#who cares it’s out it’s done it’s fucking OVER

[kamitv]

Nerd!Nanami who whispers filthy praises into your ear while you’re sitting in his lap and his fingers are curling deep up into your cunt.

He’s got his glasses on but they’re sitting center on the bridge of his sharp nose, allowing them to slide down slowly since he’s too distracted with you to push them up like normal.

You’re facing him and your arms are wrapped tightly around his neck, legs spread nice and pretty over his lap while he drives his thick veiny fingers up into your leaky hole. With every moan you let out into his ear, his cock bulges harder against his tight tan slacks.

Rolling his hips up slightly in an attempt of getting some friction, Nanami’s all in your ear whispering to you. “So wet f’me ‘n I’ve barely even touched you all day. Did you miss my fingers that much, sweetheart?” He talks as if you weren’t dry humping him less than twenty minutes prior to this…

Even so, you nod and your lips graze his ear. “Uhuh,” You babble, feeling his fingertips curve right against your g-spot before rubbing against it genteelly.

“Words, pretty girl. Talk to me.” Nanami hushes out to you while dragging his fingers outwards slowly before plunging them right back in and listening to the gorgeous squelch that rings out from your pussy.

Your arms cage his neck all the more tighter and your hips jerk forwards. “Fuck. You w-were busy with work all day Ken’, hnngh… couldn’t s-stop thinkin’ about your hands ‘n how much I—oh fuuck, I m-missed them.”

His lips curve into a knowing smile and he has to adjust his legs below you slightly to stop himself from snatching his fingers out of you and bouncing you up ‘n down his cock for that entire statement alone. Nanami loves it when you talk while he pleases you, he loves the way your words come out all pitched and full of pleasure, just can’t get enough of it.

“Is that so?” He hums simply with a tortuous swivel of his two fingers against your walls that has your legs caging around his thighs tightly. “Did you touch yourself to those thoughts too? Hm?” Nanami’s voice has you dripping all down the skin of his hand, your slick shiny against his wrist as it drips off of him and right over his bulge.

You drop your head into the crook of his neck and roll your hips forward in an attempt of riding the fingers he’s fucking you with. “N-No but, I wanted to.” You admit honestly.

Nanami suppresses a groan. He can only imagine how needy you were for him, probably squeezing your thighs together all day just because you missed him. “Aw,” Nanami coos deeply in that smooth honey-coated baritone of his, “You should’ve done it and then sent me a video. I would’ve stopped working and came to help you, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitches at the thought alone and you immediately start lifting your hips to escape the overwhelming rush of pleasure, to which Nanami places his other hand on your waist and keeps you in place.

“Stay still, pretty girl. Lemme take care of you,” He’s whispering to you again, digging his fingers in and out and in and out while slipping his thumb up and rolling circles over your twitching clit. “Don’t run when y’know she missed me this much. S’not nice.”

“Kento,” You whine in a desperate tone before sliding one of your hands down to hold his wet wrist.

Nanami only increases the pace of his fingers at the sound of your wines, allowing the slicks of your pussy to overtake your small noises rather quickly. Then, he turns his head and kisses at your neck just as you lift and toss your head back. Sucking on your skin, staring up at you intimately, fucking his fingers you adore so much deeper inside you—Nanami makes it so very clear that he just loves pleasing you like this.

“After this,” He speaks hotly into your skin and he can feel your cunt pulsing and clenching around him with every word. “If you help me finish my paper within’ thirty minutes, I’ll fuck you all night jus’ like you want me to.” As his little challenge leaves him, you’re making a mess of his two fingers.

Gasping, “Mmnh, really?” Which only makes him smile because he knows damn well he’s going to do that regardless of the paper he has due tonight.

“Really.” Nanami confirms.

Hell, he’ll fuck you while he completes the damn paper if he has to…

He’s practically picturing it now—having you bent over his work desk, rolling his hips firmly into yours and driving his fat cock in and out of your sopping walls while he simultaneously reaches over to your side and messily writes or types out what he needs to.

Your moans and soft whimpers of his name would be distracting, sure. But Nanami’s pretty sure he can fill you and his paper up at the same time with no problems…

[aakeysmash]

christmas shopping, matching pajamas and family discounts

college!sukuna masterlist

"Why are we here again?" college!sukuna huffs from next to you for the umpteenth time.

"Stop acting like a little bitch. You asked me that 20 seconds ago, Yuuji is acting better than you," you hiss out, glaring at him. It's true though: the kid is trotting right in front of you two, not a care in the world, while his caretaker is currently dragging his feet on the pavement you're walking on.

"And you still didn't answer, fucker," he barks back, grimacing, kicking a little rock.

"Yes, I fucking did! I told you this morning we were going Christmas shopping! You never listen to me," you start, jutting your lip out and trying to play the victim. You know he hates it when you do it. "Maybe I should tell Yuuji how his big brother hates the idea of going shopping with him," you provoke, whispering so that only you and him know what you're talking about. He scoffs, offended.

"Liar. Don't you fucking dare-"

"Are you two fighting again?" whines Yuuji, turning around and pouting. You and Sukuna glance at each other before shaking your head at the same moment.

"No, we're getting along so well," you force yourself to smile.

"Yeah, she said she's so glad I'm accompanying her. Matter of fact, she said she's going to offer us lunch," Sukuna continues, an evil glint in his eyes when he hears you gasp.

"I did not-"

"Really?! Yippie!" screams Yuuji, coming to hug you violently. You stumble back, gritting your teeth, and reciprocate the hug while narrowing your eyes at the grinning tattooed man in front of you. He knows you're not able to say no to his brother.

When Yuuji runs inside the mall, you push Sukuna's shoulder, mumbling "bitch". He just chuckles, then boldly gets you close by placing one open hand on your lower back. You know he's just going to tease you, so you put both hands on his chest to fight back, trying to put some distance between you two, but the place is crowded and everyone is looking at you. A woman passes by you and looks at you weirdly, so you stop wriggling in his grasp, and he delicately pushes you even closer. You're chest to chest, his breath fanning over your features, grin ever present on his face, enjoying how you look pissed out of your mind. From the outside, it looks like you're hugging each other, when in reality he just puts his mouth on your ear to utter "Never play with me, baby. I know how to drive you mad," then frees you and walks behind Yuuji with his hands in his pockets, not turning back to see if you're following him or not. You're seething.

"Oh my God, Yuuji, look at these!" you swoon over a pair of pajama pants. They're a soft brown, decorated with little green Christmas' trees and little reindeers, a bright red Merry Christmas! on both knees.

"It's a set!" squeals the kid next to you, grabbing the sweater right on top of the piece of cloth you have in your hands. You both notice at the same time that the set comes both in adults' and kids' sizes. "Can we take it?" he asks you looking up, puppy eyes activated. Your heartstrings are pulled so tight you feel like you could implode if you look at his face for a second longer.

"Of course we can, I thought it was obvious," you say excitedly, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him in a circle while he laughs, smile on full display and brown eyes squeezed shut happily.

Sukuna, who has kept watching his phone for the majority of the time you've been inside the mall, raises his gaze when he hears your laugh mingled with his brother's. If you had been looking at him in that instant, you would've seen the brief soft glimpse that passed on his whole face when he took in how happy you both looked together. When you turn around, though, he's already schooled his features to appear bored.

"Are we done?" he yawns.

"Would you like to match with us?" you ask him, at the same time. You scowl and he scoffs.

"Hell no, girl. I'm not with whatever stupid shit y'all are doing," he says, trying to act tougher than what he actually feels like. Seeing you being kind to the only person in the world who shares 100% of his genes makes him feel things he doesn't want to acknowledge right now.

"You're a party pooper, 'Kuna," Yuuji mumbles, frowning. "Can we still match? I really want us to match," he adds, shily, looking at you. You're shocked. His cheeks are getting redder the more you gawk at him. "Sorry, you can say no-"

Your kiss on his cheek resonates all around the ally you're currently staying in. "Of course I want to match with you. We don't need your evil brother, Yuuji. Let's go try them on," you sweetly say, taking his hand and walking away from Sukuna, not before flipping him off. Yuuji is so giddy that he follows you like he's walking on clouds, his face slightly hurting from how hard he's cheesing.

Sukuna just stands there, baffled and even a little offended. He stiffens, noticing he still has his phone in his hands. He's so fast with it he's the first to remain shocked by his own actions: he hears the click of his camera and looks at the pic he's just taken, feeling his chest heavier than it's ever been. It's a beautifully taken pic, where you and Yuuji are squinting at each other, hand in hand, laughing. He turns off his screen, shakes his head and catches up to you. You're going to give him a headache if you continue being like this. Or a heart attack. Or both.

"Hello, what can I do for you?" the nice old lady at the checkout says.

"Hi, we'd like to take these two pieces," you kindly respond, handing her the pajamas you and Yuuji just tried on.

"Let me see... oh, we actually have a family discount on this! Is the daddy not going to take anything?" she innocently asks, looking over at your older roommate.

"Yo, I'm not his-"

Your eyes almost fall out of your sockets. "Ah ah ah! Silly us! We forgot his one! Just give me a second," you interrupt a scowling Sukuna, covering his mouth with your hand before he can finish his sentence, dragging him away. Yuuji gives the old lady a confused look, to which she responds with "Young parents these days," shaking her head.

"You're going to take the fucking matching set, Sukuna, and you're going to like it," you seethe, still dragging him away (well, it's more like he's letting you drag him away). You hear how he's trying to talk behind your hand. "Don't piss me off. I'm going to pay less to get more, and you're going to listen to me. Go." You ignore him and he raises one eyebrow, looking you up and down, before biting your fingers. You yelp and let him go, scowling. "I said go! And act like you care about me when we get there, we're a family until the discount tells us so!"

"Okay, ma'am," he grins down to you, wiping his saliva from the corner of his mouth with a slow movement, his gaze lingering a bit too much on the way you're panting.

"Move! Take your size and let's go! Yuuji is waiting for us!" you push him, rushing back to the cashier.

"Oh, you were really fast. I thought you were going to argue with the way you rushed away," she says when she sees you come back, surprised. You nervously chuckle, telling her how you were already planning on buying one for Sukuna, you just forgot. "That would be 20.99$."

While you're swiping your card, you suddenly feel engulfed by heat. Sukuna positions his hands on your waist, giving you a half hug from behind while simultaneously giving his best confident grin to the old lady in front of him.

"Yeah. I just like when she bosses me around a bit, if you know what I mean," he says, sultry, winking at the cashier who is chuckling behind her hand, embarrassed, waving him away.

What the fuck? You initially try not to stiffen, then relax and give her a shy smile, and he squeezes you a bit closer. You melt on his chest, feeling hotter than you've felt all day. He's so comfortable. He brushes his lips near your ear and makes sure you hear the way his raspy voice is all around you. "And I do, baby. I really do."

[the-mad-stone]

SKILL ISSUE. LOOK. WE CAN FIX THIS

The solution is to remember what is and what is not within your control. I tortured myself with this for years because hearing [well i can't do anything about it] made me want to howl in despair even more. I thought that by giving up caring I'd be giving up my drive/duty to fix things. Doesn't being catastrophically worried mean I care? I used to have a partner who smoked and i worried myself into panic attacks over the possible risks of that. and now I see that the problem was. thinking that my lack of power there was a moral failing on my part. like. it wasn't. I had it backwards. My “caring” wasn't making me a better or worse person. All it did was make me feel certain emotions, from simmering anxiety to righteous fury - but feeling emotions/being aware isn't the same as changing the actual situation in real life. They're completely different dimensions of reality.

I think what we can do here gently untangle the following:

emotions (they're valid. if you're "catastrophically worried and miserably horrified then that sounds horrible and sucks. OP said they miss being regular sad - I miss that for them too, it really sounds overwhelming. The post is light-hearted but the emotions in it are very real and it would be okay to really let yourself feel this despair without trivialising it. At the same time, let's wait before letting our emotions dictate our actions.)

worries (OP is upset about something. What about? Something they value must be threatened. What is it? Climate, human rights? It's good to have values. It's good to care about something. It fucking sucks that it's facing problems, but for now, let's appreciate that this person cares about something instead of being consumed by apathy. Let's put a pin in that.)

actions (It's not that you can't single-handedly fix climate change - stoic texts say we actually can't control anything in this world but ourselves, hell, we can't control our own bodies and thoughts half the time. most of the time, maybe. Look at that post - "I miss being regular sad". Well, who's in charge of your head? You are. You can be regular sad about the world. It's easier said than done, but it can be done.)

We can let go of worrying about the things beyond our control - not to let ourselves off the hook, but because it makes sense in our material reality. What we can do instead is 1. feel that terror (MANDATORY STEP. DON'T DISMISS YOURSELF), 2. find out where it's coming from, 3. redirect our efforts. That's all we can do, and that's all we need to do. Is it the perfect solution? No. But that's exactly the point. Perfection is beyond our control. This isn't.

[rosyhoneydew]

A quick love letter to my Bucktommy family in the form of a fix-it <3

Bucktommy | fix-it | Teen | 1141 words | warnings: this is angsty at the start and tiptoes toward addressing biphobia so please care for yourself and don't read if that will exacerbate your hurt.

They're three beers deep when the doorbell rings again.

It's been a fucking night. He hadn't really had much to say to Eddie when he got there, thankfully he hadn't had to, especially considering Eddie was clearly in the midst of his own kind of night. It feels better, not being alone, at least. But the alcohol mixes with his head and twists the moment in his apartment further. How come every time I want to move forward I get pushed back?

He's not even paying attention when Eddie goes up to get the door, just fiddles with the bottle in his hand more, peeling the label into tiny pieces and laying them on Eddie's coffee table for him to pick up later.

"Shit-" Eddie stumbles as he makes his way. And then Buck can feel a little breeze as he goes to tell whoever it is that this isn't a good time.

"Oh thank god-" Buck freezes, determined not to turn around. "I wasn't sure you'd be home but I think I fucked up."

That's Tommy.

"I panicked a little. Evan asked me to move in and I think I freaked out."

"Uhh-" Eddie adds.

"We just got done talking about my ex who I had to end an engagement with and it just- it felt like he was trying to make up for his own freak out about it and-" Buck hears him take a deep breath, "I didn't want to force him into doing something he didn't really want to do, you know? He- he should get to make sure that's what he really wants." He takes another breath. "Are you not wearing pants?"

"Umm-"

Buck's heart rate had steadily ramped up hearing Tommy speak, but it's when he stops that Buck feels tears prickle at his eyes. He whips around then, still nestled into Eddie's couch, betrayal in his voice when he speaks.

"I did!" and shit. He didn't really mean to shout that.

"I'm gonna..." Eddie trails off as he heads into his bedroom.

"Why do you think I didn't make sure that's what I wanted?" he demands. He hadn't thought he'd be so angry, but this felt like something to him, and Tommy's running. Again. "Because that girl hit on me at the restaurant?"

Tommy looks shell-shocked. Like he's still grasping the fact that Buck is here, so Buck just keeps talking.

"Or because I haven't dated a man before? So I must not know what I'm talking about, right?"

"Buck-"

"Don't call me that."

"Evan," Tommy steps a little closer, and Buck leans toward the cushions, petty, but feeling raw still. "That is not why."

Buck levels him with a look.

"Okay, what you said is fair enough," he relents. "I didn't mean to make it seem like you couldn't make your own decisions about this."

"What did you mean?"

Tommy looks away for a moment, a flicker of pain on his face.

"I meant... what I said," he lands on. "You would break my heart, Evan."

"You don't know that." The tears finally crest over his lower lids and make their way to his mouth. "You can't just give up every time you're scared that I'm going to leave you, Tommy. It's not fair, you're not even giving me the chance to stay."

Tommy's lip wobbles a little now too, but he stays and listens.

"I wanted to stay, I wanted you to stay. With me. Permanently. Why would you think I would leave you?"

He cries now, and Buck hasn't ever seen him cry.

"I don't know," he gets out, choked and soft. "I see you, sometimes. With the 118 and everyone's families and I... I don't feel like I fit, Evan. I don't get how I fit into that."

"You fit into it because you're my boyfriend. My partner."

"I am?" he asks, treading closer ever slightly to the couch.

This time Buck leans his way. He sets his bottle down and looks down at his hands.

"Did you mean what you told Eddie? You fucked up? Because I fucked up, once, at the beginning of us, and you gave me that second chance and I'm so glad you did, Tommy, because these last few months have been better than I could've hoped. I don't want to let that go because of this so... yeah you can be, if you want."

Tommy rushes to the couch, he sits as close as he can get and grabs Buck's hands firmly. Warm and sure.

"I want that. I want us again. Please."

"You can have it," Buck whispers, resting his head on Tommy's shoulder. He squeezes Tommy's hands. "Just don't leave again, please."

"I won't, I won't."

Then there's a kiss at the crown of his head, and Tommy's other hand rubs soft circles over his back. He murmurs sweet nothings in Buck's ear all the while.

I'm sorry. I'm glad you were here. I missed you as soon as I walked out the door. I'm staying. I'm staying. I'm staying.

They sit like that for a while until a throat clearing from the hallway has them both lifting their heads to find Eddie, fully-clothed.

"What were you guys doing before I got here, by the way?" Tommy asks, humor back in his voice.

"Well, I was drinking my sorrows away. I don't know what Tom Cruise was doing."

"Ha ha," Eddie says, making his way to the couch, no qualms about forcing them to scooch over to make room. "We can talk about my shit tomorrow. You guys worked it out I guess?"

Buck looks up at Tommy, smiles, and kisses him with a loud peck just to make Eddie huff and roll his eyes.

"Yeah," Tommy says, looking at ease. "Although..." he starts.

Buck turns to him, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know that moving into your place is going to work," Tommy admits.

Buck sits up a little, mouth just opening to speak when Tommy cuts him off.

"I want to live with you, Evan, but your place is barely big enough for one person, so maybe we can workshop location, yeah?" he smiles a crinkly smile, the kind that always lets Buck know he's feeling fond, feeling secure.

It's Buck's turn to huff now. "It gets good light," he grumbles.

Tommy kisses his temple again, Buck gets the distinct feeling that he will be getting kissed quite a bit in the near future, and he chances a quick look at Eddie to see if they're being annoying.

Instead, he sees Eddie smiling too, he's looking on like he's proud and it makes Buck want to tear up again. Eddie gives him a nod and Buck nods back.

A weight lifts off his shoulders then. In the arms of the man he's growing to love and accepted by his family.

~~~~

I want to say a quick thank you to everyone who read, commented, shared my fics, sent me nice messages about my writing for these two, and to everyone who created content for them while they were canon. I'm thankful for every minute of it :)

[mythicalmaven]

Helloooo love, could I have nr 1, 13, 23(reader) and 28 with Daniel ricciardo?🤍 so needy for him

Forbidden - Daniel Ricciardo (requested)

As requested: a Daniel Ricciardo fanfic with a few prompts from the list! It's my first Ricciardo fanfic, so I hope I wrote it like you hoped lol :) It turned out a little longer than I expected, but I honestly like how it turned out! (I didn't proofread it, so excuse any mistakes lol)

masterlist | promptlist ↳pairing: daniel ricciardo x female!verstappen!reader ↳word count: 7,7K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh", 13 - "You're fucking soaked". 23 - "I..Uh.." - "I have never done this before" & 28 "We shouldn't do this" ↳warnings: friends to lovers, brothers teammate trope, age gap (8 years), kissing, alcohol, drunk, explicit sexual content, 18+ (MDNI!), jealousy, sexual tension ↳summary: In which it's 2017 and Max Verstappen's twin sister gets a little too involved with her brothers teammate

You honestly had no idea how you'd come up with the not-so-clever idea of getting wasted in a Monaco nightclub, but right now, you couldn’t care less. The music thumped through the room, blending with the haze of alcohol and dim, colorful lights, and a certain curly-haired Australian who had slipped off to the bar for another drink lingered in your mind.

As the beat softened into something deeper, sultrier, you found yourself moving with Carlos once more. His hands rested casually on your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your dress as you swayed together. Ever since your twin, Max, joined the Formula 1 grid, Carlos had become one of your closest friends.

Carlos leaned in, his lips close to your ear, his voice a low murmur against the music. "So… when are you finally gonna hook up with Danny?"

You scoffed, playfully swatting the back of his head. “Oh, shut up, will you?”

Carlos only grinned, knowing exactly how you felt about Daniel. He'd been trying to push you toward him for ages, but as always, you deflected. “I don’t think Max would be thrilled if I hooked up with his teammate,” you replied, though a part of you knew that wasn’t the real reason you’d been holding back.

Carlos shrugged with a smirk. “Did you forget how convinced Max was that we were hooking up back at Toro Rosso? He didn’t seem too bothered by that idea, did he?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling as you swayed in rhythm with him, your fingers linking behind his neck. “Yeah, vividly. But that was different…” You let out a laugh, trying to keep your tone casual. “For one, our age gap was a lot smaller than Daniel and mine.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re 20, who cares? Daniel’s 28—it’s not like he’s ancient.”

Sighing, you dropped your forehead against Carlos’s shoulder. “Besides, even if he would consider hooking up with me, he’d probably be disappointed. I’ve never… well, you know. I’ve only gone as far as giving a guy a blowie in a club bathroom, and even that was a drunken disaster. Somehow, I doubt a 28-year-old is looking for a hookup with a 20-year-old virgin.”

Carlos chuckled under his breath, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. “You're really that blind, aren't you? The guy is absolutely head over heels for you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Carlos shifted his grip, spinning you around so your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist to guide your movements. To anyone watching, it looked like a slow grind, intimate and close, even though he left enough space to keep things comfortable.

He steered you both around the dance floor, inching you closer to the bar. “Look at him,” Carlos murmured in your ear, lifting a hand to tilt your chin ever so slightly. “See for yourself.”

Your gaze landed on Daniel, and your breath caught in your throat. There he was, leaning against the bar, drink in hand, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity you hadn’t seen before. His jaw was tight, his lips set in a straight line as he took in every shift of your body against Carlos’s, his gaze dark, brooding, and unmistakably heated. The way his eyes drifted, tracing the curve of your legs, lingering on your hips as they moved, made your heart race. He wasn’t just watching; he was studying, every look brimming with tension and frustration.

Carlos’s laughter hummed against your back, pulling you out of your trance. “The guy’s been staring daggers at me since the second we started dancing.”

“No way,” you murmured, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady, even though your pulse hammered in your ears. “He’s just… looking. Nothing more.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he leaned down to murmur against your ear, “Who are you trying to convince? Me… or yourself?”

“Fuck,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush under Daniel’s gaze, heat spreading through you in a way that felt as dangerous as it was thrilling. “I need more alcohol.”

⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺

Hours and too many drinks later, you’d long since shed your usual shyness, finding a brazen confidence in the music, the crowd, and the glimmer of alcohol-fueled ease in every movement. The world felt hazy but thrilling, every pulse of the bass reverberating through you as you let yourself sink into the beat.

Carlos watched your transformation, amused at how you threw back shots and laughed a little louder than before. At one point, you looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes bright and mischievous, completely oblivious to the intensity with which a certain Australian had been watching you both.

With a chuckle and a playful push, Carlos nudged you forward, aiming you right in Daniel’s direction. “Go on, dance with him already,” he teased, his smirk saying he knew exactly what he was doing.

You stumbled into Daniel, feeling his hand steady you, his fingers lingering just a second too long as you regained your balance. “Well, fancy seeing you here, Ricciardo,” you quipped, your voice carrying an edge of flirtation that you didn’t usually dare with him.

Daniel’s lips curled into that easy, charming smile, his fingers still on your waist. “Fancy that. You’re looking a little… spirited tonight,” he replied, his eyes raking over you with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something almost hungry that you couldn’t miss, even in your haze. He was trying to play it off, keep things casual, but his gaze lingered just a bit too long, drawn to the curve of your hips, the dip of your collarbone, and the dress that had ridden up just enough to reveal more of your thigh.

“Oh yeah?” you leaned in close, fingers grazing up his arm, catching the way his eyes followed every movement. “What do you mean, ‘spirited?’” You were close enough to catch the hint of his cologne, something warm and subtly spicy, like he was, and it made you feel just a little bolder.

Daniel chuckled, but his fingers tightened slightly at your waist as if grounding himself. “Just saying,” he replied, “I don’t usually see you dancing like that.” His eyes sparkled with a mix of fondness and something a little more conflicted. He was trying so hard to keep things cool, but you could tell he was affected. “Especially with Carlos. Didn’t know he was your type.”

You laughed, moving your body a little closer to his, playfully ignoring the tension that brewed between you. “Carlos? Nah. He’s more like… a dance partner for the night. Besides,” you added, looking up at him through your lashes, “I think my type is just a little taller… curly hair.. and definitely Australian.”

A flicker of something like surprise crossed his face, his eyes briefly widening before he collected himself. He swallowed, looking away, almost as if to compose himself. “Is that so?” he murmured, his fingers curling at your waist, his voice low.

Just then, the music changed to something slower, a sensual rhythm that had you pressing a little closer against him. Daniel’s hands slipped to your waist, pulling you flush against him, his heartbeat thrumming fast under your hands as you settled into a rhythm together. You let your body sway, your hips pressing against him as his hands guided you, holding you steady and closer than he should.

“Gotta stop moving like that,” he mumbled, his voice tight, a strained note of amusement as he tried to mask how breathless he sounded.

You looked up at him with a smirk. “Why?” you asked, feigning innocence, though the mischievous gleam in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

He swallowed, his gaze darkening as his grip on your hips tightened, pulling you flush against him. The movement brought you closer than before, and in that instant, you felt him—hard, pressing against you through his jeans, undeniable and unrestrained. A thrill shot through you as your eyes met his, your gaze drifting downward for a fleeting second, then back up to find his expression transformed, conflicted and charged. His voice was rough, edged with that undeniable tension. “You know very well why,” he murmured, his tone thick with barely restrained desire and frustration, his fingers gripping your waist as if to hold himself back.

Your lips parted in surprise, but you didn't move away. Instead, you let a slow smile spread across your face, your body swaying against him just enough to deepen his predicament. Daniel’s jaw clenched, his gaze darting down to where your bodies pressed together, his expression shifting between longing and resistance, the internal battle clear as he tried to keep himself grounded, even as you blurred every boundary between you.

You felt the heat radiating off him, the subtle hitch in his breathing, the way his fingers trembled slightly against your waist.

⁺⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺ ⋆⁺

Hours later, you stumbled out of the bathroom, trying to make your way back to the dance floor but feeling far less coordinated than before. The world tilted slightly as you bumped into a table, a stray chair, and even a few club-goers who offered you amused or annoyed glances.

“Alright, I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night, darling,” came a familiar voice from behind, warm and steady. Before you could turn, a hand wrapped around your upper arm, steadying you, and the familiar scent of Daniel surrounded you, grounding you.

You turned to him with an exaggerated pout, his arm still holding you up. “I… I’m definitely… not,” you managed, words slightly slurred as you tried to shake off his grip, failing miserably. He chuckled softly, clearly amused.

Daniel’s gaze softened, his eyes roaming over you with a mix of tenderness and barely concealed desire. Your dress had shifted, one strap sliding off your shoulder, the hem hitching up to reveal more skin than you intended. He took in the sight, pausing for just a moment too long before swallowing hard and composing himself.

“Let’s get you sorted out here,” he murmured, reaching to fix your dress. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, grazing your skin, and he swallowed hard, the gentle touches sending a thrill through you. His hands moved lower, trying to straighten the hem, and his fingers brushed over the curve of your thigh, a touch that made you let out a soft, involuntary whimper. His eyes darkened, and he hesitated, looking like he wanted to pull away but unable to tear himself away from the way you looked at him.

“Mm… feels nice,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your gaze half-lidded as you looked up at him, lips parted slightly. You noticed how he tensed, his jaw clenched, clearly struggling to resist.

“Come on,” he said, clearing his throat, his voice a little rough. “Let’s get you back to the hotel.”

He led you through the club, supporting you with one arm wrapped securely around you. As you stumbled along, your hand brushed over his chest, lingering a little longer than necessary, your fingers tracing small patterns as you walked. He glanced down, swallowing, his throat bobbing as he tried to keep his focus. Along the way, you nearly collided with Max, who took one look at you and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm bringing your sister back to the hotel," Daniel explained, nodding toward you with a hint of amusement. "She’s absolutely hammered."

Max smirked, his eyes flicking between you and Daniel. "You sure? I can take her back if you’d rather stay. I know she can’t hold her liquor."

“Hey!” you interjected, stumbling slightly as you tried to regain your balance, waving off your brother with a slurred, “I-Ik ben niet eens d-dronken…” (I’m not even drunk). You gave him a half-hearted glare, rolling your eyes in exaggerated annoyance.

Daniel glanced at Max with a small, amused shake of his head. “I have no clue what she just said, but don’t worry, I’ve got it,” he reassured him. “I was planning to head home anyway, and besides,” he added with a smile, “our apartments are in the same building anyway, so it's no hassle”

Max nodded, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before turning back to Daniel. "Alright, mate. Get her home safe."

With that, Max watched as Daniel guided you gently but firmly toward the exit, his grip steadying you as you leaned against him, too tipsy to resist.

When you reached the curb, he helped you into a cab, sliding in beside you. You leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder, your hand slipping to rest on his thigh, your fingers drifting ever so slightly higher, sending a rush of heat through him.

“You’re drunk,” he murmured, his voice low and strained, trying to keep his breathing even.

You looked up at him with a playful, tipsy grin, fingers tracing the fabric of his jeans. “So?”

He bit his lip, fighting a losing battle against his own desires, his hand covering yours to stop its teasing ascent. He’d never seen you this forward, this flirtatious, and though it thrilled him, it terrified him all the same. The line between you had always been thin, but tonight, with every touch, every brush of your skin against his, you were slowly erasing it.

When you arrived at the apartment building, you had began starting to sober up a tiny little bit. Still wasted obviously, but it seems as if you had a little bit more control over your own actions.

As you fumbled through your purse, your expression shifted from confidence to frustration as you realized your keys weren’t there.

“I… I had them,” you muttered, searching again, only for the reality to settle in. “I must’ve left them with Carlos or Max.”

You looked up at Daniel with a mischievous glint in your eyes, swaying slightly on your feet. “Guess that means I’m staying with you?”

Daniel hesitated, his resolve weakening as he searched your face, taking in the way your lips quirked in that daring, flirtatious smile. He was already in too deep, the familiar ache in his chest too hard to ignore. After a moment, he let out a resigned sigh, offering a small, reluctant smile as he nodded.

“Yeah, alright,” he said softly, his hand brushing over your back as he guided you inside. “But you’ve gotta promise me you’ll go straight to bed.”

You leaned in, closer than necessary, your breath warm against his cheek. “We’ll see about that,” you murmured playfully, sending one last spark of heat through him as he led you toward his apartment, both of you caught in a delicate balance of desire, restraint, and the thrill of the unspoken between you.

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Daniel led you to his kitchen, pulling out a stool by the bar, gesturing for you to sit. But you had other ideas. Following him over to the sink, you leaned back against the counter, lifting yourself up onto it. Your dress slid up as you settled, exposing nearly everything to anyone watching.

Daniel turned off the tap, glass in hand, and was about to pass it to you when he caught sight of you. His gaze trailed over your bare thighs, and his breath hitched, eyes widening as he muttered, “Fuck.” His eyes lingered, and he dared to glance lower, noticing the smallest glimpse of black lace between your slightly parted legs.

Swallowing hard, he gripped the counter edge, his knuckles whitening as he fought the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you, his lips already tingling with the desire to claim yours. Forcing himself to look away, he pressed the glass into your hand, his voice husky and tight. “Drink this. It'll help,” he murmured, barely able to keep his composure. “I’ll… I’ll go grab a shirt for you. So you don’t have to sleep in that dress.”

You downed the water in one swift gulp, letting your gaze drift back to him. The proximity hit you both, close enough for you to see the tension in his jaw and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. But what captured your attention most was the unmistakable bulge in his jeans, straining against the fabric, betraying the restraint he tried so hard to maintain.

A slow smirk crept across your lips as you reached out, letting your fingers graze his arm, traveling in a slow, tantalizing path up to his shoulder, then down his chest, inching ever closer to his belt. But before you could reach it, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly. “We… we shouldn’t do this,” he muttered, voice low and rough as he gently pushed your hand away, though his touch lingered just a second too long, his resolve wavering.

Undeterred, you hopped down from the counter, stepping forward until there was barely any space left between you. Confidence you hadn’t realized you possessed surged through you, and you reached out, cupping him through his jeans. He let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a moan, his resolve crumbling under the pressure of your touch.

Bringing your lips close to his ear, you whispered, your voice a hushed, sultry tease, “That’s what you say… but your body’s telling me something else entirely.”

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Daniel forced himself to gather every shred of self-control he could muster, putting a few steps of distance between you before he turned on his heel, heading to his bedroom to grab a shirt from the closet. His mind raced as he moved. He wanted you—God, he wanted you more than anything—but he knew you were drunk, teetering on that edge where even a soft touch or glance was hazy with the thrill of it all. And as much as he ached to feel your lips on his, to let every longing he’d harbored for so long finally spill over, he didn’t want to take advantage of your current state.

Yet, you were making it damn near impossible to keep his composure. Every touch, every glance, every whisper made his restraint crumble bit by bit, leaving him clinging to the last threads of resolve.

When he made his way to the bathroom with the shirt in hand, he stopped in the doorway, noticing you struggling with the zipper of your dress, your back turned to him. The zipper was halfway down, leaving a tantalizing glimpse of your bare skin, and his heart pounded harder, fighting between propriety and desire.

“Danny, can you help me with the zipper, please?” Your voice was soft, but the note of longing was unmistakable, each word sparking something primal within him.

He hesitated, but before he could stop himself, he stepped forward, leaving the shirt on the sink, and positioned himself behind you. His fingers brushed your skin as he reached for the zipper, feeling the warmth radiating off you. You shivered at his touch, a soft, involuntary whimper escaping your lips that sent a jolt through him. He dragged the zipper down slowly, his fingers grazing your skin, unable to resist lingering for just a moment longer than necessary.

Once the zipper was down, you slipped the straps off your shoulders, the dress falling effortlessly down your frame, pooling at your feet. Daniel’s breath caught in his throat as he took you in, standing before him in nothing but your black lace lingerie. He clenched his jaw, feeling a wave of heat course through him, the last of his rationality slipping as his eyes traced over every curve, every inch of you laid bare.

You turned to face him, the look in your eyes a mixture of vulnerability and desire, a silent plea that tugged at the very core of him. Reaching up, you let your fingers graze the stubble on his jaw, caressing his cheek as you held his gaze. “Kiss me, Daniel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, a soft, desperate invitation.

It was all he needed. His restraint finally shattered, and he closed the distance between you in a heartbeat. His hand cupped your cheek, fingers threading through your hair as he captured your lips in a kiss that was fierce, urgent, filled with all the pent-up emotion and longing he’d been holding back. You melted into him, pressing closer, every brush of his lips igniting sparks that spread through your body.

His hands slid down to the small of your back, then lower, gripping your thighs as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the countertop of the bathroom sink. He stepped between your legs, his body pressing firmly against yours, grounding you in the heat and solidity of him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. The slight tug on his hair drew a low, guttural moan from him, his chest heaving as he leaned into you, lost in the feel of you against him.

His hands roamed over your body, sliding along your curves, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You gasped against his mouth, a sound that turned into a soft moan, each note pushing him closer to the edge of his composure. He deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips, exploring, tasting, savoring every second. You could taste the hint of whiskey on his lips, warm and heady, mingling with his natural, intoxicating flavor. Every brush of his tongue against yours sent a surge of heat pooling between your legs, each movement building the need that pulsed through you.

Daniel pulled you closer, his grip tightening as you felt his hardness pressing against you, undeniable, unmistakable. The sensation made you dizzy, your entire body responding to him, the ache between your thighs intensifying as you instinctively rocked your hips against him. His breath hitched, and he let out a soft, unrestrained groan, his head dipping to press heated, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot behind your ear. His lips left a trail of warmth, each kiss setting your skin alight, making you ache for more.

“Daniel,” you murmured, voice barely a whisper, breathless as you held him closer, “I need… I…”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and filled with a barely contained fire. “Use my thigh, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, encouraging you, his words laced with both restraint and indulgence. The suggestion was almost too much, the heat in his eyes spurring you on, each word sending another pulse of arousal through you.

You didn’t hesitate, shifting your hips to grind against his thigh, a soft moan slipping from your lips as you felt the friction, your panties already damp against his jeans. Daniel’s hands gripped your waist, guiding you, his own breath coming faster as he watched, the sight of you losing yourself in the pleasure unraveling him bit by bit.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rough as he pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands urging you to move, encouraging every motion. “Been wanting this… wanting you… for so damn long.” He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing and nipping at your skin as he spoke, his voice shaky, every word spilling out in a way that only fueled the fire between you.

“Seeing you with Carlos tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear, “it drove me crazy. Couldn’t stand it. I wanted to kill him for touching you” He paused, lifting his head to look into your eyes, his gaze raw, vulnerable, every wall he’d built around himself now shattered. “I’ve wanted you like this… needed you like this… for so long.”

Every word, every touch, every heated gaze pushed you further, his encouragement spurring you on as you moved against him, feeling the delicious friction, the warmth spreading through you as you both succumbed to the intoxicating pull of each other.

Daniel’s breathing grew ragged as he watched you move against his thigh, each roll of your hips sending a wave of heat through him. The way you looked at him, with that mixture of need and adoration, was undoing him in the best possible way.

Your breathing came in shallow, needy gasps as you looked up at him, eyes heavy with desire. “God, Daniel… you have no idea how good you look right now,” you murmured, your voice thick with arousal.

Your soft moans and whispered praises only fueled him more, each one pushing him to explore, to give you everything you were craving. His gaze darkening even more as he captured your lips in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of pent-up desire and affection into it.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid you back a little on the counter, his hands gripping your hips firmly. You gasped as his fingers traced the edge of your panties, his touch light but electrifying, and he paused, his gaze meeting yours as if asking for permission.

You gave a small nod, your breath catching as his hand slipped beneath the lace, his fingers brushing over you, his touch igniting every nerve ending. His breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were, a low groan escaping his lips as he murmured, “God, you’re soaked.”

The words sent a thrill through you, making you arch into his touch, craving more. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness, exploring and teasing, drawing out your reactions, each moan and gasp fueling his own desire “The way you make me feel… God, it’s like you know exactly what I need.”

Your words lit a fire in him, a spark that deepened the hunger in his gaze as he pulled you closer. His lips curved into a smirk, fingers dipping lower as he murmured, “Yeah? I think I could get used to hearing that.”

He watched you intently, captivated by every expression, every sound that escaped your lips as he continued, building the tension higher with each movement.

You clung to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as his fingers moved with perfect rhythm, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. He whispered soft words of encouragement, his voice low and full of affection. “That’s it, love… you’re doing so well. Let go for me,” he murmured, his tone both comforting and enticing.

And then, as his touch pushed you over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy washed over you, and you cried out his name, your body shuddering as he held you through it, his gaze never leaving yours.

Once you came down from your high, your hand started making their way to Daniel's jeans, intending to return the favor, yet your movements where halted once again by his fingers around your wrist "I won't be able to hold back if you continue" he mumbled, his lips pressing soft kisses against the skin of your neck.

"Maybe that's the point" you whispered seductively.

He shook his head "As much as I would love to, I'm not sleeping with you while you're drunk" he whispered as he pressed one last kiss against your cheek, before he pulled away, grabbing the shirt that was still on the sink with his free hand, assisting you to pull it over your head "We'll talk about it tomorrow, and then we'll see"

As if the post orgasm haze started to kick in, you felt yourself getting tired, giving yourself over to the Australian driver as he carefully lifted you off of the sink and carried you over to his bedroom, placing you down onto it.

He was intending to get up and sleep on the couch, just in case you wouldn't remember things tomorrow, or worse, remember it, but regretting things. But the soft plea that left your lips stopped him in his tracks "Please, stay with me?"

It was as if his legs moved on their own accord, slipping into the bed next to you, feeling you crawl into his arms, your head resting on his chest. Once he noticed you were sound asleep, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and send Max a quick text:

Daniel: Your sister is sound asleep btw, she's crashing here, since she apparently forgot her keys or something.

Max: Figured as much indeed, Carlos came over and handed me her keys, said she forgot to take them before she left. Max: Thanks for letting me know, I'll torture her tomorrow about her headache ;)

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As the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, you stirred, feeling the gentle warmth touch your skin as you blinked awake. It took a moment to piece things together, the room unfamiliar, the quiet hum of an unfamiliar space settling around you. When realization dawned, it hit all at once. This wasn’t your apartment—this was Daniel’s.

Your eyes widened, and you scanned the room, momentarily panicked. But the bed beside you was empty, the sheets cool to the touch, which brought a small wave of relief. Sitting up slowly, you took a breath, glancing down to see yourself dressed in one of Daniel’s shirts. The soft fabric brushed your skin, and you realized, with a sudden blush, that you were only in his shirt and your lingerie.

Heart pounding, you swung your legs over the side of the bed, trying to clear the fog of last night’s hazy memories. The details were elusive, flashes of warmth, laughter, and maybe… something more. You felt oddly refreshed, but the lack of clarity gnawed at you. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to find him, needing some answers.

Moving carefully down the hallway, you made your way to the bathroom, hoping to splash some water on your face, collect yourself before facing him. You twisted the doorknob, assuming the room would be empty. Instead, steam filled the space, and you froze, the faint outline of a figure behind the frosted shower door capturing your attention.

Your gaze locked on the silhouette, recognizing Daniel immediately—the shape of his shoulders, the familiar line of his back. A rush of heat flooded through you, your mind replaying a rush of emotions from last night, and you pressed your thighs together instinctively, trying to banish the sudden surge of desire. You knew you should turn around, slip out quietly, but you were rooted to the spot, utterly transfixed.

Before you could retreat, Daniel turned off the shower, reaching for a towel and wrapping it low around his waist before stepping out. His gaze landed on you, his mouth curving into a smirk, droplets still trailing down his chest and abs. His dark hair was wet, small drops sliding from his curls, and the steam radiated off his skin, casting him in a hazy glow.

“Well, good morning to you too,” he said, his voice a rich, low rumble, his signature smirk making your pulse race. “If you wanted to see me naked this bad, all you had to do was ask. No need to sneak up on me.” His tone was teasing, though his gaze held a hint of something deeper, something almost daring you to respond.

Your cheeks flushed, and you raised your hands to cover your face. “Oh God, I’m so sorry,” you stammered, feeling a mix of embarrassment and that same lingering heat from last night.

You heard him chuckle softly, and when you dared to peek through your fingers, he’d already dried off and slipped into a shirt and a pair of boxers. He stepped closer, gently pulling your hands away from your face, his expression softened, a trace of warmth in his morning-rough voice. “No need to be so shy, darling,” he murmured, the words filled with a quiet affection that sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced at him, unable to ignore how close he was, feeling both relieved and oddly disappointed that he was now dressed. You couldn’t deny how good he looked, fresh out of the shower, the lingering scent of soap and warmth filling the space between you.

But the question weighed on your mind, and finally, you managed to ask, “Please tell me we didn’t…?”

Daniel’s gaze softened further, his eyes flickering with an understanding smile as he placed a steadying hand on your shoulder, letting it linger for just a moment before he replied. “If we slept together? No, we didn’t.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out in relief. Before you could fully process it, though, Daniel added, “But I’m also not gonna pretend that you didn’t try to… and I’m definitely not going to act like nothing else happened.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your breath catch, a wave of both nerves and arousal coursing through you. “Oh God,” you mumbled, lifting yourself onto the countertop by the sink, feeling a little dizzy, staring at the floor as you tried to piece together what he meant. “What did I make you do?”

Daniel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze steady and entirely too knowing as he took in the expression on your face. “You didn’t make me do anything, darling,” he said softly, his tone gentle yet firm. “It takes two to tango.”

The words lingered in the quiet, settling over you with a weight you couldn’t ignore. He shifted, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “Let’s just say… this isn’t the first time you’ve sat on that countertop in the last 24 hours. Although, last night it was for… different reasons.”

As soon as he said it, memories rushed back in vivid, unfiltered flashes—the feel of his hands, the press of his lips, the way he held you as if he’d waited forever to do so. Your cheeks flushed deeper, the weight of those memories flooding you, the reality of what had happened leaving you breathless.

“Oh God,” you murmured, looking down, struggling to meet his eyes. The blush deepened, and you tried to banish the embarrassment, but it was impossible to hide the way your body reacted to just being near him, recalling every detail of last night.

Daniel watched you, his gaze contemplative, and he let out a small sigh, pressing his lips together before speaking. “Look… you were drunk. I’d had a bit to drink too. I understand if you regret it” His voice was steady, but there was a subtle tension underneath, as if he was holding something back.

You took a deep breath, fiddling with your hands as you struggled to find the right words. "Yeah, about that.." you said, taking a deep breath before continuing "There might be a slight problem to that"

Daniel studied the way you were acting, unsure of what to expect “We can pretend it didn’t happen, if that’s what you want. That's no problem” he offered, though his tone held a hint of something unresolved, something unsaid.

Finally, you looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, the sincerity in your expression clear. “Well… I guess the problem is that..” you whispered, voice barely audible at first, but then you gathered your courage and continued, “I don’t regret it, Daniel… not at all.”

The words hung in the air between you, thickening the silence, every hidden feeling and unspoken desire now out in the open. His eyes widened slightly, the guarded expression slipping as something raw and vulnerable crossed his face.

Daniel's eyes softened at your words, the vulnerable confession drawing him closer, dissolving any remaining space between you. He stepped forward, situating himself between your legs once more, just like he had done last night, but this time you were both sober.

His presence warm and steady, grounding you in the intimacy of the moment. His hands reached up slowly, one gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing a soft line along your skin, the other tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His gaze was deep, intense, and full of affection as he looked into your eyes, his face only inches from yours.

"Good," he whispered, his voice low and tender, “because I don’t regret it either.”

Without another word, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a gentle, unhurried kiss. There was no urgency, only a steady, deliberate affection that conveyed every unspoken emotion he’d held back. His kiss was soft and careful, full of warmth, each touch of his lips conveying the depth of his feelings as he held you close.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, and you both shared a quiet, contented breath, wrapped up in the warmth of the moment. But the tenderness only fueled the lingering desire that had simmered between you both, and with a sudden burst of confidence, you grasped the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to you.

This time, the kiss deepened, your lips moving in sync as the restraint melted away, giving way to something more fervent, tinged with longing. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers splaying against your skin. The gentle intimacy turned heated, your mouths exploring, tongues teasing as the passion escalated with each passing second. You could feel his breath hitch as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groaned softly against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine.

Without breaking the kiss, your lips began to wander, trailing a path from his mouth to his jaw, where you lingered, pressing soft, teasing kisses that made him shudder under your touch. You could feel the subtle stubble against your lips, the warmth radiating from his skin as you moved lower, planting slow, lingering kisses along his neck, tasting the faint hint of his cologne mixed with his natural scent. Each kiss seemed to draw a deeper, ragged breath from him, his chest rising and falling as he leaned into every touch, unable to hold back the quiet sounds of pleasure escaping his lips.

You let your hands roam freely, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, fingers tracing down the curves of his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt. His pulse thrummed beneath your touch, quickening with each passing second. He swallowed hard, his breathing growing heavier as you continued, savoring every inch of him.

“God, Daniel,” you whispered against his neck, letting your lips brush the words over his skin. “You have no idea how good you look like this… or how good you feel.” Your voice was soft but laced with genuine admiration and a suggestive edge that had his grip on your waist tightening.

“Fuck…” he muttered, his voice thick with need as your words and touch clearly had an effect on him. He tilted his head back, giving you more access, his eyes closing for a moment as he absorbed the sensations.

Your lips brushed his ear, and you could feel him shiver as you whispered, “I’ve wanted this for so long, wanted to feel you… just like this.” Your words spilled out as you continued trailing kisses, his low groan fueling your confidence as you let your hands drift lower.

You let your fingers slide down his torso, tracing every line and curve of his body with deliberate, teasing slowness. Your hand finally ventured to the waistband of his boxers, and you pressed your palm against him, feeling the unmistakable hardness through the fabric. His breath hitched, a deep, guttural sound escaping his throat as he instinctively pushed into your touch, his fingers digging into your waist.

“God, you feel incredible,” you murmured, palming him gently, feeling his arousal grow beneath your hand, hardening with each brush of your fingers. “I’ve wanted this for so long, Daniel… wanted to know how you’d feel like this,” you admitted, voice a mix of admiration and desire.

“Shit… you’re… you’re killing me here,” he managed, his voice a strained whisper as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and filled with unrestrained want. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, his breathing growing heavier as he lost himself in every touch, every word you murmured against him.

You continued your slow, deliberate movements, letting your fingers trace along his length through the fabric, a satisfied smile crossing your face as he groaned in response, his hips pressing into your hand. “God, you look so good like this,” you breathed, meeting his gaze for a moment, taking in the way his face was flushed, his expression filled with raw, unfiltered desire.

“Keep talking like that, and… fuck, you’re gonna drive me insane,” he rasped, his voice low, rough with need, his hands gripping your hips with more intensity, clearly unable to resist the effect you were having on him.

Emboldened by his reaction, you slipped a hand inside the waistband of his boxers, your fingers wrapping around him, and his entire body tensed, a shuddered moan escaping his lips as he exhaled sharply. As you started running your thumb along his length, savoring the way he twitched in your hand, his face contorted with pleasure as he bit his lip.

“God… that feels so good,” he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his expression a mixture of awe and arousal. His hands roamed up and down your back, and you could feel the effect of every touch, every word, as his breathing grew heavier.

Between breaths, you whispered softly in his ear, “I want you, Daniel. All of you.” The words tumbled out, filled with a raw honesty that made him draw back just enough to meet your gaze.

In one swift, effortless motion, he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to his bed. He laid you gently onto the soft sheets, hovering over you as his lips met yours once more, igniting the same passion that had brought you here. Each kiss was heated and lingering, hands tracing and memorizing every line, every curve, savoring every moment that had led to this.

As his lips left a trail of kisses along your collarbone, your breaths came faster, and the anticipation tightened around you. But then when Daniel started removing your panties, you felt a familiar wave of nerves rise, and your voice trembled slightly as you spoke.

“I… uh…” you began, hesitating, feeling vulnerable but needing him to know. “I’ve never done this before.” The words left you in a shy, almost apologetic murmur, your cheeks heating as you admitted it. You lowered your gaze, fidgeting slightly under his gaze, before adding, “I mean, I’ve done… other things. Just… never got to, well, this part.”

He paused, taking in your words, his expression softening instantly. Cupping your face gently, his thumb brushed along your cheek, his gaze reassuring and kind. “Hey, there’s no pressure here. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he whispered, his voice steady, genuine. “We can take it slow. Or… we can keep things just like this.”

You bit your lip, the vulnerability still lingering as you met his gaze. “You’re not… disgusted, or something?” you asked, feeling a wave of self-consciousness bubble up. “I mean, I probably won’t be… any good. You’re… you know…” You trailed off, your face warming as the words left you.

He let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward to kiss you gently, his lips reassuring as he lingered for a moment before pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Disgusted? Not even close,” he murmured, a faint smile on his lips. “And I promise you, that thought never even crossed my mind.” His thumb brushed along your cheek again, his gaze warm and encouraging. “Honestly, it doesn’t matter to me. Not at all.”

You took a steadying breath, feeling his words soothe the nerves that had crept in. A smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and newfound confidence. “I don’t want to take it slow,” you admitted softly, voice barely above a whisper, but the words full of determination. “I want it to be with you, Daniel. I’ve… I’ve thought about this more times than I dare to admit,” you confessed, the warmth of your cheeks betraying the shyness that lingered, but you held his gaze.

His eyes softened at your words, a slow smile spreading across his face as he leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Then I'm all yours,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

Without another word, Daniel leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was deeper, hungrier, every ounce of restraint between you both slipping away. His hands roamed up your back, pressing you firmly against him as your bodies melded together, the heat between you palpable. His lips moved over yours with an urgency that matched the rhythm of his heartbeat, each kiss filled with the passion that had built up over all this time, all the unspoken moments leading up to this.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you felt his quiet groan against your mouth, his own hands exploring your curves, fingers tracing your waist and pulling you flush against him. His body hovered over yours as his gaze met yours, filled with both desire and a lingering tenderness that made your heart race.

His lips found yours again, and you welcomed him with a fervor that matched his own, your mouths moving in perfect sync as the kiss grew deeper, more intense. You could feel his body pressing into yours, the weight of him grounding you, making the moment feel all the more real. His hand traveled down your thigh, lifting your leg to wrap around his waist as he settled between your legs, his hips pressing against yours in a way that made your entire body ache with anticipation, before slowly but surely entering you inch by inch.

Between kisses, his hands caressed every inch of your body, learning and savoring every curve, every response he drew from you. His mouth left a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your neck, lingering on the sensitive spots that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he continued his slow, intoxicating descent. Each kiss, each touch seemed to stir something deeper within you, the desire building to a crescendo with every shared breath.

“Fuck…” you whispered, your voice soft and laced with longing, and he looked up at you, a question in his gaze, waiting for any hint of hesitation.

But you only pulled him closer, guiding him to you as your hands roamed his back, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. He leaned down again, his lips finding yours as the kiss deepened, turning into something that went beyond words—a culmination of everything you’d both been holding back.

In that moment, every barrier fell away, and you lost yourselves in each other, the moment filled with soft murmurs, quiet laughter, and the tender, passionate intimacy you’d both waited far too long to share.

masterlist

[billyharris]

Inspired by @piratefalls ‘s post

Buck attempts to shift himself onto his stomach to sneak in ten more minutes of sleep before he needs to shower and get ready for work, but he’s pinned to the bed by an arm splayed across his chest. The muscley arm of his boyfriend. Just thinking about that word causes Buck’s insides to flip. He has a boyfriend. A big, strong, beast of a boyfriend – who looks like a vision as he softly snores next to him.

Buck and Tommy were at the same apartment fire downtown last night. Half of LA’s stations were there. It took all that combined manpower to finally put out the fire that had spread to all twenty floors of the building. Buck didn’t even have time to quickly meet up with Tommy and tell him how hot he looked landing the chopper on a flame-engulfed rooftop. All he could do was wave as he flew away and deal with the (not so) gentle ribbing of his team making whip sounds at him.

A little bit after the fire was put out, the 118 were dispatched to another call. They didn’t need as many stations there for the cleanup and triage. As they were driving away, he saw Lucy loading another victim into the back of Tommy’s chopper – his third trip back from Presbyterian. He ended up making another two before the end of his shift.

Buck’s shift ended first. He changed and went to Tommy’s to surprise him with dinner after a long and exhausting shift. As of late, Buck has been staying at Tommy’s more than going home to the loft. Even though it’s a longer drive to the 118, nothing beats getting to wake up next to (or entangled with) his boyfriend.

Buck wanted to stay up and wait for Tommy, but he was exhausted himself and ended up passing out hours before Tommy got home. Around midnight, Tommy buried his face into Buck’s neck, apologizing for waking him up – not like he had to. Buck will always savor every second he gets with his boyfriend. With the man he’s fallen for.

Tommy was misty-eyed as he recalled his last transfer. They didn’t get to the hospital in time. The patient, a college student, succumbed to her injuries minutes before they landed. Lucy tried to perform compressions, but there was no use – she was gone.

It’s part of the job. Both have lost plenty of people with the LAFD. Doesn’t make it any easier. One of the perks of dating another first responder is having someone who knows exactly what it feels like. The regret, the blame, the what ifs – Buck’s been there. Been there more times than he can count.

So even when his muscles were steeped in exhaustion and he had an early shift the next morning, Buck gave Tommy what he needed. He held him down and sank into him, fucking him slowly and reverently until his mind was clouded with only thoughts of him and their shared connection. He showered him in praise, worshiped every patch of skin he could reach and reminded him of all the good he’s done. How he’s worthy of the pleasure he’s giving him. How loved he is.

It’s an act of service that Buck is usually on the other end of. He’s more likely to bring home the trauma of work – he’s over-emotional, he’s too much at times, he’s exhausting – yet time and time again, Tommy takes care of him. The least he could do was return the favor last night.

Buck watches Tommy sleep for a few minutes. He’s beautiful, a work of art unlike Buck’s ever seen before. His chiseled muscles and cleft chin are so handsome, so masculine – it takes his breath away watching him. Sometimes Buck feels like he needs to pinch himself. He still can’t believe this side of himself was hidden away for so long. How he couldn’t see who he was after years of searching for it. But, if he came out before, who knows if he would have met Tommy? Who knows if he would have happiness like he’s found with his boyfriend? He’s right where he’s meant to be, when he’s supposed to be.

Buck turns his alarm off before it wakes Tommy. He kisses the top of his head and slides out from under his (beefy) grip to start getting ready for work. He does his morning routine, basking in the smell of Tommy’s shampoo and soap on his skin. He’s never going back to his old brand. Not when he can have Tommy’s signature cedar scent on him all day, reminding him who he’s going home to at the end of his shift. He throws on one of Tommy’s hoodies (for the same reason) and a pair of dark jeans.

When Buck makes it back to the bedroom, Tommy is still fast asleep – snoring louder now that his mouth isn’t muffled by Buck’s neck. He kneels on the bed and lays a quick kiss to Tommy’s bare shoulder. He really wants a proper goodbye kiss before work, but he’d rather let his boyfriend sleep.

But then Tommy turns over on his side, pulling Buck into a patented Thomas Kinard bear hug. “C’mere.” He grumbles, barely awake. His eyes are still closed.

“Babe, I have work.” He whispers into Tommy’s jaw. Tommy’s lucky enough to have today off. “I’m coming over later.”

“You’ll be coming alright.” He smirks, still in a sleepy daze.

“Okay old man.” Buck laughs, prying himself from his boyfriend’s grasp. He kisses Tommy again, this time on the lips. “Get some rest so I can hold you to that…” He can��t help it - He kisses him again, this time lingering for a few seconds.

“Mmm hmm.” He burrows his face further into the pillow, falling back asleep. Buck stands up and checks his watch, seeing he’s officially running late. Great. “Stay safe, love you.”

Buck freezes. He turns back to see Tommy is out. “Babe?” He questions. He doesn’t get a response. He’s not sure if Tommy was even awake when he said it. But he definitely said it. Said that all important four-letter word. A word they had yet to say to each other. Until now.

All Buck can think about is another four-letter word - Fuck.

[seat-safety-switch]

Modern society has done an incredible job of reducing the number of fire hazards around the home. You no longer cook over an open wood flame while wearing combustible cotton clothes and smoking next to a bunch of turpentine and wooly sheep. Well, most of you don't. Hey, stop calling the police. It's not a "hate crime," you're just being weird.

To make up for this, capitalism has provided us with lots of new things that catch fire. And, in keeping with the idea of constant, upward progress, some of them we have no fucking idea what part of them could catch fire. Do you know what a gallium-nitride field-effect transistor is? No? Then how do you know if the $2.50 (after coupon) phone charger you just got off a website called "Amazong" is running theirs in a safe design?

Being an informed citizen is more critical than ever before. I wanted to catch up with the exciting new future of houses catching on fire, so I went to the experts. I talked to a firefighter, who was actively pouring gasoline on an old farmer's shack out in the forest for some reason. He didn't want to give me his name, but even if he had, I probably wasn't paying attention. On my phone or something, got a notification about Wordle, you know how it is.

"What's the coolest new shit that catches on fire for no goddamn reason?" I asked him.

"Robots," came the reply, tinged with a bit of awe and jealousy. "You ever seen a Roomba burn down an entire barn?" He got distant at this point, seeming to replay a particularly exciting memory with a grin on his face. I took this as my cue to take his extra jerry cans (sharing is caring!) out of the back of his Jeep and make good my escape.

Yes, it does seem like our society's progress on fire protection has been set back temporarily. Even so, I remain confident that one day you'll be able to set off a big ol' pile of Roman candles in the middle of your house and not even have to repaint the kitchen afterward. Just don't let any robots in. Or firefighters.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 26 - I've Loved Everything About You That Hurts

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: They’re insane because I’ll try to write a chapter with no sex and they end up fucking, and then I try to do the sex in less words and now it’s emotional.

Chapter Title from G.I.N.A.S.F.S by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 25k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: The team drives to DC for a meeting with Singer. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut and average No Love Lost angst.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, much smut (p in v, oral f receiving, fingering, squirting) fluff, emotional angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Ben was not the brains. And he was fucking fine with that. He was the muscle, and he was goddamn good at it. Because while She was stronger than he was—She was stronger and brighter and more vital than the fucking sun—she shouldn’t have blood on her hands. Her hands weren’t fucking meant to be covered in blood. They were meant to tap in a smooth, unyielding pattern against every surface, and turn the pages of books, and hold Ben’s face as she smiled at him. She was meant to fucking smile, and only be near blood to sit with Ben as he washed it off himself.

She kept letting it stain her skin. She kept taking fucking bullets meant for others and covering herself in the mud that pussies like Homelander pushed her into. And that’s what Ben was here for. He was now certain that he wasn’t here for fame or glory or money, he was here to move in perfect fucking time with the woman he loved. To listen to Her giggle and mumble and snort, and give her the fucking world. To dance with Her in the kitchen, and joke with her about fucking everything, and keep his arm around her during dinner as She gave him a secret look that meant I love you, Benjamin, you grump. He was supposed to watch baseball as She frowned at the screen, turning his hand over in hers as she tried to follow the game. He was meant to hold onto the easier, better things—the warm, well-fueled light that inflated in his chest when Ryan hugged at him after training, or the chuckle he couldn’t stop from escaping his body when She pouted at him about something stupid, or the way She moaned when he fucked her into the mattress—and hack and claw his way through the worse parts.

Ben was meant to be the only person in the fucking world who did the dirty work for Her. She’d done enough, and even though he believed her more and more when she told him I’m okay, Ben would do everything in his fucking power to keep her okay. He knew he couldn’t stop Her from running into traffic, because she was fast and stubborn and still didn’t care if She got hit. But he’d jump in front of the oncoming car, and continue to make her understand that he fucking cared. Ben would never fucking recover if She got hit. And if all he could do was tell Her I fucking love you, stop thinking you’re weak and expendable when I fucking love you and adore you and need you, and then run into traffic with Her, he’d do it. Ben was meant to fucking defend Her from everything that haunted her at night, and he understood that now. That he’d never chase away the ghosts, and She’d never chase away his, but they could really easily fucking kill them together. If they were together, those fucking pussy ghosts didn’t stand a goddamn chance. 

So Ben was the muscle, in order to make sure that She didn’t have to be. It was another thing for him to do for Her, when She’d made everything so much more beautiful just by fucking existing near him, and fixing all his messes, and loving him. Still somehow fucking loving him, because Ben was almost goddamn certain some cosmic entity had made a clerical error and sent him the most perfect woman in history, instead of leaving him alone. Ben thought he was supposed to be, mostly, alone. Making empty promises to women he knew he didn’t really want, and to keep fucking moving until it was enough.

It hadn’t been enough. It had never been fucking enough. 

But he’d rested for one goddamn second—his head held against Her body, the most awful aching fucking pain he’d ever goddamn felt consuming him like a storm—and it had been good. She’d hummed to him like she loved him, and She fucking did, and stayed. He’d rested, and it had been enough. 

And now he knew that the fantasy he’d created—where life was so fucking happy because She was happy—wasn’t something he’d allow to be a fantasy. He couldn’t control anything about Her, but he could keep her happy. And if Her nightmares were of blood, he’d never let her see fucking blood again. He’d hide everything that was blue—if they had a son, the kid would have to just fucking deal with green—and shoot out whatever fucking ceiling fans made her cry. He’d drive her everywhere, half because he was over a hundred and had never seen someone speed like She did, and half because she was afraid of heights, and shouldn’t have to use a single goddamn plane. He’d yell at whoever was in charge of bridges until they built one to Rome, and the rest of their fucking lives would be happy.

That was a life he wanted to live. Where he was resting with Her, and they were both happy. And Ben would fucking choke on blood and dirt and mud until it was a reality. 

Which is why he was losing his fucking mind as they entered that part of this war where it wasn’t about muscle anymore. It was about careful moves and well chosen words, and it was the only goddamn battle Ben couldn’t fight for Her. He wasn’t fucking stupid, but he wasn’t even fucking close to understanding whatever the hell went on in Her perfect, clever, insufferably brilliant brain. He knew how She thought—because he knew Her and loved Her and cared for Her—so when something happened that made her eyes grow glazed and her breathing become mechanical, Ben knew he had to hold her until she stopped thinking the only stupid thoughts she was capable of thinking.

That she was bad, when she was actually the only truly good thing in the world. 

That she was weak, when she fucking wasn’t. 

That she didn’t matter, when she mattered more than fucking anything, and sometimes it stabbed him deep in his arteries that she still didn’t get that. 

Ben knew how to chase those thoughts away. He was smart enough to know how to worship and tend to her, and to know when she just needed him at her side.

But Christ, he wasn’t smart enough for this shit. For the CIA and Singer and Edgar and Sage messes. This was Her territory. And Ben could stand at her side, but that was the only fucking way he could help, and it was driving him out of his goddamn mind.

What was worse, though, was that She was fucking confused. And that’s how Ben knew they were fucked.

Because not a single goddamn person could figure out what the fuck the keys were for. 

As they’d left the safe house, Neuman had stopped them. In reality, Neuman had stopped Her and Ben had simply fucking refused to leave them alone. He’d received several irritated glares from Neuman, but She’d moved her free hand to hold Ben’s forearm—in a silent request to keep his hand in Her’s, to stay at her side all the goddamn time—so Ben had stood tall and proud next to her, keeping her safe. Just by being there, like She’d told him to. Neuman could look fucking pissed at him all she wanted, Ben wasn’t going anywhere.

“You were at Red River,” Neuman had watched them carefully, arms crossed as she blocked their way down the stairs. “Did you get it?” 

There had been a pause as She examined Neuman, before finally nodding, her tone flat and  bored. “Yeah, we did. We’ll get it to Edgar-“ 

“What is it?” 

She’d blinked at Neuman. “Does it matter?” 

“Of course it matters,” Neuman had said Her name with an eye roll, and Ben had felt something bloody and zealous tense in his body. “Edgar raised me to be a lot smarter than just blindly trusting him, so I want to know what it is.” 

“And if I don’t tell you?” 

“Oh, come on.” Neuman’s voice had been vaguely amused, giving Her a flat look. “We both know you’re going to tell me. You trust me enough to bring Ashley here, and whatever it is I bet you’re debating whether or not you should give it to Edgar. I can help you decide.”

Ben hadn’t been debating shit. It was keys. Who gave a fuck about keys. As far as he had known, they’d toss the keys to Edgar, settling the debt, and figure out what the fuck to do with the V.

And that was another fucking reason why She was the brains. She’d studied Neuman—fingers tapping on Ben’s arm with lips pulled between her teeth—and found a conclusion that satisfied her enough to reach into Ben’s pocket and pull out the keys, holding them up for Neuman to see.

“Keys.” She’d jingled them with a shrug. “Got an idea what they’re to?”

Neuman hadn’t. Neuman had just looked fucking confused, and helped with goddamn nothing. Neuman had stared at the keys, bluntly stated that she didn’t know what they could possibly unlock, all of Edgar’s property assets were seized and all of Vought’s buildings used electronic locks, and suggested they figure out what they were for before giving them to Edgar. And—based on Her drawn, too-neutral face and the spark of indigence in her eyes—She’d already known all that, and had no intention of giving Edgar a goddamn thing until they knew what the hell was going on.

And now they were even more goddamn late to get back to the compound, and make the drive to DC. She’d volunteered to drive them back, and Ben, Hughie, and Kimiko had exchanged silent looks of not a fucking chance in hell. 

“I’ll be safe-“ 

Ben had drawled Her name, cutting off her protests as Hughie and Kimiko moved to the front of the car. “You will not be fucking safe. You’re worse than Butcher, and if you wreck his car we’re going to have to deal with his bitching for the rest of our goddamn lives.” 

“But-“ 

He’d tugged Her into the back seat, holding her half on his lap and kissing her pretty, pouting mouth until she relaxed in his arms. We’re going to be fucking fine. If Singer gets all goddamn pissed about us being late, he can shove it in his dick hole. 

A small smile had played on her lips, still pressed against Ben’s. Gross.

Her heartbeat had remained steady under Ben’s hands for the rest of the—perfectly fucking legal and safe—drive, and when they’d stepped off the elevator they’d been greeted by MM’s assessing glare and scowl.

“What the hell took you so long.” 

“Um,” Hughie had glanced back to Her—tucked under Ben’s arm—with a stutter of Her name and pallid face. “Do you want to-“ 

“You know what,” MM had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “I don’t care. Kimiko, you and Frenchie are holding down the fort with Ryan. You three,” he’d turned his glare to Her, Ben, and Hughie. “Get ten minutes to pack. We’re rolling out in fifteen no matter who the fuck is in the limo.”

She’d blinked. “The limo-“ 

“Van’s still scrapped,” MM had muttered. “And we can’t fit six grown ass adults in a minivan or Butcher’s car. We’re renting a limo.”

Ben had no complaints about that. He didn’t have to wear a damn seatbelt in a limo, and it was a very opportune and appropriate place to hold Her in his lap as they drove without groans and pointed glares from their prude fucking team. If a life of luxury had taught him anything, it was that limos were meant to hold beautiful women, and he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t hold his beautiful woman—the most beautiful, perfect fucking woman who he fucking loved—when he was given the opportunity. So he’d let Her pull them back to their apartment, changing as she stuffed their shit into a suitcase, and taken over when her heartbeat became too fucking fast and her glare at their clothing became almost violent.

“I’ve got it,” Ben had walked up behind Her, wrapping his arms over Her shoulders and kissing Her neck until she let out a breath that didn’t sound fucking mechanical. “Don’t lose your damn mind, Sunshine, I can fucking pack.”

She’d nodded slowly, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t,” he’d muttered, leaning down to kiss under Her jaw, and felt something light and perfectly fucking mind-numbing wrap around his brain like a crown as she made a high, breathy sound. “Go get changed, darling.” 

She’d let Ben guide her to the dresser, and begun to hum under her breath as she’d changed.

“Rainbow Connection.” He’d grunted as she’d returned to his side, hanging off Ben’s arms as She surveyed his packing job.

Her smile had been all content, easy joy, and Ben whole fucking heart had skipped. Then she’d started to actually fucking sing, and he’d genuinely considered just letting the team leave without them. Her voice was like honey and summer rain and something peaceful and strong that Ben hadn’t heard before Her, and never wanted to stop hearing for the rest of his fucking life. The only thing that kept him from staying here, where She was safe and happy and the whole goddamn world was just color and light and her perfect fucking smile, was that she’d kick his fucking ass if they missed this meeting.

They’d had five more minutes, though. And that was more than enough time for Ben to spin Her around until she was dizzy and giggling, swaying in his arms to the instruments that weren’t really there as She sang, looking at him with such infinite and impossibly fucking ceaseless love.

This was the fucking shit worth fighting for. This was where Ben was goddamn supposed to be. And even as he’d kept his arm over Her shoulder—letting Her drag the suitcase behind them and grabbing his shield before they left the apartment—Ben didn’t fucking want to go. He wanted to stay right here, and let this ungrateful world that kept fucking hurting Her crumble.

But She wouldn’t let that happen, and part of why Ben loved Her—there were countless fucking reasons, and the world would probably be swallowed by the Sun before he’d finished naming them all—was because she loved fucking everything. She had a goddamn unfathomable amount of love to hold in Her body, and most of it might be for Ben, but it still spilled into everywhere that Ben could see. Music sounded better, and jokes were funnier, and water quenched his thirst faster when she was around. The only thing Ben remained at her side was hungry. For more of this fucking beauty, and whatever bit of love She’d spare for him. And as long as She kept loving the world, he’d defend it for her. If Ben had a goddamn say in anything, the world wouldn’t fall to ruin until She told him to burn it.

And She wouldn’t. So Ben had to kiss Her head and mutter that he loved Her—just in case she hadn’t heard him the million other times he’d said it—and stay watchful and dependent at her side. Walk with her to the elevator, out to the parking lot, and over to a sleek, black limo that already had the engine fucking running.

“Bout fucking time,” Butcher had grunted, jerking his head to the limo doors as they approached. “We were two bleedin seconds from leavin you twats behind. I’m drivin, which means I’m in fuckin charge, and that means no hanky panky in my bloody limo.”

She’d wrinkled Her nose as Ben opened the door. “Hanky Panky? What are you, a fucking grandmother? You sound older than he does.” 

Butcher had scoffed as She’d bumped Ben’s shoulder. “Shut it, Love, least I know how fuckin wifi works.” 

“I know how wifi works,” Ben had grumbled into Her ear as Butcher turned away. “You put in the numbers and the radio shows you the internet.”

“That’s,” She’d paused, tilting Her head as Ben pulled her into the limo. “Not wrong. Good work, Pretty Boy.”

He’d grunted, shifting them until She was on his lap, not sparing a goddamn glance to the rest of the team. “I didn’t fucking miss the old shit, brat. I’m not-“ 

“Fucking old,” She’d grinned at him, voice dropping into that dog shit impression of Ben that She’d only gotten worse at. “You know better than any damn pussy fucker, Sunshine, that I am not old.” 

He’d rolled his eyes, kissing at the base of Her neck, and MM had let out a very loud cough that almost made Ben bash his brains in, because it caused Her beautiful, perfect face to twist away from him.

“Sorry, MM-“

MM had cut Her off with a heavy, almost pained sigh. “It isn’t that shit. I mean, we’d all really appreciate if you toned it the fuck down for the drive, but I’ve given up on trying to stop you motherfuckers from humping like dogs in heat all the goddamn time.”

She’d flushed, and Ben had taken over. “The fuck do you want then-“

“The Cornucopia.” MM had looked between Ben and Her and Hughie with a raised brow. “What the hell is it.”

She’d reached into her jacket pocket, pulled out the keys, and tossed them across the limo to MM. He’d blinked at Her, she’d explained Red River as Ben added some very fucking helpful nods and Hughie jumped in with small, stupid details that didn’t seem like they mattered, but She’d thanked him for anyways. 

And now, after a whole goddamn hour of sitting in the limo, they’d made no progress in figuring out what the fuck to do with the keys. Everyone had coughed up fifty dollars to Annie for Her bet of any item that’s not a bucket—Annie had forgiven Her debt, and Ben had taken Annie’s dish duty for two fucking months to make up for his own—and they’d passed them around the group for everyone to examine like they’d suddenly fucking have Vought Sex Dungeon engraved on the side.

“Maybe they’re to a storage unit?” Annie looked around the group, fidgeting with the keys in her hands, and MM shook his head.

“No, they’d have a label on them. And then we’d have to worry about-“

“What the fuck is in the storage unit.” She mumbled, leaning Her head back onto Ben’s shoulder. “I mean, no matter what those keys probably lead to the actual Cornucopia. It can’t just be keys.”

“But it’s different, right?” Hughie leaned forwards as he spoke, arms on his knees. “If it’s a storage unit, or a box, or, like, a whole building? And it matters that they’re keys, I mean that sort of, um, narrows it down.”

Ben frowned, opening his mouth to ask Hughie how the fuck that narrowed a goddamn thing down, when She squeeze his arm over her stomach.

A lot of Vought buildings don’t use physical keys, they use keycards. And those keys don’t look old, so it’s not a warehouse that just hasn’t been modernized.

Ben reached his hand up to tilt Her head back, moving her full attention from Hughie to him. What the fuck do you think it is.

I don’t know. She sighed, pulling Ben’s arms around her a little tighter. I mean, I have guesses, but-

What are they.

Ben could see Her teeth as they tugged at her lower lip, her fingers tapping against the back of his hand. They’re just theories, and none of them are concrete-

He grunted Her name in his head. Tell me your fucking theories.

They don’t-

If you say matter, I’ll crash the fucking car.

Grumpy. She gave him a fake pout, and Ben hauled her a little further up his chest, kissing the crook of Her neck.

Tell me. I won’t interrupt you, and you can talk them out. That always fucking helps you. 

Her fingers stilled against him, and when Ben pulled back she was watching him with something so gentle and adoring in her eyes it nearly fucking knocked him out. He could feel the full fucking force of Her love, crashing into his body and making everything so good. There was a soft smile playing on Her face, and Ben didn’t understand it. That was the smile she gave him when he said something supportive to Ryan, or grumbled an agreement with Butcher, or exchanged short, curt nods with MM. It was the smile She gave him when he made her pancakes, or proved he’d been listening to Her rant about nothing, or she caught him humming one of her songs in the shower, and none of his scowling or protests could deter her teasing.

I love you, Benjamin. Her voice was almost whispering in his head, and she reached up to trace the lines of his face. I really love you.

I fucking know that-

No, you don’t. She brushed hair from Ben’s eyes, and let out a small sigh. I love you so, so much. I love you, Ben. I really fucking love you.

Something felt almost fucking radiant in Ben’s body. It wasn’t the nuke, because that felt violent and hateful and still fucking painful, even within Ben’s control. This was comfortable and open and so fucking painfully glorious it might drive him mad. It was so goddamn strange, and easy, and he’d felt it before but not quite like this. This felt like when he’d rested against Her, but without any of the pain or the lump of failure in his throat. So—though he still didn’t fully fucking understand what she meant, Ben did know She loved him and never fucking doubted it—he nodded, and dropped his face back to her neck. I love you too, Sunshine. Talk.

It could be an apartment or house that the feds missed. It’s likely Edgar’s and not Vought’s, because if it’s important enough to hide Vought would’ve already taken it. Sage would’ve taken it. Maybe it’s an incredibly well-kept secret, and Sage is looking for it, and that’s why Edgar wants it now. But if it’s that, it’s probably not a house, because what would Sage need with a house. I don’t think it’s going to be something small, because Cornucopia implies plenty, and Edgar isn’t someone who misuses words. My bet is on a warehouse that Edgar’s keeping a lot of shit in. Vanessa seemed worried about what we’d do with it, which makes me think it’s something dangerous. She turned Her head, resting it against Ben’s. But that’s all I have.

Ben rolled his eyes. Still a fuck ton more than everyone else.

Shut up. She whacked Ben’s arm lightly, and he could feel her smile brushing against his forehead. What’s your bet.

My money is on your fucking money, darling.

That’s very sweet, but not the slightest bit helpful.

Tough shit, I’m not changing my answer. Ben nipped at Her slightly, smirking at the small squeak that left her lips. You’re the smartest one here by a damn mile. Money on you is safe fucking money.

Love has made you stupid, Benjamin.

No. He drew back up, his grin unrestrained as he took in Her perfect, pretty face, and her sharp, amused eyes, and all Her fucking love and adoration for, and knew that all of it was fucking his. Ben got to have this. He loved Her like she deserved, so he got to be the one she looked at with a smile and watched like he was everything. Love has made me smart as fuck. Which is why I know to put money on you, beautiful. Because you’re always fucking right.

They were so fucking close, Ben’s breath passing into her mouth, and Christ, She was going to kill him. Her lips had parted slightly, her hands over Ben’s arms—holding them in their rightful place against Her—gripping him like she was going to fall down, and She wanted him. Her thighs were rubbing for friction against his body, and her heartbeat had picked up, and Ben was going to fuck Her in the back of the limo. Everyone else was just going to have to suck it the fuck up, because She fucking wanted Ben and he wasn’t capable of denying her anything. 

Then MM said Her name, and Ben almost bit through this tongue at the way She squirmed above him and made his cock jump, and the way she was still holding onto him, and the fucking smell and feel of Her above him, and Christ he needed to fuck her-

“Catch,” MM grunted, and Ben grabbed the keys flying through the air before She even had time to react. “That wasn’t mean for you-“ 

“Shove it up your ass, MM.” Ben tucked the keys into Her pocket, holding MM’s glare. “What do you want.”

She pinched Ben’s arm. Rude, Benjamin-

He shouldn’t just fucking throw shit at you-

You throw things at me all the time- 

No, I don’t, you throw shit at me all the damn time, because you’re fucking mean to me- 

You’re invincible, Pretty Boy, I think you’ll survive some paper-

MM let out a loud, overdramatic cough. “If you can listen to me for five minutes, I’ll let you dumbasses brain-fuck each other all you want. Think you can make it five fucking minutes?”

Ben had no interest in making it five minutes, and She didn’t either. He’d shifted against Her, pressing himself into her ass, and her breath had hitched as her heart began to stumble in her chest. But She was too fucking kind and good and perfect, so She nodded, and MM continued. 

“You have to keep those on you,” he said, voice firm and jaw set. “And no making any moves with them until we’re all on board, this could be dangerous. That goes for everyone!” MM raised his voice, glare turning to the front of the limo. “That means you, motherfucker. No stealing the keys and going all vigilante!”

Butcher snorted from the front. “I ain’t the one for you to worry about, Mate. If anyone’s goin fuckin rogue, it’s Bonnie and Clyde over there.” 

“We’re not going to go rogue, Butcher.” She flipped off the divider between them and Butcher, a pretty glower on her face. “And if you try to steal the keys, I’ll burn your face off.”

“Fuckin shame, that’s my money maker-“ 

“Can we please not kill each other when there’s still two hours left of the drive?” Hughie had gone all fucking puppy-dog eyed—looking between Her and Butcher’s back like a whining child—and She gave him an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, Hughie.” She turned back to MM, and She needed to stop wiggling around on Ben’s lap or he’d go fucking insane. “Is that it?” 

When MM nodded, She twisted back around, dropping Her head into Ben’s chest, and sighed. Ben let Her stay there as Hughie, Annie, and MM trailed off into a conversation he wasn’t paying attention to, tangling his fingers in Her hair and kneading at her skin. Her heartbeat was a soft, even hum in Her chest, and he didn’t need to feel Her fingers tapping on his back or hear the chew of her tongue to know She was thinking. He didn’t push it—waiting for Her to speak first—because She fit naturally against him, and nothing in him felt wrong, so She was okay. Just fucking thinking.

Benjamin? 

He hummed Her name back, between their heads, and she exhaled against him. 

We didn’t tell them about the V. The vial of it we found with the keys. 

Ben paused, glancing over at their team. Do you want to.

I don’t know. I, Her arms around him tightened, and She looked up, meeting Ben’s eyes with a frown. I don’t want to give it to Edgar. I don’t trust whatever intentions he has with it. But I don’t want to make more supes. It’s fighting fire with fire, and it’s not- She cut herself off, eyes roaming Ben’s face like she’d find an answer there. It’s not fair.

None of this is fair- 

I know, She sat up a little, hands moving to cup Ben’s jaw. I know this isn’t about fair. But it’s still not fucking fair. I know you asked for this, for the V, but I didn’t. No one else did. And that’s so fucking unfair. It’s so unfair, Ben, and I don’t, I mean. She took a long breath. You remember how much it hurt, I can’t do that to someone. Even for the mission.

He began to trace patterns on Her waist, studying her almost glossy, pleading eyes. She wasn’t spiraling—Her heartbeat was too steady—but she looked lost. Unsure and so fucking tired that it made Ben’s whole head heavy. 

And he needed to help. Ben needed to make this fucking better for Her, whatever it goddamn took.

Do you know why I volunteered for the Vought trials.

She paused, tilting her head at him. To impress your dad, Butcher told me before we woke you up.

Yeah. Ben let out a dry chuckle, holding Her gaze. Did the cockfuck tell you if it worked?

He said it didn’t. Her fingers began to play with the hair of Ben’s beard as She frowned at him. Why?

Because I did this shit to myself, I made myself Soldier Boy, and it didn’t mean a goddamn thing. Everyone loved me, and nobody gave a fuck about me-

I give a fuck about you, She gave him a small, sweet, toothless smile, and Ben didn’t even fucking bother to stop himself from returning it. 

If you’d let me talk, brat, Ben drawled between their heads, dropping his brow to Hers. I’m fucking getting there. I missed my own mother’s funeral because my father somehow managed to outlive her, and I didn’t want to see his old, ugly, evil fucking face. My whole goddamn life was about being Soldier Boy, I never had a single pussy fucker I trusted, and I wasn’t aging so I decided to just keep damn waiting until this proved worth something. And you, he squeezed his arms around her, brushing his lips against Hers in a slight, soft motion. Are worth something. I waited a fucking lifetime, and I found it.

She made a small, choked sound, and Her eyes on Ben’s were filled with all that love he could feel everywhere around him. In Her, and traded between their body, and making everything so fucking good.

I love you, Her voice was soft in his head, her hands holding Ben’s head against Hers. But I don’t-

Ben had to spell it out for Her. He’d expected that. The one fucking thing she never seemed to get was that She was the whole fucking world, and Ben would follow her everywhere. I love you. I fucking adore you, and it’s not fair that you’re cleaning up all the goddamn messes I helped make in your name, before I even fucking knew you.

In my-

I was Soldier Boy to make this shit worth something. Everything I did was for whatever the fuck would be worth something, and that’s you. I was just a fucking dumbass who did it wrong. Love has made me smarter, Sunshine, because I’m doing it right now, but I still did it fucking wrong before. And I made messes, and now the woman I love has to clean them up because none of this shit is fucking fair. That V is my V, that they made to make you, and that’s it. Butcher might end up with us, but it’s you and me. We can flush that V down the toilet, or throw it off a fucking building, but that’s it. It’s not fair for you to make that call, so we’re taking it off the goddamn table.

She was silent for a second, and when She spoke she was combing her fingers through Ben’s hair, mouth dropped in a soft frown. You didn’t make these messes, Ben.

Yeah I know, fucking Homelander- 

No. She gave a small shake of her head. Not Homelander either. That's the worst part, I think. That all of this is so fucking unfair, and no one person can pay for it.

What the fuck are you talking about.

She sighed. I’m saying that I can’t blame anyone. That none of this is fair, and I can’t blame Homelander for all of it. Voguelbaum created him, and Stillwell enabled him, and- 

I fucking helped in making him- 

But they didn’t tell you to. And you didn’t make the system that he’s thrived in. You helped build it, to a degree, but not all of it. And I don’t blame you. I’ve told you that. I’ve never blamed you for how unfair this is, or what happened to me.

And I’ve told you that you fucking should- 

But I don’t. She searched his eyes, her own almost pleading. I really don’t. I love you, Benjamin, and I don’t really care for Soldier Boy, but I haven’t ever blamed you for this. Even before you were my Ben, I never blamed you.

He still didn’t fucking understand Her. She should blame him. This shit was unfair, and they both knew that fair didn’t matter, but Ben would still never be properly fucking worthy of Her. He’d never make up for how he’d set in motion things that had goddamn hurt her. But She was still curled in his lap, calling him mine, and looking at him like he was worth something. 

Why.

Do you know the Bhagavad Gita?

Ben gave Her a flat glare. You know goddamn well- 

It’s Hindu scripture. And there’s a really famous passage that says “I am become death, shatterer of worlds.” It means the soldier isn’t responsible for the deaths of the war. You were, sort of, a soldier. And you did benefit, and you were a real fucking asshole, but you were willingly blind. You committed atrocious, and didn’t think twice, because that’s what soldiers are meant to do. You aren’t a victim, but these messes aren’t just yours. A lot of people helped you make them. Vought gave you compound V, and the government signed off on the trials, and your father told you that you were worthless and you wanted a way to prove him wrong. You were an unstable dick, but you didn’t tell them the solution was to make Homelander. And you didn’t raise Homelander, or tell him to hurt me. You’ve been one of the only people who’s tried to stop him from hurting me, and that’s why I don’t blame you. Many, many people contributed to this, and none of them have ever repented. You’re repenting, and this will always be fucking unfair, but it’s you and me. You’re not a soldier anymore. You’re fighting for people you care about instead of power or glory, and you’re trying to help me fix this, and I love you. And that’s what matters.

She was fucking perfect. Ben hadn’t followed half the damn words She passed down their connection, but he understood the gist. She was still too good, too kind, too fucking forgiving, and She loved him. This wasn’t fucking fair, but he was doing everything in his goddamn power to make it easier for Her, and she fucking loved him. Ben bumped Her nose with his, and a smile tugged at her lips.

Lot of smart fucking words to say you love me and don’t blame me.

Well, you weren’t fucking getting it, Pretty Boy. That’s not my fault. She pressed a light kiss to Ben’s check, humming against his beard. Thank you.

Don’t-

Nope. Thank you. I love you, and thank you.

Ben sighed, and let it the fuck go. He had a lifetime to finally get Her to stop fucking thanking him for things he was supposed to be doing. He was meant to love Her, and listen to her, and hold her like this, so she needed to stop fucking pretending it was some sort of labor he needed thanks for. But for now, as Her head dropped down to his shoulder and she buried her face in his neck—warm breath fanning over his skin, a light touch tracing over his bicep—Ben let this be enough. She—all by her goddamn self—was more than fucking enough, and so he dropped it.

I love you too. He muttered in Her head, something relaxing and blooming in his chest as she smiled against him. Whatever the hell you want to do with the V, we’ll do it. And my vote is flushing it down the goddamn toilet. You and I are strong enough to kick Homelander’s pussy dick into his asshole all by our goddamn selves.

Her nose wrinkled. Gross.

Shut up. He moved his hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her hair until she was molded against him. You fucking love it.

I do. There was a moment of silence, Her fingers still tracing over Ben’s skin before resting against his chest. Ben?

He grunted, keeping his hand around her and against Her in steady patterns. Circles on her hips and hair wrapped between his fingers, her skin soft under his touch and heartbeat in an even rhythm Ben knew better than his own.

You’re worth something to me as well. 

I know-

No. Let me finish. She pushed up on him, holding his gaze with an almost anguished intensity. You’re worth everything to me. You are everything to me. I love you and adore you and I give so many fucks about you it’s insane. You’re my whole life, Benjamin, now and after. And you make all of this worth something for me as well.

The radiant warmth was everywhere inside of him now, but it was fed by the ache. The way Her voice in his head was pleading, like she needed Ben to understand, and if he didn’t it might hurt her. The way Her hands were curled in his shirt as she held herself up—like she was forcing herself not to collapse against him—and her words were wrapping over Ben’s body and seeping in his skin, all of it born from Her love for him. And it all made the ache in him slide into his throat, and tug at his tongue to say a million fucking things he didn’t have words for.

Simple was easier. The only words that never failed to make Her smile, and set her heart back to an even rhythm. The only thing he fully knew how to be certain of in the entire goddamn universe.

I love you, Sunshine.

Her face split into a soft, gentle smile. I love you too, Benjamin.

She fucking loved him, and that was rooted so deeply inside of Ben that he’d never stray from it. It made him stronger, holding him in a place he knew and loved and wanted to defend. He pulled Her a little higher up his torso, dropping his head to top of her chest and just fucking living there. Where her heartbeat was the loudest, and everything felt fucking good.

They’d worry about all this shit later. They had a whole fucking day ahead of them to worry about Singer and Her stepfather, and Homelander and Mallory and Edgar. And they’d spent months that felt like lives worrying about all these fucking messes, and Ben had spent lives before that making them without ever resting, or feeling fucking satiated by it.

He was satiated here. Leaning into her, with Her legs wrapped around his body and her head resting over his. Her body was slumped over him, every hitched breath when Ben ran a hand up her thigh or traced down her spine brushing against Ben’s ear, and this felt right. This felt fucking right, and Ben didn’t think he’d felt something this plainly natural in his life. It kept amazing him—over and fucking over—how he’d spent his whole life tearing things apart when all he’d had to do was fucking wait. It had made it easier when She’d been away from him and asked him to just wait for Her, because he had a lifetime of goddamn practice waiting for Her already. Waiting for something that wasn’t fucking salvation—because She hadn’t fixed him or saved him, that was fucking stupid—but better.

She wasn’t a cure. She was too silently wrathful to be a cure, made of too many sharp, spiking parts that she cut off for others to consume for Her to be a cure. She wasn’t for others, she just didn’t know how not to be. She was something that was meant to be worshipped, that had been made into a fucking offering. Turned into something like a cure, but never able to do it right, because it’s not what she was supposed to be.

Cures were made for something deadly and diseased. And Ben wasn’t a fucking saint, but he wasn’t sick. He’d just been angry. He’d been furious and bitter and vigilant, so he’d made himself lonely half by choice and half by how vicious his bite was when he was wronged.

She bit too. She didn’t cower or maul or run. She just bit back, and Her bite was a match to his. Less brute force, but more targeted. Right into Ben’s neck, and feeding something in him he hadn’t known was hungry. So She wasn’t a fucking cure, because cures took things away. She’d made him more. Given him something he’d always wanted, and never known existed. And now Ben would always be hungry, but he’ll be satiated. He found purpose. He’d had waited his whole fucking life for purpose, and it was Her. This was a goddamn purpose, something he was meant to do and be and have and give.

Are you hungry?

Ben leaned back, meeting Her eyes with a frown. What. 

I’m thinking about dinner. We’re staying in a hotel tonight, and the meeting with Singer isn’t until the morning, and I’m hungry. 

She gave him a fake pout, and Ben seriously fucking considered throwing Butcher out of the car to get Her to a fucking McDonalds. She probably liked McDonalds, everyone fucking liked McDonalds, and she always ate Ben’s burgers, so it wasn’t like they’d get fucked by the menu.

Just in case, he asked, What do you want?

She hummed, her fingers tapping against Ben’s jaw. What do hotels usually have? Lobster? Do they have lobster? 

Fancy hotels have lobster. And if this one doesn’t, I’ll find you some- 

Ben. She gave him a flat look, even as Her love swept through him like a wildfire. Where are you going to find me lobster. 

I don’t fucking know, the ocean- 

We’re on a river, those don’t have lobsters. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Fine, smartass, another restaurant- 

They’d make you pay for that, Pretty Boy, and we’re broke. If you keep losing bets at this rate, you’ll be on dish duty until after we kill Homelander.

What the fuck else am I supposed to do, they won’t forgive my debts like they do yours- 

Because you lose all the time. She shrugged, dropping Her brow to Ben’s as she smiled at him. And I cover you, when I have the money. 

We should both have the fucking money. Ben’s hands gripped Her body against him, and she must have read his next thought on his face, because She frowned and shook her head. 

Do not use the meeting with Singer to demand a pay raise, Benjamin. That’s not what it’s for. 

It’s not a pay raise, my love, it’s a fucking union. You and I aren’t going to do more of their shit for them until they give us some goddamn money- 

We both know we’re not going to unionize. She sighed, her breath passing into Ben’s m. We might not be legally dead anymore, but we’re still not CIA employees. 

We should be-

You’d have to do an interview with Mallory. Amusement danced in Her eyes, a small smile playing on her lips. And they’d run a background check. You can’t even do a background check, Benjamin, your social security number is negative five. 

Shut up. I am not fucking old, and we still need some goddamn money. I’ll tongue Butcher’s taint before I become these pussies fucking maid-

We’ll make money. She pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth. If escorts don’t pan out, we can try birthday parties. I know a guy who has a very authentic Soldier Boy costume, and I think he’ll let me borrow it if I give him a blowjob.

Ben snorted. He’d let you borrow it if you asked him real pretty and made him a bagel, Sunshine, but I’m not doing fucking birthday parties- 

You wouldn’t even have to talk. I’d stand behind a curtain, and I can say everything for you. The kids would never know the difference. She grinned as Her voice in Ben’s head dropped to that gravelly impression of him. Hi, I’m Soldier Boy. New York. Eagles. Baseball. Boobs. Don’t do crack, kids, do Benzedrine. Don’t wear blue, it’s a pussy color, wear green. And if you’re ever in a fight, go for the other guy’s dick. I’m a million fucking years old, and I sing Rainbow Connection in the shower when I think nobody can hear, and I know you can fucking hear me Sunshine, but you don’t goddamn count-

Ben buried his head in Her neck, sucking and biting that one spot until her words trailed off into a tiny whimper.

Brat.

Cunt. Her voice was soft and needy, and Ben smirked against Her, kissing a wet trail up her jaw and over her face. Ben-

I love you so fucking much, Sunshine. He kissed around her pretty, already open mouth, trailing his tongue over her lips. And if we didn’t have company, I’d fuck you right here.

Ben felt Her heartbeat pick up under his careful, firm touches, but she didn’t pull away. We get our own room tonight, She let out a small, breathy sigh as Ben deepened the kiss. If you can keep it in your pants for a little while longer, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me.

How much longer.

She pulls away from him slightly, reaching between their bodies to grab Her phone. She paused as she swiped at Her screen, looking up at Ben with a frown. We really need to get you another phone-

Later. How much longer until I get to fuck you. 

She wrinkled her nose at him. Horny old man- 

Needy fucking brat. Ben shifted Her above him, letting his half-hard cock push between Her thighs, gritting his teeth as her legs tightened around him. How much- 

An hour. She dropped her phone back between their bodies, wrapping her arms around Ben’s neck and lowering her face so their cheeks brushed. Think you can make it? 

Ben scoffed, moving one hand down to squeeze at Her ass and smirking at her soft squeak in his ear. I’ll manage, Sunshine. 

He wasn’t going to manage. They fell into an easy silence, Her body curled over Ben’s and her hands playing thoughtlessly with the hair at the nape of his neck, and the longer they stayed like that the more he needed her. She still smelled like that flower shampoo, but there was grass lingering over it, and a third smell that invaded Ben’s senses and so clearly just fucking Her. It was like the goddamn apples in their apartment, and chocolate, and warm smoke and the fucking sun. Ben didn’t have a better way to put it, because really it was just fucking Her. Like an aphrodisiac or song that tugged on something in his brain and called him home. Back to Her, closer to Her, always with Her.

It probably fucking was Her. That piece of her that was alive inside of him, growing stronger and stronger the longer it stayed. 

Ben had no fucking intention of letting it leave. If holding Her like this—sitting in complete goddamn silence and caring for every perfect piece of her in his arms and mind—was what this part of Her needed to thrive, he’d hold her like this forever. She lived in Ben because he was safe to her. She given this part of her to him—even if She hadn’t actually meant to—and he’d never fail Her and let it feel pain. 

He fucking loved Her, and she was all around him in every fucking way but the one that was starting to strain at his pant, and that sense of her everywhere wasn’t doing him any favors to make it through the hour. He wanted to make that piece of Her light up inside him, watch her perfect, beautiful face grow blissfully relaxed and adoring as he worshiped Her. Prove to Her that he thought she was too fucking kind and good for anyone at all, but he’d never let Her be wrong about him. If She said that Ben was repenting, he’d do whatever trial was laid out before him to prove Her right.

But as much as he wanted to bury himself deep inside of Her and mutter praise he meant and promises he’d always fucking keep, the hum of Her heart was growing slower and softer, and Ben realized she’d fallen asleep. He could feel a small amount of drool on his neck—her hair tickling his nose and her grip on his neck becoming slack—and he couldn’t stop the small smile that crept over his face. She was fucking safe here, where Ben was allowed to touch her in small ways that made her hum in sleep against his skin. Where he could trace patterns on Her hips, keep a steady arm around her waist, and let a hand move slowly up her spine to tangle in her hair until she fell further into him was a content sigh. Ben kept his breathing even and slow, his eyes on the rest of their team in a warning of keep it the fuck down, or I’ll crack your head open, so nothing could disturb her sleep.

She didn’t have a single fucking nightmare. No smoke rose from Her body, and no distressed, strangled sounds escaped her mouth. Everything in Ben felt right and a little high, so he knew she was really, truly, really fucking good. And when the limo finally stopped and Butcher turned to address them from the front, Ben’s respect for their team fucking doubled as a chorus of hissed be quiets filled the limo.

Butcher scoffed. “She’s a big girl, she don’t need a nap-“

“Butcher,” MM whispered, his tone and expression venomous. “If you wake her up, I’m not going to stop Soldier Boy from killing you.” 

“Oh, come off it, Mate-“ 

“She never sleeps well, you asshole,” Annie’s voice was hushed, her eyes turning to Ben’s. “When was the last time she had a real, full night of sleep?” 

Ben couldn’t fucking remember. Even after she’d stopped taking the suppressants, she still woke up screaming and wrapped and fire and sobbing about fucking blood. She fell back asleep easier now, but Ben had received countless fucking burns across his arms and face as he held Her down, trying to bring her back to earth before she flew off the bed and burned right through the fucking roof. She always healed the twisted for him if they weren’t gone by morning, and Ben always fucked Her after to chase off any useless goddamn guilt in her eyes, but it kept happening. He didn’t know how to fix it, other than only staying, just like she’d asked. 

Annie must have seen the clench of his jaw—images of Her perfect face empty and hollow and broken flashing in Ben’s brain, echoes of her screams ringing in his ears—because she turned back to Butcher with a glare. “You just have to lower your voice, Butcher. Don’t be a dick.”

Butcher’s attention darted to Her—still steadily asleep against Ben—and rolled his eyes as he dropped his voice. “We got four rooms, and all the lovey dovey cunts will be sharin.” Butcher threw keycards to MM and Ben, who caught their’s with ease, and Hughie, who made a small yelp as Annie’s arm shot out, catching it for him. “Meetin with Singer is at 8am, and we got to be there at 7. You lot will meet me here at 6, and I don’t want to see your sorry fuckin faces until then.”

Ben could live with that. It was a little past midnight, and six hours of sleep was a fuck ton more than She usually got, so he’d take it and rest at Her side until morning. He shifted Her in his arms—moving her carefully up his chest, looping one arm under her knees—and carried her out of the limo, into the back entrance of the hotel, and up the stairs. MM had grabbed their suitcase, and Ben gave him a silent, firm nod as MM pushed into their room.

A hand shot out before Ben could kick the door closed, and MM’s gaze bore into Ben’s skull, his voice low. “She okay?” 

She would be. As long as Ben could do a goddamn thing about it, She’d be okay for the rest of her fucking life. “She’s good,” Ben grunted, glancing down to Her perfect, peaceful face, half smushed into his shoulder, hair falling over her eyes. So fucking beautiful, and happily where she belonged. “I’m taking care of her.”

He wasn’t sure why he said that. It certainly wasn’t for MM’s fucking approval, because the only person whose approval mattered was Hers. And Ben did take care of Her. He took very fucking good care of Her, because he fucking loved her, and she was the most important person in the world. And he sure as fuck didn’t need to say that he took care of Her, because he proved that he did in his every waking moment. 

Even right fucking now Ben was carrying her to bed, holding Her like she was something holier than life—she was—and planning to stay at Her side all night. Wrap his arms around her and hold her in the dark, then march at her side in the morning to face whatever the hell Singer had ready for them. And then he’d figure out where they kept lobster in DC, and get her some. And that’s what fucking mattered. Showing Her she was good. Only saying he was taking care of her wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing if he didn’t keep doing it, over and over and over until they were the last people left in the world, and a long while after that.

But MM gave a short nod, and Ben realized that the man had just believed him. MM might not fully trust Ben—and if he was being completely fucking honest that was still an understandable call, Ben would shoot everyone in the fucking head if they became a threat to Her or Ryan—but he trusted Ben with this. With Her. He trusted that when Ben said she’s good, he was telling the truth. 

And he was. With a muttered reminder from MM not to be late in the morning and the door closing—leaving Ben and Her alone, together with the nightlights of the city casting shadows over her sleeping features—She was happy. Content as Ben laid her down on the bed, keeping one hand on her thigh as he unzipped their suitcase. He found one of his softer shirts and—a little selfishly, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel bad or give a fuck because She wore his clothing all the goddamn time anyway—changed her into it. She shouldn’t sleep in fucking jeans or her bra, so Ben carefully stripped her down—every movement debilitate and slow and silent so as not to disturb or wake her—and pulled his shirt over her body, kissing her brow before sitting at the edge of their bed and trying to figure out how the fuck to get them food.

This wasn’t the same hotel as last time, but shit had always worked the same at every hotel in history, so Ben figured it out. He read the directory, called room service, and ordered everything.

“And, um,” a nervous, soft-voiced woman was on the other end of the line, listing off more shit for Ben to add to his list. “Would you like dessert, sir?”

“Of course I want fucking dessert-“

Don’t be mean to the hotel staff, Benjamin. Ben cut himself off as Her arms wrapped around his torso, and looked down to see her head in his lap, her face buried in his abdomen. They’re doing their best, and it’s late. 

Ben sighed, letting his free hand wander into her hair, and grunted into the phone, “dessert is good. Add it.” 

“Do you have anything in mind, or would you like, um, all of it too?” 

Sunshine- 

I’d like ice cream. She hummed against him, and Ben felt her soft smile against his body. Whatever flavor you want. 

“Ice cream,” Ben muttered, his eyes locked on Her, tucked and resting against him, so fucking perfect. “Vanilla. Two of them.” 

A small giggle escaped Her. You’re very predictable, Pretty Boy. 

Shut the fuck up. 

“That will come to,” Ben heard the lady on the other end swallow, and there was a moment of static silence on the phone. “$492. Are you sure-“

“Get me the fucking food lady, and I’ll give you a 20% tip.” 

Ben had no idea how much that would be, but the woman seemed happy with it, because she gave him an eager agreement before hanging up the line. 

“Food will be here soon,” Ben muttered Her name, and his heart might’ve stopped fucking working when she rolled over in his lap, a beautiful, sleepy expression on her perfect face. “You’re-“ 

“Don’t say tired, or I’ll punch you.” She grumbled, poking at Ben’s chest with a pout. “You’re not allowed to do that right now.”

“I didn’t do fucking shit-”

“You were going to,” she mumbled, face flushing. “You were going to make me go to sleep.” 

“We both know,” Ben drawled, smirking as he traced his thumb over her lips. “That I can’t make you do anything, darling. You never fucking listen to me.”

She buried her face back into Ben’s body, words muffled against his skin. “Fuck you.”

“I did promise to.” He hummed, glancing at the red numbers on their bedside table, reading 12:49. “But you need fucking sleep. We’re moving real damn early tomorrow, and you-“

“How early?”

“Six.”

She sighed against him, and Ben felt the alarm of wrong. Something is very wrong, because She’s hurting and that’s the worst fucking thing in the universe. 

He grunted Her name, pulling lightly at her hair. “Look at me.” 

When She rolled fully onto her back—Her eyes not hollow, but glossed over and soft—she just watched him. Waited for Ben to speak, one of her hands reaching up to touch his jaw, the whole fucking world just them. Together.

“What’s wrong. And don’t say nothing-“

“I don’t want to go tomorrow.” She whispered, and Ben froze. She sounded so fucking tired, and it was wrapping around his head and dragging his body down. Down to Her, to soothe her, to touch her and fucking fix this. “I know we have to, but I don’t want to, Ben. I’m,” she took a heavy breath. “I don’t want to.” 

“Then we fucking won’t.” He snapped. It was pretty goddamn simple. He’d steal them a car, and they’d drive home. The rest of the team could handle this, and that was fucking that- 

“We need to.” She gave Ben a small, sad smile, and he felt like someone was fucking stabbing him. “You know we need to. I have to be there for this-“ 

“You don’t have to-“ 

“I do.” She sat up, twisting until their legs were tangled and she was leaning against him, holding Ben’s face in her hands. “I have to. I need to see him.” 

Ben's arms wrapped around Her body as he scanned over her face. Only inches from his, so goddamn sad and tired, a so fucking beautiful. “Muller.”

She nodded, and Ben’s was going to break his teeth. For that pussies' own sake, Muller better be too much of a goddamn coward to show face tomorrow, or Ben would damn the consequences and kill him. V or no V, he was still someone that was fucking hurting Her. As She spoke her voice was too quiet, and her eyes looked so goddamn far away, and Ben felt fucking sick.

“He never,” She swallowed, and Ben remained silent. Right now his job was to fucking listen, and he was damn good at it. Rubbing circles on her lower back, holding whatever of her gaze she gave him, and watching her the whole time. “He never acknowledged I was dead. Or alive. Or anything.” She sighed, leaning her brow against Ben’s. “I don’t want to talk to him, Ben. I don’t want to hear what he believes.”

“Believes-“ 

“About me.” She mumbled, Her eyes closed and heartbeat not fast, but uneven. “What Homelander and Sage have said, what Annie’s said, and-“ She shook her head, nose brushing Ben’s. “Everything. All of it. What I’ve done, and what happened to me. Who I might be, if I’m a whore, or bitch, or liar, or traitor-”

Ben muttered Her name, waiting for her to look at him before he spoke. “You’re not any of that. He’s not your fucking family. He’s a worthless pussy, and if he believes the wrong shit it doesn’t change the goddamn truth.”

“I know. I know, it doesn’t, but-“ 

“No.” Ben moved at hand up, pulling one of Hers off his face as kissing her knuckles. “No fucking but-“ 

“Please,” Her voice was barely a breath, and Ben’s whole body hurt as he fell silent.“I’m not worried about Muller, Ben. I’m worried about my,” Her hand tangled in Ben’s, her grip like iron as she took a long breath. “I’m worried about my mom. He’s just an extension of her, and whatever he believes-” 

She cut Herself off with a half-sob, and Ben let smoke curl between their fingers, not flinching away as heat started to burn his skin. He’d hold Her through this fall and catch Her at the end. He’d always fucking catch her, but he knew she had to fall first. Ben had to hear everything spiraling through her insane, perfect brain so he could get his words fucking right when it was his turn to speak.

“I,” She took a shaking breath, and there was something tight and curled in her throat that Ben could feel. “I know I shouldn’t care. It’s been years, and I shouldn’t care, and I’ve had worse things-“ She made another strangled noise, her heart bouncing around her ribs. “Worse things happen to me since. But it still hurts, everything hurts. She said I wasn’t strong enough to be alone, Homelander said I’m not strong enough, and I’m not, Ben, I’m not. I’m so tired. And I’m so sick of being tired, but I’m not, I’m not strong enough to just fucking be better-“

That was enough. Ben had all he fucking needed to pull Her back down, and he’d be damned if he let Her think for another fucking second that she wasn’t fucking everything. 

“You don’t need to be fucking better, you are better.” Ben tilted his head up, her words falling into soft tears that made something flail around in his gut, and kissed the space between her eyes as he muttered against her skin. “No matter fucking what, you’re better. You’re not whatever the fuck they think you are. Any of them. They don’t know you, Sunshine, I fucking know you. And you’re smart and good and kind and beautiful and a goddamn powerful fucking problem and you’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect, so stop being stupid.”

She made a choked sound, fully falling against him, and as her arms wrapped around Ben’s neck all Her love bloomed in his body. It hurt, it fucking ripped him apart inside as she sobbed into him, shaking slightly in his hands and clinging to him like he was an anchor. Something holding Her together, that she trusted to keep her safe, and She fucking did. Because Ben folded his body over hers, and touched her right, and waited for this to pass. It always fucking passed, and they both knew it would return, but then they’d just wait it out together once more. Every single fucking thing would pass but them. She’d stay planted in Ben, covering everything in him and the world, and if they burned they’d burn together. And that was where the love in her made this pain worth it by a million fucking fold. Because this hurt—this killed Ben and lined cracks along his skull, twisting and rotting something in his heart—but then it passed, and everything was warm. Turning the rot to smoke, healing every crack, and spreading through Ben’s veins like a fucking drug. Like something sacred, that everyone chased but Ben got to have. That he’d somehow managed to earn, just by loving Her and caring for her and staying.

So when this passed, and Her breathing still ragged but her heart growing even, Her voice in Ben’s head was soft but not weak. She couldn’t be fucking weak if she tried. I’m sorry.

Before Ben could grunt between them for her to never fucking apologize, She looked up at him with a beautiful, full-lipped, toothless smile, her face glistening with evaporated tears. 

What’s- 

I don’t think this is how meeting the parents is supposed to go. I think we’re supposed to have dinner at an Olive Garden and not talk about Homelander at all.

Ben snorted, kissing the top of Her head. I don’t give fuck about Olive Garden- 

That’s not very family-oriented of you, Benjamin- 

And I don’t give a fuck about your parents. I care about you, Sunshine, and I have no fucking interest in impressing idiots pussies who don’t. 

Her love was fucking infinite in Ben’s body, and nobody had ever fucking looked at him like that but Her. Like She believed him, but didn’t believe he was real. Would you, um, I mean I know we’ve been keeping Violet away from this, but after, my dad and my other siblings- 

He grunted Her name between them, and a pretty flush covered her face. Whoever you want me to meet, I will. But if I think they’re being asshole cockheads, I’m not fucking standing for it. I love you, and nobody is allowed to tell you who the fuck you are- 

You tell me who I am all the time, She gave him an amused look. You literally just told me who I was.

Ben rolled his eyes. That’s not the fucking same. I’m not a pussy dumb fuck talking out of my ass, you’re the love of my fucking life and you were being an idiot. You’re not weak, and I’m not going to let people who don’t goddamn know shit tell you that you are- 

She kissed him, soft and sweet, her hands gliding up his chest to hold his jaw. Thanksgivings are going to be really awkward, if you call my family a bunch of fucking pussies the whole time.

Ben smirked against her. Good thing those pussies aren’t invited to our thanksgiving.

Who is-

Nobody. It’s going to be me, you, and a massive fucking sex marathon. 

She giggled, and even though the sound was quiet, it was real. She was fucking happy, here, with Ben. Not even going to pretend we’ll invite our friends? 

No. Ben twisted his face in half-mocked disgust. We’re going to need the entire goddamn turkey to ourselves, to make sure you have enough energy. I will not have you fucking tagging out before we get started. 

All I hear, She pulled back, and that was Her full smile. Her wide, infinite smile that contained the whole universe and was made of something so fucking bright and vital Ben would never find anything like it if he tried. Is that you’re not denying they’re our friends. 

Ben’s eyes narrowed. Impossibly clever, beautiful, perfect fucking woman, backing him into corners and knowing him too fucking well. He didn’t have an argument out of it, because if he said they weren’t she’d push it and win—something starting with our friends care about me, and ending with and you trust them with Ryan and I—and if he just agreed he’d never hear the goddamn end of it, so his only avenue was to roll her onto her back, leaving sloppy, wet kiss all over her face as she laughed and let out blissful sighs, muttering brat and fucking love you, Sunshine against her skin and down her throat right up until someone knocked on the door.

Her eyes grew comically wide as Ben dumped their order of food on the hotel table, her face falling into a plainly adorable gape as she looked up at him. “Did you order thanksgiving? I can’t eat all of this-“

“Then take whatever the fuck you want,” Ben looped his arm around Her waist, kissing the top of her head as she leaned onto his shoulder. “And I’ll eat whatever you don’t.”

She smiled at him, tilting her head to kiss his cheek, and hummed against him. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a dog.”

He scowled. “I am not a fucking dog-“

“You are, my love. You’re a massive fucking puppy, and I adore you.” 

Ben is pretty goddamn sure his heart stopped working and then got jumpstarted within the same fucking millisecond. She’d tugged herself away from him—filling up one of the paper plates hotel services had brought up before shuffling back to the bed, waiting for Ben to join her with a patient, expectant gaze—and he had to make his feet move. He’d wanted to stay there for the rest of his fucking life, where She’d called him my love, and he’d understood why her heart always skipped when Ben said it. He was Her’s. Every single fucking part of Ben was Her’s, and he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about the dog comment, because She was fucking right. He’d follow her everywhere, and snarl at what threatened her, and taking whatever fucking scraps she offered him of her love.

He’d never have enough of Her love. It was better than any drug or drink or high, and it was for Ben. It was all goddamn his, and if that meant he had to be a fucking pathetic dog for Her, then so goddamn be it. Anyone would do that, love Her how she asked, because it made Her fucking smile and chased off the pain faster.

And Ben had learned that, in his life, he’d really only despised two people. He’d hated a lot of people, but that was hatred born of vengeance and a sour, white-hot fury that had festered in his body for most of his life and found an avenue out through the drums. Despising people wasn’t the same. It was born of true, raw, pure disgust and loathing. A channel for that fury that wasn’t about Ben’s own anger, but about twisting and morphing the fury into ardor and zealous protection. Turning the drums and wrath into something better, that targeted the only two pussy fucking idiots who made Her fucking cry. The only two asshole cum-fucks who knew exactly how to hurt Her, and weaponized it, making Her sob against Ben as she broke.

Nobody made Her fucking cry but Homelander and her mother. She made herself cry sometimes, but that wasn’t the fucking same. That was born of how much She cared and loved everything, and how she seemed to remember every goddamn thing anyone ever said and took it as gospel—when it fucking wasn’t—to who she was. When Homelander and her mother made Her cry, it was born of something evil. Something evil and cold and horrid and covered in bile and guts to carve her open. 

Ben would kill Homelander, if not for the world, for Her. And despite the truth that he had no fucking interest in trying to entertain anyone in Her life who made her fucking cry like that, he still wanted to meet her mother. Not to kill her, but just put the fear of God in her. Make the woman understand that her daughter was a goddamn miracle on Earth, and Ben was going to love Her until it was just them in a ruined world, watching the stars and laying in the grass and smiling. He’d love her like the perfect, dangerous, beautiful thing that had crawled to him covered in blood and dirt and grime that she was, wrapped in fire and still seeking warmth. Ben wanted to sneer at Her mother to never try to fucking bother them, because if the woman said one wrong thing to Her, Ben wouldn’t tolerate it. There wasn’t a fucking chance he was letting anyone make her look all fucking sad, when She was meant to be happy. He might not cut out tongues when people misstepped, but he’d stay wrapped around Her, a silent reminder to the world—to Her mother—that Ben loved Her, and she’d always fucking have him. However She wanted Ben, she’d get him. 

Ben would always hate that she never got to meet his mother, because they’d have fucking loved each other. His mother would’ve liked Her, a bit because everyone fucking liked Her, but mostly because She was better than Ben was. She was better thanany other pussy in the universe, and She was smart, and kind, and clever, and the type of beautiful his mother would’ve said made gods jealous. That was what his mother had always said he should find, even after he’d become Soldier Boy,and he’d never fucking gotten what the hell it meant before Her. He’d had countless beautiful women in his bed, and not one would’ve made gods jealous. They were just beautiful. There was so much fucking beauty in the world, and Soldier Boy got all of it, and Ben had decided that the made gods jealous shit was just something a mother told her son. 

He got it now though. She was the type of beauty that made gods fucking jealous. Because she was the type of beautiful they wrote stories about, made art and castles and temples for, and searched through the world to learn more words for beauty just to fucking compare Her to. And all the beauty in the universe lived inside of Her, and she was fucking perfect. So Ben’s mother would’ve loved Her, because she carried Ben’s whole fucking world just by existing. He’d have sat in silence as they talked about whatever the fuck mothers and daughters talked about, and She’d have hit him halfway through the conversation to ask him his opinion, then made a joke about his opinion with joy and love in Her eyes and Ben’s body, and he’d have smiled at Her, and when they stood up to leave his mother would’ve hugged Her and that would’ve been it. It would’ve confirmed something that Ben already fucking knew, but still wanted his mother to know as well. 

And something still sour and angry in Ben wished he could introduce Her to his father. One, quick meeting just to say fuck you, you old pussy. I am worth something, because I’m repenting, and I’m fighting for people I care about, and the most perfect woman in fucking history loves me, and she’s never wrong. Ben wouldn’t let his father speak to Her—he barely deserved to be in Her presence—but he’d brag about her. Tell his father that She was a brilliant fucking woman, and a fucking doctor, and never took any goddamn shortcuts, and She loved Ben. To tell his father that their last name would die with him, and he’d rot in a grave for the rest of time while She and Ben were fucking happy, and Ben gave her the world. 

He’d give this perfect fucking menace—curled at his side, wearing his shirt and eating chicken nuggets like a fucking animal—whatever she wanted or needed and asked for. His lungs and heart and guts out of his body, the sun to hold in her hands, a hundred fucking trees planted in her name. Ben would offer his life on a silver platter for Her to do whatever she pleased with it, which is why he almost snorted when She started stealing looks at his food, chewing on her lips and eyeing his fries like she hadn’t just practically fucking inhaled her own. 

He dumped them onto her plate without a word, and when Her face lit up with joy he didn’t fucking understand how anyone could fucking think to hurt Her. He was a little bias—not everyone was as fucking genius as Ben was to love her, or strong enough to be loved by her—but he still just didn’t goddamn get it. How a single goddamn pussy fucker could look at Her and consider being cruel to her. Even when he thought back to the beginning, Ben had never wanted to hurt her. He’d found Her annoying, and been mad about the whole borderline blackmailing shit, but he’d never wanted to make her cry. Her crying had always set off something primal and feral and confusing in his body, making his every thought this is fucking wrong. Something like Her shouldn’t hurt or be in pain. 

Ben coughed, and her pretty eyes shot up to meet his with a little bit of sauce hanging on her lip. Sauce that Ben got to wipe off with his thumb, eat, and smirk as Her mouth remained parted and her heart kicked into a faster gear.

“Ben-“

“I haven’t had a thanksgiving since the 50s.” Ben grunted, and wasn’t fucking sure where this was coming from. All he did know was that She fell silent to listen, and the words started to fucking vomit out of him, and he needed Her to understand that She was his family. That he’d never allow himself to be someone who made her cry. “And it was fucking shit. Food was fine, drinks were weak, and I went because my mother begged me to. Nobody seemed to get why I was there, my own family didn’t fucking know me because my father didn’t let my mom talk about me, and all I did the whole night was answer fucking Soldier Boy questions.” 

She blinked at him. “What are Soldier Boy questions?” 

“What was the war like,” Ben grunted. “If I shoot you will it hurt. Think you can fucking outdrink me or beat me in a race. Elvis and Sinatra a good time, Garland a good fuck. I wore my fucking supe suit there because I’d be shipping off to film some fucking movie in the morning, and my father didn’t look at me the whole time. I left early, and that was the fucking end of it. But,” Ben swallowed, and suddenly this was impossibly fucking difficult. He had to get this right. “I’d try it again. I could kill a turkey and you could burn it, and if you want the team we could fuck after they leave-“

“Ben.”

He cut himself off, and Her smile was so simply fucking sweet. It wasn’t the syrupy, over exaggerated and slightly crude one she gave when people tried to make her be nice when the situation didn’t fucking call for it. This was all fucking love and affection and want for Ben.

“When we get to November,” she whispered, and Ben’s whole body was frozen in place. As if, should he blink, he’d miss a single word or moment of her love. “I’d love to do thanksgiving with you and the team. I’d love to do anything with you, except killing the turkey.” Her nose wrinkled. “That’s gross.”

She’d love to do anything with him. She’d love to do anything with Ben.

“Good,” he muttered, moving their plates off to the side and pulling her with him towards the headboard, moving her to rest between his legs, his arms wrapping over her stomach as he kissed her neck and hummed in her ear. “Whatever the fuck you want, beautiful, as long as you’re not cooking.”

She twisted around in his hold, pushing his chest lightly as he grinned at her. “Fucking rude, Benjamin. I can cook perfectly well now, and I certainly a whole lot better than you are-“

“You’re better at most things than I am,” Ben shrugged. “And fuck me for trying to stop everyone from eating your piss-poor pie and getting fucking poisoned-“ 

“You love my pie. You won’t shut the fuck up about my pie.” There was a smug, proud look in her eyes at her dogshit innuendo, and Ben snorted. 

“That might be the only thing you’re not good at,” Ben said her name, kneading his hands against her skin. “That didn’t even make goddamn sense-“ 

“Fuck you, Ben, you got hard-“ 

“Because you’re fucking sitting on me, darling.” He leaned down, nipping at Her lower lip. “And that will always make me hard.” 

Her heart stumbled in her chest. “Shut up.” 

“No. I love you, and I’m never going to fucking apologize for wanting to fuck my woman.” Ben winked at Her. “And I always want to fuck you.” 

She cleared her throat, and her gaze was suddenly sharp. Her love still lived in Ben—running up and down his spine, eternal and so fucking powerful it might consume him, and he’d let it—but Her fingers were tapping on Ben’s chest, the gears of Her impossibly brilliant mind turning behind her eyes. 

“Ben?” 

He grunted, the grunt she’d said meant he was listening to her, and she let out a long breath. 

“Do you, have you thought about after?”

“After what.” 

“After this.” She made a gesture to the air, eyes still locked onto Ben’s. “All of this. If we kill Homelander-“ 

“When. When we fucking kill Homelander-” 

She gave him a flat look. “When we kill Homelander. What do you, um, what do you want after?” 

Ben knew exactly what he fucking wanted. Her. Whatever way he got to have her, he wanted her. But he didn’t know how to say that without sounding like a fucking dumbass, so he hesitated. One fucking second too long, because something is her eyes looked wounded, and Ben had to talk right fucking now. She deserved to be told with all the fucking poetry and art in the fucking universe, but that wasn’t Ben. He didn’t know how the hell to do that, but she also didn’t want anyone but Ben, so he settled on his way. The blunt, clear as fucking day truth.

He said Her name, moving a hand up to cup her cheek, letting his thumb run over her cheekbone. “Whatever the hell you want, I want as well. That’s fucking that.” 

“But I want to knowwhat you want.” She mumbled, hands fisting in his shirt. “I, I just want to hear about it. Don’t worry about, um,” her tongue peaked out from her lips, her chewing becoming rapid with Her heart. “Anything. What I’ll think, how I’ll react. I just want to know.” 

Ben’s hand on her hips stilled, and he clung to Her—alive inside him—to make sure She was serious. He had the feeling they both knew what Ben wanted, but he’d had no desire to say it aloud. Not when Homelander was still fucking alive, still trying to hurt her, and had been so fucking close to crossing that final, horrible, unspeakable line once more barely a few months ago.

But She was content inside of him. There wasn’t any sickness or cold or sense of wrong, only the pleading look in Her eyes and her hands turning the fabric of Ben’s shirt between them as she waited. 

“Swear that if you start to-“ 

“I’ll stop you,” She whispered, holding Ben’s gaze. “I promise. Please tell me.” 

“I want this.” He muttered, a careful ear on Her heart for the slightest stutter. “I want you and me, for the rest of fucking time.” 

He stopped, and hoped that was enough. And of course, it fucking wasn’t. 

She dropped her face on his shoulder. “And?” 

“That’s it-“ 

“Where do you want us to be?” She mumbled, and Ben could feel her eyes on his as she turned her head. “Rome? A little no name town? New York, LA-“

“No. Not fucking LA-“ 

“Then where-“ 

“Wherever the fuck you are, I’ll be fine-“ 

“Ben.” His eyes moved to watch her without his fucking permission. “I want to know what you want-“ 

“That is what I fucking want.” He grunted. “I just fucking want you and whatever the hell you want I’ll be good with. I don’t give a fuck where we are, because I’ll be there with you, and that’s what I want. If you want a little fucking postcard town, then we’ll go there. I’ll get a job in the woods so I don’t have to see anyone but you, and you can do whatever the fuck you want all day. If you want Rome, we’ll get you there and do the escort plan until we have a fucking mansion, and I’ll fuck you in every corner of it. If you ask I’ll fuck you full of kids, until we can run our own goddamn little league.” Ben had started, and now he couldn’t fucking stop. “If you want to stay in New York, we’ll find a goddamn apartment and have Annie and Hughie over for lunch, and I’ll take you to stupid fucking movies and we’ll dance the kitchen and sit on the roof until I carry you to bed. If you want to travel the world and help people, I’ll be right at your fucking side, and if you just want to go back to Boston I’ll be there as well. We can have a shitty house that’s older than I am, and you’ll do your decorating shit and be nice to all our stupid neighbors. You can do whatever the fuck smart people do, and I can teach our kids to fucking hate all your stupid sports teams, and we’ll drive them down to the fucking Cape for the summer, and when everyone’s asleep I’ll bring you outside and fuck you on the beach. I’ll fuck you anywhere, Sunshine. I’ll be fucking happy anywhere, because I’ll be wherever you are. So I don’t care what you give me, kids or no kids or a house or a fucking dumpster. As long as you’re there, I’ll be good.” 

Before Ben had even fucking finished speaking, She was smiling at him. And it was all raw fucking joy. “Okay,” She whispered, and rose back up Ben’s body, pressing her brow to his and still fucking smiling. “I’d like that.” 

“Which-“ 

“All of it.” She made a small, blissful sound. “Thank you.” 

He didn’t tell Her not to thank him. Ben just allowed one arm wrap around her waist, and his hand moved up to hold the back of Her head. He let their lips brush, but not further, and muttered. “I fucking love you, Sunshine. I’m serious-“ 

“I know you are.” Her hands glided down Ben’s chest, pushing Herself a little higher up, a little closer, on his chest. “You’re a huge, very serious, grumpy old cunt.” She closed the last bit of space between them, her lips fitting so fucking perfectly against Ben’s, her body melting into his like it was fucking meant to. Her words hummed through Ben’s blood, setting him alight. “And I love you too.” 

It was all he needed. Ben rolled the over, caging Her between him and the mattress—safe, fucking safe and goddamn happy—without ever breaking their kiss. Ben let her hands roam over his body, let her tug his shirt up and her hands trace paths over the bare skin of his chest and torso that lit him on fucking fire. 

“Off,” She mumbled into Ben’s mouth, pulling his shirt further up his chest. “Off, Ben, please-“ 

Ben raised himself up—keeping her against the bed, pinned under his weight by his thighs—and half ripped his shirt off his body before immediately returning. Propping himself up on one elbow, diving down to her neck and sucking and biting a path that made Her sigh, a whining and high sound, and grind up into his torso. 

“Want you,” he muttered Her name against her skin, his free hand moving under Her shirt—Ben’s shirt—to play with the waistline of her panties. “Want you all the fucking time, Sunshine. What do you-“ 

“You,” Her answer was breathless, soft and high and ending in a slight whine as Ben’s thumb pressed right over Her clothed clit. “Want you, Ben, please. Need you.“ 

He groaned as one of Her hands slid between their bodies, palming at his cock, tenting against Her thighs. “How do you-“ 

“Don’t care, just want you-“ 

Ben decided to do it slow. Gentle and fucking sweet. Too good, and all Ben’s to praise and tend to and revere. So he pulled his shirt off Her body—carefully this time, because it did fucking things to Ben when she wore his clothing and he never wanted to take that away from himself—and pressed his palm over her soaked panties, kissing a line down between and under her breasts, rising back up to take a nipple in his mouth, smirking at the high squeak that left her mouth as he sucked. 

Her hands had shot into his hair, her chest heaving as Ben continued his work, starting to roll his hand over her clit. “Ben-“

You’re so fucking beautiful, Sunshine. He let his teeth graze over her—forcing himself to keep focus as she bucked her hips up—and switched to the other nipple. Can’t believe you’re all fucking mine. So fucking good for me, darling, so goddamn perfect. 

“Please-“ 

She cut herself off with a whine as Ben flicked his tongue, his palm pushing down against her, halting her movements up into him. 

Want to fucking show you how perfect you are, my love. Let me fucking show you- 

Please, Ben, fuck, please- 

He grinned at the breathless tone of Her voice between their minds, and surged back up, crashing his mouth into Hers and kissing her until she moaned. Long and desperate, half a sound of need and half his name, already fucking wrecked without friction, Ben holding her still under him. 

“Want you to be loud,” he grunted Her name into her mouth. “Talk to me, tell me how fucking good it feels-“ 

She nodded frantically, and Ben chuckled. 

“Words-“ 

“Feels good,” She mumbled, words practically fucking slurred. “Feels so good, Ben, god-“ 

“Have I told you,” he drawled, swallowing Her whimper as he pressed his hand further against her. “How much you consume my every fucking thought. How much I think about you, how it’s a goddamn problem, how much I adore and love you?” 

“You’ve-“ She took a ragged breath as Ben’s head dropped to suck and lick at her neck. “I think you’ve mention it-“ 

“See, I still think you don’t fucking understand.” Ben bit at her skin and she rolled Her hips, pulling at his hair. “You’re my fucking life, Sunshine. And I’ll say it until you get it into your pretty head. You’re perfect, every single goddamn part of you. You’re too fucking clever, darling, so good and kind and brilliant.” Ben trailed back up, tugging at Her ear and kissing over her cheekbone before pressing his brow to hers. 

“Ben-“ 

He chuckled as she tried to chase his mouth, and started to rub large circles against her clit with his palm, tracing his fingers over the slit of her pussy, still covered by her underwear. 

“Fuck-“ 

“I can fucking feel that sharp, insane mind of yours inside me, beautiful.” He dropped his mouth just an inch further down, holding himself where their lips brushed as he spoke, but no further. “And I love you there the most. Love how fucking bright you are, Sunshine. This mouth of yours is so fucking smart,” he traced his lips over Hers, and she whimpered, eyes blown out and wide on his. “And you can be such a fucking brat, darling, but I goddamn love it. You’re my best fucking friend, and the most impossible fucking pain in my ass I could ever ask to love.”

She was fucking coming apart below him. Sighing in Ben’s mouth and letting him push his tongue down her throat, letting him kiss Her until he decided he should probably keep up with the plan he’d come up with, or else he’d just fucking kiss her until he came in his pants like a goddamn teenager.

Ben dragged his lips from Hers, and her sound of protest turned to a soft moan as Ben kissed every fucking inch of her face her could reach, love and want fucking rioting inside of him as she tried to move to offer him better access.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he muttered, dragging his hand up from her cunt to hold her face, running his fingers over her lips and cheekbones and jaw. “You’re a goddamn marvel, Sunshine, you’re fucking art.” 

“Benjamin-“ 

Her words were a long, breathy, desperate moan, and he dropped back down to her lips. “I know, my love. I’ll get there-”

“I want you there now, you fucking dick-“ 

“And you get my fucking dick,” Ben hummed Her name, feeling himself twitch in his pants as he glanced down at her body, squirming and grinding and fucking perfect under him. “Patience.” 

“I hate you-“ 

“You fucking love me.” He kissed back down Her neck, over her collarbones. You love how grumpy I am, and how hard I work, and my fucking dick. But I think what you love most, Ben squeezed where he was holding Her waist. Is how I fucking worship you like you deserve. Make you feel fucking good, Sunshine, take real good care of you- 

I, She took a long breath, hands tugging Ben’s face back up, Her eyes on his still lustful, but now soft as well. That’s not what I love most about you. 

He grunted Her name between their heads, but she pushed on. 

I love how much you care, period. You don’t half-ass anything, Benjamin, and that includes caring. I’ve never seen anyone care about anything so aggressively as you care about baseball and stupid war documentaries and ice cream. I’ve never been cared about as much as you care about me. I didn’t think it was possible to care about someone as much as you care about me. She smiled at him, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure his heart fucking exploded. You care about me and Ryan and everything else you love so violently and wrathfully and powerfully, and that’s what I love most about you.

Ben’s voice sounded fucking hoarse in his own head. Sunshine- 

But, She curled up, kissing Ben’s nose. It’s only one reason on a very long list, my love- 

That snapped something deep in Ben's head, and it cleared his brain to Her. Everything in the universe narrowed to Her. 

This kiss was fucking brutal. Ben’s hand fisted Her hair, his teeth and spit and tongue Hers as well, his whole body demanding more. He’d never been more fucking satiated, and he’d never be more fucking hungry.

I love you, he muttered Her name between their heads. I love every single goddamn thing about you. And I’ve got a whole fucking plan to show you, so for once in your goddamn life, let me do the talking, darling. Moan and scream and beg all you fucking want, but I talk.

But you said-

I changed my mind. No talking.

Ben-

Deal? 

She nodded, finger’s curling on Ben’s face as she writhed below him. Deal, fucking deal, just please- 

I’ve meant everything I said about how much I love you. How smart and kind and clever and perfect that mind of yours is. But fucking Christ, Sunshine, you’re a goddamn wet dream. 

She moaned as Ben moved back to Her body, worshiping Her shoulder and neck and chest with his mouth, Her hips and waist and ass with his hands.

Every single fucking thing about you is goddamn perfection, but these, Ben returned his mouth to Her nipple, her moan only spurring him on. Were crafted by some sort of evil god. They’re fucking magic, beautiful, you could fucking win a war with them. He raised his spare hand to knead at Her other breast, and a strangled sound that sounded like his name left her mouth. 

“God, please-“ 

I talk. Ben squeezed Her one last time, flicking her nipple before switching to soothe the hurt with his tongue, and moved his hand back up to Her mouth. Be fucking good for me, darling, and listen.

Ben- 

He pressed his fingers between Her lips, and she didn’t fucking hesitate to start sucking on them. Licking and nipping and fucking moaning around him, and he groaned against Her tit. 

Fucking Christ, you’re going to kill me. He left one last kiss on her nipple, rising up just enough to watch her. You’re so fucking beautiful-

She whined, bucking up into Ben’s fully hard cock, and Her eyes on his were a plea.

Want to cum, Sunshine? 

She only nodded, kicking his abdomen, and he chuckled, pulling his fingers away with a pop.

Just a little longer, darling. Hold on for me.

Ben didn’t wait to see the desperation in Her eyes—he could feel it in his fucking body—before he was dropping back down, kissing between her breasts, over her stomach, and leaving one soft, fucking sweet kiss over her clothed clit before leaning back and ripping off her panties, admiring his handiwork.

She was fucking dripping. Soaking the sheets, so fucking perfect, and all goddamn Ben’s.

You’ve got the best fucking legs I’ve ever seen, he muttered into her head, kissing and biting a loose pattern over her inner thighs. Could fucking die here. But this, Ben parted Her swollen pussy lips, smirking at her small gasp. Is like a fucking drug. You’re always so fucking wet for me, my love, I don’t even need to prep you. But I think I will anyway.

Ben pushed two fingers into Her, pumping slowly and groaning as she squeezed around him. Then, just for his fucking self, Ben pulled Her clit into his mouth and sucked. Going and going without pointless shit like air, scissoring and pushing his fingers in deeper, and only stopping when She screamed, and his whole fucking face got soaked. He felt and smelled and tasted Her fucking everywhere, and it was like fucking water. Earthier and harsher and so fucking Her, but just as goddamn critical to Ben’s life now.

He pushed himself off of Her, rising back up to his knees and groaning at the sight of Her. Fucking glowing, goddamn ruined. Looking at Ben like he was something holy and sacred, and to Her, he was. He could feel it fucking everywhere, and taste it on his tongue as he licked his lips.

He hoped She fucking lingered there for the rest of time. That every night for the rest of his life, Ben could run a hand through his beard, and end up with his fingers fucking covered in Her. 

You fucking squirted.

She nodded, and—despite the fucking choir of Her love around Ben in the world—only moaned, reaching up for him. 

Think you can do it again? 

She whined, and Ben chuckled. 

Words, darling- 

Yes, fuck Ben, please- 

Good girl. 

She practically flew off the fucking bed as her hips jerked up, her heart stuttering with her breath. God, fuck, please- 

Ben grinned, and he could never fucking deny her anything, so he ripped his pants off, stroking himself once, twice—just to how fucking beautiful she was—and pushed himself in with a groan. He fell over Her as he bottomed out, and fuck She was perfect. Fluttering around him, fitting him like they’d been fucking designed to be as close as goddamn possible, gasping in Ben’s ear as Her hands clawed at his back. 

Ready, Sunshine? 

Just move, you ass- 

He kissed Her—bruising and demanding and made of all this fucking love for Her that consumed Ben’s whole goddamn existence—and obeyed. 

Ben didn’t think he’d ever worked harder than to memorize every single fucking part of Her. What every pout and glare and smile meant, how She said his name and every small way she existed around him—in music and movies and shows and books and the flowers in MM’s garden—and how She moved. Ben had learned Her like fucking she was a fucking testament to how he should live, and he took it goddamn seriously. It was what helped him know how to fuck Her right. How to angle himself inside her so he was hitting that spot that always made Her let out a strangled moan, how to kiss her in a fucking rhythm as he pounded himself into her, and that, if he groaned when She squeezed around him, she’d start to try and grind up into him. 

This was better than a fucking drug. This was fucking oxygen, how warm and tight she was around him, how when Ben deepened their kiss she opened up for him and scratched his back, how sensitive She was—leaning into his every touch, moaning at every muttered and growled praise—and how he could fucking feel Her. How fucking perfect She was, finally around him in every single possible way. So fucking bright, a green mist that smelled like pine and vanilla and damn strawberries covering the room as she shinedlike fucking star under Ben, Her eyes watching him like he was something good. 

Ben was something good, for Her. It lived in how he tended and adored and cared for her, and he wanted to be something that was half as fucking perfect as she was, just so she’d let him stay here for the rest of fucking time. Buried deep inside Her, his thrusts becoming stuttered as he began to lose control—no fucking idiot pussy could blame him, though, because She was squirming under him and moaning his name so I was a miracle he lasted this long—and letting every single fucking thought of Her fall out of his mouth, down her throat.

“So fucking good,” he grunted Her name. “Taking me so fucking perfect. You sound like a fucking song, look so fucking beautiful all fucked out, love you, taking me so fucking well-“

He cut himself off with a groan as her head dropped to his jaw, kissing along his beard with sinful fucking whimpers. 

“Christ, you’re a goddamn miracle, fucking made for me.” Ben pushed one hand between their bodies, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of her as he pinched and rubbed over her clit. 

Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, Her heart hitting that frantic pace that meant she was close, and when Her hands trying to push Ben further into her he moved faster, crashing his mouth back into her and growling Her name. 

“You’re fucking perfect.” Ben’s words became fast and rough, their brows pressed together so he could see every inch of Her beautiful face, his own orgasm pushing at his restraint. “You so fucking good, darling, good to everyone, so fucking good to me. I fucking love you-“

“Ben,” Her voice was a whisper of pure fucking need that almost sent Ben over the edge. “Please-“

He kissed Her again, soft and sweet as his movements become almost feral, splitting her fucking open on his cock. Cum for me, Sunshine, say my name-

She screamed—Ben’s name lost somewhere in many high, wrecked sounds of God and fuck—and Ben let go. Driven on by Her fucking squirting over him, her pussy contracting like she was trying to really fucking kill him, Ben made one last, long thrust as he emptied himself into Her body. He waited for Her breathy, blissful sigh that meant she was happy and high on pleasure before pressing one last, soft kiss to between Her eyes, tucking hair behind her ears, and lowering himself down. Covering her body in his like he could serve as a shield from fucking everything. From the daylight and blue sky, slowing creeping over them and threatening that morning was here, and they couldn’t fucking stay here forever. From the battle they were staged to fight, where Ben would have to just be fucking silent at Her side. From every single factor that neither of them could control, from everything that might hurt Her or make her cry. Every single weak thing that dared to pretend they were worthy sharing the same air that She fucking breathed. 

And She let them stay like that. With Ben’s body likely fucking dead-weight over her, his arms wrapped around her waist as he buried his head between her breasts, her hands even moving to hold his face, tilting it up for Ben to meet her gaze. 

He scanned over her face, perfect and fucking beautiful and all fucking Ben’s. “Hi, Sunshine.” 

“Hi, Benjamin, my love.” 

She couldn’t be allowed to fucking call him that. If Ben ever wanted to be a goddamn productive member of society, She couldn’t keep calling him my love. And, Christ on a fucking cross, Benjamin, my love, was worse. That made him short circuit and practically fucking gape at Her. It repeated over and over in his head, and he probably looked like an idiot fucking pussy, just gaping at Her, but fuck She was so pretty, and happy, and Ben’s and Her Her Her, everything in him kept calling Ben home to Her. 

Ben managed to regain just enough control over his stupid fucking lovestruck body to roll them over, tugging Her down until that bright, drug-like smile was right above him, Her arms holding her a few inches away from him. 

“You’re a fucking thief,” Ben drawled Her name, and was unable to contain a dumb fucking smile from overtaking his face. It was born from Her—hair messy, fucking naked, beautiful mouth still slightly swollen and pretty eyes still so dazed from sex—being so goddamn near him. Her smell that was half wrapped in salt from sweat and Ben’s cum, Her perfect face all fucking happy above him, Her smile and love fucking intoxicating. A high Ben never had to come down from, because even as She gave him a fake pout he just got higher. 

“I am not a thief, that’s mean-“ 

“You’re fucking mean.” He grabbed Her hips, pulling them down to press against his and letting Her sit over him. “And you’re a goddamn thief. I call you my love, you stole my goddamn idea-“

She scoffed, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “You are not the first dummy to call their person my love, Pretty Boy-“ 

“I said it first with us-“ 

“Well you don’t get a patent over it-“ 

“The fuck I don’t.” 

They were glowering at each other, and Ben knew he’d lost when a soft smile crossed her face, a sharp look glinting in her eyes. “Well then I am a thief,” She crawled back down his body, bumping their noses and kissing along Ben’s jaw. “Because it’s mine now. I call you my love, and that’s that.”

He scowled, but it was getting harder to even keep up the charade of this fake fight when She was squirming above him and his hands were bruising at Her hips. “You don’t get to just fucking take it-“ 

“Yes, I do.” 

Ben hauled Her further up his body, fully moving her to collapse over him, a high yelp leaving her as Ben kissed every single fucking inch of skin he could angle his head to find. “Fucking brat.” He grunted, rutting slightly up into Her thighs and growing harder as he felt her wetness, dripping down her thighs. “Already so goddamn needy for me again, want me to fuck you good, darling? Again?” 

She was fucking perfect. It wasn’t Ben’s own damn bias or love or something fucking pathetic—but entirely goddamn warranted, She was his life and Ben was allowed to be a little bit of a fucking pussy about her—She was just so fucking clearly perfect. She might be the only person alive who was more dirty-minded and horny than Ben, and he pitied any fucker who’d tried to keep up with Her before him. Her head ended up thrown back as she rode him, a beautiful fucking squeak leaving her when Ben took back control, grabbing Her hips and drilling up into Her until her pretty eyes rolled back and she was shaking around him. 

When he found his release with Her own—letting Her grind over his cock and scrape at his abdomen as she made sounds that were fucking music—Ben had to take a long, heavy breath to stop himself from just rolling Her over and going for round three when he saw his cum leaking and coating her thighs. 

She giggled slightly, brushing some of Ben’s hair from his eyes. 

“What-“ 

“We really do fuck like rabbits,” She said, shifting around until their legs were tangled, pulling Ben’s arms over her body. “Hughie asked if it was the supe stamina, but I think it might just be us.” 

“You talked to Hughie about our sex life-“ 

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Technically I was talking to Annie, but Hughie was forced to listen. And halfway through the story about the dishes incident, he asked if copious amounts of sex was normal for two supes.” 

It wasn’t. Ben had fucked half the female supe population before Russia, and it might as well have been juvenile dry humping compared to what he did with her. But he was still caught on the talking to Annie shit. “What the fuck else do you tell her about us-“

“Normal friend stuff,” she shrugged, leaving soft kisses along his beard as She spoke. “How much I love you, how you made me pancakes for breakfast again, how good you are with Ryan and how adorably grumpy you get when we talk about books, how I’m going to bribe you to read something with Ryan and I, and Hughie and Annie are welcome read with us-“

“You’re going to fucking bribe me-“

She continued, kissing the bridge of Ben’s nose and holding his gaze. “Usually Hughie clocks out when I start talking about how much I love your dick, though-“

Ben raised his brows at Her. “You talk about my dick with fucking Hughie? What, are you telling Butcher about my balls-“

“I would if he would listen.” She smiled, dropping back down, kissing everywhere but Ben’s fucking lips. “Benjamin, my love, if you were fucking you, you’d never shut up about it either-“ 

His eyes narrowed. “You did it again.” 

She hummed, her smile so perfectly and beautifully mocking innocence. “I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about.”

Ben snaked one hand up her back, tangling his finger in her hair and moving her back his mouth. Kissing her until she was writhing and moaning above him, a tiny whine leaving her lips when he pulled away. 

“Ben-“ 

“You’re the love of my fucking life, Sunshine, and you should know that-“ 

“I do know that,” She whispered, and Ben could fucking feel it. Spreading between them, how he was just as critical to Her as She was to him. Her piece of him so fucking strong inside of him, twined into something so deep inside of Ben’s body he’d never fucking known about it before. “I know that all the time, Ben. And I need you to know that I love you.” She sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “You do so much for me, and I want to give you something back-“ 

“You give me more than fucking enough-“ 

She shook her head. “I want to do more. It’s just a name, Pretty Boy. You have a million of them for me, and I’m sure you’ll come up with more.” 

Ben groaned, because he’d fucking lost this one as well. She was too fucking pretty, half-pouting up at him and loving him and so fucking happy around him, alive inside him, and Ben needed to get his fucking shit together, but he didn’t want to. This was so fucking good, and She was so goddamn perfect, and when he made a grumbling relent, her smile was so fucking bright and sweet and all for him. 

“Thank you, Benjamin, my love.” 

She kissed him one last time, and Ben needed to get better at faking a genuine scowl, because right now he goddamn knew he looked just like the fucking puppy dog She kept accusing him of being. Watching Her and trying to act like he was annoyed by this, when everything in him was just Her. Making his whole fucking life better and loving him and wanting him and being so fucking annoying and he wouldn’t change a goddamn thing. 

“We could both fucking use it-“ 

“No.” She mumbled, burying her face in his neck. “Mine.” 

And Ben couldn’t fucking argue with that. He was Hers. He was holding Her against him as they both made a completely fucking pointless attempt to properly rest in the last hour before they had to get up, watching the light start to dance over her perfect face, and he wanted to be here for the rest of his goddamn life. 

He really fucking wanted to be with Her, forever. He’d always fucking burn with her, but he wanted to just stay here. No burning, just warm and love and good. In whatever goddamn form it took, Ben just really fucking wanted Her. 

She was half-asleep, and there was a chance she wouldn’t even hear him. But Ben muttered Her name anyway, and waited for her small sound of acknowledgement, her hand squeezing his bicep in a silent signal that she was listening. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too-“ 

“I really fucking love you,” Ben grunted. “And we should get married. Now.” 

Her heart hitched slightly, but all she did was smile against Ben’s skin. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, my love.” 

Ben snorted slightly, and knew that he would. He’d have to make it romantic. Something that she deserved, that made every single other fucking gesture in history seem fucking stupid. There would be music and flowers—she fucking loved music and flowers—and chocolate, and maybe a horse. Ben didn’t have a goddamn clue why he’d need a horse, but those things always seemed involved in romance somehow, so he’d have to figure out where the fuck to get a horse, and how to work it in with everything else. 

But then he looked down at Her—sleeping peacefully above Ben, breath warming his neck and lips brushing over his skin—and knew she wouldn’t give a fuck about a horse. He didn’t need to make it complicated, just do it right. 

Fuck, if he tried right now—more than just a grumbled idea that made Her love spark in his head and bones—Ben could probably get it right. He could roll her over, kiss her neck, cheeks, brow, and lips, and tell Her to fucking marry me. I love you, and I love every single part of you, and I want every single part of you, and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking life proving that to you, starting now. If you let me, I’ll pick you up and we can go find a judge and do it right goddamn now. I don’t have a ring, but I’ll find one, I’ll find you whatever the fuck you want, and that will be it. You and me, for the rest of fucking time, together. 

He didn’t, though. She was, somehow, fast asleep, and Ben had no desire to wake Her. Not when her face was so relaxed, and Ben could just lay here and care for her in silence. Hold Her until he saw the clock flash 5:30, and they had to move. 

They were silent getting ready. Ben wore his supe suit, She kept his shirt on—her eyes bleary and gaze slightly unfocused as she shuffled around the room—and Ben didn’t fight her when she grabbed their suitcase. Her grip on it was white-knuckled and smoking, and even though she was probably about to do fucking everything at the meeting for everyone else, she needed to be useful. Ben knew that drawn focus, and mechanical breathing, and rapid tapping of Moon River. It was her I’m doing this, my way, and that means doing it fucking right, face. It was the one that Ben knew he could help with an arm looped through hers and a kiss on the side of Her head, promising that he was fucking there, and not going anywhere.

The rest of the team seemed to know that face by now as well. Enough so for Butcher not to make any mocking comments about how that shirt was very obviously Ben’s, Annie and Hughie not to try and engage her in boring, pointless fucking conversation, and MM to only give her a tight nod as they tossed the suitcase in the back and climbed into the limo. 

The ride was completely silent. Her head was leaned back on Ben's shoulder, her eyes closed but heartbeat fast, and her finger still tapping, faster and faster, on Ben’s arm. 

He muttered Her name between their heads, and her eyes slowly opened, her face turning to look at him.

Ben. 

You’re going to be fucking fine. 

I know- 

I’m serious, he pushed Her a little further up his body, making their eyes level. You’re going to be fucking fine. We’re going to figure this out, no matter what happens, or what the pussies decide. We’ll take care of this, together. 

She swallowed, but gave Ben a soft, reassuring smile that didn’t hit her eyes. Together. I love you. 

I love you too. Ben paused, scanning over her face. If those cumfucks ask- 

We’re dating. Her smile grew a little wider, and her fingers stilled on Ben’s skin. Or fuck-buddy-brain-connected. My vote is- 

Ben kissed Her, squeezing her body once, and Her giggle into his mouth might be the best fucking thing he’s ever heard. 

You’re not allowed to vote on what we call things. 

She fake-pouted against him. This is a democracy, Benjamin- 

No, it’s not. He grinned, nipping on her lower lip. It’s a constitutional monarchy, where you’re the fucking Queen. And the Queen isn’t supposed to vote. 

She pulled back, giving Ben a wide, amused smile he could feel something soften in his stomach. Look who paid attention in civics class. 

I paid attention to you and Ryan, not some boring fucking history teacher. I’ve told you, your boobs have magical fucking powers, Sunshine. They move when you talk and I always fucking listen.

Gross. 

You love it. 

I do. She traced a hand over Ben’s jaw, the sharp smile playing over her features lighting up the whole goddamn world. Because we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected. 

Ben rolled his eyes. Don’t call us that. 

Can I call us that on the Ben’o’phone? 

You can do whatever the fuck you want in here, Ben held Her hand on his face, kissing her palm. But if you tell Singer that we’re fuck-buddy-brain-connected, I’m not fucking you for a week.

Her eyes narrowed. That’s a bad bluff, Pretty Boy. 

It was. Ben wouldn’t make it two fucking days before he caved, even if all She did smile and talk to him. But he kept his face set and neutral, shrugging slightly. So fucking call me on it, Sunshine. 

Her tongue peaked between her lips as she chewed, nose twitching, and she sighed. Fuck you. 

Don’t call us that shit, Ben winked. And I will. Hard, this time, until you’re rolling around and can’t feel your fucking legs. Until we finally get you to really, properly squirt, and I can fucking taste it. Ben kissed Her nose, light and teasing. I’ll fuck until we break the goddamn bed, and you’re burning down the whole goddamn building with how good I make you cum. Think you’d like that, darling? He smirked at Her slack expression, pressing his thumb between her lips and feeling his cock twitch when they parted. Think you’d want me to make you cum so fucking hard you scream my name and light up like a fucking star? Think you could be a good girl and let go when I fuck you? 

Her eyes had gone clear of glazed, grinding thought, and clouded with a lust that called Ben like a fucking siren. He was a strong man, but not strong enough for this. Things like will and resolve didn’t matter when She looked at him like that. When Her hands were curled on Ben’s arm, and her breathing was ragged in a way that made things feel right, and there was a little bit of fucking drool lining her lips. The limo was starting to be washed in a golden haze that meant she was turned on and probably fucking soaking her underwear, so nobody would be strong in this situation. Every other single asshole would want to make good on those promises, because they were to Her and she was perfect. 

Ben was either about to try and secretly fuck her in front of everyone, or try the proposal again, so or everyone’s sake, it was good they arrived within the next few seconds. If they did try to fuck the secret thing wouldn’t last a damn minute, and if Ben proposed—the right way—they’d definitely be fucking, loud and hard and wet, after. And even if Hughie and Annie had heard about how good Ben fucked Her, they still weren’t allowed to see it. 

Butcher twisted around from the front, his eyes landing on Her as he said Her name. “You’re gonna need to wear a fuckin disguise, we ain’t able to risk anyone figurin out who you are.” 

She rolled Her eyes, dramatically pulling her sunglasses out of her jacket and placing them on her face. “Good?” 

Butcher frowned, turning to Hughie. “Oi, lad. Give her your fucking cap.” 

“My-“ 

“I’ve got it.” Annie tossed Her a black baseball cap from across the limo, giving Butcher a flat, annoyed look. “Hughie doesn’t have a hat, asshole, it’s mine-“ 

“Don’t matter whose hat it is, long as she,” Butcher jerked his head to Her. “Is the one wearin it. Indoors too, Love, I ain’t lookin for Homelander to drop through the ceiling-“ 

“Keep your tits on, Butcher.” She plopped the cap on her head with another sweeping, sarcastic gesture. “Everyone ready?” 

MM nodded. “Grace is already there, so hopefully we won’t have a wait time. Everyone try to be diplomatic for once in your lives, don’t say something you don’t think over five fucking times in your head, and no weapons.” 

Everyone looked at Ben and Butcher. 

“That cunt is a bloody weapon, I’m takin my gun-“ 

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want-“ 

“Both of you,” She glared between Ben and Butcher, voice not as loud as theirs, but with a threat of violence that made even Butcher snap his jaw closed. “Shut the fuck up. No weapons in the White House. Near the president. Ben, you are a weapon, we’ll be fine. Butcher, if you remind the fucking secret service that Ben and I are weapons, they’ll make us wait outside, and you’ll be fucked. You need me for this, I’ve put the whole thing together. Got it?”

Ben made a grumbled agreement, and Butcher scowled, pulling out at least fifty fucking guns and placing them in the passenger’s seat, glaring at Her the whole time. She gave them both a pretty, smug smile, and pulled Ben with her, out of the limo. 

As they walked through the halls of the White House, flanked by many, incredibly fucking useless secret service agents—Her hand over Ben’s, on her shoulder, warmer than usual but not smoking—Ben nudged her shoulder.

You look fucking hot when you order everyone around, Sunshine. 

She huffed a small laugh. You always think I look hot. 

Because you’re always fucking hot- 

I think. She smiled up at him, squeezing his hand. That I could eat vomit and roll in shit, and you’d still think I’m hot. 

You would be. 

I would objectively not be- 

Yes, you fucking would be. Ben kissed Her brow. You’re objectively hot all the goddamn time.

And you’re an incredibly biased party, Benjamin, my love. 

Ben almost picked her up and to fuck her on one of these stupid fancy benches in the halls. The only thing that stopped him was a secret service agent, coming to a halt in the hall with no warning. 

“Christ, you pussy-“ 

Her free hand shot up, covering Ben’s mouth. “Is this it?” 

The agent nodded, and started listing off a bunch of fucking rules that Ben didn’t care about. Not when Her eyes had gone glass-like once more, and her heart was stumbling in her chest. 

You’ve fucking got this, Sunshine. We’re going to be fine. 

I know. She let out a long, slow breath, and leaned into Ben slightly. Ready? 

Fucking born it. 

Singer was at the center of the table—in the same spot as last time—with Mallory on one side and a man Ben had never seen before on the other. 

Ben hated him. She was perfect and beautiful, and Todd Muller was a slimy-looking weasel-fuck, wearing a red tie Ben wanted to strangle him with and looking at them with gleaming eyes Ben wanted to stab. The man hadn’t even spoken, and Ben’s fists were already goddamn curling at his side. There was something in him that told Ben wrong. Bad, vile, fucking wrong, and it came from Her. When the man smiled, a crude cold smirk that made Ben feel like he’d been shoved into a fucking swamp, the warning became an alarm, and Her grip on Ben’s hand over her shoulders started to smoke.

Muller—it was fucking Muller, Mallory had made some introductions that Ben barely heard over the blood lining his every thought—wouldn’t stop looking at Her, and Ben had to fight every fucking urge in his body to just step in front of her. 

And when Muller said Her name—said it fucking wrong, with no love and only callous venom—Ben thought his jaw might crack. 

“You’re looking healthy for a dead girl.” 

“Todd.” Her voice was bored and cold, Her heart pounding like a fucking war drum. “You’re looking like a bitch ass cock guzzler.” 

Even with the tension in the air—wired and electric and set to detonate—Ben still had to cough to cover his laugh, and Muller’s eyes shot to his. 

“Soldier Boy,” a hand was extended over the table. Ben forced himself not to break it. “Big fan-“ 

“Don’t be.” Her voice was dry. “He’s a Phillies fan.” 

Brat. 

Cunt. A small smile tugged at Her lips, even as Muller’s attention returned to her. 

“You’ve been busy,” Muller said Her name again, and Ben was going to pull out his tongue. “Learning about baseball, getting your fifteen minutes of fame, never bothering to tell your mother and me that you were alive-“ 

“I’d been dead to you and Mom for years,” She shrugged. “What’s legal death to being locked out and left to fend for myself?” 

“And I see you’re still a little-“ 

“Secretary Muller.” Mallory’s voice was even and cool, and she didn’t even fucking look at Her or Ben. “We agreed to keep personal lives out of this meeting.” 

Muller’s face twitched, but he fell back into his seat, eyes still trained on Her and Ben. 

“Alright, let’s get this shit over with.” Singer nodded to the chairs before them. “Sit, so we can talk like damn adults.” 

MM cleared his throat as they all sat, nodding to a silent, bored-looking Singer. “Thank you for seeing us again, sir.”

“Don’t.” Singer sighed, rubbing at his beard. “If I don’t follow up with you dumbasses, the brit,” he jerked his head to Butcher, who winked. “Will probably start sendin death threats and bombs to my family. But I ain’t here to small talk or do fucking therapy sessions, so I’m just gonna say it.” Singer sighed, looking around the room. “You’re not gettin any V. You’ve been determined to be a liability and are being ordered to explore other avenues to eliminate Homelander.”

The shocked, angry silence only lasted a moment before the room erupted in protests. Butcher shouting about Singer being a bloody fuckin cunt idiot, MM and Annie trying to provide reason, and Hughie trying to make everyone stop yelling. 

But She was silent, watching Muller. No smoke, no screams, only a pure, horrid sense of wrong and sick in Ben’s body. 

Ben. She didn’t look at him, but squeezed his arm. Don’t freak out. 

What- 

She coughed, a tiny amount of fire escaping her mouth, the whole room erupted in clicks of guns. All fucking aimed at Her. The only thing that kept Ben only rigid and alert at Her side, instead of launching himself over her body and bashing in the brains of any pussy that dared to fire, was Her quick, sharp glance in his direction, and smooth words in his head. 

I’ve got this. 

She had this. Ben was right here, killing anyone who fired was still very much an option, and she had this. She was leaning over the table, eyes flicking between Singer, Muller, and Mallory, and she had this. 

“What exactly about us is a liability?” She asked, tilting her head in mock thought. “That would justify you refusing to provide us with the only definitive weapon against Homelander?” 

“Your team has proven reckless,” Singer held Her gaze, which was a little fucking admirable. Ben had seen fucking Butcher stop talking under that glare, and Singer didn’t even seem to have the cocky death-wish Butcher had. “Countless times. Truth-con, both of Firecracker’s rallies, Tek Knight’s club massacre, the Believe Expo, and that’s just off the top of my damn head. We’re past takin gambles that don’t pay off, and this is a massive gamble that we ain’t able to afford.“

“How so?” She blinked at Singer, her face innocent and her fingers tapping on the table. “This is not a gamble. V will incapacitate Homelander.” 

“On your word.” Muller sneered. “All we have is your word, and there’s nothing to stop you from simply taking the V for your own use.” 

She scoffed, giving Muller a bored, amused look. “That can’t possibly be your real excuse. Half of us are already supes, and the other half hate supes-” 

“I don’t hate supes-“ 

Hughie’s mumble was cut off by Mallory’s curt, snapped words. “You have all been known to make questionable moves.” 

This time, Butcher laughed. “Come off it, Grace. Questionable moves is real high and fuckin mighty from you-“ 

“I have always remained within the bounds of the law-“ 

“The law,” She drawled. “Is not the end all be all of morality. We need to kill Homelander. This will help us. There isn’t another way. So please give me one really good reason why you can’t spare one vial of V so we can eliminate the most dangerous man alive.” 

There was a beat of tight, furious silence, and then Singer stood. 

“Grace, Todd,” he flattened his suit, letting out a labored breath. “I got a fuckin country to run, deal with this. You dumbasses,” he nodded across the table to the Boys. “Are real lucky we’re still housing and entertaining you. And you,” Singer said Her name, and the whole world was lined in red. “Consider playing that role you designed for yourself, if you’re so fuckin committed to the safety of our country.” 

Ben felt his fists curl, and Butcher looked like he would’ve stood up and tackled Singer down had it not been for the countless fucking guns still trained on their heads. 

Muller cleared his throat as the door, and their last fucking hope, closed. “We have determined that the pitch comes from a non-lucid party-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, Todd.” She wrinkled Her nose, lip curling. “Just say it’s because of me, so we can all move on.” 

“You are not important enough for this call to be made in your name-“ 

“Try again.” 

“Homelander is a chronic threat of unfathomable proportion. You are not qualified to handle such a delicate situation-“

“Wrong.” She shrugged, and Ben felt like he was watching a sparring match. Muller’s face was growing more and more red, and Her breathing more mechanical, both close to snapping, but she still pushed on. “I am qualified. I have field experience, and I’m literally a doctor. And you used chronic wrong. That’s not what it means-“ 

“I do not care what it means,” Muller hissed. “You are not stable or reliable, and we will not put the most dangerous drug in history into the hands of an over-emotional girl.” 

The table cracked under Ben’s hands, and something fucking dangerous crossed over Her face. 

“Oh, fuck.” MM muttered, leaning back in his chair and running a hand over his face as the air of the room started to wave in the heat. 

“So,” Her words were slow, wrathful. “You are risking America, risking the fucking world, because you think I’m the same unstable teenager I was thirteen fucking years ago.” 

Muller didn’t waver. “I believe you are the same girl you were because you are spoiled and believe you are owed something from the world. We are not a weapons bank-” 

“I am not owed V, it’s the only weapon to hold down Homelander that we have!” Her voice was growing louder, the room crackling with heat. “I want to kill my fucking abuser, that’s not spoiled-“ 

“And she’s helped us!“ Annie jumped in, glaring at Muller. “She’s not spoiled, she’s made a lot of the hard calls-“ 

“Starlight,” Mallory muttered, shooting Annie a look. “Drop it.” 

“No, Mallory! This is insane, you can’t think this is the best choice-“ 

“This is the president’s call-“ 

Butcher let out a cold, angry laugh. “You ain’t ever been this much of a bureaucratic bitch before, Grace-“

“Times are changing, Butcher-“ 

“And Grace here,” Muller gave Mallory a cold smirk. “Still wants to be in the running for the sweet VP spot. So now isn’t the time to disagree with Mr. President.” 

MM gaped at Mallory. “Are you being serious, Grace-“

“Oh, she is,” Muller turned his grin to the team. “And she’s still trying to make up ground for letting her two most dangerous and unreliable weapons,” his twisted gaze turned to Her and Ben. “Fall in love. What did you drug him with,” Muller sneered Her name. “To get Soldier Boy to follow you like a weak fucking baby?” 

Ben still had to let Her handle it. Even as he felt so fucking cold, physically restraining himself from launching across the table at Muller, he had to let Her handle it. 

“Ben isn’t weak, or a baby.“ She lifted her chin at Muller, and Ben swore he saw something fucking spark in the air. “And I’m not like you, Todd. I don’t need to offer someone something for them to love me.” A cold, hollow smirk played across Her lips. “Tell Mom I say hi, by the way.” 

Muller’s eyes narrowed. “You whoring little bitch-“ 

That was fucking it. Fuck letting Her handle it, that was the fucking line. 

Ben shot to his feet, letting the table crack further under his fist, and Muller’s words faded off. 

“Don’t ever fucking speak to her like that again in your pathetic, pussy life,” Ben growled. “Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Soldier Boy-“ 

Ben ignored MM’s low warning. “And you should count yourself real fucking lucky, because otherwise I’d break your fucking skull right goddamn now.” 

Muller cleared his throat, and a flash of fear crossed his face. “Careful, Soldier Boy.” Muller said, voice less smug and assured as he straightened his already too-straight tie. “Or we’ll find some Agent Orange and put you back in the box, and she won’t have anyone to do her dirty work.”

Ben could hear the fucking drums. He hadn’t heard the drums like this in months, but they were pounding in his head. Not from Muller—he could throw his against the wall and crack his spine without a thought—but from the thought of leaving Her alone. Failing Her again, leaving Her and Ryan to fight Homelander alone. And the drums beat with the knowledge that She’d burn herself out to wake Ben up, and he could never fucking let that happen- 

“You won’t get near him,” She hissed. “Or I’ll burn your dick off, and your fancy house down. And you,” Her wrath turned to Mallory, her words measured and toxic. “Are fucking pathetic. You know this is the wrong call, and you’re just letting it happen. Actually do something to kill Homelander, or deal with the consequences of him being alive.” 

She stood, looping Her arm through Ben’s. We need to leave, now. 

We’re not going fucking anywhere without the V- 

Ben. Her voice was firm in his head, and Ben realized her heart had slowed. Trust me. 

“Oi, where are you-“ 

“We’re done here,” She announced over Butcher, giving the team sharp, pointed looks. “Thank you,” She gave Mallory and Muller a too sweet, toxic smile. “For absolutely fucking nothing.” 

The rest of their team exchanged confused looks, their mouths opening and closing in protest, but She was on a strange sort of warpath. Pulling Ben behind Her into the hall, barely looking back to see their team scramble up as she turned to face Ben. 

Take my phone.

What the fuck are you- 

We’re not getting the V, Muller is the leak. 

How do you- 

He said Agent Orange. You told me Frenchie used that for his gas, that Sage based Hers on. Nobody except the Boys, Homelander, and Sage know that. It’s him. But we’ll be fine, you just need to play the music-

How the goddamn Christ is music going to help-

Neuman said they had a backup of V, that isn’t under the pentagon's control. I’m going to find it, and I need you to play a song, any song, really fucking loud. Don’t stop until I tell you to. Please. 

Ben nodded, putting Her rapid word in order in his own head. They didn’t have the V. There was more V, that wasn’t under the pentagon’s—Muller’s—control. She needed him to play music. Ben could defiantly fucking play music. 

He took Her phone, and she glanced behind him as their team stumbled into the hall. 

“Love, we ain’t fuckin done here-“ 

“Listen to me, Butcher.” Her voice was controlled and firm, and Ben glanced up from her phone to see that sharp, almost hazardous focus in her eyes. “We need to go now. I need to have my back here, please.”

Butcher blinked, and—by some fucking miracle—nodded. “Let’s bloody get a move on, then.” 

“Butcher-“ 

“Nah, Mate.” Butcher cut off MM with a shrug, sticking his hands in his pockets. “We ain’t gettin shit out of those cunts. Let’s cut our losses and move.” 

“That’s,” Annie frowned, watching Butcher carefully. “Uncharacteristically forgiving of you-“

“What can I say, I’m a changed fuckin man. Let’s go.” 

MM, Annie, and Hughie exchanged looks, but before they could protest further, Ben felt Her bump his shoulder, her eyes fixed behind him. 

Now. 

He didn’t think about what he was playing, because it didn’t fucking matter. It was fucking loud, and it caused the team to jump slightly and give him odd looks, but She nodded. And that’s what fucking mattered. 

And then She fucking vanished, like she had at Red River. Something rushed through Ben’s body—indescribable and elusive and not wrong but strange—the world practically stuttered, and She was gone. 

Annie’s mouth fell open. “Where-“ 

“Oh, shit.” Hughie looked over at Ben, his voice muffled by the blasting vocals and drums and guitar. “She’s-“ 

Ben didn’t want to talk over the music. He didn’t understand how this weird fucking power of Hers worked—She’d explained it a few times, and he’d still gotten lost in Her pretty eyes and big words—and now wasn’t the time to pull experiments with it. So, he just gave Hughie a sharp nod, and waited. 

Butcher didn’t seem phased by this in the goddamn slightest, looking around the hall and rolling his eyes before starting for the exit. 

A secret service agent blocked his path, and an argument started about turning off the music and where is the sixth member of your party—MM grunted something about the bathroom, and they seemed to buy it—but Ben didn’t fucking hear any of it. She was taking too long, there wasn’t any telling where the fuck She’d gone, and Ben could feel Her tugging him with the Pigeon instinct—he was worried out his damn mind, and She’d never get to know he’d called it that—from deep in the building. 

Then She started drawing closer, back to Ben, and the instinct started to grow electric and feral. She was closer, and something felt sick, and he should just fuck this and go fucking find her- 

She was walking down the hallway, and, without a word, looped Her arms through Ben’s. 

Go. 

Ben didn’t stop playing the music—despite the many people in suits glaring at him—as She half-marched down the hall. Her face was too neutral, almost statue-like, and she still wasn’t speaking. Ben could swear he could hear Her fucking singing, like a ghost or phantom on the wind, but Her mouth was closed. 

They made it out. The rest of their team still looked tense and confused, and She was still being so fucking weird, but they’d made it the fuck out. Ben knew She was with them—he could feel Her humming and taut somewhere in his head—but she still didn’t speak. 

Butcher started driving, and when they crossed the lines out of DC, Ben finally felt a tug of his arm. 

Off. 

When the song stopped and Ben looked back to Her, tucked against his side, her eyes were far away, and he could hear Her fucking brain moving. 

“You gonna bloody explain whatever the fuckin hell you just pulled-“ 

“Drive, Butcher.” She snapped, eyes still glazed over. “Fast.” 

The ride was silent for another ten minutes. The didn’t have the V. They were out of fucking options, and they still had to figure out the Cornucopia, and they were fucked- 

Ben. 

He glanced down at Her, and found her staring at him. What- 

I got it. 

You- 

I followed Mallory and Muller to the oval office, which is like, really small by the way- 

Ben grunted Her name, trying to keep her perfect, too fast mind on one track. What the fuck did you get. 

The location. Of the executive V. It’s in a warehouse in Boston. 

Ben nodded slowly. So let’s go fucking get it. 

We need to deal with Edgar first. She sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder. No loose ends. We can’t get this wrong. 

She squeezed Ben’s hand—resting on her waist—and cleared her throat. 

Ben frowned. You’re telling them- 

Everything. “Butcher, pull over.” 

“We’re on the fuckin freeway-“ 

“So find a rest stop or take the next exit.” 

Ben could hear Butcher’s sigh, but the ass wasn’t stupid enough to keep arguing—not when Her tone was so flat and forceful, her face painted in a tight, resolved look—so they were parked within two minutes. 

“Can I, uh,” Hughie coughed. “I need to go to the bathroom-“ 

“Hold it, lad.” Butcher twisted in his seat, shooting Her a glare. “The fuck was all that-“

“I’m going to talk, and you’re all going to listen. No talking until I’m done.” She looked around the team, leaning forward. “Got it?” 

They got some nods and mumbled agreements—everyone glancing at Ben’s set, purposefully unreadable face like he had shit to say—and She let out a long, heavy breath. Ben’s hand moved to Her thigh, steadying her heart a little further, and she began. 

“We have a leak. I caught it when we met with Edgar, who’s probably doing some cloak and dagger double-agent bullshit, because he knew stuff only Sage and Homelander would know. And I wasn’t sure, but then Ashley jumped ship and confirmed it-“ 

Annie blinked. “Ashley-“ 

“Jumped ship.” She snapped, fingers tapping on Ben’s hand. “At Red River. Don’t get mad at Hughie, I told him to keep it quiet while we were in DC. Ashley’s staying with Neuman, and they’ve both confirm that there’s a leak in either the government or CIA. It’s the government, because it’s Muller. I don’t,” She sighed, chewing on her lips. “I don’t know what the fuck Muller is doing, or what Sage promised him to flip, but it’s him. It’s probably the real reason why we didn’t get the V, but it’s fine. I,” She reached into her jacket, pulling out a folded up piece of paper. “Fixed it. Neuman told me there was an off-site stash of V for the government. Off the books, probably part of a deal for the government to help fund Red River. And I’ve got its location.” She leaned forward, passing the paper over to Annie. “Boston docks warehouse. We’ll need to take care of Edgar first, but that’s it. That’s our shot.” 

The limo was silent as MM and Hughie leaned over Annie’s shoulders, all three of them reading the paper—likely just some fucking evidence—and Butcher scowled at the air. 

“So,” Butcher drawled. “All we gotta do is go to Boston, nab some fuckin V from the federal government, and we’re bloody golden and set?” 

“Unless we fuck up,” She shrugged. “Yeah. And we can clean up Muller and Ashley after, but I think we need to clear Edgar first. He’s actually dangerous, and I’m not sure if he’s playing us or Sage. Muller’s just an idiot, and Ashley’s out of the picture for now.” 

“All she told you was there was a leak?” MM looked up from the paper with a frown. “Nothing else?” 

“She recorded Sage. And if she’s trying to infiltrate us, I burned out her tracker and she doesn’t have her phone. Neuman will keep an eye on her, and she won’t get anywhere close enough to us to get useful information for Sage.” 

“And how do you know Muller is the leak-“ 

“Butcher,” She cut off MM with a sigh. “What did Frenchie use to make the gas, when you met with Homelander and Sage in January?” 

Butcher frowned, something flashing in his eyes. “Agent Orange.” 

She nodded, and turned to Hughie and Annie. “And what did Sage base her gas on?” 

“Oh, God.” Annie shook her head, realization flashing in her eyes. “That’s not good-“ 

“What gas does Sage have?” MM grunted, looking around the limo. “None of you motherfuckers mentioned gas-“ 

“It’s against me,” Ben grunted, and felt Her hand cover his, still on her leg. “Homelander tried to use it during the tower fight. Pussy said Sage designed it after Frenchie’s.” 

“And only we know that,” Hughie mumbled. “Us and Vought. Shit-“ 

“That’s how I know it’s Muller,” She muttered. “And that’s how I know this is it. The V is there,” She nodded to the paper, slightly crumpled in Annie’s hands. “And we’re going to get it.” 

There was another moment of silence, broken by Butcher once more.

“That it, Love?”

 She nodded. “That’s it. We’re fucking finishing this.”

End Note: For such a stoic and emotionally stunted character, all of the Ben centric chapters sure do contain a lot of emotion.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

If you want to be tagged, just ask!

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

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@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox @criminalyetminimal @solsborg

@generalmoonpolice @ifyouwerethemoon @leavli @imsiriuslyreal

[love-fictional-ppl]

5 (smut)with remus lupin

AHHHHH DADDY REMMY

Don’t Make a Sound!

Summary: Remus gets a call from his best friend while you’re having sex and tells you to keep going.

Pairings: Dom!Remus Lupin x fem!reader ft. Sirius Black

Warnings: modern au!, language, smut, praise and degradation , use of the word ‘Daddy’, hairpulling, stomach bulge, size kink, face fucking, facials, etc.

Prompts: 5.) *Character A gets a phone call while having sex* “you gotta be good, okay?”

Today was Remus’ day off from work and he enjoyed it the best way he knew how, the two of you spent the majority of the day lounging around without a care in the world.

You couldn’t remember whose idea it was but eventually the two of you wound up on the couch with you bouncing up and down on his cock. Remus did most the work, lifting you by your hips, he would occasionally fuck up into you meeting the set pace. You babbled nonsense drunk on the feeling of him inside of you.

Remus sucked on your exposed nipples while continuing to fuck you on his dick. You let out quiet moans, enjoying the sensual moment with your boyfriend.

“You’re so beautiful,” Remus compliments from underneath you. “Could stay like this forever.”

You grabbed Remus by the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a steamy kiss. As you rode the dorky brunette, you could feel the slick dripping down and pooling on the couch and Remus’ lap.

“Mmmgh- I love you, daddy,” you moaned out — eyes rolling into the back of your head.

“Aww, I love you too, sweet girl.”

Remus moved his hands from your waist to your ass cheeks. Remus would occasionally land a light smack to your ass. Remus grabbed you by the jaw and pulled you in for a slobbery kiss. When he was done he lifted you up so he could fuck up into you at an angle that had you seeing stars.

You let out a fucked out laugh while also choking on your moans. Suddenly Remus stops, and you quickly realize why; Remus’ phone is ringing. And it’s the annoying ‘who let the dogs out’ ringtone Sirius had set for himself. The lycanthrope raised his index finger to his lips in a shushing expression and grabbed his phone.

“You got to be a good girl for me, okay?” You nodded your head enthusiastically.

Remus accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear. “Hey, mate,” he spoke into the device. You could hear the faint sound of Sirius rambling ecstatically.

You slowly grind yourself against Remus, you see him visibly restraining a groan. You smile at the effect you have on him. Remus had zoned out of his conversation, which Sirius picked up on because he asked, “You good?”

Remus glared at you, “yeah I’m good, man. I’m just trying to do something right now.” Sirius continued his rambling unsuspectingly.

You hid your face in Remus’ neck to prevent yourself from making noise. Every now and then Remus would respond when appropriate, stumbling over his words.

Remus eventually decided he had enough of your teasing and ended his conversation with Sirius.

“Alright, I gotta let you go. I’ll talk to you sometime later, okay?” Remus spoke into the speaker. The two men said their goodbyes and Remus tossed his phone to the floor

Before you knew what had happened Remus flipped you on all fours. He pushed his hand into your lower back to force you into an arch, Remus then grabbed you by your hair and pulled your head back.

“You think that was cute?” Remus asks harshly. “Fucking whore.”

You moan, harsh words and pain going to straight to your pussy. You clench around Remus’ cock, feeling how much deeper he was at this angle, you could feel him in your stomach. Remus slammed into you at an impossible pace, your eyes rolled into your head — Remus fucking you dumb.

Fucked into oblivion, you pleaded to Remus, “Please! Please- I��m sorry! Daddy!”

Remus pulled your hips back to meet him in his thrusts. Remus groaned feeling how tight you clenched around him, sucking him in with a vice like grip. The brunette continuously hit your sweet spot, making you twitch.

Remus threw his head back and chuckled, “f-fuck, you feel so good around me, sweetheart.”

Remus lifted you so back was pressed against his chest, both of you on your knees. Remus grabbed you by the hair to force your head to look down, down at the bulge of his cock is your lower stomach.

“Fuck, you see me in your tummy?” Remus spoke in a raspy voice.

You could feel Remus twitch inside of you, enjoying the sight. Remus knocked the wind out of you with the force of his thrusts — bullying your poor sweet spot. You felt your stomach tighten, the familiar sensation of an orgasm approaching.

“Remmy! Please I need to cum!” You begged for release.

Remus looked down at you displeased, “that’s not my name. What’s my name, slut?”

“Daddy! Please, daddy!” You were begging pathetically, “I wanna cum!”

“Much better,” Remus praised.

The brunette looped his arms under your thighs and lifted you up, fucking into you at an even more intense pace than before. Your head fell back on Remus’ shoulder and you came with a cry. You continuously thanked your boyfriend through your orgasm.

Remus slowed his thrusts and eventually came to a halt as you came down from your high. Remus pulled out and laid you on your back before straddling your chest.

“I didn’t cum yet,” Remus states looking down at you. “Open wide, love.”

You opened your mouth expectingly, Remus wasted no time in working his cock in between your lips. You placed your hands on Remus’ waist, needing to hold onto something. You squeezed your thighs together, feeling aroused from the desperation of the man.

Remus held a hand in your hair and bucked his hips into your face wildly, he used his free hand to attempt to hide the moans and groans he let escape his lips. You hallowed your cheeks to add to the pleasure and massaged the underside of his shaft with your tongue, tracing the prominent vein that ran up to his tip.

It didn’t take too much longer for Remus to blow his load, he pulled out and you stuck your tongue out for him. Spurts of cum landed on your tongue, cheek, nose, and forehead. A full blown facial. Remus stood up, allowing you to lift yourself up, he disappeared to the kitchen and grabbed a wet rag to wipe your face.

But, little did either of you know, Sirius never hung up and was listening to the entire thing. Sitting in his room he imagined fucking your tight cunt whilst fucking his fist. After cumming in his hand, he hung up as he should have done in the first place. Now Sirius had to live with the guilt of jacking off to his best friend fucking his girlfriend.

A/N: sorry ending was a little rushed. This has been in my drafts for a minute now but I finally finished it!! If anybody would like to be added to a taglist for Remus, or any HP character lmk! Not proofread.

[archangeldyke-all]

I feel this is somewhat fitting for today,

So reader comforting sev after silco died (I feel she is the most sad out of everyone because she always saw him as some sort of father figure ngl and he sorta neglected her or never validated her)

-🫖

:( my poor baby. he's like her fucked up bestie/boss/dad

men and minors dni

they send lock or deckard to tell you if sevika's gonna be late getting home.

thieram if she's drunk and moping at the bar.

but ran only ever comes when something bad's happened.

and jinx has never accompanied any of silco's goons on one of these errands.

you assume the worst. your heart drops to your ass at the sight of ran and jinx on your doorstep, both looking haggard and scared.

jinx reaches out and grabs your arm before you can start weeping, shaking you a bit. "relax, would ya? it's not her, she's fine she's just..."

you gulp, looking to ran. they sigh. "silco's dead. she's... just sitting in his office... drinking."

jinx breaks into tears on the walk to the last drop, disappearing in an alleyway for the night. ran is solemn as they lead you to the bar.

"w-what happened?"

"dunno. jinx won't say. think she mighta killed him." ran shrugs. "think she did something bad in piltover too. shit's stirring and silco's dead and sevika's supposed to take over if this happens but--"

"take a breath." you say, patting your friend's back. "'s okay. she's gonna be fine."

this isn't true. but you know your wife wouldn't want you telling her troops any different. sevika's going to wake up sobbing for years to come, just another thing on the long list of losses that haunt her. you'll be there, though, like you are now-- to hold her and let her cry in your chest-- to remind her that she's got you. and you've got her.

she's slumped asleep on the couch when you enter silco's office. ran leaves you alone, closing the door behind themselves as the leave.

"sev." you whisper, gently nudging your wife. she snaps awake, taking a moment to drunkenly register her surroundings and your face, before she bursts into silent tears, leaning forward to bury herself against you. "fuck, honey." you coo, wrapping her up into a hug. "i'm so fuckin' sorry."

"i can't believe he fucking died. he's fucking invincible!" she cries. your heart shatters, and you kiss her scalp.

"sevika, baby. you know he isn't."

"but-- it's my fucking job to make him invincible and--"

"sev." you pull her face away from your chest, wiping up her tears and forcing her to look you in the eye. "it's your job to take over if shit goes south. that's your job. silco was not a god-- he was a man. and there is nothing you coulda done to save him, baby."

"i..." she trails off. you frown, already knowing what she was going to say, your heart breaking.

"you're gonna miss him."

she nods. "i fuckin' hate him, too." she says.

you chuckle, nodding. "i know, baby. that's the power of love."

sevika huffs and leans against you again. "how long do i have before shit gets real bad out there?"

"long enough to come home and get a proper sleep in." you say, dragging her toward the door.

sevika doesn't resist, letting you take her home. letting you care for her.

you kiss her before you leave the office, sweet and chaste but for long enough that you melt together. "thank you." you sigh.

"for what?"

"letting me take care of you before your big debut... sevika... the lioness of the lanes." you tease. sevika snorts at the nickname and rolls her eyes, and your heart flutters in your chest at the sound.

hi if u know who came up with the lioness of the lanes nickname pls lemme know so i can credit them!

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

[estaticheart]

ᥫ᭡. MAYBE ROMANCE IS A PLACE

Summary: Rafe is still angry at Sarah and you are his loving girlfriend.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff.

A/n: This is my first fic in a long time lol, so It will probably be a bit rusty. Please feel free to leave comments and feedback!

Winter had arrived. As the air got crispier and the winter hibernation loomed upon the Outer Banks, the chaos and trivialness of the Outer Banks began to simmer away.

As Rafe's girlfriend, you were rather thankful that Rafe would be distracted from his ongoing conflict with his sister's friends and now-husband. You did not undervalue the few months you would have Rafe to yourself, him already planning a city break to New York over Christmas. Yet the bliss you had become accustomed to by November soon disappeared.

As a student at Elizabeth City State University, winter took a toll on every aspect of your life. Studying in the final year of your college degree meant your work was piling up more and more by the day.

Sitting in Rafe's estate home you had spent the last 4 hours hunched over the desk in his office while he was off on 'business'- as he described. You were far too occupied to even consider for a moment what he was up to, even this morning you had begun studying before he had even woken up. So when he stormed into the office, his face raw red as he clutched his phone in his hand before he flung it on the sofa to your left along with his jacket, you were startled, to say the least.

After a few moments of stunned silence, you placed your pen on the desk before looking up at your boyfriend. Despite being together for several months now and finding ways to navigate his often erratic moods, sometimes you still felt as if you were on eggshells on how to approach him in moments like this. Rafe appreciated your often brutal honesty but also your sensitivity to his moods- without words spoken on it you both knew his unstable behaviours and outbursts weren't purely learned behaviours.

"What happened, Rafe?" He was still pacing the room, the way he was when he entered the room when you asked him the question. Yet without stopping, he huffed out a reply. "Fucking Sarah and her fucking games. I swear to fuck-" He began his more than common rant about his sister and presumably her friends if you hadn't interrupted. Sarah had grown a soft spot in your heart, you saw a lot of you in her. A young girl who had gone against what everyone in her life wanted for her in the name of love, as you did with Rafe. So when he began to ramble on about her you already knew she was unlikely to be in the wrong, especially when it came to her brother.

"Okay, let's calm down. Sit down for a second and breathe, you're practically burning up." You stood up, walking over to him unfortunately realising that your work would have to be put off for at least half an hour when he was in such a mood. "I don't want to fucking sit down, I can't believe she has done this shit again." Walking away from you back over towards the door before pacing back towards you.

"And what exactly has she done?" You questioned your boyfriend, glancing towards your phone that was bound to soon be bombarded with texts from Sarah regarding this exact problem. Sighing you look back over to him to see him staring at you, rage burning in his eyes. You obviously knew this anger was for Sarah but you weren't in the mood to get into an argument with a temperamental Rafe.

"I was minding my business trying to get some shit done with the estate over in Charleston when I saw- her with her stupid pogue friends. It's like she's rubbing it in my face y/n, does she even fucking care that her friends got our dad killed? I mean they probably fucking did it." Your face scrunched up in confusion, Rafe was upset that Sarah was hanging around her friends? Not to point out the obvious but that was a pretty commonplace that Sarah would be in, maybe not years ago when she had first hung out with the pogues- but now definitely. "Not to be Sherlock here Rafe, but just to check. You are angry that Sarah is hanging around with the same people she has been hanging around for 2 years now?"

His face dropped as if you had asked if the sky was blue. "Yes." An uncomfortable silence settled over the office. You were apprehensive about how to approach him now, sometimes you could sympathise with the oldest Cameron child who had a lot of unresolved trauma thanks to his late father Ward but this wasn't one of those times. You and Rafe had had this conversation years ago when you were only friends, and since you started dating- numerous times after. "Rafe, seriously? You need to stop worrying about this honestly. It has been years now."

He huffed in response, his features hardening and stare glazing over. Were you actually serious? His father had died only a few months ago now and he had been given the burden of not only figuring out everything that would happen with the family estates scattered across the East Coast but also working through Ward's will, a large portion of it which had been left to Sarah who couldn't care less clearly. He couldn't fathom why his loving girlfriend couldn't see what he could- a scheming sister who abandoned her family in favour of pogues. Huffing out a breath, he avoided your gaze knowing if he looked at you you would see the anger rising once more in his face. "That's the problem, you don't get it at all. Why would you get how much of a slap in the face this fucking is? All you do all day is sit here doing fuck all, whilst I'm out there making a future for us and deal with all the shit that comes with it."

Mouth wide open, you stare at your boyfriend as if he'd slapped you in the face- even though it damn well felt like he had. "Are you serious? Doing fuck all Rafe I sit here every day working my ass off for a degree so I don't spend the rest of my life living off your money. Something you complained Rose did to your fath-"

"Don't bring him into this, y/n." He interrupted, completely overruling your thoughts on his words- like he often did when overwhelmed by his emotions. "Rafe, I'm not bringing him into anything. All I'm saying is that I'm sitting here fucking studying to get a job- so god forbid I don't drop at your call to talk shit about Sarah." The room lingered in silence. Both of you refusing to concede to the other- why would you? You were well in your right to call him out on his bullshit.

"Look I don't expect you to get it. It's more than you'd ever understand- too complex" He muttered, walking off towards the door, undoubtedly planning to call up Barry for drugs until his anger faded. "Too complex? Please, Rafe, you don't understand how much work I do. I think the petty fights you and your sister have, that could be figured out if you just fucking sat down and spoke about it, are too complex for me."

Stunned at your words, he paused in his stride towards the door. Petty fights? What was petty about his sister being a raging bitch? "Whatever, I don't have time for this y/n. You're being completely ignorant of my issues."

"No, I'm not. I'm telling you that talking down to me will get you nowhere. I've stood by your side for years, even when we were just friends. Defended you to everyone who called you crazy because I knew, and I still know, that deep down you are just conflicted. I love you, and I will defend you to anyone outside this house. But when it's you and I, I will tell you when you're overreacting and need to think twice about what you are going to do. And that's exactly what you need to do now Rafe. I know you're grieving still and yes, seeing Sarah with the Pogues after all that happened may hurt you. But she is grieving in her own way too. And if that is with John B and his friends then so be it. Don't burn the bridge you have any more than you already have, in the face of something that has been in your knowledge for years."

He knew you were right. You were the one person he trusted. Not Topper. Not Kelce. Especially not Rose. You had been with him through everything, and when he looked back you often gave him advice that didn't always swing in your favour- but always his. He knew he wasn't the easiest person to be in love with, so the fact you stood by his side for all those years was a testament to your honesty and faithfulness. "I'm sorry."

And although his words were short and concise, you knew below the surface level they meant a whole lot more. He struggled with showing any emotion that wasn't frustration. But his harmful words aimed at you doing 'fuck all', wasn't going to fly by under your radar.

"And what in particular are you sorry for?" You asked, leaning your back against his desk. If he wasn't in such a rage when he walked in he would have realised how tired you looked. Your hair was still undone from when you had woken up this morning, drowned in his sweatpants and hoodie he had given you years ago when you were drunk out of your mind at a High School party. Tired- but beautiful. Walking over to you, suddenly sheepish at his uncalled-for anger towards you, he slipped his hands around your waist, slightly pressing his fingers into the delicate dip in your back. "I know you do so much work for us baby, I'm sorry for undermining everything you have done for me. You're working so hard every day, and I'm so proud of you." He admitted, looking lovingly into your eyes. His eyes full of pure love for a girl he had chased all his life.

And although there was so much more to come for you both as you faced the future of your relationship but also the future of the island. You knew that right now, this was enough for you. Standing with the man you love as he moved his hand up and down your back, content.

"Down talk my degree again and you're on the couch for a week."

[rosenclaws]

Prompt list time!! I would LOVE a smutty #58 with sub!Eddie Alden getting railed by his 5"1 gf and being surprised at how much he likes it. (You can't tell me that Eddie wouldn't be down for at least trying pegging)

58 - “No one’s ever touched me like this, fuck.”

a/n: Full disclosure I have never written anything like this before and I'm not super into pegging myself BUT I will do my very best for you!! Please feel free to correct me or offer suggestions bc this is my first time writing this <3

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DNI, sub!Eddie, pegging (strap on)

"Come on Eddie, you promised." You were crawling over him.

A pout on your lips and puppy dog eyes on full display. See you and Eddie may have gotten drunk one night and placed a bet at the bar below your apartment. He wins and he gets to tie you up, you win and you get to peg him.

Guess who won that night.

Eddie had never done anything like this and neither have you but you were always interested in it. Eddie usually likes to be in control, there's something tempting about giving it all up and letting you take care of him in such a personal way.

"I know baby, so eager." He kisses you softly, cupping your face as you sit in his lap. You grind your hips against his clothed cock.

"Shit." He groans as you sneak your hand below the waistband. He tries to switch positions but you snap at him. Your voice much more commanding than he's ever heard and fuck it makes him shiver.

"Lay down Eddie. Be a good boy for once." His eyes go wide as you press against his chest.

He doesn't fight it as you take control. Loving the feeling of being told what to do. He happily laps at your cunt when you sit on his face. Grinding onto his nose and taking every command and he doesn't even try to hide the whimpers when you take his cock in your mouth. Your mouth is a gift sent from the heavens he's sure of it. All of you is.

"Are you ready?" Your voice is sweet as you ask. He's on all fours and he can feel the cold touch of your lubed up fingers.

"Yeah baby," You kiss him gently as you slide a finger in.

He groans into your lips as you work him open. Keening at the praises your whisper into his ear. He needs to relax and you take your time making sure he is. Working him and whispering sweet words until he had given into the pleasure.

When he's prepped and ready you get the strap ready. It's on the smaller side but you can always work your way up. He's never felt this pleasure before. The lube is dripping down the strap onto his thighs.

The cold helps him calm down as the tip breeches his ass. He moans, burying his face in the pillows as you slowly slide in. His breaths come out in short puffs as you bottom out.

"Such a good boy Eddie, taking it so well." You run your fingers through his hair. Tugging at it and forcing his head back.

"No one’s ever touched me like this, fuck.” He moans loudly as you start to move. His back flexes as you grab onto his hips. What a sight this is. He's a disheveled, panting, moaning mess. Your normally cocky boyfriend is nothing but putty in your hands.

"Fuck fuck." He fists the sheets into his hand. You reach around and stroke his cock, adding more pleasure than he can handle. With a loud moan he comes hard. The veins in his arms popping as he grabs hard onto the sheets.

"Did so good for me baby, my pretty baby." You run your nails along his back soothingly.

Waiting until he's fully relaxed until pulling out. Eddie lays breathless on the bed. The warm fuzzy feeling making his head buzz. He smiles up at you when you climb back into bed. You pet his hair softly and kiss his forehead.

"You okay?" He nods and grins. Already planning on when you can do that again.

[ogdit]

This Post is by someone that wants to remain anonymous, they DM'd me this and asked me to post

The callout campaign against Kagebros has gone WAY too far. The lengths these people have gone to violate someone’s boundaries and privacy in order to “warn” people is incredibly excessive and is dealing horrible damage to their mental health and wellbeing. It needs to fucking stop.

The situation has spiraled completely out of control, spurred on by people who would rather side with a proud AI artist than have a civilized, adult discussion about tracing. Said AI artist has a history of attempting to ruin Kagebros’ credibility, spreading disinformation and rumors about them and their nonprofit charity zines, now going as far as to allegedly incite people to nonconsensually take photos of them at their booth at TFcon Baltimore, and block-evading their socials in order to find more posts to pick apart.

As they have stated already, Kagebros never had ANY intention to scam people, which understandably doesn’t change how those affected may feel. That being said, they could have very easily traced over things without altering them in any way at all, like many others within the convention vending sphere have blatantly done without a callout from these same people who care so much about “calling out tracing”. There tends to be a gray area in the realm of tracing techniques within the art industry (especially professionally), and there is plenty of merit for their actions to be criticized. As they’ve stated, they were under the impression that Official artwork/figures were okay to trace over and alter, which they now know to avoid doing so in the future. Even if the details and credibility of the piece can be scrutinized, they still made a conscious effort to alter the pieces in question to be more original.

Although said effort may not be enough for most, they now KNOW that. End of story. They can't immediately change the pieces they had available for sale, and they should be showing change through their future pieces and actions, which is something that’s up for judgment by anyone. And yet the people starting this have needlessly dragged it on, inciting others to keep spreading the accusations to further audiences, leading to more harassment.

Seafoamsol had admittedly unblocked Kagebros and “offered” to have a talk with them about the situation, but their own intentions are extremely questionable, as a conversation should have been the first priority, rather than a callout post. They assumed Kagebros’ intentions without giving them a single chance to address it themselves before the callout, and are now going forward with the narrative of them being a scammer.

Again, if they truly were concerned, they could have unblocked them and had a conversation before the callout was made, instead of assuming their intentions were to deceive people.

The situation is very nuanced, meaning there's a lot of points to be acknowledged on both sides in order to come to a conclusion, which could have happened peacefully if adults just had a civil discussion with each other. There is a justifiable talk to be had here, and reasonable changes to be made, but this can’t be accomplished productively if people continue to jump to conclusions and assume intentions. This has done nothing–and WILL do nothing–but hurt people, if this behavior doesn’t stop. mistakes will be made, lessons will be learned. Please look at this situation in its entirety before coming to your own conclusions based on assumptions made by people with evidently questionable motives and a history of causing problems for others and driving them out of the community. 

Thank you for reading.

[magalidragon]

🏒 the deal 🎶 | “Sometimes people sneak up on you and suddenly you don't know how you ever lived without them.”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @youwerenevermine! 🥳🥰😘🤗🎂🎈🎊🎁 Okay fine whatever so I am a few hours your time early, but I was so excited to share and honestly, the world is going to end soon and I wanted to get ahead of the game. I went back and forth over what to do for you and couldn’t decide so went with this. The original hockey boyfriend Mr. Garrett Graham and sassy Hannah Wells! It is Jonerys meets THE DEAL! I hope you like it! So grateful to this fandom for introducing me to you! Love you bby! 😘

There was a very strong possibility Jon Snow had made a terrible mistake making this deal with Daenerys Targaryen. He figured it was easy enough; she was a smarty pants and could help him get his grade up in what was supposed to be an "easy A" philosophy class and keep him from getting benched. In doing so, he'd pretend to date her and the guy she had a crush on-- fucking Robb, his own damn cousin-- would see her as a bit more than weird silver-haired purple-eyed Dany and want to ask her out. Since Robb wanted anything he couldn't have-- particularly if Jon had it first.

Now he was watching Robb openly flirt with her and was squeezing his beer bottle so hard he figured he'd be benched not for his shitty philosophy grade but for having to get stitches in his stick hand. It was supposed to be an easy quid-pro-quo. A deal. Started off more annoying than anything else-- Dany could not have cared one single snowflake that he was Queen Alysanne University's star left winger and frequently let him know it. He honestly appreciated it, even if he had to really wear her down, chasing her all over Winterfell to get her to concede.

That had honestly been fun. Then there were their random long conversations after studying. Topics ranged from the best pizza toppings-- pepperoni and more pepperoni for him, while she saw nothing wrong with pineapple on her pizza-- to the best Marvel movie-- he didn't mind that movie about 'The Eternals' while she thought it sucked and liked 'Ant Man' more, all the way over to which House of Commons member should win the two highly competitive ridings near Winterfell or who really won the War of Five Kings?

He also had admitted to her some things he'd never shared with anyone. That he might be the aloof "Ice Man" of QAU hockey who could get any girl he wanted, he actually played that image outside of his truly private life. In reality he just couldn't think of girls, he was too busy trying to do his best to keep his grades up to get a very difficult degree in metallurgy and cultural anthropology while also making sure he didn't lose his rookie contract with the Winterfell Wolves professional hockey team.

Just like he knew all she wanted was to get the bonus money from the School of Drama and Music's winter showcase to help with her mother's medical bills, back in Pentos. That her dream was to sing on stage at the King's Landing Opera House.

All of that swam in his head, those conversations and late nights, sitting out in the quad on a blanket while she quizzed him on long dead Maesters, or that time she'd come to one of his games and he'd scored a hat trick, so she ahd to come to every singel one afterward.

He had done his job; he talked her up to Robb. He lingered in the living room of his and Robb's shared house when they would talk, just in case there needed to be extra prodding. Now they were on a bloody, fucking date.

"Jon, buddy, let go of the beer. The beer didn't do anything to you. Come on man, there you go." His friend and other roommate, Satin, carefully pried his fingers off the glass neck, moving the bottle to the oak bartop. "Alright, so when are you going to tell her?"

"Huh?" He was now glaring at the back of Robb's stupid auburn head, wondering if he could cut off those fucking curls while he was sleeping and blame their fourth roommate Theon. "Tell her what?"

"That you're in love with her, you dipshit."

Thank the gods he wasn't holding the beer bottle because he'd have definitely dropped it. He also was glad he didn't have any beer in his mouth, because that would have been sputtered everywhere as he gaped at Satin, who was now studying his fingernails nonchalantly. "Wha...what...I'm not....she's a friend! She wasn't just a friend, she was...Dany.

Dany, whose first words to him were: "I'm sorry do I know you?"

Dany, who always tied her long silver braids up on her head in a knot using pencils. Who hummed random song llyrics and chords and scribbled them on ltitle pieces of paper. Who had a voice that sounded like fucking angels from teh rafters. Who snorted and cackled when she laughed. Who called him "Wolf Man" instead of "Ice Man" because he had a wolf back home and one tattooed on his arm.

Dany....Dany who always smelled like lemons and lavender and who...

He blinked. It was like seeing everything under a different filter. Brighter. Across the bar, he watched Dany laugh at something Robb said, but it didn’t meet her eyes. She was playing with the silver guitar pick she used, something he had learned was a nervous habit. Her eyes— vibrant, happy lavender— did not fully meet his, but he knew she had glanced his way.

Gods. Was he in love with her? Was that what this feeling was? He couldn’t love her. He had to focus on hockey and studying and…it was just easier to keep that other side of him out there. If Jon Snow actually found a girl…a music major who didn’t know a deke from a slapshot and thought there were quarters not periods…he’d never hear the end of it.

He didn’t care. He didn’t want her with Robb. “And why is that?” Satin asked.

Fuck he said that out loud? “Because she’s mine,” he snapped. He paused. “No she is her own person of course I don’t own her obviously but…” He drained the beer bottle. This was one thing Robb was not going to steal from him. He stomped over to their table and didn’t even wait for his cousin to say anything before he glanced at Dany. “Get your coat, we still have to finish that Agatha show.”

She cocked her head up, confused. “Jon what…”

“Come on.”

“Jon,” Robb began, but he didn’t even have time to finish. Jon grabbed Dany’s hand, tugging her away and towards the back corridor. “What the seven hells Jon!”

If she wanted to fight him, she could. He’d let her anyway. Dany did not pull very hard and protested over Robb’s loud complaining. “Jon seriously what the fuck are you doing?!” She pushed at his chest when he tugged them into the stairwell that led up to the bar manager office, the dim lighting throwing her face in relief. She was fuming. She was a dragon, he expected it. “What was that!?”

“I want to see something.” He didn’t wait for a response. He had to do this. So he crashed his mouth down over hers.

The shock had her gasping, lips parting under his. Soft, plump, perfect lips, and he pressed gently, his hands dropping to her small waist to hold her upright against the wall. She had her hand on his shoulder and for a second he didn’t think she was going to kiss back and made to pull away, apology at the ready, knowing he had fucked this up completely.

Until her hands dove into his hair and she opened her mouth wider, moaning and pulling him to her. He groaned, desperate now, a man who had his first taste of water after wandering a desert, and cupped her jaw, angling her head so he could rise over her, sliding his tongue along hers. Gods. She tasted like strawberries. How!? One of life’s mysteries, he supposed.

The need for air separated them, their breathing ragged and foreheads touching, noses brushing. Her gaze lifted, meeting his. “I take it you don’t think I should see Robb?”

He shook his head, whispering, “Come home with me. I’ll make you a deal.”

“And what’s that?”

He kissed her again, nipping her bottom lip. Her breasts were pressed to his chest and his knee had wedged itself between hers. They were about ten seconds away from a public indecency charge. His voice dropped, gravelly. “You come home with me and I’ll make you come within ten minutes. Five, even.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “And what do you get out of this deal?” she asked.

He pretended to think, before flashing a grin. “The knowledge I made you come. Oh and, our next movie night you don’t wear underwear.”

She smirked now. “I am not one of your puck bunnies.”

“And you know I don’t do puck bunnies.”

After a second, she barely nodded. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got Wolf Man.”

“So it’s a deal then Targy?” She hated that nickname. The glare she shot him had him grinning.

She pulled at his hand, towards the back exit. “It’s a deal.”

[maeve-on-mustafar]

I need a Zukka arranged marriage AU where Sokka is grumpy about his impending arranged marriage and even more annoyed when the Fire Nation sends over a whole bunch of scrolls on proper courting practices and etiquette, because fuck if he’s reading all of that.

But then Zuko arrives and Sokka has an, “Oh, no, he’s hot,” moment. And even though he tries to remain aloof and act like he’s totally not into Zuko, he’s kind of intrigued by Zuko and also feels kind of protective of Zuko when Zuko doesn’t know basic information that even the youngest kid in the Water Tribe is aware is essential for survival. And like, Zuko seeks him out at meals to sit by him but also tries to give him space, and even if he is a bit stuffy and addicted to rules and etiquette. But he’s polite to Gran-Gran and to Sokka’s dad, and even tries to be nice to Katara, who’s even more skeptical of this arranged marriage than Sokka himself.

And like, one thing that’s really weird is that Zuko keeps giving Sokka gifts? Like, he gives Sokka spices from the Fire Nation, he gives Sokka a sword when he learns Sokka is interested in learning how to fight with one, etc. And he thinks this is nice and all, but he never really knows of anything to give Zuko in return. But hey, maybe the constant gifts are a weird Fire Nation way of showing affection?

But soon Zuko starts acting weird and distant, and Sokka can tell he’s stressed and he looks super tired and upset, and Sokka can’t get him to talk to him no matter what he tries. And Sokka is suddenly very worried for this other boy who he wouldn’t have cared about a few weeks ago but who seems so sad now.

So finally—FINALLY—Lt. Jee, who’s been watching this all go down with an unimpressed scowl on his face, basically tells Sokka that all those gifts from Zuko? Yeah, those are courting gifts, and by accepting them, Sokka showed that he’s considering Zuko as a suitor. But since he never reciprocated and gave Zuko anything return, the marriage can’t go through. And if Sokka doesn’t accept, Zuko will have to return to the Fire Nation in disgrace and Ozai would consider him a complete failure. And BTW, if Sokka had just READ THE SCROLLS that the Fire Nation sent over, Sokka would know this. (Lt. Jee is so done with this dude who thinks he can play games with his beloved Fire Prince’s heart. Not while Jee’s around.)

So IDK how this ends, but Sokka should be at least optimistic about his future with Zuko, and Zuko should be shyly pleased that his intended appreciated his efforts all along, yay. And also, Hakoda should find out about what a scummy dad Ozai is and adopt Zuko. Jee is happy his boy gets to be happy. Please reblog if you have other ideas/anything to add!

[alloalouette]

It’s pretty clear that the men in my life, even the ones who oppose trump, think it’s just going to be another shitty four years filled with “stupidity”, merely.

They genuinely do not comprehend the immediate threat to safety and mortality this new era is to women, to any person who is non-white and non-conforming to conservative christofascist nationalism.

They can still go about their lives relatively unscathed if they don’t say much and just make it through what they perceive to be four years of drudgery. As much as they are concerned, and care about me and the other women in their lives, they have not grasped the deadly seriousness of the situation.

They genuinely have not perceived the future that will come soon and, once things are set in motion, will decline with extreme rapidity. Just like with roe v wade: there one day, gone the next, and life-saving care just vanished all over the country and women started literally bleeding out in parking lots.

Open misogyny and assault will become the normative social behavior, more than it already is in online right spaces, because the punishments will be few or dismissed entirely.

Men who secretly are intrigued by or even love the idea of controlling and harming women will behave with what appears to be “mob mentality”—once it is permissible they will let it all out of hiding. Just as we saw ugliness we did not dare to believe existed in family and friends come out unhindered and without shame during the first term, we will be shocked, just as we were then, at the way trump et al. will have changed, broken, people we thought we knew. The same will be true for any person with social privilege turning on anyone they deem beneath them, unworthy of dignity or safety or care.

The legal frameworks that in that past would have kept men like trump, Fuentes, Elon, and everyone they are shouldering up with from doing what they already have done to arrive at this moment—frameworks that should have been used to prevent this, their integrity having already been crippled by not being applied to stop him et al. from advancing—those remaining scaffolds of decency he is going to dismantle swiftly.

In every instance of autocracy and fascism throughout history, again and again is the shock and awe at how rapidly democratic norms, public institutions, and acceptable human behavior just unraveled.

Do not — DO NOT — imply to women, to non-white and non-conforming people in your lives that the next “four years” are going to “suck”. If that is your belief, your feeling, your impulse to say or think, hush.

Read project 2025, thoroughly.

Watch Walsh, Fuentes, and those adjacent to them, to hear their glee at owning women, at controlling and ruining, at smashing their faces into brick ceilings (gloating in their abuse and suffering, and their delight at being the hand that delivers it metaphorically and literally).

Listen to the people who are terrified. Fucking remember what trump did in four years when it was a “fluke” and everyone with a shred of decency left was scrambling to hold everything together through tenuously and wide-spread grasping fingers, futilely in many cases. Fucking remember.

Read Sarah Kendzior, Jared Yates Sexton, Heather Cox Richardson, Dave Troy, and anyone they retweet or quote. These are historians and analysts, experts in political history, especially fascism and autocracy. They are the ones running out of the mines shouting that all the canaries are dead. Pay attention.

If you want to know what to do next, start reading Octavia Butler, George Jackson, James Baldwin, and expand from there. Start listening to indigenous people and reshaping your concept of social bonds, social cohesion, and how we survive this.

It’s not how you think, men in my life. It’s not how you think, those of you who think this is reactionary and extreme. Indigenous communities that are still here today have survived every empire, for good reasons. Learn them. Learn from them.

For the rest of us, and those of you who make the inward journey and meet up with us, cultivate resistance. It begins in your heart and mind. Existence is resistance. Joy is resistance. Empathy is resistance. Anything that supports freedom for others (which will always come back to you), is resistance. Get after it.