn’t understand that love could feel like this. You’d been in love before, sure. And it had swept you away and made you smile, but it had never been a part of you. It had never been something that felt bigger than you, something that was only building and building by the second. You’d only fallen in love after sex, after months of casual dating and messing around until it grew deeper. You think you might have loved Ben before he even kissed you. You think you might love Ben until the universe is wiped away in fire. 

You think the fire might be yours. You think what might destroy the universe is this love for Ben, pouring out of you until it’s everywhere and still only a fraction of what he is.

And it’s only been three days. 

You’d had forty-five minutes when you’d entered the shower. Wallowing in the fog and warmth of the water might’ve taken up five. Ben took half-hour showers, but you could cut it down to twenty-five if you really got on his ass about it. 

Ten minutes was more than enough to get yourself off.

The good thing about the rain showers was that they were relaxing. The bad thing was that there was no removable shower head to work with, but you could improvise. You lean back against the wall, planting your feet firmly on the floor as you arch your hips, angling them so that the water falls right between your thighs. You move your fingers down slowly, and part the lips of your pussy so that your clit is exposed to the air and the stream of the shower lands steadily against it. The effect is immediate, your whole body seizing for a fraction of a second at the sensitivity before you adjust, completely relaxing against the wall. All your thoughts are wrapped in the steam, wrapped in the sensation of the heavy beat of falling water on your clit, and you don’t even try to stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

Ben. If you were a little weaker—or stronger—it could be him doing this. He could be holding you up against his muscled chest instead of you leaning against tile, it could be his rough hand squeezing your breasts instead of your own, and he could be devouring your high, needy sounds into his body. Holding your chin up so he can lean over you and kiss you until you feel like you’re going to pass out. Wrapping his arm over your hips to keep them from bucking as his hand dives between your legs. Rubbing large, strong fingers over your clit in a fast, mind-numbing pace and rhythm. Head lowering so he’s sucking on your neck as he moves down, down, down and plunges inside you, palm still bumping your nerves as he moves in and out at a brutal pace. Going and going until you’re screaming his name, muttering filth and praise against your skin, bringing your over the edge-

Your legs almost give out when you cum, and as your wits return you realize your own fingers have stilled inside you, and your throat is aching. You were screaming his name.

Any hopes that he might not have heard are dashed when you exit the bathroom and Ben’s sitting on the bed, smirking at you.

“Have fun?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, walking around the bed to where your phone is plugged in. 

“There better still be hot water-“ 

“If there’s not,” you glare at him. “Then maybe you won’t take a year to shower. For once.” 

He winks. “You’re real mouthy for having just been screaming my name, Sunshine.”

“Fuck you.” 

“I could’ve. If you’d let me in the damn shower.” 

“Well I didn’t,” you stick your tongue out at him. “So haul ass.” 

He leans across the bed, grabbing your forearm and yanking you down with a yelp. You land right in his lap, and the lust in him is so strong that, combined with how your whole body is still alight from your orgasm, you don’t even think to squirm away as he kisses you until you’re grinding against his thigh. 

“This fucking needy already?” He hums, nipping at the corner of your mouth. “I’ll have to make it two damn weeks.” 

I love you. “Benjamin, you dick-“ 

He chuckles, gently rolling you off his body. “The moment you say the word, my dick is all yours.” Ben smirks at your slack expression, kissing your cheek before growling in your ear. “But you’re going to have to beg for it.” 

When he stands and walks into the bathroom, leaving you panting slightly on the bed, you realize this is going to kill you. It’s only been three days, and this love for Ben is going to kill you. 

How some people do this for years will never cease to amaze you. 

Nobody’s caught on yet. Tonight, just like the past three nights, dinner will be weird, but normal weird. The biggest thing that changed was two nights ago, when Ben called Annie Annie instead of Starlight for the first time. The reaction had been similar to the switch from Cocksucker to Hughie, with everyone starting slightly in their seats before rushing to continue the conversation and gloss over the change. You’d asked him, later that night when you’d returned to your room, what had done it. 

“Done what?” He’d grumbled. 

“Don’t play stupid, Ben-“ 

“I don’t know what you’re fucking taking about.” 

“Yes, you do.” You’d narrowed your eyes at him. “What made Annie earn name privileges?” 

He’d glared at you, but grunted, “She’s not being a damn bitch anymore. Finally got off her fucking high horse.” 

You’d nodded and dropped it, but didn’t miss the way he didn’t glare at Annie when she talked to you anymore. Now, as you walked into the dining hall with his arm hanging over your shoulders, he even gave her a curt nod when she smiled at you, and no rush of angered protectiveness surged through him. 

Annie had asked you, the day after Violet left, how the meeting had gone. You’d been standing downstairs at the doorway, and Ben had been upstairs, but there was no way he hadn’t heard. Annie’s voice had been slightly hushed, and the door had been closed, but Ben had the ears of a moth. You’d told him that once and he’d shaken his heard, grumbling about you being a too fucking hot for a walking encyclopedia. But he did. He heard everything. There was no way he hadn’t heard Annie. 

And he’d called her Annie that same night. 

When you drop across from Annie and Hughie, Frenchie and Kimiko are nowhere to be seen—despite a jacket you recognize to be Frenchie’s tossed on one of the seats—and MM and Butcher are shuffling over from the kitchen doors. 

“Where’s-“ 

“Kimiko’s making Frenchie listen to some songs she just found on Spotify.” Annie smiles at you with a shrug, and you smile back. “It’s a lot of J-Pop and showtunes.”

“If it’s Kimiko showing them to Frenchie, he’ll love them.” You lean slightly across the table, Ben sitting silently at your side with hand resting on your lower back. “What’s on the menu?” 

“I dunno, we just got here.” Hughie cranes his neck to look at Butcher and MM. “Hey guys-“

“Pizza.” MM sits next to Hughie, angling his plate for display. “They got Hawaiian, pepperoni, cheese, and broccoli.” 

You nod, starting to rise from your seat, but Ben pulls your wrist slightly. “I’ll get it.” 

“Okay, can you get-“ 

“I know what you fucking want.” He mutters, and you blink at him.

“Really?”

“We have pizza every damn Friday,” Ben shrugs, standing. “You always chose the same thing.”

He stalks past Butcher, still standing with a scowl at the head of the table, and pushes roughly through the doors. 

“He’s, uh, he’s right.” Hughie’s staring after Ben, a small frown on his face. “They do give us pizza every Friday.” 

“Like we’re fuckin babies,” Butcher’s holding his plate with white knuckles, glowering the two remaining seats. Next to Annie, and next to you.

“Babies don’t eat fuckin pizza, Butcher.” MM mutters. “It’s bad for their guts, and they can’t chew it.”

“It’s more like we’re teenagers,” you nod. “My high school cafeteria definitely had pizza Fridays.”

Annie hums. “Actually, mine did too.”

“That makes three,” Hughie takes a large bite of his pizza, a little cheese hanging out his mouth, and you all look expectantly at MM. 

He sighs. “Mine did as well.”

“Well ain’t that just bloody fantastic for all you.” 

“Butcher,” Annie sighs. “Just eat your pizza or go sit alone.” 

This happens every night. Butcher stands at the table, making jeering comments until someone—usually Annie or MM—tells him to sit and eat, with them or by himself. He always sits down, usually next to Hughie or MM, sometimes next to Frenchie, once next to a very stiff bodied Ben and once next to a wide-eyed Kimiko. Never next to Annie. Never next to you.

You think tonight will be the first night he sits alone, right up until he’s marching around the table and sitting down at your side so aggressively it shakes the bench. The shocked silence only lasts a second before Hughie jumps frantically into a conversation about some movie he and Annie watched last night at MM’s suggestion, you and Butcher both refusing to look at each other.

The kitchen doors swing back open, Ben reappearing with two plates in hand. His eyes narrow when he sees Butcher at your side, a scowl overtaking his face. The fuck is he doing?

Sitting, apparently. Your shrug is so small that anyone except Ben wouldn’t have caught it. Don’t say anything about it. I think he’s like a reverse Tinkerbell. 

Ben raises his eyebrows. The fuck does that mean. 

If you give him attention, he dies.

Snorting, Ben sits back at your side, and you grin at him as he slides your plate in front of you before dropping his hand to your thigh. Letting it rest there as you glance at his serving—five slices of pepperoni—and then yours. He’d gotten it right, and you blink up at him. 

He frowns. What? 

Ben, I love you, is what you want to tell him. You even know what that face would look like. A full smile, all teeth and joy, with your eyes shining with all your love for him as you just look at him.

But you only give him a smaller smile, still happy, but not everything. Thank you. 

Don’t. He squeezes your thigh, rolling his eyes. Never fucking thank me. 

You wish Ben would let you thank him, but a small part of you knows it’s a mercy he doesn’t know he’s giving you. You’d never stop thanking him if he didn’t get all grumpy when you did. You’d thank him for every stupid, handsome smile and every brush of his skin against yours and every teasing jab that meets and spars with yours. You’d thank him for holding you under the table for the whole dinner, Butcher eating at your side without a word. You’d thank him for leaning back slightly when Kimiko sits at Annie’s side so you can talking to her in sign about the music she’d been showing Frenchie. You’d thank him for staying silent and grounding when Butcher launches into a briefing, despite everyone’s glares. 

“Grace says Edgar’s almost ready,” he’s looking around, meeting everyone’s eyes to ensure they’re listening. “We got a plan for when he makes good.”

“A plan?” Annie frowns. “Can you be more specific-“

“No.”

You’d thank Ben for rolling his eyes at you. Fucking pussy probably doesn’t even have a fucking plan. 

I’m sure we can improvise. You shrug, and he scowls. 

You always have to improvise. If they want you to keep fucking improvising for them, they better start paying us both what we damn deserve.

You raise your brows at him. We? When have you ever improvised for them? 

This whole plan was my goddamn idea. 

That’s a plan. It’s the exact opposite of improvisation. 

Brat, Ben grins at you. We’re a package fucking deal. They want your services, they pay us both. 

You wrinkle your nose at him. I did not agree to that.

I go where you go, beautiful. Ben winks. 

You’d thank him for the flush of your face, and the smile you have to physically fight off your face. 

You’d thank him for clearing both your plates when Butcher’s doing the same so you don’t have to be alone with Butcher beside you, and you’d thank him for bringing you back a fistful of chocolate when he returns from the kitchen with his own full pint of ice cream. You’d thank him for holding your hand all the way back to your apartment, and up the stairs, and into bed. You’d thank him for kissing you until you’re scraping at his back, and for doing that annoying thing where he tells you you’re tired and you suddenly are.

You’d thank him for staying—at your side—every day, every time you so much as saw him. You’d thank him for humming terribly as you drift off to sleep, you’d thank him for the way his heart pounds softly against his chest until the world is dark and peaceful.

The world had taken a turn. You’d been somewhere that was full of sunlight and life, Ben holding you against him, and suddenly it was dark. So dark you couldn’t see your own hands. Your body is lit in flames and it’s somehow still so very dark. And cold. There’s wind and it’s freezing your skin and guts, even as you burn. You call for Ben, your voice turning from nervous shouts of his name into screams. Loud, panicked screams for Ben to find you, to shout back and tell you he’s there, that he’s okay, that he’s searching for you as well. 

There’s only silence, your name swallowed in a vacuum of the cold darkness. And it’s silent and cold for so long. So very long where you’re burning and can’t find Ben. He’s in danger, you know, you can feel it. Something’s keeping him from you, because that’s the only reason he wouldn’t be roaring for you to return to him. And he’s in pain. You’re certain he’s in pain. Ben is in pain, somewhere in the dark, because you can feel something ripping you open and flaying you alive and drowning you. Something is drowning you. Something is drowning Ben. And it’s all you can feel, for a long, long time, until a voice sounds through the world, screeching in your ears.

Run. 

You’re gone. You’re sprinting through nothing and it’s like falling. There’s no end, and it’s so fast, and where’s Ben. You have to go faster, you have to find him. You have to crash into whatever that’s doing this, causing this pain, and destroy it. You have to find it, you have to find him, and you can hear something. Breaking through the fire around you and your own screams for Ben, there’s something running at you. Behind you. Faster than you, gaining pace, a cruel cackling sound that’s becoming louder and louder.

There’s a light. Far away there’s a warm light that’s growing and growing with drums. Loud, heavy, bloody drums. It’s Ben, chest alight as the drums become all you can hear. He’s facing you, and the danger behind you is closer, closer, closer as Ben grows brighter, brighter, brighter. 

The danger tears past you. It’s not going for you anymore. It’s headed for Ben. Faster, and the drums aren’t loud enough, and there’s a fraction of a second where you could’ve held it back. Where it ripped through the space between you and Ben and you could’ve struck it down. You could’ve redrawn its attention to you. 

But Ben is doing what you should’ve done. His eyes lock with yours, right as the danger hits him. And suddenly there’s nothing, not pain or danger or drums or any sign that Ben was ever there. Just cold nothing.

The world floods with light.

Fluorescent, blinding, painful light. Everything smells like hand sanitizer and the air is too clean. Artificial. 

When you can see again, everything in you dies. 

You’re back. You’d swore you’d never to go back. To this white room with the too bright lights and everything deep cleaned so there’s no proof. No proof you exist. You’re just another decoration in this horrible, horrible place.

It’s changed though. There’s no longer a steel door with a small slat that meals were once pushed through. There’s nothing. Not even glass. You could just walk out, right into the lab.

The white room and the lab had been different though. You’d never existed in both at the same time. And this lab isn’t the same as yours. At the surface level, it’s an identical copy with bleached floors and a lot of tools that make your blood run cold. But the vials are all full of nothing. Just air. There’s a large one, connected to an IV that doesn’t run into a body, but a tube. 

A large, metal tube. More like a box. With a single clear panel that’s just too high for you to look into. You don’t need to though. When the box shakes slightly, something in you pulses and thrashes against your chest and you know. When the box is still, and the thing dies out a fraction of a heartbeat, you know. 

Ben is there. Asleep in the box. And you’re burning everything to try to get him out, but the box isn’t even shaking again. It’s still and silent as you scream, and it echoes through the ashes and smoke around you. You’re burning the world and everything between it, but Ben is still asleep. Gone.

You hadn’t been smart enough. You hadn’t been fast enough. You hadn’t done whatever it took, and now Ben was gone. You’d failed him. 

You’d failed Ben. 

You’re still burning when you wake up. You’re still screaming when you wake up. Your voice is hoarse, your throat feels raw, but you can’t stop screaming. The world is on your back, pushing down on your shoulders and snapping your spine in two. You’d failed him, you’d lost him, and now Ben was gone-

“I’m right fucking here,” the most familiar voice in the world moves through your body, saying your name, but all you can think is Ben. He’s gone. 

You’d lost him. 

“You didn’t lose me,” it’s the same voice. Low and forceful. “I’m here,” it’s saying your name. You need to listen, because it’s making your name sound important. Like it’s the only thing in the world worth saying. “I’m right fucking here.” 

That’s Ben’s voice. As you’re coming down you know it’s Ben voice, because he says fucking like that. You think his voice was built to say fucking, with the spitting sound on the f and the deep growl of the uh. The speed at which he tears through the king.

Ben’s here. You didn’t lose him. He’s here. Suddenly you can feel him all around you, and it’s not just the feeling of his resolve like a shield around you that’s pulling you back down. It’s him. It’s just Ben. It’s the heat of his body, the way he’s holding you with real, strong hands. It’s the sound of his voice, and the rumble of his heart where you think your head is pressed into his ribs. It’s the smell of him. Pine and vanilla and Ben. All Ben. Real, with you, not gone.

Your screams turn into sobs, and your breathing grows faster until you’re lightheaded. Until gentle, calloused hands are on your face, pulling you back from where you’ve buried yourself.

Ben’s face is drawn, focused, and the frown on his face isn’t at you. It’s for you. You can feel the way in which his anger is blowing, and it’s up and around and everywhere until he can find something to turn bloody and beat to a pulp. But for now he’s holding you. Searching your eyes for his answer.

“Fucking breathe,” he says your name again. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You sob again, hands flying up to keep his on your face. In case this is another lie. In case your mind is truly that hateful and would do this to you again.

“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” He hisses. “You need to know that, Sunshine. I’m never going anywhere without you.”

Your breathing slows, and the blood pounding in your ears with it. Soon it’s just Ben. You and Ben.

He must read it on your face somewhere—that you’re here, in your mind, without the fear and panic—because he kisses your brow, still holding your face as he speaks. “What happened.” 

You shake your head. “Just a nightmare.” 

“You haven’t had a nightmare like that since damn Neuman.” 

He’s right. You’d had bad dreams, one or two, but not nightmares. No fire had torn through this room before, Ben hadn’t had to bring you back from some sort of ledge on this mattress.

“I don’t know where it came from,” you whisper. “I’m sor-” 

“No apologies.” He pulls your face up just a little further. “You’re okay.” 

Not a question. “I’m okay.” 

Ben grunts, thumb drawing circles on your cheekbones. “Swear it.” 

“Promise.” You pause, looking up at him. Ben. Ben, I love you. I can’t lose you. I can’t fail you. I can’t fail anyone, but if I fail you it’ll destroy me and the world. “Ben?”

He hums your name, and you run your hands from over his to hang off his forearms.

“You trust me?”

“Of course I fucking trust you.” 

“Can you promise me something?” 

Ben grunts. “What.” 

“I don’t know what Butcher and Mallory are planning,” your voice is still choked, and it hurts to speak. But you keep going. You have to keep going. “But if it falls through, I need you to promise that you’ll let me do what I need to do.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Ben’s hold on your face tightens, and you swallow. 

“If whatever Butcher and Mallory have-“ 

“That’s not what I’m asking.” He’s irritated. You can hear it in his voice, you can feel it on his fingertips. There’s something else, the bitter thing has wrapped around his throat, combined with something bellowing inside his chest. “What the fucking hell do you mean what you need to do.”

“To finish this,” it’s painful to look at him. It’s painful to see his jaw clenched and mouth frowning when he’d been gone from you, even if it hadn't been real. It’s painful to see the intensity of his gaze when you’re asking this of him. “To do what needs to be done.”

“What needs to be done?” Ben hisses. “If you don’t speak more fucking clearly, I’m not promising you shit. If you’re talking about your god awful plan-“ 

“I’m not,” you squeeze his arm, and he relaxes slightly. The bitter thing becomes easier to breathe through. “Just, what I need to do.”

“That's not nearly goddamn clear enough.” Ben says your name, and his voice is becoming strained. There’s gruff pain to it, like someone is trying to claw out of his airway. “What will you possibly fucking need to do.” 

You can’t answer. Because you don’t know. You don’t know what the plan is, how it could go sideways, what will need to be done. You’re not even certain you know if you’re talking about the mission or not. But you need to be able to do it. Whatever it is that needs to be done, you have to do it. You have to be able to keep Ben here, you have to save Ryan Butcher, you have to kill Homelander, this has to be over. You’re so tired. Whatever needs to be done to just rest, for the world to rest, you need to be able to do. And you can’t let Ben stop you, or hold you back. You can’t let him take all the danger for you, it’s not fair. You love him.

But you can’t say that. So you say, “I don’t know.” No lies. “But I need you to promise me you’ll let me do it.” 

“No, I’m not promising that when I don’t fucking know what-“ 

“That doesn’t matter,” you’re begging now, head shaking frantically between Ben’s hands. You don’t care. He needs to give you this, he needs to understand and promise. “It doesn’t matter what it could mean, Ben. I just, please, I need you to promise, please promise-“ 

He pulls you forward. Back into his chest until the drum of his heart makes breathing easier again. When he speaks, his voice is everywhere. Around your body and making a home in your brain. “It fucking matters. It always fucking matters. I’m not promising something fucking stupid like that.” 

Your hands fist against his shirt, word muffled. “Please. I need, Ben, please.” You’re not crying anymore, you’re trying to climb into him. To keep the safety and everything of Ben around you, even as you push. “I need to help, I need to help, I can’t be useless, I need to help and it needs to matter-“

“Shut up.” Ben has one hand in your hair, one wrapped around your back and resting on your hips. It’s the way he’s holding you so diligently—as if this is his whole purpose, to touch you—and the way his voice and body are wholly devoid of anger, and how it all makes your brain clear to Ben, Ben I love you, that makes you fall silent and let him continue. “You matter. You’re helping more than any other fucking pussy in this damn building. And you are the least useless person I have ever fucking met. So I’m not promising that.”

You pull your head back through sheer force of will, because you need to look at him. Even if it’s painful. “Please.” You could use a favor, you have a few left, but it needs to be Ben that promises. He needs to understand, you need him to mean it. “Please, Ben. I need you-“ a sob wracks your body, and you almost leave the sentence there. You need Ben. You love him. “Promise. Please promise, I need you to promise. Just this,” you tug at his shirt, and your body is smoking. When you pull back his skin is redder, but he hasn’t flinched. Only holding you, only watching you. “Just this one thing. I’ll never ask you for anything again. Please.”

He stiffens. For the most horrid, long moment of your life, you think you’ve shown too much. You think you’ve said the thing you’d promised not to say, found the line you’d been trying to toe so carefully. That keeps him beside you and never wondering why you’re clawing so desperately to do so. You don’t know which part of your pleas were the thing, which part turned your cards around for him to see and which card is going to be the one that makes you lose him-

“Fine.” His words are through gritted teeth, and you can see the tick of his jaw, but he’s nodding once, roughly, and you know you haven’t misheard him. “I promise.” 

His voice is so hollow. You’ve never heard Ben’s voice hollow before, and it’s wrong. “Swear it?” You whisper, because you need him to look less like a statue. You need him to move with a chuckle or a frown or an eye roll. 

You get a small twitch of his mouth. That’s enough. “Fucking swear it.” 

“Thank you,” you breathe. And Ben doesn’t stop or correct you about it. He lets you burrow back into his chest, pulling you up a little farther so he can shift back against the headboard. Your head lies somewhere between his ribs and stomach, arms around his torso, and he just stays there. Real and solid, and you’re no longer sure whose heart is pounding. You just know it’s steady, and that Ben is here. 

He holds you until the sun rises, and well after. You don’t want to move, you can’t move, so Ben just holds you. Holds you until you tug at his arm and ask quietly for coffee. Then he kisses the top of your head and hauls you up from between his legs to against his chest. 

“I’m going to carry you,” he grunts, and you just curl further into him.

When he sets you down on the couch he kisses the top of your head before walking to the kitchen, and you sink into the cushions. You don’t know how long he’s away—away meaning five feet away, shuffling loudly around the kitchen—but only when he returns to the couch, sinking into the spot by your feet, do you realize how cold you’d grown. 

“Thank you,” you mumble as he passes you a mug of coffee. 

“Don’t.” 

You smile softly, staring at the dark liquid in the cup. “Are we doing fire later or-“ 

“You are not fucking training today,” Ben snaps, and you look up to find him glaring at you. “Or doing your stupid brain magic.”

“Brain magic?” Your smile feels a little more real, and you’re not going to fight with him about training or healing. You’ve battled with him over more pointless things, but you’re just so tired. So you’ll just tease him, pushing and pulling with him about nothing.

Ben gives you a flat look. “What would you call it, smartass?” 

“Healing.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” 

You give a small giggle, and Ben’s whole face is still stoic, still drawn, but there’s less tension along it. “Grumpy old man.” 

“I said shut the fuck up.” 

“Make me.”

The speed at which Ben sets his own mug on the coffee table and climbs over you is truly remarkable. “You know very well,” his voice is gruff, the weight of his hunger crashing through you. “That I am not a fucking old man.”

“Well,” you hum, grinning widely up at him. “Just in terms of chronology, you are an incredibly old man-“ 

It’s amazing how good he is at this. How Ben is so easily capable of dragging you up from the worst pits and holes of your own head and throwing you into this thirst. How fast he can make your mind go from spinning and finding every nook and cranny or your life, your self, that is evil and hopeless, to just singing Ben. Ben, I love you. It’s why you don’t fight back when he falls onto you, his arm around your waist pulling you up into him and his mouth destroying your whole body in the most amazing way. He’s only against your own lips for a second, and the moment you open for him, moaning his name, he’s gone. Biting and sucking along your jaw, and your neck, up to your ear to tug it between his teeth, then down to your collarbone. Going until the sounds rising from your throat aren’t Ben or please or fuck, but only incoherent whines. Then he’s back on your mouth, and you give everything back to him. Your hands in his hair, your legs wrapped around him as you grind up, and your tongue running along his lips. Trying to get him as impossibly close as you can without crossing the line.

You say it. You know somewhere in the haze, your brain still slightly hazy from the pain of the night and your will weakened by all of him, you say it. Ben, I love you. It comes out a high, breathy whimper, but you know that’s what it was supposed to be. You know he doesn’t pick up on it, because nothing in him changes. He doesn’t waver or push further, he just goes the same as he had been. Letting you try and devour him as he does the same. So you moan it again—this one from somewhere deeper in your chest—because you’re allowed to say it like this. You’re allowed to say Ben, I love you, when it’s just another plea for him that he can’t understand the power of. Just like how you’re allowed to try and make him part of you when there’s not a chance he will be.

He hisses your name into your mouth when you yank his hair hard enough for his head to move up. His beard scratches along your cheeks and lips, but it’s Ben, so it’s everything. And he lets you drop down to his neck, lower, biting into his shoulder slightly. You don’t break skin, you’re not that strong, but he groans against your ear as your teeth scrape his skin and that’s enough. It’s more than enough—it’s the whole world—when Ben starts to knead at your skin under his hands, and he’s still making sounds that echo through your blood and bones. It’s everything, when he pushes you further down, down, moving his mouth back to yours and burying you between him and the sofa. Safe. Strong. Real. 

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

He’s hard. You can feel him bumping against your lower thigh, and it makes your moans louder. It makes your legs tighten around him, trying to move him up into you without you telling them to. You find another thing you’d thank Ben for, when he stops this for you. It makes you feel a little empty, but he doesn’t leave. He just drops his lower body down, pinning you to the couch so that you can’t keep bucking up into him. Resting his forehead against yours until your breath is steady, and your brain can manage to control your body.

“Better?” Ben mutters, and you blink up at him. It is better. Everything is better now. 

“Better.” You whisper, and he nods. “If we’re not training today, what-“ 

“I need to clean my shield. We’ve got dinner with the Pussy Brigade. I have to shit. You said we’d watch something called The Mummy a few nights ago. And you have your stupid fucking lunch with Annie and Hughie.” 

You grin at him. “In that order?”

“Shut the fuck up,” he kisses your nose, and you think this might destroy you more than anything else could. How easy this is. To love him, to let his voice move through you and settle your nerves. To let him just touch you all the time in the most simple and boring and mind-numbingly good ways. “Go get dressed, Sunshine.” 

You push up on your forearms, grabbing Ben around his neck and pulling him down to you one last time before he can stand. One longer, gentler kiss, where neither of you are trying to take it further, take it right up to the edge. Just kissing him because you love him, because you can. Because he’s real. 

Ben carries your mugs up into the kitchen, and you climb up the stairs, allowing yourself to turn back and look at him once. The most attractive, stupid man you’ve ever seen in your life. Glaring at the mugs as he dumps the now-cold coffee in the sinks. Turning on the sink to wash them with so much force you’re surprised the knob doesn’t snap off. But still doing it. His handsome scowl and rough movements not stopping him from doing it. You love him. You love Ben so much. It’s everything. There’s been blood on his hands and darkness in his head and life that should be unforgivable, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s become the most dependable, insufferable, important person in your life. Not when you love him like this. Not when you know he’s trying. In his own angry, violent, and sullen way, Ben is trying so hard. You’re not sure why he’s trying, or if he even knows he’s trying, but he is. He’s washing the mugs without you asking, because that’s what he does. Everything for you, without you needing to ever ask. And you’ll never stop loving him for it. 

Annie’s early for lunch today. She collects you around eleven, mentioning that she and Hughie have something planned for the afternoon as Ben opens the door, snapping at her that she's too fucking early. You tell Ben to let it go—you’ll be gone the same amount of time regardless—and he does his angry, half-pouting frown about it but kisses you lightly and sulks upstairs. 

“Something?” You tilt your head at Annie as you walk down the hall. 

“What? 

“You and Hughie have something planned?” You almost nudge her shoulder like you would with Ben but stop yourself. “Did you just not want to tell Ben, or is it-“ 

“My mom.” Annie says softly, staring down the hall. “She agreed to visit last week. Mallory’s bringing her today.” 

“Oh, shit.” You want to hug her. She looks like she needs some sort of comfort. So you give her your most reassuring expression, holding your hands behind your back. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Annie sighs. “I mean, I asked her to come. But I haven’t talked to her since-“ 

“Firecracker.” Something clenches around your heart. Something that is all bones and burnt flesh. 

Something grabs your wrist, and you freeze. Anxiety and tension and exhaustion run through your body—it’s different from your own—and you realize it’s Annie’s. She’s touching you on purpose.

When you look at her, she’s watching you carefully. You blink at her, eyes wide, afraid to move. Afraid to ruin this and make her let go.

“I never thanked you for that,” Annie’s voice wasn’t joyful, but it was lighter. Even as the anxiety tightened around your skull. 

“For what?” 

“Killing that bitch.” She gives you a small, close-lipped smile. “I don’t ever really condone murder, but if anyone deserved it, she did.” 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say before you can stop yourself. You’re not a sadist, this might be a test, maybe Annie’s not really grateful but trying to see if you’re remorseful. “It was an accident.” 

“I know. I’m still thanking you.” 

“Oh.” You swallow, trying not to give the emotions you can feel through Annie’s hand any attention. “You’re welcome.” 

Annie nods, and just before she lets go something like relief spins through her. 

Hughie made pancakes and eggs. Well, Hughie tried to make pancakes and eggs. He burnt the eggs, twice apparently, so now it’s pancakes and a fruit salad. It’s still good—you add honey to the fruit, as well as strawberries and syrup to the pancakes because you’re a masochist and miss Ben—and sit at their dining room table. Annie brings out hot chocolate, and it’s comfortable. Especially after Annie tells Hughie you know about her mom visiting, because any nervous tension dissipates into the air and it’s fully, genuinely comfortable.

All three of you silently agree not to talk about family, because none of you have amazing relationships with your mothers, Hughie’s wound from his father’s death is still open and fresh, and fear still occasionally grips your heart that Homelander will find Violet and use her against you. So, you talk about frivolous things instead. Annie and Hughie want your opinion on a hideous throw pillow Hughie bought. You burn it, and Annie laughs as Hughie sighs, grinning as well. You debate with Hughie about Billy Joel songs, because his love for the man makes him blind to the fact that We Didn’t Start the Fire is just a truly terrible song. You win by pulling out a video of Billy Joel himself echoing your point, and Hughie throws his hands up in mock exasperation. Annie asks you if you need any help buying decorations for your apartment, or continuing to decorate, full stop, given your roommate—she hesitates before labeling Ben, and you don’t blame her in the slightest—not exactly being the most aesthetically oriented man in the world.

“Ben’s actually been shockingly helpful,” you shrug. “He chose the rug in our room, and aggressively vetoed plates with his face on them.” 

Hughie gapes at you. “Plates with his face on them?” 

“Limited Edition Soldier Boy Dining Set, manufactured and sold by Vought International,” you grin, and miss Ben more. This is really becoming a problem, that you get this dopey just thinking about him. “I thought his jaw was going to break.” 

Annie and Hughie exchange a glance, and Annie says slowly, “What, what exactly is going on with you guys?” 

“What do you mean?” You know what she means. You’re just hoping you can get out of this conversation if she’s not willing to say it.

“You live together, you sleep in the same bed,” Annie watches you carefully, and it’s an active effort to hold her gaze. “You kiss-“ 

“Make out,” Hughie corrects. “I’ve never seen two people make out like you two do. And that’s how you make out in front of us.” 

“Well-“ 

“He’s right,” Annie cuts you off. “You make out. And do heart-eyes at each other all the time. But you’re,” she pauses, looking to Hughie for help. 

“Not fucking?” He offers nervously, and Annie nods, turning back to you. 

“You’re making out, but not fucking.” 

You glance between them. “Is that a question?”

“Kinda,” Hughie mumbles. “It’s just confusing to see, if you’re really not fucking.” 

“We’re not.” 

“Okay,” Annie sighs. “But you do get how that’s a lot more confusing, yeah?” 

You tap your fingers on the table, wondering if you do it loud enough Ben will hear and come save you from this conversation. “It’s complicated. We’re just, we’re not fucking.”

“And he’s,” Annie frowns. “He’s not-“ 

“No.” Your voice is a little harsher than it maybe needs to be. But it feels appropriate. Ben wouldn’t do that. “He’s not. I mean,” you bite the inside of your mouth, searching for the words. “I was surprised as well. I still don’t fully understand why he’s not trying to get me to do more. But, I don’t know. He’s not.” 

“I’m not,” Hughie says, so simply for how both you and Annie are looking at him. Like he’s grown a third head. “What?” 

“What are you talking about?” You frown. “You’re not what?” 

“Oh, uh,” Hughie blinks at you. “I’m not, I’m not surprised.”

“Surprised?” 

“It’s like,” Hughie looks at Annie, likely for aid, but her expression is just as befuddled as yours. “It just makes sense to me. I dunno.” 

“What makes sense to you?” You push, because you need to know what he means. What he’s trying to say, in case it’s what you think. 

“I mean, in all this fucked up shit,” Hughie stumbles over his words, rubbing the back of his neck. “You two seem to get each other. In a weird, kinda gross way. I think Soldier Boy would give you the moon if you asked for it.” 

Annie nods cautiously, and suddenly you’re the only one still lost in this conversation. “You’re right, I don’t think he would’ve agreed to that deal with Mallory if it was just like, physical.” 

“Deal with Mallory,” you say, looking between them in jerked, half-controlled movements. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“When we brought him to make the deal with Edgar,” Annie frowns. “And Mallory told him that-“ 

“You don’t know,” Hughie cuts Annie off, scanning over your frown and overly tight posture. “I don’t, I don’t think he told you.”

“Told me what.” Your voice is rising into panic. “What didn’t Ben tell me?”

“Um, I don’t know if it’s our place-“ 

“We agreed to stop pushing you into dangerous positions, like Tek Knight’s club.” Annie’s voice is blunt, but her face remains hesitant. “If he stayed in line.” 

Something cold is freezing your bones. Everything’s a little blurry. It’s a labor to speak. “Or?” 

“Um,” Hughie takes over for Annie, even as he looks at her reluctantly. “He’d go back to sleep? That part wasn’t our idea-“ 

You raise a hand, and Hughie falls silent as you stare ahead into nothing. Everything is becoming sharp, your blood is rushing hot and wild through you, and you’re regaining control over your thoughts. And all of them are circling around the same thing. 

“I need to go,” you stand, pushing the chair back. “Thank you for lunch, and uh, good luck with your mom.” 

Annie calls your name after you, but you’re gone. There will be time for guilt later, and you’ll apologize for your abrupt departure. Right now it’s about the thought in your head, pushing up your throat so violently that you’re yelling it the moment your door slides open, before your even fully through it. 

“Why would you do that?!” You almost scream into the apartment, before you can even see him. “Benjamin, why the fuck would you do that?!” 

He sits up from the couch, just a handsome, stupid head frowning at you. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

You stalk over to him. “What fuck possessed you to do that? To fucking agree to that?!” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking abo-“ 

“Mallory!” You’re screaming now, and he’s standing up, glaring at you. You hold your line, you’ll continue to hold it until he explains. “Why the fuck would you agree to that?” 

Ben’s shouting your name, and if you weren’t so blinded by your anger you’d focus on the strain in his voice. “You need to stop speaking in fucking riddles! What the fucking hell has got you losing your damn mind?” 

“They’re going to put you back under!” You’re hugging into yourself, nails digging your skin. “If you step out of line Mallory and Butcher are going to put you back under!” 

“That was always fucking true-“

“No it wasn’t!” You think you might start to cry. You can’t pull rank. “That was never true! If you stepped out of line I would handle it! I would make the call! That was the whole fucking point! Why didn’t you fucking tell me-“ 

“What the fuck could you have done?!” Ben snaps, and you can see his fists clench as he marches around the couch to tower above you. “It wasn’t a fucking secret! And I wasn’t going to step out of their stupid goddamn line-“ 

“But why would you do that?” You scream, refusing to touch him, even to shove him. If you touch him you’ll crumble. “Why would you agree to let them threaten that just to keep me away from stupid fucking shit that doesn’t matter?” 

“It matters more than anything.” He growls. “Stop fucking saying that it doesn’t.” 

“No, it really doesn’t!” You feel so small. You’re caving in, shattering in a way that’s worse than when he didn’t care, when this was about trust and not about losing him. Ben being taken away from you. “I’m fine! You didn’t need to do that!”

“That’s real fucking easy for you to say, Sunshine!” Ben roars. “You don’t have to fucking watch you break. Again and again over the worst fucking plans in the world when those fucking pussies throw you to the goddamn wolves and in front of their shitty fucking trains! I have to! I’m the one that has to watch you be fucking afraid!” 

“But why would you do that,” you’re definitely crying now. But you keep screaming, even as your voice becomes raw. “I’m always fine-“ 

“Because it fucking kills me! You are fucking everything to me, and every time you break its the worst thing I’ve never fucking seen!” You don’t think your heart is beating anymore, not as his voice grows louder. “Because I can never just fucking fix it, and you always break. And I mean it more than you can possibly fucking imagine when I say that I will do whatever it fucking takes to keep you safe! I’d rather go back to Russia right fucking now than just stand aside like a fucking pussy and let you keep breaking!” 

Ben’s face contorts, and you think he’s only just realized what he’s said. What it means. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t walk away, and you won’t pull rank. 

“Do you think,” you hiss through tears, fear building and morphing into some sort of love-born fury. “That it wouldn’t fucking destroy me if you went back under? That I wouldn’t do fucking anything to get you back to me?”

“That’s not fucking the same.” 

You almost laugh. “It’s the exact same-“ 

“No, it’s not.” 

“I adore you, Benjamin!” you scream. “Every good, and bad, and ugly part of you, I fucking adore you.” His whole body stills, and you keep going. You say everything but the thing. “And I made a promise as well. I might not be going back to Homelander, but you aren’t going back under. You’re not burning without me right there, by your side. It is the exact fucking same, because you are fucking everything to me!” You take a deep breath, trying to bring yourself down as your words become pleading. “There are so many beautiful things in the world, but I’d destroy them all to keep you awake. To keep you here. So don’t say it’s not the exact fucking same.” 

You can feel him. You’re not touching him—you're still trying to cave into your own body—but as the last words hang in the air you can feel Ben. This is hunger, not thirst. This is something rioting around and clawing out of your chest, not the love that’s resting for him in your head. This is Ben, not you.

This is Ben and you. Together. He’s not leaving. You’re not leaving. You’re everything to him and he’s everything to you. 

Ben. Ben, I love you. 

You almost say it. You’re seconds from saying it. It’s going to fall out of you and the only way to stop it is Ben. And you lunge at him just a fraction of a second before it’s too late. 

He catches you. He always catches you. And when you slam your lips into his, he doesn’t hesitate. 

This is different. This kiss is different. You can’t distinguish Ben from you anymore. Touching him has completely razed whatever remainder of a line existed, and now it’s just us. It’s you and Ben inside your body, even if everything around you is Ben. Kissing you with his tongue and teeth, pulling your lip into his mouth, making deep sounds from his throat that make you grind against his muscled torso. Sounds spurred by your hands pushing him further into you by his jaw—his beard rough against your fingers—and pulling at his shirt until the only space between your bodies is two thin stretches of fabric. One of his arms was secured below your thighs, holding you up with a hand on your ass, squeezing and making you moan into his mouth. The other is holding you under your own arm with a hand on the back of your neck, fingers pulling light at your hair. Touching you with a reverence. Always with a reverence, a furious care that makes you feel safe. Always with an attentive fire and ardor running through your blood. Ben’s blood. Someone’s blood who you can taste on your teeth because you think you might have bitten his tongue slightly, but Ben didn’t pull back or flinch so now there’s a slightly metal flavor that mixes and fades with Ben. Salt and coffee and strawberries and Ben.

You need more.

Whatever he’ll give you. You’ll take it. You’ll take every single part of Ben he’s capable of offering and plant them in you, grow them and tend to them until he pulls them out so that the roots remain. You need him. You love him.

“Ben-“ 

“All the way?” His words roll through your body, down and into your core. 

You only whine into him, and suddenly he’s moving. Walking backwards, mouth never leaving yours. Holding you tight enough that you can’t continue to rub against him, looking for friction. You’re desperate for it, the sounds escaping you growing louder and louder as his steps offer you something, and then giving a needy, long moan when you manage to adjust just enough to bump against his cock. Still in his pants, hard and long. Then Ben spins, slamming you between his body and the wall, hoisting you up by his hold on your ass and thighs so your faces are level. At some point you’d begun to scrape at his back, and he chuckles as you start to grind against him once more.

Ben’s holding your face firmly, angling you for his mouth to devour yours, grinning against your lips. 

“What do you want, beautiful.” 

You run your nail back up between his shoulders, unable to break skin but trying to sink into him. “Please.“ 

“Please what,” even as he teases you, Ben’s never separating from you. You’re not sure how either of you are breathing, whether the lightheaded feeling is from Ben or just lack of oxygen. If it’s the way all your air is trading between your lungs and Ben’s, or the way he’s started to rut up into you. “Whatever you want, I’ll give you. But you have to use your words.” 

“Ben, just-” 

His head drops down to your neck, finding the one soft spot that makes you whimper and focusing all his efforts on it until your grip on his hair is tight, your sounds a string of pleas. Then he moves up, right to your ear. “Beg. Say my name and beg and I’ll give you the fucking world.”

“Ben,” You look down at him, and you don’t think anything could’ve prepared you for what you see. He’s staring at you, and every part of his face is alive. His lips are parted, and his eyes are almost black, and he’s relaxed. Full of lust and hunger but so completely at ease in every feature of his handsome face. “Please.” 

“Please what.” 

“Fuck me.” 

A low growl escapes him, and his cock twitches against your thigh, but he still doesn’t move. “Whole thing.” 

“Benjamin,” You grind back against him. “Fuck me now.” 

That snaps something in him. Ben’s mouth crashes back into yours, and he doesn’t even have to push before you’re opening for him. Nipping at his upper lip, letting him take whatever he asks for. Anything that keeps him doing this, dropping a hand down and back up through your shirt. Ben’s hand is dropping down and back up through your shirt. Squeezing your breast once, then—when you make a high sound—leaning away from your mouth and doing it again. Then once more, running his thumb over your nipple slowly, so focused you’d think he’s doing surgery. 

He looks back up at you, watching him, breathing heavily with a little bit of droll falling from your mouth. “You like that?”

You nod, head pushing back against the wall when he does it again. “Ben, you ass-“ 

“That’s not very fucking nice, Sunshine.” He leans forward, pushing you further into the wall and bringing his lips just over yours, moving back every time you try to bring him closer. “Manners.” 

“Fuck you,” the moan from your mouth is captured by his, sucking it down with another whine into him. “Ben-“ 

“You never begged,” he says your name against your mouth, moving against your breast once more. “Fucking beg.”

“Cunt-“ 

“I’ll get there.” He chuckles as you buck into his chest. “But you have to tell me that you want this.” 

Somewhere in the daze of Ben’s hands and his mouth and the power of him, your love for him somehow grows again. Becomes something purer and more sweet than it had been. 

Ben, I love you. “I want this,” you breathe. “I want you.” 

He grunts, and he twists your nipple between his thumb and forefinger once before starting to run his hand slowly and lightly down your stomach.

“Ben, please-“ 

Your words become a strangled whine when Ben bites your lower lip gently at the same time his hand drops into your shorts. Palm pressing against the ache through your underwear. 

“Ben-“ He starts to rub in circles, fingers dancing lightly against your slit through the fabric. “Fuck-“ 

“You have too much clothes,” he mutters, and you moan. 

“Too many-“ He pulls his mouth away, and you bury your head into his shoulder. “Ben-“ 

“Fucking smartass,” you can hear the smile on his voice, feel the amusement running up his spine and colliding with whatever is bouncing around his ribs. “You want me to fuck you?” 

“Yes, you asshole-“ 

Ben kisses you again, and your protests turn into a long noise of want. He chews at your lip for a second before moving away once more. “I’m taking off your shorts. I can do it fast or careful. You don’t get both.” 

“Please-“ 

He presses his hips back with a groan, forcing you to stop grinding. “Words.” 

“Fast-“ 

The choice had barely left your mouth when Ben was ripping them off your body. Tossing them on the floor without a thought before looking back up at you. Raising his brows in a silent question as his hand rested between your thighs, over your underwear. 

“Yes,” your nods are frantic, bordering on pathetic. But he’s so close. “Ben, please.” 

He runs his hand over you once, still not just doing it. “So fucking wet, just through the damn fabric.” he smirks at you. “All for me, brat?” 

You whimper, trying to drop all of your weight into Ben’s hand as you clench around nothing. He knew what that word would do, there’s no way he didn’t. Not with his smug expression and the way he won’t let you bring his lips back to yours. “Cunt-“

“Answer my damn question,” he growls your name. “Or I’m not fucking you.”

It’s a bluff. You know it’s a bluff because you can feel how vast and insatiable his hunger is. You know it’s a bluff because, as good as a liar Ben is, he’s rock hard against you and keeps bucking up when you kiss his neck. You don’t call it though. You just meet his eyes and hiss, “It’s for you, Ben. Now are you going to fucking do something about it?”

You see Ben’s grin for only a second before his mouth is pushing your head against the wall with the force of his kiss. You feel him tear off your underwear in one, fluid movement, and the cold of the air has barely hit you before his hand is back. And everything is just Ben. 

He’s teasing you. The base of his palm is bumping against your clit, but never for more than a second. His fingers are running between you, over you but never in. You’re going to kill him. You’re going to wipe that smug and cocky grin you can feel against you off his perfect, handsome stupid face- 

“You think I can make you cum just like this?” Ben hums against your lips, pulling his head back just a fraction. “Without even properly fucking touching you?”

“Fuck you, Benjamin.“ 

“I know you want that,” he drawls your name, rolling his palm one firm time, and your hands start to scratch across his neck and shoulders. “But you need to tell me if you think I can make you cum on just my fucking fingers.” 

“Cunt.” 

“That’s what I’m asking. Do you think I can make your pretty cunt cum here, without even fucking you like you deserve?” 

“Like I-“ Ben pushes one finger in ever so slightly, and stills it completely. You take a long breath. “Fucking dick. Like I deserve?” 

His lips bruise against yours, and his palm fully presses against your clit. Rubbing once, twice, fingers still not moving. “Like the beautiful fucking brat you are. Until all your fancy words are just my name and you’re so fucked out you couldn’t even think to be worried about dumb fucking shit. Until you’re fucking stupid.” 

His finger sinks all the way in, and you press your forehead against his, arms fully wrapping around his neck. “Do that.” 

“Fucking words, Sunshine.” He growls, pulling out slowly, and you shake your head desperately against his. 

“Ben, please-“ 

His finger pushes back in, fast, and you don’t know if you moan or scream or whine because Ben is eating any sounds that leave your mouth. Moving his finger faster and faster until you’re trying to chase it when he pulls away, his deep groan rumbling through you when your thighs brush against his cock, still in his pants because life is unfair. 

“That’s more fucking like it,” he grunts, moving his head down in sloppy kisses to your neck. “Want some fucking more, beautiful?” 

“Fuck, yes-“ 

He latches onto your neck—sucking in a way that would leave a mark if either of you were capable of being marked—and just as the second finger pushes in his palm finds a pattern. A steady rhythm that turns whatever remaining sanity you had into just Ben. Ben, I love you. You impossible asshole, you’re everything in the fucking world. Ben. 

He’s not letting you over the edge. Every time you get close he slows just enough and rises back to your mouth. You might have been here for a lifetime, or just a millisecond, but it’s all just Ben. Hissing your name against your skin and making everything just good. This is so good. Why did you deny yourself this? Why did you ever deny yourself Ben when he’s making everything so good like this. So warm and easy and so fucking good. 

“You're so fucking tight,” he hisses in your ear, and you try and tug him closer by your legs. Try and make his dick just brush against you. “Think you can do three?” 

You cannot do three. You think three might kill you in the best possible way. Ben’s huge, his hands are rough and broad like every other insufferable, amazing part of him, so three would make you explode. But he’s watching you with so much hunger, so much adoration as you pant and whimper his name, and he’s still not just fucking you, so three will have to be a suitable substitute until he stops toying with you. You nod, and he chuckles against your skin.

“What did we say about words-“ 

“Just fucking do it, Benjamin, now-“ 

You are going to die. This love for him is going to kill you, and the murder weapon will be the way he’s finding every single thing that makes you scream his name like he’s been studying for it. How his fingers get so deep in you and find that spongy, electric part every single time he plunges back in. Crooking against it for just long enough to make you moan before yanking his hands back down and pressing his palm against your clit until you're keening, before repeating in all again. You’re going to turn into just flames that sing the same song of Ben over and over.

“Want to fucking cum?” He mutters against your lips, and you whine again, high and needy and barely a breath. 

“Ben, yes-“ 

“Beg.”

“Asshole-“ you choke on your own words, because he’s going faster, it’s all going faster, and you can’t think of anything outside of Ben. Ben, I love you. 

“Fucking beg.” His words echo through your body, and you’re vaguely aware of smoke rising around you. But he’s not stopping, if anything there’s a vigor to him now. A brutal, rough pace that’s just one move away from making you find release. A move he won’t make until you ask for it. 

Dignity is overrated. Dignity is for people who don’t have Ben making them feel like the whole world is just him, touching them like he’s touching you and groaning their name like he’s growling yours. 

“Please, Ben, please.” You make yourself look at him fully, hungry and cocky and watching you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen and he’s so handsome and stupid and Ben and you love him- “Fucking please-“

Any sounds or screams or moans of Ben are captured in his mouth when he presses you so far back against the wall with a kiss you think you hear it crack. When he twists his fingers in you and his palm draws one long, heavy circle over your clit and everything is reborn inside you. It’s just Ben, Ben, fire and life and love and Ben. Your orgasm hits you like a train, your vision going white and your hands trying to pull Ben further against your body. He’s still in you, fingers resting inside you as you clench around him, palm rubbing slowly against you until you fall back to earth, back to him. 

You blink at him, mouth hanging open and all of your mind and body completely made of love and need for him. Everything is full of Ben. There’s a thick cloud of smoke through the room, but he’s so close it doesn’t matter. You can see him, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring. His whole face is made of—if you know anything about him, and you do—devotion. Ben pulls his fingers out of you slowly—never breaking his gaze from yours—leaving you empty and sensitive and trying not to just start grinding against where you can still feel him, somehow harder in his pants. Then his fingers rise into his mouth, and he sucks on the wetness still falling off of them, and any attempt at control is gone. His gaze is lidded as he tastes you, and you start trying to pull him down to you with scrambling movements against his neck. 

He doesn’t budge, only grinning at you as you whine again. “Fucking needy, beautiful.” He brings two fingers—the same ones that had just been in his mouth—to brush against your mouth. Pressing them lightly until your lips part. “Taste.” 

You let him push his thumb into you, and you become a woman on a mission. Sucking and licking at his fingers until you can feel him twitching against your thighs, going with a fervor until he’s groaning and pulling them away with a pop. When you lean forward to kiss him gently he lets you, taking every moan you give him with a squeeze of your skin under his hand and a trace of your cheekbones with his fingers. 

When he rests his head against your shoulder, you’re both breathing heavily and Ben’s words are hissed against your skin. 

“I’m going to fuck you for a whole year,” he grunts your name, rutting up against you. “And I’m going to make you fucking scream and beg for two.” 

You’ve never been more on board with a plan in your life. You’re going to tell him. You shouldn’t, not when it might make this go away, not when you just got this, but you want to. You want him to know that when he fucks you for a year the only thing you’ll be thinking is Ben. Ben, I love you. You want to be able to moan it into his mouth and against his skin and around his cock and scream it when he makes you cum, in a way that he can hear and know about.

Your mouth falls open, your hand moving to his face to pull him up to look at you, and the door to the apartment bangs open.

Ben’s faster than you, but in your defense most of your thoughts and instincts are being covered by the daze of your orgasm. He doesn’t drop you or turn you, but slides you down his chest and twists you around so your arms are wrapped on his torso, your feet back on the ground. When he whips around you realize he’s blocking your half-naked body from view, keeping you secure against him with a hand on your forearm. Stupid, handsome, perfect, safe fucking man. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben barks, and you lean around him to see Butcher in the doorway, smirking at the scene before him. 

“Well, Gov,” Butcher drawls. “I was coming to congratulate you on your awful fuckin plan working, let you know Edgar delivered, but now,” he winks at you. “I’m just chock full of other questions.” 

“How did you get in?” You ask with a frown. “Only I have a keycard.”

“Mallory unlocked all you cunts doors for me,” Butcher shrugs. “We got a meetin, I’ve been sent to collect you since you weren’t answering your fuckin phone.” 

You flush, because your phone is indeed long forgotten somewhere near the couch. “Can we have five, please?” 

“What, only five?” Butcher’s mocking smile turns to Ben. “You that fast, gov? Because I can give you ten if you wanna take care of your,” his eyes flick down. “Problem.” 

You can feel Ben’s anger, and tighten your grip around him until he looks at you. Don’t kill him, please. 

Why the fuck shouldn’t I. 

You give him a small smile. Murder is a crime. Also, it’ll ruin the mood. 

Whatever, Ben rolls his eyes, but you can see the tug of his lips, feel the amusement dart through him. 

“You two done?” Butcher snaps, and you both look back to him with frowns. “Care to have an out-loud conversation, share with the fuckin class?” 

“No.” You give him a sickly sweet smile. “Are we meeting in the cafeteria?” 

Butcher nods with a grunt, and you sigh. 

“Can you please leave so I can get dressed?” 

“I’m waitin outside, and if you two horny twats aren’t outside by then I’m coming back in.” 

“Fine. Go.” 

Butcher slams the door behind him, and you squeeze out from behind Ben to start to run upstairs and put on clothing that isn’t completely destroyed. You pause though, doubling back to Ben and pulling his face down for one last, long kiss. 

“We’ll fuck later,” you whisper against his lips, and he grunts. “Thank you.” 

You yelp as Ben picks you up, carrying you up the stairs in long, quick steps. “Stop fucking thanking me.” 

You smile at him, all teeth and joy because you fucking love him. “Make me.” 

“Brat,” he snorts, kissing you again as he lowers you onto the bed. “Keep it up and I won’t let you cum again.” 

“You don’t let me do anything.” 

“You’re real fucking sure of that,” he taunts, marching over to the dresser to toss you a new pair of underwear and sweats. “But you sure were goddamn begging me less than ten minutes ago.”

“Cunt,” you mumble, catching the clothes. You don’t have a good comeback, because your brain is still a little addled, and you can see that Ben’s still hard, and nothing about his deep voice and word is making you less horny. 

“You love it.” He stops above you again, watching with heavy eyes as you pull the clothing on.

I do. I love you, dumbass. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Ben laughs, pulling you up the moment you’re dressed. “Later. Later we can shut each other up as hard as fucking possible.” 

“Deal,” you whisper, because he’s holding you so lightly and close to his body and it’s not helping. “Ben?” 

He raises his brows at you, a small frown on his face. You think he can hear the nerves in your voice. “What.” 

“Edgar-“

“We’ll make it work.” He says firmly. “Whatever it is, whatever stupid shit Mallory and Butcher are planning, we’ll make it fucking work for us.” 

“You promised-“ 

“And that won’t fucking matter, because we’ll make it work.” 

“Ben,” you squeeze his hand, tangling his fingers between yours. You feel him everywhere now, all the time—the clenching in his chest and around this throat and the sour taste of it—and that might be something to worry about later. But for now you just want to touch him. “Please. Just say you promise.” 

He sighs, jaw ticking, but nods. “I swore it. I meant it. But that doesn’t fucking mean-“ 

You kiss him, and every part of his body falls into yours as the grip against your hands loosens. When you pull away, smiling at him, he’s looking at you with that same devotion. “Thank you.” 

Ben grunts, slinging his arm around you as you walk back downstairs. Kissing the top of your head once, and this is right. This is you and Ben and it’s right. It’s everything, and he’s yours. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anything and now, for whatever amount of time he’ll give you, you’re his.

—————

Ben had learned there was a hierarchy in the promises he made Her. There weren’t many—neither of them threw around those words with ease or carelessness—but his promises of staying here and no more lies were secondary to keeping her away from Homelander. There was nothing as fucking important in the world, and that meant that Ben would let Her do what she needed to do—like he’d promised—but not if it meant she went back to Homelander. He’d have done anything to keep Her safe before, he’d have gone back under if it meant she’d be free, and now Ben was fucking certain he’d goddamn die before he lost Her like that. If he had any fucking say in anything at all, nothing was ever going to break Her again. If she tried to throw herself in front of him to take whatever bullets Homelander or Mallory were aiming at them, Ben would be faster. He’d move to let them hit him first. 

He’d let Butcher hit him with a goddamn bomb to keep Her safe. Because She was fucking perfect, and Ben wasn’t going to allow anything to hurt her again. She was leaning into him as they walked to the dining hall, and Ben might have to take a detour to the bathroom to get himself under fucking control if She kept tugging and tapping at his hand around her shoulder. Her hair was still messy, and her lips were still a little red, and Ben could still fucking taste her, lingering in his mouth. And that was his shirt. She was wearing his fucking shirt, and holding his hand that had just been inside her, and chewing the inside of her mouth that had just been screaming his name. The Thing didn’t need to tell Ben She was perfect. He had fucking eyes, and a fucking brain. And a very hard dick that was becoming slightly painful, straining against his pants for Her. For Her beautiful face and the perfect sounds she’d made when she came. On his hand.

Ben didn’t have to hold himself back anymore. He didn’t have to keep waiting until She was keening against him and moaning his name before ripping himself away from her. Before he came in his jeans from just the feel and taste of Her mouth like a fucking teenager. He could fuck Her, she’d let him fuck her, and he was going to. Ben was going to fuck Her so hard and good that she might stay with him and keep looking at him forever. He was going to make Her cum until she said Ben, I adore you again. Until She told him she wanted him again.

That had made the Thing roar inside of him. Her perfect, breathless, needy voice telling him she wanted him. Nothing could take that away from him now. She fucking wanted him. People had wanted him before. Countless forgotten pretty faces had wanted Ben. But none of them had been perfect. And none of them had said it like She had. They had wanted the power of him, they had wanted Ben to fuck them and give them more than he cared to. All those pretty faces had wanted to be the one’s on billboards and red carpets with him, to fuck Soldier Boy and be a good enough fuck that he decided to keep them. When She said he wanted him, it wasn’t just to fuck her. There had been something that made the Thing climb into Ben’s brain and consume him in Her voice. 

She wanted him. She wanted every part of him. She had every part of him, She’d had it for what felt like a lifetime, and he’d never have taken it away from her. When She one day left Ben, she’d take every part of him that was worth a fucking thing with Her. And no one else would ever get to have him, not like She did. Not like he was going to give Her. Ben was going to fucking worship every perfect part of Her, until he could maybe ask her to stay with him and there was a single goddamn chance She might say yes. 

Every member of the Pussy Brigade looked up when they entered the Dining Hall. Butcher had marched in brisk, pissy fucking steps ahead of Her and Ben, and apparently hadn’t been just bitching when he’d grumbled that everyone was just waiting on them. 

“Is everything okay?” Starlight was watching Her, under Ben’s arm, nervously. “You weren’t answering your phone-“ 

“The cunts were fucking,” Butcher snapped, stopping next to Mallory at the head of the table. “In the middle of the goddamn room.” 

Ben bit his tongue, because She has to handle this. He needed to hear what She told her pussy fucking team, so he could figure out what she wanted from him. 

“It’s our apartment, you ass,” She glared at Butcher. “It’s not like we were in the hallway.” 

“So you admit you were fucking, Love?” 

“Not yet.” She shrugged. “Some dickwad fucking cunt interrupted us.” 

“But,” Cocksucker looked between them nervously, not fully meeting Ben’s eyes. “You were going to fuck?” 

She sighed. “This really doesn’t feel like an important conversation to have right now.” 

“It’s not,” MM grunted. “I’m already gonna to need to wash out my fucking ears. Any more and I’m going to have to cut them off.” 

Ben disagreed. He thought they all needed to fucking know, that this was the only conversation worth having right now. Ever. She wanted him, and every single pussy fucker in the world should know that. But She shot him a small look, important meeting, don’t be a fucking idiot, Pretty Boy. And Ben let Her pull him onto the bench. 

Later, he’d fuck Her until she screamed so loud everyone could hear it, hear his name and Her moans falling out of her perfect mouth. 

“Can we get started?” Mallory stood—arms crossed with a thin scowl—at the head of the table. “Or do you need another ten minutes to discuss your sex lives?” 

“Jesus, no.” MM snapped. “Just fuckin talk, Grace.” 

“Stan Edgar sent files over to me last night, and we’ve just finished clearing them for use,” Mallory launched into her explanation with the most monotone, boring voice Ben had ever fucking heard. “Butcher and I have been working on a plan-“ 

“What are the files?” Starlight asked, raising her hand like a damn child. “Will they work?” 

“They’ll work a fuckin charm,” Butcher winked. “They’re everything we could’ve bloody asked for, times two. Keep goin, Grace.” 

Ben felt Her relax slightly against him, along with Butcher’s eyes on them both. Cold, tense, but not mocking. For once in his goddamn life, the pussy seemed to have some sort of mind to not be an instigating piece of shit, and he was better for it. Ben would’ve thrown a stray plastic fork into Butcher’s eyes and ripped off his dick if the asshole had said even a single fucking detail of Edgar’s files. A single detail about Her. 

“Thanks to Marvin,” Grace gave MM a small nod. “A-Train has agreed to clear a path for us into Vought tower. We’ll ensure Homelander is away, dealing with something else, and retrieve Ryan Butcher.”

Ben could hear the tapping begin, and covered Her hand with his. 

She looked up at him with a frown, What’s wrong? 

This is going to fucking work. Ben held Her gaze. You’re going to be fine. 

She smiled at him, and every time she did it like that—gentle and comfortable—the Thing doubled in size. I know. 

“How are you going to get Homelander away?” Cocksucker asked with an anxious frown. “I mean, this might not be quick and if he arrives back at the tower-“ 

“Frenchie,” Butcher nodded at the French Prick. “Will be causing a diversion.” 

“By diversion,” Starlight said slowly. “You mean-“ 

“A massive, glorious fucking explosion.” The French Prick grinned. “It will be impossible for the Homelander to ignore.” 

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw Her lean forward across the table, shaking her head. Why the hell was she talking. Why could Ben hear her damn thinking. What the fuck was she planning- 

“No?” Mallory asked, looking at her with slight curiosity. Saying Her last name in clipped words. “Please elaborate.” 

“He’s on alert, right?” She looked around the table. “After Neuman, he won’t just fall for something like that. Especially not with Sage whispering actual coherent thoughts in his ear.” 

“Maybe,” Mallory nodded, still looking at Her. Ben needed Mallory to stop looking at her like that. Like she was a fucking toy. “But it’s our best bet, and we’ve already lost too much time to waiting for Edgar.” 

“I have an idea-“ 

“No,” Ben cut Her off with a grunt. He knew what type of ideas She always had. Mallory and Butcher always knew what type of ideas she had. Genius, stupid fucking ideas that always worked—so everyone went along with them—and always put her in the line of fire. 

“No?” She glared at him. “What do you mean no?” 

“You lost your idea privileges a while ago, Sunshine.” Ben snapped. “So no.” 

“Oh, fuck you Benjamin.” She kicked him under the table and looked back at Mallory. “Ignore him. I have an idea.” 

Ben gave Mallory his most menacing, violent scowl that the woman knew signaled he wanted to kill someone. But she ignored him, giving Her a nod. “Go on.” 

“He’s looking for me. Let’s show him what he wants.” She took a deep breath, and every fiber of Ben, from the Thing to his brain, was telling him to shut Her up now. Before she said what he knew she was going to. “Let’s show him me.” 

The room was silent, and blood was roaring in Ben’s ears. He glared around at the Pussy Brigade daring any one of them to speak. 

MM was the idiot who volunteered for Ben to kill him first. 

“The hell you mean show him you,” MM said Her name slowly, and the fact that he didn’t seem to be agreeing to it was the only thing that kept Ben rigid in his seat. 

“Bait,” She answered, quiet and soft and Ben was going to kill someone- “Offer him me. Draw him out to a fight to get me. He’ll go, and he’ll leave Ryan behind. He didn’t want Ryan to meet me until I was-“ She made a small choking sound, and that was it. 

“No.” Ben said firmly, daring anyone to fucking disagree with him. “There’s not a chance in fucking hell you’re doing that.” 

“You’d go with me,” She looked at him with wide, sharp, desperate eyes. “Please, Ben. It would work.” 

“Doesn’t fucking matter if it would work. They,” Ben jabbed a finger at Butcher and Mallory. “Swore you weren’t doing stupid fucking dangerous shit anymore.” 

“We did promise him that,” Starlight says Her name gently. “Promised you. That’s, doing that’s too far. Too risky.” 

“It would work,” She was pleading, and if Ben didn’t know better he’d think she fucking wanted to die. “You wouldn’t be giving me to him. We’d escape. We’d go in public, Homelander would see it, we’d keep him there until Ryan was out, and then we would escape.” 

“How?” MM frowned at Her. “The motherfuckers got X-ray vision and super speed. He won’t just lose you in a crowd.” 

“He won’t lose us. We’ll,” She paused, fingers tapping under Ben's hands. “We’ll call him. We won’t go in public, for a fight, that was dumb. We’ll call him, tell him I want to meet him, play right into his fantasy. Annie and Hughie will come with us, because he can’t kill either of them without ruining the narrative. We’ll keep him there until Ryan’s out, then Frenchie will do the explosion. We’ll play it off as a mistake, bad timing, and he’ll go to investigate. By the time he realizes what’s happened, we’ll be gone."

“That’s still a dumb fucking plan,” Ben growled Her name. “What if he doesn’t go. What if he tries to fucking take you.” 

She looked at him, Her beautiful face so sad and determined. “He won’t.” I won’t let him. You won’t let him. 

“It’s a good idea,” Mallory mused. “Where would you meet him?” 

“Old Starlight Fund,” She turned back to the group. “Ben will call him. He’ll take a call from Ben. And then I’ll take the phone and tell him I convinced you to let me see him.” She looked fucking sick—her heartbeat panicked in her chest—and it made the Thing twist inside of Ben. Made Ben sick. “But that you won’t let me meet with him without you there.” 

“The Starlight Fund was where they wanted that first meeting,” MM said to Mallory. “And it’s right fuckin across from the tower. He won’t think we’re trying anything in his backyard.” 

“We’ll vote-“ 

“No!” Ben almost roared. “You fucking pussies goddamn swore-“ 

“Ben,” Her voice was gentle, too fucking gentle. To perfect and kind for this goddamn fucking bullshit, for how fast her heart was inside her. Trust me. Her face pleaded. Just please trust me. 

This is fucking insane, Ben glared at Her. Even for you, this is a fucking stupid, insane plan. 

You promised. She flipped her hand under his, folding her finger between his. You promised me you’d let me do what I needed to. 

You don’t fucking need to do this. 

Yes, She gave him a small smile. I do, Ben. You know that. Please. 

Ben cursed himself in every vulgar, lewd and angry way he knew. “Fine.” He grunted aloud. “But if anything,” he hissed around the table. “Goes fucking south-“ 

“It won’t, Gov.” Butcher winked at him, but there wasn’t anything crude or sneering in his voice. “We’ll get you both home in time for a nice fuckin dinner and dessert.” 

Mallory sighed. “Ready to vote?” After several nods from around the table, she continued. “All in favor?” 

Her hand shot up just as fast as Butcher’s, Kimiko’s close behind them and the French Prick’s right after. For one long second, Ben watched MM frown at Her. Studying Her, before looking at Ben and narrowing his eyes. He looked back at her—hand high in the air and feature determined—and MM’s hand went up. Five fucking idiots in favor. 

“All against?” 

Ben raised his hand, and She glared at him. Benjamin-

I won’t fucking stop you, Ben glared right back. But I’m not in any form of goddamn favor for this shit. 

She sighed, and Ben glanced around the table to see Cocksucker and Starlight both raising their hands with him. Three people who seemed to give a single shit about Her. 

Too fucking little to stop this. 

“Alright,” Mallory nodded. “We’ll move tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” Hughie blinked. “Don’t you, uh, need to plan-“ 

“We wasted too much fuckin time, Lad.” Butcher shrugged. “A-Train’s ready, we move tomorrow.” 

“Are we fucking done here?” Ben grunted, and barely saw Mallory’s nod before he was standing, hauling Her up with him, and marching out of the door. He heard her call some goodbyes—running after him with Her heartbeat unsteady—and pulling Ben’s arm until he slowed down. 

“Are you mad at me?” She whispered, and he shook his head. He wasn’t, he was furious with himself. For being a weak fucking pussy who was allowing this to happen. 

Nothing’s going to hurt Her, he reminded himself, reminded the Thing to try stopping it from tearing his tissues and guts apart. No fucking thing is allowed to hurt Her. I’ll be there. If it comes to it, I’ll do whatever it fucking takes to keep Homelander away from Her. Even if she hates me for it. 

“Then can you look at me?” She pleaded, and Ben couldn’t help himself. He glared down at Her, and felt a twist in his stomach at the desperation in Her eyes. “I’m sorry-“ 

“Don’t,” he snapped. The only thing worse than Her being sad and weak and broken was Her apologizing. Thinking she was a problem for him, and not the most perfect thing in the fucking world. “I’m not fucking mad, Sunshine. I’m just-“ He ground his teeth, pushing the words out between them. “I fucking hate this.” 

“I know you do,” She took a small step forward. “But it’ll be fine. I promise.” 

It would be fine. Because Ben wasn’t going to allow it not to be. So he just picked Her up into his arms—if She kept moving so hesitantly and tentatively around him he’d fucking explode—and carried her down the hall. She didn’t push against him or protest, only wrapped Her arms around his neck as Her heartbeat slowed. 

“Ben?” She asked, voice muffled by where she’d pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning against his skin. 

“What.” He glanced down at Her—perfect face turning up to him—and the Thing clenched inside him at her nervous expression. “Are you-“ 

“I’m okay,” She shook her head slightly and Ben grunted, unable to hide his stupid relief. “I, um,” She swallowed. “Do you-“ 

“Spit it out,” he muttered, hunching slightly so She could scan the badge. She’d needed that—needed not lose Herself in a spiral of her too quick head—because she nodded, fingers scratching light against the nape Ben’s neck. She took a deep breath, and Ben turned to push the door with his back. 

“Do you still want me?” 

She was the smartest fucking person Ben had ever met. She was a goddamn genius, it was insufferable and impossibly fucking hot how smart she was. How clever she was, how well she understood other people. Which is why Ben snorted aloud, because for the brilliant woman she was that was such a stupid fucking question. 

“Ben-“ 

“Of course I still fucking want you,” Ben scoffed, walking up the stairs. “You have no fucking idea how much I want you. I’ve wanted you through a lot of your stupid plans, another one isn’t going to make me stop fucking wanting you.” 

Nothing could make me stop wanting you, Ben’s head hummed in time with the Thing. If I ever stop wanting you, it’s because I’m fucking dead. 

“Oh,” She mumbled, and Ben wished She would just look at him so he could figure out what she was thinking. “Good. Is that why-“ 

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben drawled Her name as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Not tonight.”

“Okay,” Ben glanced down to find the saddest look he’d ever witnessed on Her face. If the Thing wasn’t fucking whining at the sight of it, he might have been smug about her looking so morose at the idea of not fucking him. “That’s fine.” 

“I’m not fucking you,” Ben grabbed her chin, gently with a firm hand. To make Her look at him. “Because I want to take time when I fuck you. I want to make you scream and make it hurt when you sit down. And you need to be able to walk with full damn mobility tomorrow. So later. When I can keep you in bed for a decade without anyone fucking interrupting.” 

Her heart sped up, and Ben smirked at her. “You started with a week,” She told him, even as she leaned into his hand. “Then it became a year. Now a decade?”

Ben winked. “If you want a century, just fucking ask, beautiful.” 

“Cunt.” 

“Brat.” 

She looked over him, eyes resting where Ben knew she could feel his dick straining against his pants. “What about hand stuff?” 

Ben snorted. “I’ll allow it."

“Oh, well if his majesty allows it-“ 

Her words turned in a yelp as Ben tossed Her onto the bed, grinning down at Her. How fucking perfect she was, looking up at him with wide, pretty eyes that were so soft. For him. Right now, every part of Her was for Ben. 

He started to lean down, planning to move across the bed until he over Her. Test what different sounds She would make in a bed instead of against a wall. But She sat up before he could, crawling across the blankets with her perfect fucking ass in the air. Drawing up on Her knees when she reached Ben at the foot of the bed, smiling at him with all such an ease and adoration. She adored him. 

Ben grabbed Her face between his hands, her back straightening as she grabbed at his shirt. Yanking him closer. Ben attacked her mouth, revering in the way it fit so well against his, the way she tasted like honey and chocolate and Her. That taste of Her he’d gotten early, that wasn’t sweet but strong. The best thing he’d ever had on his tongue, a little weaker in her mouth but still there. The proper fucking taste of pussy. Of Her. Ben didn’t think he could live without it now that he’d had it. 

But there would be time to deal with that later. Right now everything was Her. The way she moaned into his mouth, and one of her hands tracing down Ben’s chest to palm him through his pants. 

He pulled back with a grunt of Her name. “You don’t-“ 

“I want to,” She chased his mouth, but paused. Look up at him with some sort of apprehension that made the Thing itch. “But if you don’t-“ 

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Ben snapped. And he was going to add something about this not being about him right now. Something saying how this was about Her, about making her understand how perfect she was and making her scream his name again. But She nodded with a hum, and squeezed Ben through his pants and suddenly that really didn’t fucking seem worth saying anymore. He’d say it later. If She wanted this—wanted him like this—he couldn’t deny her. Ben wouldn’t be able to deny Her his whole fucking brain or heart or lungs if she asked for them. And what type of fucking pussy would he be to deny the most perfect woman in the world his cock. 

“Off, please.” She nodded to his pants, and Ben almost chuckled because she could’ve called him every vulgar name under the sun and he still would’ve taken his pants off. A please was in no way damn necessary.

“Fine,” he pulled down his pants, watching Her carefully as his boxers followed. “But after this, beautiful, it’s my fucking turn.” 

She swallowed, staring at Ben’s dick—now fully exposed—and Ben had never felt so smug in his fucking life. A lot of women had been impressed by him, but none had looked at him like that. Like they needed to touch him. Ben had never needed to touch them. Not like he was pretty sure he’d have died somewhere in the next few seconds if She hadn’t looked back up at him—with parted lips and a flushed face that Ben needed to burn into his eyes so he’d never stop seeing them—and kissed him so eagerly that he groaned. 

Then She started touching him, and Ben realized he had been right. As he tangled his hands in her hair and started buck into her hand—trying to keep his mouth on hers so she would catch every sound she was causing him to make like he’d eaten hers—Ben knew this would kill him. She would kill him, because nobody should be allowed to so fucking perfect in every possible way. Nobody should be capable making him feel like this with just their hand, just by stroking him and somehow finding such a painfully good fucking pace. Nobody should be allowed to read him well enough that they adjusted for every rut of Ben into their hand, to make him feel like he was high. But She could, because she was perfect, and was trying to kill him. She had to be, or she wouldn’t be pulling back to look at Ben like she was, with something so deep and impossibly caring in her eyes as she pulled him apart. He was supposed to look at Her like that. She was the one supposed to be wrecked. Ben didn’t get wrecked. 

But it’s not like She liked listening to him. Or allowing him to just follow the rules he’d set for himself decades ago. Every single thing Ben had known and understood she’d destroyed, then rebuilt, just by smiling at him and never wavering. Like she was now.

So Ben buried his face in Her neck—finding the spot that he knew would make Her feel half of what he felt—and started to fuck her hand. Faster, faster until she moaned, and he grinned against her. 

“When you’re done,” Ben started to kiss up Her neck until he was growling in her ears. “I’m going to make you scream. Got it?” 

She nodded, and the small sound she made just made Ben go faster. 

“You’re so fucking good,” he kept talking, because Ben hadn’t missed that every time Ben spoke She’d fall a little further into him, her free hand tugging at his hair. “Your hand’s fucking made for this, beautiful.” 

“Ben-“ 

He grinned. There it was. If anyone tried to say his name again—in a way that wasn’t breathless and passionate and falling from their mouth—he’d rip their tongue out. “So fucking perfect.” He pulled Her closer, one hand cupping the back of Her head and the other kneading at the soft skin of her stomach, arm fully around her waist. She squeezed him just fucking right, and Ben hissed against her skin. “Fucking perfect. Too fucking good at this, too fucking beautiful, too fucking-“ 

She turned Her head, moving Ben to her lips, just as she moaned down his throat and made one, long movement—nails running lightly against his balls with another squeeze—that did it. Ben groaned Her name into her wide, perfect mouth, swearing as he jerked forward. She didn’t stop, didn’t pull back, just stayed exactly where Ben needed her until the bare parts of her legs were covered in cum. Ben’s cum. On Her. 

Ben kissed Her roughly, waiting right up until she whined to pull his mouth away slowly. Panting slightly, he kissed the top of Her head and waited for her to look up at him. 

“My turn.” 

He didn’t wait for Her to speak before leaning over her, moving her down until she was flat on the bed below him. Letting her grind against his chest and wrap her legs around him, moan his name and claw at his hair and back, for just long enough to build Her up and up. Ben moved his hands down from her face to her thighs, squeezing once. 

“Please,” she whimpered into his mouth, and the only sound better than that was what followed it. “Ben.” 

He gave Her one last, wet kiss, and dropped down to the edge of bed, kneeling on the floor and using his hold on her thighs to pull Her forward. As Ben hooked her legs over his shoulders—tossing her underwear and shorts away into some corner of the room—he saw Her sitting up on her elbows, frowning down at him. 

“We said hand stuff, Benjamin.“ 

He raised his brows at Her. “Do you want me to stop?” 

”No, but you’re cheating-“ 

Ben didn’t give her an opportunity to keep talking. He’d have a long time—if he was lucky—to listen to Her talk about whatever she fucking wanted. Right now he needed to make her scream. 

It was almost immediate. Ben dove forward, sucking on Her clit one long time, and she whined, high and loud. 

“Fuck, Ben-“ 

That was good. He liked that. Ben liked everything about Her, but that—the sound of Her feeling good with his name—was one of the fucking best things he’d ever known. 

She needed to do it again. He needed to find every way she could do it. This was his fucking job now. Everything else could fucking wait until she came all over Ben’s face, until she felt so good she’d never be in danger of breaking again. 

So Ben set to work. Sucking and licking and goddamn eating Her alive. Tracing rough patterns with his hands against her thighs and ass, bracing an arm over her hips to keep her still. To allow Ben to fuck her with his tongue until the taste of Her, that real, powerful taste was drowning him as she screamed his name. He’d die for this. She wouldn’t have to kill him because he’d give everything to keep Her like this forever. To keep her blissfully whining and moaning, to make her never have to feel fear again because she was too busy being tended to under him. For there to be even the slimmest fucking chance that She’d want him to do this forever. Want him forever. 

For now, though, Ben would settle for this. He’d settle for him being the one who made Her squirm in this moment. Ben got to see this, Ben got to cause this. Right now She adored him, right now she wanted Ben. Nothing else. Just Ben. 

So he’d give Her everything he had. 

He focused fully on Her clit, puffed and red, and dedicated himself to it. Pulled it into his mouth until her screams turned to breathless begs and sounds that might be Ben’s name—tangled with other noises he didn’t understand—and then let his teeth brush it, groaning against Her at the same time. She managed to scream one last time—hoarse and deafening and the most amazing sound in the fucking world—as She came. Squeezing around his tongue as Ben lowered to taste it all, as she pushed up into his face to give him it all. Back arched off the bed and thighs trapping Ben against Her as if he was so much of a fucking pussy idiot he’d even damn think to try and leave.

When She was done—shaking and breathing heavily as she relaxed fully around him—Ben rose up, wiping the remaining wetness clinging to his beard with one hand. Watching Her, pulled apart and reaching for him, just him. So thoroughly wrecked at his efforts, heart hamming against her chest. So fucking beautiful. 

Ben started to walk to the bathroom—quickly pulling his pants back on—but She made a needy sound for her throat that made him pause. 

“Are you-“ 

“Where are you going?” She whispered, and Ben felt the Thing rip inside of him. Torn between making Her smile and taking care of her. 

“Getting a towel.” He grunted, still rooted in place. “Need to clean you up.” 

“No,” Her voice was hoarse, and she was starting to sit up. “I’m fine, just stay-“ 

That won the war inside of him. Ben crossed back to Her in two long steps. Dropping next to her on the bed and rolling her onto his chest. Lying with her until her heart slowed, her breaths became easy against him. 

“Ben?” She whispered into the air, the room having fallen dark at some point. Ben hadn’t noticed really, unable to be fucked to pay attention to anything but Her, against him. Safe and happy and warm. 

He hummed Her name, and waited for her to continue. 

“When it’s over, I’ll go with you.” 

Time stopped. Everything stopped. Nothing fucking mattered except Ben knowing exactly what She fucking meant. If it was what he thought—fucking hoped—she meant. “With me?” 

“Wherever they send you off to, when this is done. I’ll go with you.” 

Ben nodded slowly at nothing, trying to act like he was unaffected. Like the Thing wasn’t bellowing and scraping at his ribs and brain, trying to tell him something really important, make Ben tell Her something important, but he couldn’t figure out what it was- 

“If you, um, if you still want that.” 

He blinked, glaring down at Her in the dark. “Did I ever fucking tell you I didn’t?” 

“No, but you haven’t said anything-“ 

“You’re coming with me,” Ben said, firmly. She wasn’t allowed to think anything else, not if She wanted this. Wanted him. “Nothing in the world will goddamn stop me taking you with me, not if that’s what you’re choosing.” 

“I chose that,” Ben could feel Her smile against the base of his neck. “I chose you.” 

The Thing needed something. Something earth-shaking and impossibly fucking vital for Ben to know if he was going to keep living. Something She had to know or Ben might explode. 

“I’ll let you fuck me on the beach,” She hummed, and Ben just decided to ignore the Thing. She was more important. “And in the ocean and in a bed and wherever else you want.” 

“Wherever I want?” Ben chuckled into the dark. “Dangerous fucking promises, beautiful.” 

She yawned, and Ben kissed Her head as her voice turned sleepy. “That’s the point, Pretty Boy.” 

As She pulled herself further into him—breathing turning slow and body relaxing further under Ben’s hands—Ben said Her name softly. 

“Yeah?” 

“If this doesn’t work,” Ben said slowly. “I want to fucking leave anyway. If we don’t get the kid, me and you are gone, Sunshine. We’ll go wherever you want, and we’ll go together. Somewhere with a beach for me to fuck you on, or somewhere in the mountains so you can scream even louder. But we’ll be gone.” 

She sighed, but didn’t protest. Ben had expected Her to push back—tell him they had a job and responsibility and had to finish this—and even as he’d thought the words he’d known she’d tell him no, but she didn’t. 

“I’ll think about it,” She said after a long, silent minute, and Ben wasn’t sure if it was Her or the haze of the sleep overtook her only seconds later. He didn’t know if she’d even remember him asking, or was just too tired to try and convince him that they couldn’t just leave. 

But Ben decided to believe Her. To allow himself to think that she’d really consider it. Either way she’d go with him. No matter what, she’d stay with him. That was all that fucking matters. 

It was the steady beat of Her heart, paired with the lingering taste of her and sound of Her wanting him, that allowed Ben to sleep soundly through the night.

End Note: I’ve made the unprecedented and totally out of left field executive decision to make Ben a top. Crazy. I’m sure this is really shocking news, but we’ll get through this like we always do. Together and horny.

Leave a comment, if you want! Any and all thoughts, feedback, jokes, and predications are always welcome, and will make my day. Also I'm thinking of giving you guys a playlist? Idk lemme know if that's something you'd want. Thank you so much for reading, and see you soon <3!

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

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm