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a-usernamethatworks · 8 months ago

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✨Taking her in - Pt. 5✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 6736

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The date had gone far better than you ever could have anticipated. Jake turned out to be not just nice but genuinely thoughtful and respectful. He was in his early twenties, and you learned that he had recently come out of a long-term relationship, which explained his maturity and the way he approached things. He made it clear that he wasn’t interested in one-night stands and that he just wanted to get to know you better, which put you at ease. It was refreshing to be around someone who didn’t seem to have any hidden agendas, who was just enjoying spending time with you.

Midway through the evening, after the movie, Jake had offered to take you home, but you politely declined, mentioning that one of your “roommates”, who you explained were like brothers to you, would be picking you up. Jake didn’t push the issue and seemed to respect your boundaries completely. After the movie, he suggested going to a nearby diner for some food and milkshakes, and you agreed, thinking it would be a nice way to end the evening.

Now, you were in the restroom of the diner, having just finished dinner, while Jake waited at the table for the milkshakes to arrive. Your nerves were fluttering, but not in a bad way. The whole date had left you feeling giddy, your head buzzing from the attention Jake had given you. He had been a perfect gentleman, and the way he looked at you made you feel… noticed, in a way that was new and exciting.

Standing in front of the mirror, you smoothed down your dress and took a deep breath. The evening had been wonderful, but there was one more thing you needed to do before it ended. You pulled out your phone and dialed Dean’s number, your heart racing as you listened to it ring.

Dean had been lying on his bed at the bunker, attempting to distract himself with a movie, but his mind kept drifting back to you. The last three hours had been torture, his thoughts consumed with wondering how your date was going. He kept picturing you with Jake—laughing, talking, maybe even kissing—and the thought of you letting that guy get closer to you in ways he had only dared to imagine made his heart race with a mix of jealousy and anxiety.

Every time his mind wandered too far down that path, he forced himself to focus on the movie, but it was no use. The idea of you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, gnawed at him relentlessly. He knew he had no right to feel this way, that he should be happy for you, but the feelings were there, simmering just beneath the surface.

When his phone buzzed and your name popped up on the screen, his heart skipped a beat. The first thought that flashed through his mind was relief—at least you were calling, which meant things hadn’t gone too far. But almost immediately, a darker thought crept in. What if something had happened? What if Jake had crossed a line or if you were in trouble?

Dean sat up quickly, his heart pounding as he answered the call. “Hey, you okay?”, he asked, trying to keep the panic out of his voice but failing slightly.

“Hey, Dean”, you replied, and he could hear the lightness in your voice, the giddiness that told him things were okay, maybe even great. “Yeah, I’m fine. The date’s going really well, actually. We’re just finishing up some milkshakes at a diner, and I was wondering if you or Sam could pick me up in about thirty minutes?”.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relief flooding through him. “Yeah, of course”, he said, his voice a little steadier now. “I can come get you. Where are you guys?”.

You gave him the address, and he noted it down, his mind already shifting gears. The thought of seeing you again, of making sure you got home safe, calmed the storm of emotions that had been raging inside him all evening.

“Great, I’ll see you in a bit then”, you said, and there was a warmth in your voice that made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

“See you soon”, Dean replied, trying to sound casual, but there was an undeniable sense of urgency in his tone. He hung up the phone and took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm the conflicting emotions swirling inside him.

As he grabbed his jacket and headed out to the Impala, another thought crossed his mind—what if Jake had really gotten to you tonight? What if you’d let your guard down, and things had gone further than he was ready to accept? The idea made his stomach churn with a mix of protectiveness and something darker, something he didn’t want to admit to himself.

Dean pushed those thoughts aside as he started the Impala and pulled out of the bunker’s garage. He needed to focus on getting to you, on making sure you were safe and sound. Everything else could wait.

As he drove toward the diner, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that things were changing—between the two of you—and he wasn’t sure if he was ready for what that might mean. But for now, he’d put those feelings on hold.

Dean pulled up in front of the diner, his heart pounding in his chest as he spotted you and Jake standing off to the side. The way you were both smiling, clearly enjoying each other’s company, made something twist painfully in his gut. He watched from the car as you leaned in to hug Jake, his hand lingering on yours as you started to pull away. Dean’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his emotions in check.

Jake stepped closer to you, and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. His mind raced with all the things he wanted to do—march over there, drag you away, anything to keep that guy from getting any closer. But he knew he couldn’t. This was your moment, your choice, and as much as it killed him, he had to let it happen.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as Jake gently cupped your face, leaning in closer. For a split second, Dean was sure he was going to lose it, his stomach churning at the thought of seeing you kiss someone else. But then, instead of kissing your lips, Jake placed a soft kiss on your cheek, making you shiver and smile brightly.

Dean’s chest tightened at the sight, a mix of relief and jealousy flooding through him. The way you smiled after that kiss, so genuine and happy, made it clear that you had enjoyed the night. And as much as Dean wanted to be happy for you, it only made the ache in his chest worse.

“Bye, (Y/N)”, Jake said, his voice warm and sincere. “Hope I’ll see you soon”.

You nodded, your smile still bright as you replied, “Yeah, I’d like that”.

Jake gave your hand one last squeeze before stepping back, giving you space to turn and walk toward the Impala. Dean watched you the entire time, his heart racing as you approached the car. When you finally reached the passenger door and opened it, he tried to compose himself, forcing a neutral expression onto his face.

“Hey”, you said softly as you slid into the seat, your cheeks still flushed with excitement.

“Hey”, Dean replied, his voice steady, though there was a tightness to it. “Had a good time?”.

You nodded, your smile still lingering as you buckled your seatbelt. “Yeah, I did. Jake’s really sweet”.

Dean nodded, though he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more about Jake. Instead, he just shifted the car into drive, pulling away from the diner.

As you rolled down the window, letting the cool night air wash over your flushed face, you tried to calm the fluttering in your stomach. The night had gone so well, better than you could have imagined, and you were still processing everything that had happened. The breeze helped a little, but your mind was still buzzing with the memory of Jake’s gentle kiss on your cheek and the warmth of his hand in yours.

Dean glanced over at you, biting down on the inside of his cheek to keep his emotions in check. The way you looked—flushed, a little dazed, with that smile still playing on your lips—was driving him crazy. He couldn’t stand the silence any longer, couldn’t handle not knowing what had happened between you and Jake.

“Something happen?”, Dean finally asked, his voice tight with barely concealed tension. He kept his eyes on the road, but his whole body was tense, as if bracing himself for an impact. He was afraid of your answer, but at the same time, he needed to hear it. He needed to know what he was up against, what had changed between you and this guy who had managed to make you look so damn happy.

You hesitated, not because you wanted to hide anything, but because you were still trying to sort through your own feelings. “Well”, you started slowly, your fingers playing with the hem of your dress. “Jake was really sweet tonight. He…he kissed me on the cheek when we said goodbye”.

A kiss on the cheek. It was innocent, sweet—exactly what he should have expected from a guy like Jake. But even that was enough to make something twist painfully inside him.

“Just on the cheek?”, Dean asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though it was clear he was struggling to do so.

“Yeah”, you replied, nodding. “Just on the cheek. He was really respectful. We talked a lot, and he didn’t try to push anything. He was… I don’t know, different from what I expected”.

Dean nodded, though he didn’t say anything for a moment. He was relieved that it hadn’t gone further, that you hadn’t done anything more intimate. But the knowledge that someone else was making you feel special, that someone else was getting close to you in ways he hadn’t, was eating him alive.

“That’s good”, Dean finally said, though his voice was tight. “Sounds like he’s a decent guy”.

You glanced over at him, noticing the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders were hunched slightly. “Dean, are you okay?”.

He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… want to make sure you’re okay, that’s all”.

You smiled at that, touched by his concern. “I’m okay, Dean. Really. Thanks for asking”.

Dean nodded again, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were changing between you, that you were slipping through his fingers in a way he wasn’t prepared for. And that scared him more than anything else.

As you and Dean walked into the bunker, the familiar warmth of the place was comforting, but it did little to calm the nerves still fluttering in your chest. The evening had been a whirlwind of emotions, and you were still processing everything that had happened.

Inside, Sam and Jody were sitting at the library table, both looking up as you entered. Jody had come to visit to discuss a case near her home with Sam, and they had been deep in conversation, but the sight of you and Dean caught their attention immediately.

Sam’s face lit up with a teasing grin, and Jody wasn’t far behind, her smile warm and welcoming. “How’d the date go?”, Sam asked, his tone playful. Jody echoed the question, clearly just as curious, her eyes sparkling with interest.

Dean, who had been walking beside you, immediately veered off toward the corner of the room where he kept his stash of whiskey. He didn’t say a word as he poured himself a glass, the tension in his shoulders evident as he took a long, deliberate sip. The thought of hearing you recount the details of your date once again was more than he could handle sober.

You couldn’t help but blush at the attention, but there was a part of you that was happy to share. The date had gone so well, and you were still riding the high of it. “It was really nice”, you said, smiling shyly as you sat down across from Jody. “Jake was great. We went to see a movie, and then he took me to a diner for dinner”.

Sam raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms across his chest. “And? Any sparks?”.

Dean’s grip on his glass tightened, but he kept his gaze focused on the amber liquid, taking another sip to keep himself from saying something he might regret.

You hesitated, your cheeks growing warmer as you fumbled with your words. “I… I don’t know… I mean… maybe”, you whispered, the uncertainty in your voice clear. You weren’t entirely sure what you were feeling, but the night had definitely left you with a lot to think about.

Dean, still standing by his whiskey stash, emptied his glass in one long gulp. The burn of the alcohol did little to ease the growing tension inside him. Without a word, he refilled his glass, his movements a bit more deliberate this time, as if he were trying to focus on the task to keep his thoughts in check.

Jody leaned forward, her smile soft and understanding. “It’s okay not to know right away. First dates can be complicated, and it’s all about getting a feel for each other”. She glanced over at Sam, who was watching the whole exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

Sam gave you an encouraging nod. “Yeah, there’s no rush. Just take your time, figure out how you feel. If it’s meant to be, you’ll know”.

You nodded, appreciating their support, but your mind kept drifting back to Dean, who was conspicuously quiet. You could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, and it made you uneasy. You glanced over at him, catching the way his jaw was clenched, the way he was avoiding looking at you or anyone else in the room.

Jody, ever perceptive and quick to lighten the mood, glanced at Dean and couldn’t resist a tease. “Dean, you should stop playing the worried dad. She’s a big girl; she can handle herself”. She winked at you, trying to ease the tension she sensed in the room.

Dean forced a tight-lipped smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He knew Jody was just trying to lighten the mood, but the words hit too close to home in ways she couldn’t possibly understand. It wasn’t just worry gnawing at him, and it sure as hell wasn’t anything paternal. A dad wouldn’t feel the burn of jealousy deep in his gut, wouldn’t have the irrational urge to keep you from dating anyone else. A dad wouldn’t be fighting the overwhelming desire to kiss you, to claim you in ways he knew were wrong, to protect you not just from the dangers of the world but from any man who might take you away from him.

He downed the rest of his whiskey, the burn of the alcohol barely registering as the emotions he was trying so hard to suppress threatened to bubble over. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the truth of what he was feeling, but it was becoming harder and harder to deny.

“Come on, Dean, lighten up. She had a good time, that’s what matters”.

Dean’s grip tightened around his empty glass. He could feel the weight of your gaze on him, the unspoken questions hanging in the air between you. He knew he needed to say something, to offer you some kind of reassurance, but the words wouldn’t come. He was too afraid that if he opened his mouth, everything he’d been holding back would come spilling out.

Instead, he just nodded, forcing another smile that felt more like a grimace. “Yeah, you’re right”, he muttered, his voice rough. “That’s what matters”.

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t enough. The jealousy, the possessiveness, the desire—it was all still there, simmering just below the surface, threatening to spill over at any moment. And the worst part was, he had no idea how to make it stop.

Sam, sensing the tension in his brother, shot him a concerned look but didn’t press the issue. Instead, he turned his attention back to you, trying to keep the conversation going. “So, are you going to see Jake again?”.

You hesitated, your mind still on Dean and the strange vibe you were getting from him. “I’m not sure yet”, you said softly. “I guess I’ll see how I feel in a few days”.

Jody nodded, clearly satisfied with your answer. “That’s a good approach. No need to rush into anything”.

One week later, the tension that had lingered between you and Dean had lessened slightly, but it was still there, a quiet undercurrent in every interaction. Dean had been acting a bit odd, more distant than usual, but he wasn’t as on edge as he had been right after your date with Jake. Still, something felt unresolved, like there was an unspoken conversation hanging between you that neither of you was ready to have.

Sam had gone off with Jody to work on a case, leaving you and Dean alone in the bunker. The day had been uneventful, with Dean spending most of it working on the Impala, a six-pack of beer keeping him company as he tinkered away. You knew that when Dean worked on the car all day, especially with that much beer involved, it usually meant he was trying to work something out in his head. He wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, but his actions often spoke louder than words.

As evening fell, you found yourself pacing in your room, nerves fluttering in your stomach. There was something you needed to ask Dean, something that had been on your mind ever since that conversation in the car a week ago. You didn’t know how he would react, and the thought of it made your heart race. But you also knew you couldn’t keep avoiding it, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was normal when it wasn’t. It was naive and so fucking stupid, but you wanted to do it anyways. You had to.

Dean had just come out of the shower, the steam still clinging to the air in the hallway as he moved back to his room to get dressed. You could hear the faint rustling of clothes as he rummaged through his drawers, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you walked over to his door and knocked softly. The sound seemed to echo in the quiet hallway, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just walk away, pretend like you hadn’t come to his door with this burning question in your mind. But before you could second-guess yourself, Dean’s voice came from the other side, a little rough around the edges from the beer and exhaustion.

“Yeah? Come in”.

You hesitated for a split second before pushing the door open, stepping into his room. Dean was standing by the bed, shirtless, his jeans half-buttoned as he looked up at you with a curious expression. His hair was still damp from the shower, droplets of water clinging to his skin, and the room smelled faintly of his soap and aftershave.

“Hey”, you greeted him softly, trying to keep your voice steady. Your eyes flicked to his bare chest for a moment before you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Do.. uh.. do you have a minute? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued, but there was also a slight wariness in his eyes. He could tell this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “Sure”, he said, finishing buttoning up his jeans before grabbing a t-shirt from the bed and pulling it over his head. “What’s on your mind?”.

You hesitated for a long moment, feeling the heat rising in your cheeks as you prepared yourself to say what you’d come here for. This was one of the most nerve-wracking things you’d ever done, and the last thing you wanted was for Dean to think you were being silly. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to do this, needed to know where you stood before your date with Jake tomorrow.

“I… I think I need you to sit”, you whispered, your voice barely audible as you looked anywhere but directly at him.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, but he could see how serious you were, how much this seemed to mean to you. “Alright”, he said softly, moving over to the bed and sitting down on the edge, his gaze fixed on you. “What’s going on?”.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. The room felt too small, the air too thick, but you pressed on. “I have another date with Jake tomorrow”, you began, your voice shaky. “And I… I’m kind of freaking out about it”.

Dean’s expression softened at your words, his protectiveness instantly kicking in. “Hey, it’s just a date”, he said gently, trying to reassure you. “I told you, you don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for”.

You nodded quickly, appreciating his concern, but that wasn’t exactly what was on your mind. “I know, I know”, you replied, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “But it’s just… well, there’s something I’m really nervous about, and I didn’t know who else to ask”.

Dean’s concern deepened, but he stayed quiet, waiting for you to continue.

You took another deep breath, trying to push through your embarrassment. “I wanted to know if… if I’m any good at… kissing”, you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt strange and heavy in your mouth, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Dean blinked, completely taken aback by your request. Of all the things he’d expected you to say, this wasn’t even remotely close. “You want to know if you’re… good at kissing?”, he repeated, clearly trying to process what you were asking.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. The vulnerability in your eyes was unmistakable, and Dean could see just how much this meant to you. “I just want to know… if I’m any good at it”, you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t want to mess up with Jake. I just… I want to be sure”.

Dean’s mind was racing. He’d faced down monsters, demons, and all manner of supernatural threats, but nothing had prepared him for this. You, standing in front of him, asking him for such a thing —it was the last thing he ever expected, and it was stirring up emotions he didn’t know how to handle.

He wanted to protect you, to be the person you could rely on. But this? This felt like crossing a line, like stepping into territory that was dangerous for both of you.

Dean struggled to find the right words, his thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. This situation was so far beyond anything he’d ever anticipated, and it left him feeling completely out of his depth. You had always been like family to him—like a little sister or even a daughter in some ways.

He knew this was dangerous territory.

How could the two of you ever face each other after this? How could he look at you the same way when his mind was already racing with thoughts he had no business entertaining?

Dean swallowed hard, trying to push down the turmoil inside him. He needed to be strong, needed to be the protector you’d always relied on, not someone who complicated things by letting his emotions get the better of him.

“This is crazy”, Dean finally managed to say, his voice thick with hesitation. He looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and it only made it harder for him to keep his composure. “I mean, you’re like… you’re like family to me, you know? This is… this is a damn stupid idea Y/N”.

You bit your lip, uncertainty flickering across your face. “I know it’s weird”, you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I trust you, Dean. And I just… I don’t know who else to ask”.

He could feel the weight of your words pressing down on him, every instinct telling him to stop this before it went any further. But the vulnerability in your eyes, the trust you were placing in him, made it nearly impossible for him to turn you down. He wanted to protect you, to be the person you could rely on, but that same instinct was pushing him toward a line he knew he shouldn’t cross.

You seemed to sense his hesitation, and you took a step closer, your voice soft, almost pleading. “Dean, please… I won’t tell anybody”, you mumbled, your eyes earnest and filled with a mix of hope and uncertainty. “This absolutely doesn’t mean anything. I just… I need to know, and I don’t know who else to ask. We don’t ever have to talk about it again, I promise”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his mind a chaotic swirl of emotions. He knew you meant well, that you weren’t trying to complicate things, but the simple fact was that this already was complicated. He wanted to tell you no, to protect both of you from what could happen if he gave in to your request, but the way you were looking at him—so desperate for reassurance—made it incredibly hard to deny you.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as he tried to push down the conflicting feelings inside him. When he opened them again, you were still standing there, your expression so open, so trusting, that it made his chest ache. “You really don’t get it, do you?”, Dean said quietly, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and something else.

You looked at him, confused by his words. “Get what?”.

Dean shook his head slightly, not sure how to explain the turmoil he was feeling without revealing too much. “This isn’t just about practice, okay? Kissing… it’s not just some technical thing you can get better at with a little help. It’s… it’s emotional. It means something, even if you don’t want it to”.

You opened your mouth to argue, but Dean held up a hand, stopping you. “I get that you’re nervous, and I get that you want to be ready for your date with Jake, but this… you and me… it’s different. I don’t want to mess things up between us”.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to convince him. “Dean, I’m not asking you to make this more than it is. I just… I need to know that I’m not going to embarrass myself, that I’m not going to mess up. And you’re the only person I trust enough to ask”.

Dean’s resolve wavered as he listened to you. He knew you weren’t trying to complicate things, that you genuinely just wanted his help, but the feelings he’d been trying to keep buried were threatening to spill over.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to steady himself. This was a moment he never imagined he’d find himself in—a moment where he had to balance his protective instincts with feelings he wasn’t ready to fully confront. He knew this could change everything, that crossing this line could complicate things between you in ways he wasn’t sure he could handle. But the trust in your eyes, the way you were looking at him like he was the only one who could help you, made it impossible to refuse.

The minutes streched.

“Alright”, he mumbled eventually, his voice barely above a whisper. He opened his eyes, his gaze meeting yours, filled with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite hide. “C’mere”, he nodded towards the spot beside him on the bed, his heart pounding in his chest.

You hesitated for a moment, feeling the gravity of what you were about to do.

For Dean, this was about so much more than just a kiss. He knew deep down that it was wrong, so fucking wrong—wrong to blur the lines between protector and something more, wrong to let himself indulge in feelings he had tried so hard to bury. Just so fucking wrong. But a part of him, a part he wasn’t proud of, was desperate to know if this would be enough to finally shake the hold those feelings had on him. Maybe, just maybe, if he allowed himself this one moment, he could get it out of his system and go back to being the version of himself that you needed him to be. He was stupid. As stupid as your idea.

You slowly inched closer, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest that you were sure Dean could hear it. The tension in the room was thick, almost suffocating, but you pushed through it, trying to keep your mind focused on the reason you’d come to him in the first place. For three long years, you had dreamed about this moment, imagined what it would be like to be this close to Dean, to feel his breath on your skin. But now, with the reality of it staring you in the face, your mind was a mess of conflicting emotions.

You told yourself that you were doing this so you wouldn’t mess up things with Jake, that this was just a practical step to make sure you were prepared. But deep down, in a place you weren’t quite ready to face, you knew there was more to it.

This wasn’t about Jake.

It was about the feelings you’d been harboring for Dean all this time, feelings that you had tried to push aside, to ignore, but that had only grown stronger the more you were around him.

As you sat down beside him on the bed, the proximity made everything feel more intense. Your knees brushed against his, and you felt a shiver run through you, a mixture of nerves and something else—something that made your stomach flip and your breath catch in your throat. You glanced up at Dean, noticing the way his eyes were darker than usual, his expression conflicted.

Dean was trying so hard to stay in control, to keep his thoughts from straying. But the second you sat down beside him, so close that he could feel the warmth of your body, he knew he was in trouble. This wasn’t just a simple kiss for practice—this was everything he had been trying to deny for years, everything he had buried deep down so that he could be the friend you needed, not the man who wanted more than he should.

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of what was about to happen pressing down on him. The room felt too small, the air thick with tension, and he struggled to keep his emotions in check. You were so close, your presence overwhelming, and every rational part of his mind was screaming at him to stop, to step away before he crossed a line he couldn’t uncross.

He took a deep breath, his voice quiet and tinged with hesitation as he finally spoke. “(Y/N), are you… are you really, really sure about this?”. His gaze searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt, any indication that you might not want to go through with this after all.

The truth was, he wasn’t asking just for your sake. He was asking for himself too. Because once this happened, once he gave in to the temptation of your lips, he wasn’t sure if he could ever go back to the way things were. The feelings he had kept buried for so long were threatening to spill over, and if you gave him the green light, he knew there was no turning back.

You looked up at him, your eyes wide and filled with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I’m sure, Dean”, you whispered, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I trust you”.

Again. Those damn words. They hit him like a punch to the gut. You trusted him, and he didn’t want to betray that trust. But the way you were looking at him, the way your eyes held his, made it impossible for him to walk away. He knew in that moment that he couldn’t deny you, couldn’t deny himself, even if it meant complicating everything between you.

His breath hitched at your words, the weight of them settling heavily in his chest. The room seemed to shrink even further, the air between you charged with a tension so palpable it was almost suffocating.

His hand was gently cradling your cheek, and he could feel the heat of your skin beneath his fingertips, the subtle tremor that betrayed your own nerves. Despite your words, he could sense the same mix of anticipation and fear that was churning inside him. This was a moment of no return, a step into uncharted territory for both of you.

Slowly, deliberately, Dean leaned in closer, his heart hammering in his chest as his resolve began to crumble. He was a breath away from your lips, close enough to feel the warmth of your breath mingling with his, but he paused, giving you one last chance to pull back, to stop this before it began.

But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the gap between you, your lips brushing softly against his in a tentative, almost hesitant kiss. The contact was light, feather-soft, but it sent a shockwave through Dean that he wasn’t prepared for. The years of buried feelings, of unspoken desires, surged to the surface, overwhelming him with their intensity.

He deepened the kiss, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. There was a gentle pressure in the way his lips moved against yours, a cautious exploration as if he was trying to memorize the feel of you, to commit this moment to memory. His other hand came up to rest on your waist, the warmth of your body seeping through the fabric of your shirt and into his palm.

Your lips were soft and warm against his, and he could taste the faint hint of whatever lip balm you’d applied earlier, a sweet, subtle flavor that made his heart ache with something he couldn’t quite name. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, this connection that felt both right and so, so wrong.

Your hands came up to rest on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to steady yourself. You could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms, a rhythm that matched your own racing pulse. The kiss was everything you’d imagined it would be and more—tender, intense, filled with a depth of emotion that you hadn’t expected.

Dean could feel your inexperience in the way you kissed him, the way your lips moved tentatively against his, searching for a rhythm that matched his. It only made the moment more poignant, more charged with meaning. This wasn’t just about practice, not anymore. This was something deeper, something that had been building between you for far longer than either of you had been willing to admit.

The kiss deepened, the gentle pressure of Dean’s lips against yours becoming more insistent, more urgent. The heat between you intensified, a fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. You could feel the warmth pooling between your legs, a sensation that was becoming almost overwhelming, a stark contrast to the tender, slow rhythm of the kiss.

Dean’s scruff brushed against your face, the sensation both rough and tantalizing. It made your skin tingle, adding a new layer of sensation to the already charged moment. You could feel a slickness between your thighs, a sign of the arousal that had been building since the start of this intimate connection. It was unfamiliar and intense, and it sent waves of both excitement and anxiety through you.

Dean, on the other hand, felt a painful tightness in his jeans. The physical reaction was impossible to ignore, a stark reminder of the line he was crossing. Yet, despite the discomfort, he found himself unable to pull away. The kiss was consuming him, the taste of you, the feel of your lips moving tentatively but eagerly against his, igniting a primal part of him that was difficult to control.

As you felt the heat between you intensify, you dared to gently press your tongue against Dean’s lower lip, a tentative but clear invitation. The movement was slow, almost experimental, as if you were testing the waters of this new and thrilling connection.

Dean’s reaction was immediate and intense. He gasped slightly at the touch, his breath hitching as his body responded to the added intimacy. He couldn’t ignore the surge of desire that coursed through him, the way your tongue against his lip ignited a fire that seemed to burn away any remaining doubts he might have had.

His hand on your waist tightened, pulling you closer as he opened his mouth slightly, giving you access. His own tongue met yours in a slow, exploratory dance, each movement filled with a mixture of longing and caution. The kiss deepened, becoming a complex interplay of sensations that both of you were navigating together.

As the kiss deepened even more, you instinctively pressed your thighs together, the growing warmth and intensity between your legs becoming impossible to ignore. Your hands, trembling slightly with a mix of nerves and excitement, slowly reached up to cradle the back of Dean’s neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. The connection between you was electric, each touch and movement intensifying the charged atmosphere in the room.

But just as the moment seemed to spiral into something more, reality hit Dean like a freight train. The weight of what was happening, of what it could mean for both of you, came crashing down on him. His protective instincts, which had been momentarily overwhelmed by desire, surged back to the forefront. This wasn’t just a kiss—it was a step that would change everything.

Dean’s breath hitched, and with a mixture of regret and determination, he carefully grabbed your face, his hands trembling slightly as he guided your head away from his. He needed to stop this, to bring both of you back from the edge before it was too late.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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a-usernamethatworks · 8 months ago

Text

Chapter 23 - Wherever You're Going

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: We made it, squad. It only took 400k words, but here we are. THE PORN CHAPTER. Also, if you're going to tell me that the gif is technically just Jensen Ackles, consider this. I don't care. It's in the spirits of the chapter (horny as fuck). Chapter Title from Moon River by Frank Sinatra.

Word Count: 22k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Ben have a lot of stuff to do. Smut. All of it. It's here, it's huge, it's horny and emotional. Usual warnings, plus so much fucking smut.

Read on A03!

Chapter 22 - Chapter 24

You can feel Ben before you’re fully awake. Your face is still pressed to his chest, one hand fisted in his shirt as the other rests near his neck, and his legs are tangled with yours, but you feel him first. Sitting inside your chest, alive and powerful and burning in a steady beat with your heart. Made entirely of love. For you.

Ben loves you.

Everything is warm and safe. When you take a long breath you can smell pine, and when you shift in Ben’s arms—wrapped around your body, holding you carefully like you might vanish—he presses a kiss to the top of your head. He’s here. Ben knows you love him, and you didn’t lose him. He loves you. He loves you and you can feel it everywhere. Even half asleep, you can still feel Ben’s love in your body, focused and devoted and growing brighter when you push your head deeper against his chest.

“I know you’re awake,” Ben’s words are low, deep—rolling from him into your bones and blood—and muttered against your ear. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

“My heart is always beating.” You grumble, words muffled in his shirt. “That’s not proof I’m awake.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, muscles flexing around you, and you make an undignified, mumbling sound, trying to tug him closer by his shirt. “Got you to fucking talk though. That’s some damn proof you’re awake.”

Your eyes are still closed, but you can see his smug grin as your arms wrap around his neck and your grumble against his skin. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Ben hums, something inside him starting to glow. “You fucking love me.”

“I do. I really do.” You sigh. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

Ben snorts, and when your arms tighten around him, a hand moving up into his hair, his love starts to spread through you. Furious and consuming, waking you up and draining any exhaustion from your body or mind. This is what matters, Ben is what matters, and there’s no need to be tired when he’s here. When he loves you. You blink up at him, and he’s already watching you. He’s so handsome, face cast in the golden light of the sunset, leaking through the windows, and when you smile at him all his love bursts along your ribs.

“Hi.”

A hand drops to your ass, squeezing and pushing you further up his body, and he chuckles when you let out a downright pathetic whine. “Hi, Sunshine.”

It’s not really important who moves first, because you’ll end up right here every time. With Ben’s mouth on yours, his body rolling on top of yours as he kisses you into the mattress, and your hands tugging at his hair when he bites your lip. He tastes like Ben. There’s the coffee and salt, but it’s mostly just him. Strong hands kneading gently at your skin, dropping his tongue and teeth to your neck and leaving sloppy, wet kisses across your collarbone before returning to your face, groaning down your throat when you drop a hand between your bodies and palm his cock, straining through his jeans.

Fucking damnit, Ben’s voice is in your head, rough and low as he lets out another groan. Trying to fucking kill me.

You smile, and squeeze your hand around him. You shouldn’t have worn jeans to bed, Pretty Boy. That’s on you.

Ben freezes, and pushes up on his arms to glare at you. “We’re going to need to figure out how this mind reading shit works. I am not letting you hear every single fucking thought I have.”

Lining all the love and affection in his body is that hot, prickly and sore feeling of embarrassment, and you tilt your head at him. “What are you thinking that I shouldn’t hear, Benjamin?”

“It’s about fucking privacy-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “No, it’s not. Try again.”

“What makes you so damn sure,“ he grumbles. “It could be.”

“Nope. When you’re dodging a question, you get deeper lines right here.” You reach a hand up to his face, tracing the outer corners of his eyes. “Because you’re trying not to glare more. Tell me what you don’t want me to hear.”

Ben rolls his eyes, catching your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. “It’s not fucking important, we have better things to do-“

“We’re not fucking until you answer my question.”

It’s a lie. Right now, when you can feel his hunger and love all around you—making you more and more alive the longer you’re touching and talking to Ben—it would be very easy for him to ignore your question, shove a hand down your pants, and make you forget completely about this whole conversation. And Ben knows it’s a lie, because he grinds down once, his dick pressing into your thigh and making you swallow a moan, and grins at you.

But he doesn’t keep going. He moves your hand—still tangled in his—to rest beside your head and drops to brush his lips with yours, muttering into your open mouth.

“See, beautiful, half the damn thoughts I have are about you. Touching you and kissing you and fucking you until you make a perfect, pretty mess on my cock. I think about all the ways I want you, about how fucking smart and funny you are, about how I love you so much that it’s made me a fucking pussy. That I don’t care, because I’m going to make you feel so fucking good, and you’re going to forget every word except my name when you cum around me. I think about how it’s a goddamn miracle I get fucking anything done when you’re sitting next to me, smiling all fucking perfect, because all I want to do is bend you over or pin you down and show you how much I love you.” Ben pulls back to watch you with a cocky smirk, squeezing your hand in his and running a thumb over your lower lip. “And one of us has to keep being productive, so if you can always hear how I’m trying not to fuck you during one of Mallory’s stupid meetings, not a goddamn thing will ever get done.”

The fact that he’s just talking to you—looking at you with dark eyes that keep dropping to your lips—and your brain has already gone a little numb doesn’t bode well for him actually, finally, fucking you. All you can do is let out a breathless moan and nod frantically, not really sure what exactly you’re agreeing to, and feel his want and adoration flash through you.

“Words-“

We’ll figure it out. You think as hard as you can, staring at him and hoping he hears. Better things to do.

He pauses, and nods. “You’re okay.”

That brings your words and speech back. Ben needs to understand that you’re okay. You’re warm and happy and safe, and Ben’s everything and yours, so you’ve never been better. “I’m okay. Promise.”

Something in Ben that had been tight around his lungs goes loose, and you know he believes you. “Good.”

“Also,” you frown up at him. “I don’t think it’s mind reading. I think it’s more about my empathy, or something, because it’s not always happening, and I can feel you sort of spike in here,” you poke your free hand at your own chest. “When we’re thinking about each other. So my guess-“ You cut yourself off with a sigh, because he’s not paying attention anymore. Ben’s hunger is roaring around inside him, and his gaze is entirely fixed on where you’d pointed. On your tits. “Benjamin.”

He looks back up at you with a scowl. “What.”

“Stop looking at my boobs, I’m talking to you.”

“I can listen to you talk and look at your boobs, it’s called fucking multitasking-“

“What did I say?”

Ben pauses, and grunts, “mind reading.”

“What about mind reading.”

“Shut up.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “I was saying that it’s not mind reading. It’s probably more about my empathy, and how I love you enough-“

Something flares inside you, inside Ben, and your words die in your throat as Ben drops his mouth back to yours in a brutal, demanding kiss that bruises your lips and makes your hands scrape at his back, makes your every thought turn to Ben. Ben, I love you.

I fucking love you too.

You moan into his mouth, loud and long, and Ben grins, his knee pushes up between your thighs.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mutters your name, and you start to grind into him. “You can’t keep goddamn saying you love me, beautiful, you’re going to make me go insane.”

Fuck, Ben, please-

He pulls back, and you let out a high, desperate sound as he watches you. His dick, fully hard, is pressing right against your abdomen, and he’s so hungry, and handsome, and you love him-

“You want me,” he growls, and it’s all you can do not to just burn all your clothes off and beg him to fuck you.

“Ben-“

He lowers back down to your neck, leaves a wet, heavy kiss on that one spot, and wraps his arm around your waist. “Say it.”

“I want you,” your words are breathless, and he grunts against your skin. “Please, Ben, I want you, now-“

“Beg.”

“I did fucking beg, you asshole-“

He’s back on your mouth, sucking on your lips and running his tongue along your teeth, and you can feel him. Pounding against your chest, full of devotion and desire and love, he loves you, and if he doesn’t fuck you now you’re going to kill him-

Ben sits up, fully sits up, and pulls you with him until your head falls on his chest, his arms almost pinning you against him to stop you grinding down onto his legs.

“We’re getting you some food.” Ben’s words are a low rumble in his chest, and you look up at him with wide-eyes.

“But-“

“You need the energy.” He grunts your name, eyes never leaving yours as his hand traces over the hem of your shorts. “I’m going to fuck you stupid, Sunshine, and you’re going to need to keep up.”

You swallow, trying not to drown in your own drool from how he’s watching you with a heavy lust that you can almost taste. How his hands are tracing light, gentle patterns on your skin, and how you can feel the weight of his love in every touch. He looks like an angel again. Your own love for him must be some sort of brain altering drug, because this same man has been covered in blood and guts and grime and the ashes empires he burned. His hands—holding you against him with such a tender care—have snapped necks and punched people through walls, but, still, in the golden light and shadows of dusk, and haze of how much you love him, he just really looks like an angel. Wholly and entirely the avenging, furious protector you know him to be now, and never again the blindly violent and crude man he’d become as Soldier Boy.

His eyes are so green. You’ve called him vain for how it’s his favorite color, told him what would you have done if your eyes were blue, Pretty Boy? Would green be the pussy color? But you’re no better. You love him, and suddenly the whole world is contained in Ben’s eyes. How they’re dark and pretty and his lashes are so long and you love him. His mouth is moving, but you don’t hear anything except how deep his voice is, because your eyes drop to his lips and now that’s the whole world. You want to kiss him. Kiss Ben’s whole stupid face that makes you wet just from seeing it, and make sure he really understands how much you love him. He really shouldn’t be allowed to be that handsome, it’s making you forget everything that isn’t Ben. Ben, I love you.

A big, warm hand grabs your chin, and when you blink up at Ben—cognitive function slowly returning—he’s smirking. “Who’s not fucking paying attention now?”

You scowl at him. “Cunt.”

“Brat.” Ben kisses the top of your head, moving his hand to cup the back of your head. “Hold on.”

“What-“

“Food, Sunshine.” He grins against your hair. “Then we fuck.”

You scoff, and wrap your arms back around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Romantic.”

Ben hauls you up his body, holding you with steady arms, and winks at you. “Only the best for my woman.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, burying your face in his shoulder to hide the flush of your face, and you feel the glow in him become brighter, fueled by amusement and affection and love. Focused, blinding love that makes your heart beat a little faster. It’s everything, Ben is everything, and you need to tell him that. You’ve said that you love him, he knows and he’s here and he loves you, but he might not get it. How infinite and sacred and unstoppable your love from him was. How it exists everywhere in you, everywhere in the world, how it’s as much a part of you as your lungs and heart, how it sits in your head and will remain there forever. How it feels like it’s always been there, like loving Ben was something you were supposed to do.

“You are my woman.” Ben’s words are slow, and you feel a flash of something stuttering in his chest. “I’ll never fucking lock you up, or keep you from doing anything because I love you, and I couldn’t if I damn tried, but you’re my woman.” He pauses, and you feel the bob of his throat against your arm. “If you, uh, if that’s what you fucking want.”

You smile, leaning back to look at him. His eyes are locked ahead, focused on the wall as he carries downstairs. “Ben.”

He grunts, still staring ahead.

“Benjamin.”

This time he glances down at you, stopping at the foot of the stairs, and when he mutters your name your whole body is washed in warmth. It always sounds right when Ben says your name, the way his tone and voice and cadence make you feel important, valuable, loved.

“I’ve been your woman for a while,” you whisper, still smiling softly. “Because I really, really, love you, and I’ve really, really loved you for a while.”

He nods slowly. “Good.”

“Besides,” your smile turns into a grin, broad and teasing. “Your dick is mine, so it’s only fair.”

Ben’s face splits into a grin of his own—full of teeth and joy that you can feel under your skin—and he starts to move to the dining room table. “My dick is yours, beautiful.” His hunger rushes through you, alight with fervor and so hot it makes your toes curl and your heart stumble. “And I’m going to fuck you with it until you scream.”

“You keep saying that,” you grumble as he sets you down at the table. “But I haven’t gotten fucked yet.”

“Someone’s real impatient,” he mutters—sharp affection spreading across your stomach and through your blood—and gives you one, quick kiss on your cheek before drawing back up. “All you have to do is sit there and look pretty while I get you the damn food, and then you’ll get fucked senseless. Deal?”

You nod, and start to stand. “Deal.”

Ben scowls, not budging from in front of you as you rise, leaving you stuck between his body and the edge of the table. “Did you not fucking hear the sit there part-“

“I have to pee, Ben.”

He pauses, looking you up and down, and steps to the side with a grunt. “Fine.”

“Why thank you, your majesty, I’m so glad you’ve deemed me worthy of taking piss-“

Ben rolls his eyes as you try to push past him, catching you by the elbow and spinning you back into his arms, kissing you fast and heavy and wet, until your knees are weak and your head is spinning. Going and going and going until you whine and start to try and climb up his body, pulling back with a smug grin and drawl. “Not in a huge damn rush to leave now, are you.”

You glare at him, shoving back on his chest as he laughs. “You’re such a fucking dick, Benjamin-“

He kisses you one last time, gentle and so painfully sweet for how much of an absolute fucking asshole he is, for how much you want him to pick you up, slam you onto the table, and fuck you. But—because he’s an asshole—Ben steps back, leaving you staring at him with an open mouth and an ache between your legs.

“Go take your fucking piss, Sunshine.” He turns, walking into the kitchen, and calls over his shoulder, “but be fucking quick about it.”

You flip off his back, and climb up the stairs in quick steps before half-running down the hallway to the bathroom.

Even with a floor and two separate doors between you and Ben, you can still feel him. Feel Ben’s imprint in your chest, humming and rolling around in content, alight with love. Ben loves you. He’s said it, he keeps saying it, and you keep believing him. All your blood is still in your body, and Ben loves you. It’s making you a little dizzy, and it still doesn’t fully feel real. You keep repeating it to yourself, trying to convince some part of you that’s still vigilant and guarded and afraid, that it’s real. It might be a little too good to be real, a little too perfect to not be a dream, but you can feel Ben and everything in the world is sharp and clear, so this is real. Ben loves you, and it’s real.

When you return to the kitchen, you find him holding a wooden spoon like it’s a weapon, beating ingredients around in a bowl with an almost violent glare.

You stop at his side, looking between Ben’s drawn, concentrated scowl and his egg and flour victim, and grin. “I think you’re winning.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, and you giggle, leaning your head against his arm. He slows his movements, and glances at you. “Go sit down.”

“What are you making?” You ignore his order, frowning at the batter. “Can I guess?”

“No. Go fucking sit-“

“Is it pancakes? Are you making me pancakes?”

Ben drops the spoon, turning to fully face you with a glower. “It was supposed to be a fucking surprise-”

You stand on your toes, grabbing Ben’s face between your hands and kissing his cheek, smiling against his beard as you linger. “Grumpy-“

He turns his head, moving you into a full, long kiss and walking you backwards until you’re bumping against the counter. “Fucking brat,” He mutters, something sparking in his chest as his hands drop to your thighs, a wildfire spreading through your body as he picks you up and sets you down on the counter. He glides his hands up your legs, finding a firm hold on your hips, and pulls back with a half-smirk. “You’re lucky I want to fuck you all goddamn night and need you to eat, or I’d fuck you right here, on the goddamn floor.”

“I don’t think that’s luck,” you mumble, leaning forwards until your brow is against Ben’s chest. “I think it’s mean. Some might call it blackmail.”

“How the hell is it-“

“If I don’t listen to you and eat,” you look up at him with a fake pout. “You won’t fuck me.”

He snorts. “You never fucking listen to me. And,” he squeezes your hips, kissing the space between your eyes and growling onto your skin. “Not a single goddamn thing in the world is going to stop me from fucking you. If Butcher or Mallory walk through the door to try and get us to another stupid dogshit meeting, they can shove it up their asses and wait until morning.”

“Hm.” You wrinkle your nose, even as your hands fist in his shirt. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’ve fucking told you, we’re getting some food in you first-“

“I know,” you lean back, grinning at him. “You’re taking very good care of me, Benjamin. That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to just fuck me.”

Ben rolls his eyes—but you can feel the glow inside of him start to burn—and pushes off the counter before pointing at you with a glare. “Stay.”

You frown. “I am not a dog-“

“You want me to fuck you?” He growls your name, the hunger rioting between your heart and lungs, and you swallow.

“Yes please.”

“Then stay there while I make you fucking pancakes because I love you and I’m a goddamn gentleman, and I’ll fuck you however you want.”

You nod, pressing your thighs together and hoping Ben doesn’t notice the movement. “Okay.”

Ben looks you up and down, gives a sharp nod, and turns back to his bowl. It’s silent for a second as he continues to cook and you try to regain control over your breath.

“Should,” you clear your throat, watching his back carefully. “Should we, uh, talk about it?”

“Talk about what.”

“The whole, um, love thing.”

He pauses, just the smallest stutter in your chest and falter of his movements as he pours the batter into the pan, and grunts, “the hell is there to talk about. I love you, you love me. It’s fucking simple.”

You flush, and your fingers start to tap against your leg. “I mean, I guess. But there’s the whole, um, suppressant thing-“

Ben says your name, turning to glare at you, and you almost bite through the skin of your mouth. “I don’t need you to fucking explain your horrible fuckin choice to me-“

“Hey-“

“Because,” Ben’s eyes narrow on yours, and your protests falter. “I trust you. And I fucking know you,” he grunts your name, and you swallow. “You were probably doing it for some dumb, goddamn sacrificial reason that I’d call stupid-“

“I love you!” You blurt out, and Ben frowns.

“I fucking know that.”

“No,” you shake your head, gaze dropping to where Ben’s grip on his spoon has started to split the wood. “I love you. And I, I didn’t think you loved me, and sometimes when I get, um, excited-“

“Excited-“

“Horny,” you mumble. “When I get horny, or emotional, or I think just any emotion that’s really, really overwhelming, the empathy gets away from me.”

“Gets away from you how.” Ben’s words are so calm and steady, even as you can feel him clawing at your chest from across the room. “And the fuck does it have to do with you loving me.”

“Ben,” you sigh, staring at his hands. “When I get horny, it escapes my body. Just like when I got home, but, um, because of sex or love. I was, I,” you take a long, slow breath, fingers moving faster against your skin. “I was worried I’d make you love me. I didn’t want to make you love me.”

He grunts your name, and you give a small nod. “Look at me.” Ben falls silent until you pull your eyes up to his face, and when you do his jaw is clenched and his eyes on yours are alight. “You trust me.”

“Of course I do-“

“Then trust when I say that I fucking love you. I love you now, I loved you when you were gone, and I probably loved you for a long fucking time before that. You are not damn making me love you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I love you too. A lot.”

Ben’s love starts to roar in his chest, and he glances back at the pancakes. “Syrup?”

“And strawberries, please.”

He nods, marching over to the fridge, and you follow his every movement. Rough and calculated steps, big, strong hands grabbing out the toppings before glancing at you and holding them up for approval. When you nod he sets them at your side, grabs out a plate, and turns back to the oven, dumping both of the finished pancakes out of the pan and presenting the plate to you with an adorable glare and powerful, resolved care running through his body.

“Eat.”

You frown at the food. “What about you?”

“What about me.”

“You need to eat as well, Ben.” You cross your arms, refusing to take the plate. “We’re sharing, or you’re making more.”

He scowls, and you know he won’t make more. You can feel Ben’s hunger and desire and need in your body, running up your spine and sitting in your lower stomach. It’s just as strong as your own thirst, just as desperate, and so he won’t take the time to make more. Instead he grabs another plate, moves the larger pancake onto it, and narrows his eyes at you as he holds it out. “Take the fucking plate.”

You smile and let him pass it into your hands. Ben stands between your legs—he’d loaded his up with twice as much strawberries and half the bottle of syrup, but is still somehow managing to match your pace perfectly—and you’re watching each other as you eat. His eyes on yours are intent, stripping you apart and full of reverence, and you pause right before you’re done—mid bite—to frown at him.

Ben swallows so fast it looks painful. “What the fuck is wrong-“

“I love you,” your voice is quiet, tense, but you’re worried he still doesn’t get it. That Ben loves you but still doesn’t quite understand how much you love him. He needs to know how much you love him. “I love you, Ben. So, so much. I love you so much it makes me insane and stupid and reckless, but I don’t care because it makes me feel alive.” You put your plate down, freeing your hands to hold Ben’s face between them, forcing his eyes to stay on yours. “You make me feel alive, Ben. You make me so fucking happy and alive, you make me feel safe and you make me laugh and you’re such a fucking asshole, and I love you. Tell me you understand that I love you, please.”

“I understand,” his voice is low and gruff, and you smile at him. He lets out a slow, long breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck it.”

You hear his plate drop onto the counter, and before you know what’s happening Ben has one hand on your waist and the other tangled in your hair. He pauses, eyes dark and burning into you, and his thumb moves to trace over your lower lip.

“Tell me what you want.” He mutters, and it’s so easy to answer.

“You-“

It’s all he needs. The words barely leave your mouth before Ben crashes forwards, kissing you like it will kill him if he doesn’t. It might. You can feel his hunger, feel how vast and consuming it is, how even as he sucks on your lips and pulls your tongue between his teeth, Ben’s still starved. His hand is dropping lower and lower, across your stomach and trailing onto your thighs, drawing patterns with rough, careful fingers that leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and when you legs move up to wrap around his waist—tugging him closer until the only thing between your bodies are the fabric of your clothes—he growls. It rumbles in his chest, pushing out of his throat and vibrating through your bones, and makes your hands curl against his face, trying to bring him further into you. Telling him to take more, take everything.

He groans your name when you drop to his jaw—biting and sucking along its sharp line and his soft beard—and pulls your head back with a gentle yank of your hair. “I’m first,” he mutters, eyes flicking between your dazed expression and swollen lips. “I touch you first.”

“Okay,” you whisper, and Ben falls down to your neck, his hand starting to move far too fucking slowly up your leg. “Ben-“

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, nipping at the soft skin your throat. “I’ve never seen anyone,” he pauses, chuckling to himself and rubbing small circles on your inner thigh. “Never seen anything, as beautiful as you are. And I’ve seen a lot of fucking shit.”

“You’re,” your words fall into a long, breathless sound of need when Ben’s hand lands right over your center, warm and just resting there as his mouth attacks your collarbone. “You’re so, fuck, Ben, you’re handsome as well, you cunt-“

He grins, rising back up to meet your eyes. “You’re so fucking mean to me, Sunshine. Calling me a cunt when I’m telling you how beautiful you are-“

“You,” a strangled moan escapes your body as Ben’s hand starts to move, rubbing up and down over your shorts. “Ben, please-“

“You should be real fucking thankful I love you,” he drawls, hand tracing up your abdomen, over your stomach and up to your breasts. Squeezing one before pinching at your nipple, smirking as your back arches and you whine. “I love you so much it drives me fucking mad. You’re so beautiful it’s fucking blinding, and the sounds you make,” he leans to mutter in your ear, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “Fucking music. Would fucking live off of them, if I could. I’m going to touch you,” he growls your name, hand falling back to grab at the fabric of your shorts. “And you need to let me fucking hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You nod, hands scraping at his neck, trying not to drown in how much you love him, how much he loves you, how he’s everywhere around you and big and warm and strong and Ben.

“Words-“

“Touch me,” you hiss, and let a little bit of the blood trying to run from your body into his out. Let Ben feel your own unending love and need for him, savoring the way his hand fist in your hair and his cock starts to poke at your thigh. “Fucking touch me, Benjamin, now-”

He rips off your shorts, taking your underwear with then, and runs a finger between the lips of your pussy, holding your gaze as your mouth falls open and your head clears to Ben. Handsome and warm and safe and touching you-

“So fucking wet,” he grins, flicking at your clit and chuckling when you whimper. “Always fucking soaked for me. You love me that much, beautiful? Love me so damn much I can just do this,” he flicks you again, and presses his thumb against you until your hips start to grind into him. “And you’ll be ready for me? Take my cock nice and easy, let me fuck you right here?”

Ben-

“Aloud,” he grunts, starting to rub slow, torturous circles on your clit. “We’ll have all the fucking time in the world to have fun with the fucking mind shit later. Right now I want to hear you.”

“Ben,” you take a ragged breath, and he hums, his middle finger dropping to trace right over your aching pussy, around and over but never in. “Please-“

“Real pretty begging,” Ben’s eyes still haven’t left yours, and his cock twitches against you. “But I think I want to hear you say it again.”

The heat in his eyes is making your body melt into him, and his own love is raw and bloody, pushing up your throat and making you lightheaded. You know what he wants to hear, and it’s so easy to say it.

“I love you,” your voice is firm, louder than you’d thought it would be. But this is the most natural thing to say, and it’s the only thing that every part of your body and mind are telling you. “I love you, Ben. I love you.”

He grins, and one broad finger pushes into you, painfully slow and pausing when you clench around him. “I love you too,” Ben drops his head, eyes locked on yours, breath fanning across your mouth and lips brushing yours when he speaks. “You’re my whole fucking world,” he grunts your name, and draws his finger out before plunging another one back in with it. “And we’re going to go upstairs so I can fuck you on our bed.”

You nod, staring at him in an unfocused daze of Ben, and you’re not sure if you’re agreeing to him loving you or being his whole world or going upstairs, but they all feel equally important. Ben grins, and kisses you again, long and deep with his tongue down your throat, pumping his fingers at a brutal, unrelenting pace that makes you start to squirm, trying to give him a better angle, trying to get him to swallow your every whine and moan, make him stay against that one spot inside of you that he keeps brushing against but never just presses-

He stops. Ben’s fingers pull all the way out and he draws back, looking down to where he’s still rubbing over you, and his jaw clenches when he sees your hips jerk, your pussy squeeze on nothing as you let out a high, pained whine.

“You,” you gasp as he pushes back in once, twisting his fingers before fully removing them once more. “Asshole-“

“Impatient,” Ben smirks at you, raising his hand between your bodies, leaning back down to your ear to hiss, “and so fucking needy, beautiful. I could live off all your pretty sounds, how you beg for me and say my name, or I could just do this.”

He pulls back, using his hand on the back of your head to hold your eyes on his, and licks his fingers clean. His fingers that had been in you, that are covered in you, that made you feel like you were going to burst into flames-

Ben looks like he’s going to say something. When his fingers leave his mouth, he’s probably about to tell you so fucking good or I fucking love you or want you on my face, and if he gets a single word out you’ll cum on the counter. A single low grunt had left his chest when he’d tasted you on his hand and it had made you buck up on his chest, so there’s no way you’ll survive him actually saying something. His mouth opens, his fingers starting to move back down, and you won’t fucking stand for it. You catch his hand, squeeze it once, and use it to tug his mouth back down to yours.

It’s a shockingly gentle kiss, but when you taste yourself—mixed in with strawberry and salt and coffee and Ben—on his tongue, you bite his lip and he groans. It echoes around in your head and runs through your blood, and you fall forwards, breaking your mouths apart as you gain balance on your feet.

“What are you-“

You’re pressed between Ben’s body and the counter, and you can feel his dick, rock hard and straining through his pants, so you need a second before you can move. Your hand moves from his neck to cover his mouth, your brow buried in his chest, and you take a careful, long breath before you speak.

“Bed,” you mumble, squeezing his hand again. “Bed, please. Now.”

He grunts, and when you look back up he’s watching you with a set jaw and pure, bright affection in his eyes. An adoration that blooms your gut and spreads through your body, making your knees shake just from the strength of Ben’s care. His love, for you.

He’s definitely going to say something. He’s not allowed to say something right now—not while the sound of his deep voice alone will still make you fall over—so you push on his chest, just enough for him to take a step back, and start to drag him out of the kitchen and up the stairs. You’re barely up two steps when Ben tugs your hand in his, spinning you back around to face him and kissing you breathless. You’re falling over him, grabbing at his shoulders for balance as his arm wraps around you and he starts to walk you backwards, up the stairs. His mouth isn’t ever leaving yours, the kiss growing deeper and your nails digging into his skin for a better grip, and you’re only halfway up when his hand starts to trace up from your knee, to your thigh, to cup right over your pussy.

“You’re fucking dripping on the stairs,” he mutters your name in your mouth, and you whine, trying to grind onto his hand and pull him faster up the steps. “I can fix it, make you cum right here on my hand, but you have to fucking say it.”

“Ben-“ He starts to rub back and forth in rhythm with the roll of your hips, and your arms wrap around his neck in an attempt to keep your footing. “Fuck, Ben-“

“I know,” he’s grinning, the cunt, and one finger starts to tease along your slit. “Say the word and I’ll-“

“Please,” you break the kiss, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Ben, please, you fucking-“

He moves you another step up, and the finger pushes in, pumping slowly as he rubs circles on your back. “So fucking good, Sunshine, so fucking tight and,” you start to suck and bite at his neck, and he groans. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.“ A second finger pushes in with another step, and you start to straddle the air in a desperate attempt to get him deeper.

“I,” you gasp, shaking your head as you lean further forward. “I, fuck, Ben, I need to-“

Both fingers press against that hidden, aching part of you, and your legs give out. Ben catches you before you even stumble—his smug, lust-driven pride roaring in your chest—and he lowers you gently to rest on the steps, fingers scissoring and twisting inside you, so rough and good and he’s kissing along your jaw, groaning as you whimper in his ear, going deeper-

He pulls back, eyes fixed on where his fingers are pushed inside you—moving in and out, faster and faster until your eyes start to blur—and that focused glint in his eyes makes your hand drop to his jaw to turn him up to you. Make Ben look at you, make all that intensity and unending care run through you as he pulls you apart on his hand.

When your eyes meet—affection rolling around in your body, Ben’s body—he grins. “You want to cum, beautiful?”

“Yes-“

His fingers pause, drawing almost all the way out, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream when he adds a third.

“Ben, I’m-“

“Hold it,” he grunts, and his hand reaches up to grab yours on his face, watching you carefully. “Don’t stop looking at me.”

You nod, and Ben starts to move. He’s unforgiving, fingers moving in and out of you so fast you can’t keep up, can’t grind against him or speak or think anywhere outside of Ben. Watching you and moving inside you, and he keeps crooking his fingers for just a second before pulling out and leaving you squeezing around nothing, and you’re so close, you’re fucking drooling and making pathetic, desperate sounds, but fuck this is so good, he’s looking at you like you’re holy and his hands are so big and firm and his muscles keep flexing and you feel so good-

“I’m,” you fall backward when Ben’s hand drops to your abdomen, pressing you further into the floor, stilling the jerks and squirming of your hips. “Ben, I’m close, please-“

He hums, and twists inside you. “Look at me.”

It takes effort. It takes all the will and strength in your body to crane your neck, using your hold on his jaw to anchor yourself and meet his eyes, but fuck it’s worth it. Ben’s eyes become borderline feral, his free hand dropping to press against your clit and rub in furious, large circles, and when he hooks his fingers inside you everything explodes. You can hear the wet sounds of Ben’s movements against you and your own moans, but it’s all distant, barely breaching the haze of your orgasm. You’re bucking into his hand, grabbing at his wrist and closing your legs as your whole body shakes, and he won’t stop looking at you. He’s starving, his face is still wild with desire as he pulls you up and grabs your arms, wrapping them around his neck.

“You have no fucking idea how beautiful you are,” he growls into your ear, and you gasp as he starts to stand, keeping you steady in his arms. “Just fucking watching you cum almost made me lose it. Feeling you squeeze my fucking fingers, seeing how pretty you look when I touch you, fuck, if you look half that good cumming on my cock, it might damn kill me.” You hear the door open, and peak over Ben’s shoulder to see him kick it closed behind you.

He sets you down on the bed, hands moving up to cup your face and hold you upright as he pulls you into a long, sloppy kiss that makes you start to melt into his touch. When Ben stands back up—thumb running over where he’d bitten on your lower lip—his voice is gravely, and you can see the outline of him pushing against his pants.

“Stay here,” he mutters, eyes scanning over your body in the dark. “Need to see you.”

You want to touch him. You want him to feel that same blissful high he’s made you feel, want to feel the weight of his cock on your tongue and to taste him cum down your throat. You want to ensure he really gets it. Gets that he’s everything, and that you love him, and that fuck you want him. You need him. You might need Ben more than you need oxygen, need to hear him groan when you take him in your mouth, hear him say your name when you suck his dick and feel his hand in your hair, feel all his love and desire for you burn you alive from the inside.

He’s moved away from you—stalked away from the bed to flip on a light—and you can see the ripple of his muscles on his back. You slide off the bed, taking a half-step before falling to your knees and waiting for him. Watching him move in the dark and not bothering to pretend he’s not the most important thing in the world. That—if he’d let you—you’d stay on your knees for Ben for the rest of your fucking life.

The switch flips, illuminating the room in a low, warm light, and Ben turns. His eyes fall right to yours, and you swallow. Hungry is becoming too light a word for how Ben’s watching you, because it’s deeper, bigger, and far more important. He’s looking at you like you’re a star that’s fallen right into his hands, and now he gets to hold you and keep the light in you burning. Like you’ve climbed out the hollows of the earth just to see him, and he’d be a fool to deny you what you’re asking. His imprint in your chest is rioting—bellowing and scraping at your ribs like it’s trying to climb out of you, out of Ben—and he’s looking at you like he loves you.

“Hi,” you whisper, and Ben nostrils flare.

He grunts your name, and you have to press your thighs together to stop yourself from ruining the carpet. “I fucking told you I was first-“

“You did go first,” you start to crawl towards him, eyes still on his, and he lets out a deep, lustful sound that sends a shiver of want down your spine. “This is a two way road, Pretty Boy. I want to suck your cock,” you rise back to your knees, looking up at him with a sweet smile as you trace a hand up his leg. “May I?”

Ben’s throat bobs, one hand steadying him on the wall as the other runs through your hair. “I’m supposed to fuck you-“

“You still can,” you shrug, palming him over his jeans. “But this way you get to cum in me twice.”

“Fuck,” Ben’s hand curls on your head into a fist, pulling your head back a little further as his chest rises in uneven movements. “You’re, fucking Christ, I,” you squeeze him, and he lets out a rough hiss. “You want to suck my fucking cock?”

You nod, hands moving up his belt. “If you want-“

Ben rips his jeans off, and you try not to salivate when you see how hard he is. When his hand returns to your hair, angling you further back—so you’re looking up at him through your eyelashes and your mouth is perfectly level with the red, weeping head of him—you smile at him, and he groans.

“You’re so fucking-“

“Ben,” you whisper, savoring the way he shudders when your lips brush over his dick. “I’m doing the work.”

He swallows, eyes flashing. “When I fuck you, I get to cum in you.”

“You were already going to cum in me-“

“And,” his eyes narrow. “I get to do all the work.”

You give him a flat look. “Any other demands for me to suck your cock, Benjamin?”

He pauses, actually thinking about it, and mutters, “shirt off.”

“What-“

“Take your shirt off. I want to see your pretty fucking tits bounce.”

“Oh, well,” you drop your hands down to the hem of your shirt, muttering under your breath. “Since you asked so nicely-“

“Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him, letting it brush on the underside of his cock, and pull your shirt over your head. The flash of want in Ben becomes so powerful you almost give up on your whole bright I do the work idea, but your own need to touch him still triumphs. Ben’s moved his dick to rest against your lips, pressing it down against them in an inpatient, silent request that makes you grind onto the air, and you smile up at him again. His jaw is set, and he’s looking at you like you’re some sort of twisted salvation.

I love you, you feel him twitch against you, and part your lips just enough for Ben to push himself between them. Your hands fly up, one holding his thigh to steady yourself and the other prying his fingers around his cock away, replacing them with your own. I love you, Ben. Now relax and let me suck your dick.

Something fevered and bloody and starved rushes through Ben’s body into yours, and you don’t wait to hear his response—verbal or in your head—before you start moving. You take all of him in one movement, letting him bump the back of your throat, sucking as your teeth scrape lightly and your hand moves to play with his balls, then pull back as slow as you can manage. You do that a few times, feeling his muscles tense and rubbing your thighs together in a poor attempt to relieve yourself even a bit, before Ben growls your name and you have to pull yourself slightly back to blink at him.

“If you don’t stop taking your sweet goddamn time,” his jaw is clenched, his words through teeth as he throbs in your mouth. “I’m going to throw you on the bed and fuck-“

You suck as hard as you can, teasing his head with your tongue, and your hand starts to pump over what’s not in your mouth as you grin at him. Better?

He groans, a vein twitching in his neck as he throws his head back, and you don’t think you’ve ever really lived before this. It’s an odd thought to have right now, when you’ve started to move your head up and down his cock, and you're getting so wet you can feel it running down your leg, but you’ve never felt alive like this, in a way that’s not a task or some sort of trial. But now you’re alive in a way that’s for you. He looks like a fucking god, and tastes like salt and earth and Ben, and the sounds you’re pulling out of his chest are so primal. It’s making you feel powerful, how this immovable man, made of steel and gunpowder and his own pure will, is saying your name like it’s a prayer. You feel alive, and perfect, and beautiful, and whatever other Ben deems you in the vulgar praise falling from his mouth.

“Fucking, god, fuck you’re perfect,” his hips have started to rut into you, and you adjust to account for them, squeezing his balls to make the movements bigger and swallowing on him when he starts to pull back. “You’re so fucking good and perfect and you look so fucking beautiful, sucking my cock all good and pretty, so warm and fuck.” His hips stutter, and you know he’s close. “You’re a goddamn miracle, Sunshine, it’s, goddamnit, I fucking love you,” his gaze drops back down to yours and you whine around him. “I love you, fuck, you have no fucking idea how much I love you-“

You pull almost all the way off, swirling your tongue over his top, and plunge back down with a moan and hollow of your cheeks. When your nose bumps against his muscled abdomen you suck on him, forgoing pointless things like breathing, and Ben makes a deep, feral noise that’s half your name and half a swear when he cums. You have to close your eyes to focus on not gagging, letting him shoot down your throat and taking as much of it as you can, but there's more than the other times you’ve done this, and you’re a little dizzy from the way his orgasm is crashing over your body and overwhelming force of his love bursting in your chest, so a fair amount gets away from you.

You’ve barely pulled off of his dick when Ben’s hauling you off the ground, kissing you with a passion and fury that sets your blood on fire, and grinning against your mouth.

“You’re too fucking good at that,” he mutters your name, and you start to squirm against him, trying chase release with the sound of Ben’s voice. “I swear to fucking Christ, you’re going to be the death of me.”

“Ben-“

He pulls away from you, tossing you onto the bed and letting out a gruff, satisfied sound at your whimper. “I need a minute, beautiful. I got a hell of a lot more stamina than any other fucking pussy you’ve been with, but I still need to be properly goddamn hard to fuck you like you deserve.”

“Please, fuck, Ben,” you lift your hips off the mattress, trying to show him how you might implode if he doesn’t touch you right fucking now. “Need you, I need you now-“

Your words fall into a heavy moan as Ben reaches out, running his middle finger up your core, pressing on your clit for only a second and smirking when you keen against him. “You need me? Need me to take good fucking care of you, beautiful? Need me to fucking ruin you with how good I fuck you, take you so fucking well it wrecks you, make you moan my name every time you just fucking sit down?”

“Yes, I, Ben, please-“

“Say it.”

“Ben, I love you, I need you, I want you so fucking much it’s,” his hand pulls away, and you whine. “Benjamin, you fucking asshole-“

“I said I need a fucking minute,” he snaps, pulling his shirt off and crawling between your legs. “But I also love you, brat, so I’m going to help you fix your horny, messy fucking problem. Get you good and well damn ready for me.” His arms wrap around your legs, hooking your knee over his shoulders and holding you still as his breath warms your center. He looks between where you’re wiggling under his hold and your wide, pleading eyes on his, and frowns. “Relax,” he mutters your name, and you pull at his hair. “I’ve got you. Always fucking got you.”

You nod, taking a long breath and dropping your head back as Ben squeezes your thighs.

“Good,” he’s so full of devotion, his voice is so deep and easy, it washes over you and relaxes your body in his hold. “Really fucking good, Sunshine. Hold on.”

It’s all the warning you get before Ben dives between your legs, licking a long, heavy strip up your cunt and sucking on your clit until you’re panting, grinding onto his face. He chuckles at the pathetic, incoherent pleas leaving your mouth as he nips at you and drops back to tongue at your pussy, and you feel high. He’s so good at this, he knows to kiss your clit to make you roll your hips and to bump his nose against you when he plunges his tongue into your body. His beard is tickling and scratching at your inner thighs, and his grip on your body is firm and bruising and it’s so fucking hot, how he squeezes your ass every time he flicks your clit with a too light lick and he pull you further against him when he starts to tonuge-fuck you.

“Ben,” you’re breathless, one hand pulling at his hair while the other tangles in the sheets. “Fuck, slow down, I’m-“

You cut yourself off in a desperate whine, and he even though he doesn’t pause, his voice in your head is gruff. You’re okay?

He’s actually asking. There’s no order in the words, no demand for you to let him keep going. He’s just checking on you, and fuck you love him.

I’m okay. About to cum, though-

Ben yanks you up, pulling your hips off the mattress, and goes faster. He’s savage against you, growling onto your wet heat and eating you alive, making your head spin and heart beat out of your chest, so close, so fucking close to letting go, to the coil in your stomach snapping and launching you into pure fucking bliss-

Ben. Ben, I love you. I love you, please, Ben-

I love you too, beautiful, he bites your clit lightly, flattening his tongue over you before dropping back to where you need him so bad it’s almost painful. Cum for me.

You think you scream. Your whole body contracts as you hit the edge, Ben groans into you, and your orgasm hits you like a train. You’re rolling around in his grip, not sure if you’re trying to get away from how he’s setting your whole body alight or push further into him as he keeps going. Ben’s still going, kissing and licking and sucking at you until you’re clawing at his scalp, your thighs are crushing his head, and you’re so sensitive it’s almost painful.

“Fuck, God, fuck-“ you gasp, and Ben grins against you.

Had enough, Sunshine?

You glare down at him, your elbows wobbling as you try to support yourself. Get up here and fuck me, Benjamin, or you’ll lose the privilege.

He rises up, looking at you with an almost drunken haze in his eyes. “You taste like fucking heaven,” he says your name with a smirk, and one rough, warm hand snakes over your stomach to rub your still fluttering pussy. “You think you’re ready for me? Think you’re going to be able to take all of me?”

It might kill you. He’s hard again, you can see his cock pressing against the mattress, and it’s really only hitting you now how big he is. Ben’s huge and thick, you might end up split open on him, but there are worse ways to go. For one, dying of how much you love him. How thirsty you are for Ben to just fuck you, to fill you up and make you scream, would be a lot less enjoyable death.

“Words-“

“Fuck me,” you look back up at him, and don’t care if he hears how desperate you are. “Now, Benjamin. Fuck me now.”

The glow inside his chest erupts, and your body shakes from the sheer force of it, of Ben.

“Do you know,” he drawls from above you, and he’s going to be a cocky asshole about this. You wouldn’t have him any other way, but if he doesn’t hurry up you might go out of your mind before he’s even inside you. “Exactly how long I’ve wanted to fuck you, Sunshine? Fuck you right? Fuck you senseless until you’re just a wrecked, hot fucking mess, until you cum so hard you see fucking stars?”

“Ben-“

“Months,” he hisses, eyes tracing over every curve of your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “You have no goddamn idea how many times I came in my hand to just the fucking thought of you, of how beautiful you’d look beneath me like this. You fucking haunted me,” he growls your name, pressing you down into the mattress as you squirm against his hand. “There isn’t a single thing I haven’t thought about doing to you, a single way I haven’t pictured fucking you like the perfect brat you always are. But,” his eyes move back to yours and he smirks. “This is beyond fucking anything I managed to dream up. You’re all fucking sweaty and horny, so goddamn wet and desperate for my cock, already got my cum on your perfect fucking tits, already so fucking wet. I’m going to fuck you dumb, Sunshine. I’m going to fucking ruin you.”

“Please,” you gasp when his hand leaves its spot between your thighs, and you can’t look away from him as he spits on his hand. “Just, fuck, Ben, just do it-“

He slaps your pussy, and you fall flat on your back from the sheer force of his love, in your body, numbing your every thought to Ben. Ben, I love you. I love you so fucking much, but if you don’t fuck me right now I’m going to kill you-

Ben laughs—rumbling his chest as he crawls over you and echoing through the room—and it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. His hands start to trace small patterns on your hips, and when he’s hovering above you his smile is so wide. Cocky and adoring and bright, and your mouth goes slack just from the sight of it. You love him. It’s actually going to kill you how much you love him, how safe and cared for you feel under him, how he’s caging you naked between his broad chest and mattress but you’ve never felt more free.

His hand traces down your body, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers before moving lower, and you couldn’t look away from him if you tried. He’s handsome, he’s always handsome, but this is different. In the high of all the pleasure and bliss he’s pulled from your body, he’s melting and molding you against him with just the sight of him. Chiseled features and distinguished jawline, boundless, pretty eyes that are blown out with love and lust but still have a ring of that green that will follow you for the rest of your life. Full lips that you get to bite and kiss, perfect lines that draw and contract in a silent language you’ve memorized and will never forget, and dark hair that’s falling over his brow. He looks like someone designed him. Like a statue of a god whose only job is to worship. Some sort of ironic deity who’s dedicated to caring for whoever loves them, whoever really, truly, purely loves them the way you love Ben.

Your hand rises up, brushing away the hair from his eyes because you can. Because Ben is yours, and you love him, and you feel a little infinite when his muscles flex around you and the love in his body flickers with something soft. Your eyes move slowly back down from his forehead to meet his gaze, and you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you like that. With such a burning, wrathful, devout and world-ending reverence. Your hand moves to rest against his beard, and you try not to be too smug about how he leans into it.

“Hi, Benjamin.” You whisper, and when he grins at you, you can’t stop your smile from overtaking your face.

“Hi, Sunshine.” His head drops to your neck, and his words are muffled on your skin. “Ready?”

You nod, swallowing when he twitches again your thigh. “I love you.” You mumble, spreading your legs as Ben lines himself up against you and leaves an open-mouthed, adoring kiss on your pulse point. “I really fucking love you, Ben. You have no idea-“

His mouth crashes up into yours, and you moan as he kisses you breathless and dizzy into the mattress. “I have some fucking idea,” he mutters, and his imprint in your chest becomes consuming. Rushing your body with focused, primal, raw and bloody ardor and love. Ben loves you, loves you so much it shakes the earth, and you make a happy, easy sigh when he draws back, brow pressed to yours and his voice is hoarse. “I love you too. A fuck ton.”

You give a small smile, hands playing with his hair between your fingers. “A fuck ton, huh? That’s a whole lot, Pretty Boy, are you sure?”

He snorts, “brat,” and pushes into you.

There’s no resistance. In the wake of Ben touching and tasting you, of saying every foul and teasing thing under the sun all while mixing it with small reminders that he loves you, you’re so wet you could probably solve a drought in a small country. But he’s still going slow. Ben’s moving into you so slow that you can feel every single inch of him, filling you up and making your legs shake before he’s even halfway to bottoming out.

You squirm slightly, trying to adjust to accommodate him further, and he hisses in your ear. “Stop moving.”

“Stop going so slow-“

He swallows your protests with his mouth over yours, and shoves the remainder of him into you with one movement that makes you gasp, your hands curling in his hair as he hits that one spot, then goes further. Ben’s in you, just resting in you without any relief or movement, his head still resting against yours. It’s the only boundary left between you now, skin and muscle, because Ben’s imprint in your chest has spread to cover every inch of your body and make it impossible to know if all the love when your legs move up to lock around him is his or yours. It’s Ben and you, the same in every way that matters, with your breathing in a matched, ragged rhythm and your whole body aware that this is it. This is everything. Ben’s whole body is pressed to yours, his arms tensed over you, and when you squeeze around him once, just to see what happens, he makes a low groan that sets your blood on fire.

He grunts your name, watching you with that awe in his eyes mixed with starvation, and this time the squeeze is involuntary. “I told you to stop fucking moving.”

“I’m not moving-“

Ben gives you a look that almost melts your body, because it’s so dry and grumpy and adoring and hungry, and fuck you love him. “You are moving.” He thrusts once in the smallest, most painfully good movement you’ve ever felt, and your mouth falls open. “I can fucking feel you moving, Sunshine. I can feel you everywhere,” his words are being muttered against your slack lips, and there’s a light dancing in his eyes on yours that makes you a little dazed. “You’re so fucking tight, taking me so fucking good, so perfect under me, fucking full of me.”

He rolls his hips once, and you moan, trying to grind up into him. “Ben, please-“

“I do the work,” he grunts, voice strained and something molten running around in your gut. Ben’s gut. Fuck, it really doesn’t matter because he’s talking again, and his voice has never been so low and demanding, sending a shiver up your spine. “You lay here and let me fuck you until your smart fucking mouth is screaming my name and your pretty eyes are rolling back in your head.”

Please-

“Words,” he snaps, eyes narrowing. “Need to fucking hear how stupid I fuck you, beautiful. Hear what I do to you.”

You swallow, pulling the words from some far corner of your brain that’s been pushed away by the song of Ben in your body, and almost lose them again when he makes another small, torturous movement inside of you. “Fuck, Ben, please-“

“There it is,” he grins, voice teasing and a hand moving to cup your cheek. “Was that so fucking hard.”

“I’m,” you take a long, strangled breath as he tilts your head back, kissing across your face but never on your mouth. “God, fuck, I’m not the hard one-“

He chuckles, pulling back to watch you with that reverence, and you’re alive and love him and if he doesn’t do something about that soon you’re going to murder him. “Such a fucking brat,” he mutters, pulling himself out in one, smooth motion and watching your eyes widen. “So fucking beautiful, fucking needy, and I haven’t even really fucked you yet-“

“Benjamin-“

“Say it like that,” he grunts through his teeth, only the head of his cock still pressed inside you. “Keep fucking saying it like that.” His hand moves back to tangle in your hair, and you wiggle under him, trying to bring him back into you. “God, you’re so fucking good-“

“You’re such a fucking dick-“

“You love me.” Ben grins, pushing in just enough to make you whine. “And you love my fucking dick.” His eyes scan your face, and his words lose the taunting, playful tone. “I fucking love you, Sunshine. Look at me.” You blink at him, and he kisses you once, moving just a little further back in. “I love you so much it’s going to be the fucking death of me. Makes me lose my goddamn mind, how much I love you.” He rises back up, and everything in him is devotion. You can feel it, somewhere so deep in your chest and wrapped around your body, that Ben’s love for you might be the most powerful force in the universe. That it’s fitting so perfectly with your own love, you can barely tell the difference.

“Ben-”

“I love you,” he says your name, gaze dropping to watch himself push all the way in, a low groan leaving his body when he pulls out with the most sinfully wet sound you’ve ever heard. “You’re the love of my fucking life, and you were goddamn made for this.”

“Just,” he pushes back in, and your head falls back. “God, just fuck me-“

He pushes your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Don’t stop looking at me.“

“Ben-“

His face cracks into a grin, his hand carefully moving your brow so he can give it a gentle, deceptively sweet kiss, and a low grunt leaving him when you make small, wanting noise. He draws himself back above you, and he’s everything. He’s firm and strong and wrapped around you, twitching inside you and running through your body, and all your words have devolved into desperate, pathetic moans.

His voice is low, eyes never leaving yours as he leans down, lips brushing with yours. “And fucking beg.”

You’re past dignity. Ben’s stretching you open around him, hitting every single spot inside your body that makes your head spin, and the warmth of his body, his touch, the feeling of his love, is making your brain fall into a natural, easy pattern of Ben. “Please,” you whisper, your stomach tensing and heartbeat picking up just from the unyielding attention of Ben’s gaze, peeling you apart for him to know and care for and love. “Please, Ben. I love you, but please fuck me before I lose it.”

You can feel his mouth curl into a smirk, feel him leave your body again, and any protests or pleas or curses die in your throat when he speaks, muttering against your lips and squeezing waist.

“Good girl.”

Something hot and wrathful shoots through your blood, your whole world going blurry with the ache and need for him, and Ben finally starts to move. Slow, with long, deep thrusts that make your mouth slack and a little drool run over your lips, his warm, firm weight over your body pinning you down and stopping any attempts to grind on him and take more.

“Already so fucking wrecked beautiful.” Ben’s lips are still brushing yours, and he grunts when your tongue darts out to try and lick him. “But you need to look at me.”

Your eyes shoot open, and you swallow when you see how close he is. His nose is bumping yours, breaths trading between lungs, and his jaw is clenched as he starts to angle his hips to hit you deeper, a powerful, craving fervor shooting between your bodies when you clench around him.

“There you are,” he kisses you once, soft and gentle, and you whimper as his pace starts to pick up. Finding a steady beat where he doesn’t pull out quite as far, but still ruts back into you and slams against your cervix. “Christ, you’re tight. Goddamn perfect, fucking squeezing me like that, so fucking good-“

You moan, your hands tugging at his hair and your arms wrapping around his back, the muscles of them flexing with every movement and god he’s so warm, you feel so full-

“Fucking knew how good you’d be, under me all pretty and dumb from my cock. Fucking soaking me, driving me fucking insane with how wet and tight and perfect you are, could spend a fucking lifetime here-“

“Ben, please-“

“You want that, Sunshine? Want to spend forever fucking impaled on my cock?” His tone is taunting again, but you’re too far gone to care. His big, calloused hand is rubbing firm patterns on your waist, and he keeps bumping against a part of you that you hadn’t been aware of before. A soft, spongy and sensitive place in your body that’s making your whole pussy contract around him, driving any sort of coherent thought out of your brain as it all fades to Ben. Deep words that you only half-understand, ripping you open and apart without even trying, ardor and passion and furious love coursing through your every nerve and making your blood electric.

You whimper, scraping at his neck and unable to unlock your gaze from his. Ben.

“Fucking words.” He rolls his hips with this movement, and you moan. “Say my fucking name, beautiful. Tell me how fucking bad you want me.”

“Want you,” you whine, trying to chase his mouth and squirm in his hold. Get just a little more friction. “Fuck, Ben, I want you so bad, I need you-“

He hums, and grins at you. “Say you love me.”

“I love you, Ben, please, more-“

“Tell me how it feels.”

“Good, so fucking good, you’re so big and, fuck, it’s so good, need more-“

He grunts your name, and when you fall back enough to earth to really study his face, it’s serious. “Say that you know I love you.”

“You love me,” you whisper, he starts to move faster. Slamming in and out of you with an abandon, his hand on your waist kneading and pulling at your skin in a perfect fucking pain. “You love me, Ben, I know you love me-“

You’re high. Ben kisses you, devouring every single moan and scream of his name, chewing them with teeth on your lips and running his tongue over the roof of your mouth, and you’ve never felt this good. He won’t stop moving now, the bed is creaking under his brutal and almost feral movements, and he’s everything. You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but claw at the rippling muscle of his back, grind up into him, and gasp when his hand traces over your abdomen to your clit, giving you feather light, teasing flicks as he rams into your body.

“Please,” you gasp, and the pad of his finger presses against you just as he rips back into you. “Benjamin, please-“

“So good,” he mutters, lips still never fully leaving yours. “You’re so fucking good, Sunshine, fucking Christ you take me perfect. Fuck, I love you, you’re so fucking hot all wrecked on my cock, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen-“

Every word of his filthy, foul praise is setting you on fire. Ben thinks you’re good, and you’re molded against him perfectly, and fuck, Ben-

It would be overwhelming if it wasn’t the closest thing you’ve felt to heaven. How Ben’s so deep in you—feels so right snapping his hips against you and driving his dick inside you—that you’re not sure how you’ll fare once he pulls out. How this is ruining you, because you feel fucking alive and Ben is worshiping you in way that makes you think he has some sort of guide to your body. How to run a thumb over your nipple when he wants you to spasm under him, how to time it with every ripple of his muscle so that your whole body goes limp in his arms. How to kiss you deeper when he’s pulling out, and suck on your lower lip when you start to whimper for more friction. How all his ministrations and effort and love for you is making your blood start to burst out of your body, how you trust him so much you don’t care to try and hold it back.

Ben’s movement stutters inside you, and he moans. His finger on your clit jerks as his whole body tenses, and kisses become brutal. Sloppy and desperate, the sounds he’s making causing your legs to spread wider, your hands to rake up and down his back like you can make him move faster.

“Close,” you manage to push the words out, and Ben’s movements grow more and more uneven. “Close, Ben, fuck-“

“Think you can cum with me?" He growls, and you nod frantically as his finger on your clit starts to rub fast circles that set your pussy on fire. “Think you can be a good fucking girl for me, Sunshine, and fucking drench my cock? Let me fill you up like you deserve?”

“Yes, Ben-“

“Cum,” he orders, saying your name down your throat, and your whole body lights up. Your release, wet and warm, falls out of you, and you’re too fucked out to even care that you forgot to warn him. It’s all pleasure, racking through your body and the world grows fuzzy everywhere but Ben. Still jerking inside you as his hot cum shoots into you your pussy, spreading a kind of blissful ease and sense of belonging through you, groaning your name between your parted lips, muscled, strong arms wrapping around you and rough, big hands touching your with a soothing reverence as you burn.

You’re burning, and Ben’s right there with you. Inside you. His own orgasm is doubling the force of yours, and he’s everything good in the world around you.

But you’re not actually on fire. There’s light and smoke all over your body, but the sheets are still soft under your bare skin, and Ben’s hair and skin between your fingers isn’t being scorched and twisted. Ben is still all around you, movements stilled and making deep sounds that roll through your bones as he finishes inside you, but it’s not just that. Your bodies are still both salty with sweat and cum, and the taste of coffee and strawberries should be long gone from Ben’s mouth, but all your senses are invaded with pine. Ben and pine and vanilla and strawberry. When you blink up at him, he’s glowing. It’s a misty haze of Ben, and it’s the whole world. The whole room is cast in a green light, like you’re under the ocean or in depths of the forest, and the whole world is Ben.

As you come down, Ben’s brow falling to yours and your whole body relaxing in his arms, the light fades, and you’re left with every nerve in your body ablaze and your every thought addled with Benjamin. I love you, really love you. Please do that again, I need you to do that to me again, that was good. Really good. You’re really fucking good, Ben, and I love you.

But things like words are still far away from your brain, so when you keen against him all you can do is make a loud and choked sound that you don’t fully understand, but Ben somehow manages to.

“I know, my love, I’ve got you. Always fucking got you.”

That’s new. My love is new, and god it’s going to drive you out of your mind. He loves you. Ben loves you, and you’re his, and he’s got you. It kickstarts your brain, and you smile, fully smile, up at him. Handsome and proud and watching you with a devotion you can feel in your blood. Your blood, all yours and twice as strong with Ben mixing with it.

“I love you.” It’s so natural to say. You’re supposed to say it, and he’s the only one who’s really meant to hear it. There’s so much love for him, tearing through your body and igniting your head, and nobody but Ben would have to resolve and will to take it all and throw it back to you. “Benjamin,” you mumble, your hand gliding up his neck to tangle in his hair. “You’re, I love you.”

He nods, head dropping lower to press against your neck as he settles above you, just holding you. Tracing gentle patterns on your skin and touching you in that reverent, careful way. “I love you too, Sunshine. You’re the goddamn light of my life, and I love you so goddamn much.”

You hum, and your smile feels right. All of this feels right.

You make real fucking good sounds when you cum on me, as well. Squeeze me like a goddamn vice. A pause, and then, are you a fucking squirter?

You glance down between your bodies, and shrug. Sometimes. That was kind of a small one though. I’ve been known to cause plumbing issues.

His hands still on your body. Are you fucking with me.

No. I do squirt. Not always, but sometimes. I know it’s messy, I should’ve told you-

You’re going to do that again. I’ll fucking kill someone to get you to do that again.

You giggle, slowly combing fingers through his hair, basking in the weight of Ben above you, the heat of his body relaxing your every muscle. Horny old man.

I just fucked my woman, I’m allowed to be as fucking horny as I want. There’s a pause, and his head moves up, chin resting on your chest as he glares at you. And I’m not old.

I’m your woman, you grin at him, and a sharp flash of something prideful and insatiable runs over your skin. You’re not sure if it’s yours or Ben’s, and you don’t think you care to know anymore. I’m allowed to call you old all I want. Should’ve chosen a nicer girl if you didn’t want to be reminded that you’re a fucking dinosaur.

Don’t want a nicer girl. He wink. I love my bratty, mean fucking pain in the ass.

That shouldn’t make you almost cry, but it does. You blink at him, and even in your head your voice is soft. I love you, Benjamin. You’re a grumpy man-child, and I love you.

He swallows, kisses your cheek, and starts to rise away from you.

You scramble up on your forearms, watching him with wide eyes. “Come back-“

“Unless you want to sleep covered in fucking cum,” Ben drawls, glaring down at you in a way that’s not going help any argument to let him leave the bed. “I have to go to the bathroom so we can clean you up.”

“I don’t care.” You reach to his shoulders, trying to pull him back fully over you. “We can shower in the morning-“

Ben’s face splits into a cocky grin. “We?”

“Yes, Ben, we-“

“No tears,” his eyes narrow, scanning over your naked body with a gaze that’s meant to be purely analytical, but still makes you press your slightly sore thighs together. “You’re okay.”

You smile at him when his eyes find yours again, your whole body wrapped in his stone concern. “I’m okay. I just want you here-“

That’s all it takes for Ben to fall back onto you, and your hand moves up to trace the defined muscles of his shoulder, only for him to catch it and kiss your knuckles.

I’m here.

Something in you melts, and you lean up to kiss his cheek. Thank you.

Don’t.

No. Thank you, Benjamin, you cunt.

He grins at you, and squeezes your hand. Brat.

“Can I ask you something,” you say aloud, and Ben gives a small nod for you to continue. “How long have you, um, known? That you love me?”

“Few weeks,” he mutters, watching you carefully. “Loved you longer, though.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Doesn’t fucking matter-“

Benjamin. You give him a flat look, and he sighs, the prickly, sore feeling of embarrassment on his skin returning.

“I’ve never, fuck,” he pushes the words through teeth, hand tight around yours. “I’ve never loved a damn person like I love you. I didn’t get it. I’d do fucking anything for you,” he snaps your name, and you’re almost amused by how annoyed he sounds. “And I know you probably fucking got it right away, but I’ve never been in real love, fucking apparently, so-“

“Ben,” you whisper, words gentle but firm, just enough to make him stop ranting. “I have been in love before, and this does feel different. It took me a while to get as well.”

His jaw is still clenched, but something loosen in his gut. “How long.”

“I don’t actually know,” you shrug. “I realized a few months ago, and it felt like I’d always been in love with you. I, um,” you swallow, squirming a little under the intensity of Ben’s gaze. “I just didn’t really care how long I’d actually loved you. It’s something that felt like a part of me, so I wouldn’t even really know where to start figuring out where it came from. I know that I love you, and that’s it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he mutters, eyes scanning over your face. “If it’s been goddamn months, why didn’t you just fucking say something.”

“I didn’t think you’d love me,” you mumble, staring at Ben’s jaw, unable to fully meet his eyes. “And I don’t, um, I couldn’t risk losing you if you didn’t want me like that.”

“Don’t be fucking insane,” he snaps, and you swallow. “Even if I was so much of an idiot fucking pussy not to love you, I’d never fucking leave you. As long as you want me here, I’m going to be right at your goddamn side. You burn, I burn,” he grunts your name, and you smile. “That’s fucking that.”

“You burn, I burn,” you whisper. “And I do want you here, Ben. You’re my best friend, and I like having you here.”

“Good,” he mutters, dropping his brow back to your body. “I like fucking being here. You should get some sleep.”

“We just spent all day sleeping-“

Wrong. His voice is stern and low in your head, his arms wrapping around your waist. We just spent all night fucking. MM said we’ve got a meeting with the team in the morning, Sunshine. And you still need the rest.

You sigh. But-

I’ll be right fucking here. Sleep.

Overall, you’re going to have to figure out how to combat that particular effect he has on your body. How to use it selectively, like when he’s telling you to cum. But, right now—with Ben sprawled naked and warm above you, his hands kneading and rubbing on your skin—you let the hum of Ben’s love in your chest wash a comfortable, easy sleep over your mind.

You don’t have nightmares, or dreams. It's a restful, calm sleep that you wake up from in what feels like a blink, that makes your every thought clear and your body feel fresh as you watch the light of dawn break. Ben’s still above you, his snores filling the room, and you smile. This is right where you’re supposed to be. In a bed that smells like pine and belongs to you, with a warm, handsome man you love so much it will kill you, having tangled your legs with his in sleep and holding you so tight you’re trapped beneath him. You could burn him, or poke him, or slap him to wake him up, but you don’t really want to. Ben looks so peaceful, so content and comfortable, and you love him too much to wake him up.

And then he shifts around you, his fully hard cock poking into your upper thigh, and he needs to wake up now. He’ll have a lifetime, several of them, to sleep all lazy and content above you, but right now you’re still sensitive from last night—still aching for him and desperate for him everywhere—and you’re not doing this again. His breath on your neck is starting to pick up, he’s started to rut against you, and when the low, grumbled sounds of hunger start to leave his mouth, that’s it.

“Ben,” you hiss, leaning down to speak in his ear, and his hips jerk, almost drawing a whine from your throat. “Benjamin, wake up.”

He mutters your name, and you start to push him up, off of you. You can feel your pussy start to contract around nothing—he’s not doing you any favors by pressing his tip of him against you in his sleep—and you at least need him off of you so you can take care of yourself.

“I swear to fucking god, you cunt,” you forgo a soft, quiet tone, and your voice rises to a loud snap. “If you don’t get your huge fucking ass off of me, I’ll-“

Ben’s eyes shoot open, finding yours in a second, and your words turn into a squeal as he sits up, pulling you onto his lap in one, fluid motion.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he mutters, voice gruff and heavy with sleep, and you can still feel him pressed against your ass. “What’s so fucking important you had to wake me up from my very good dream about you?”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “You were on top of me.”

“I’m always on top of you,” he winks, and your body is very traitorous, letting that movement—combined with how his chest is still bare, and his lips are a little swollen from sleep, and’s the most attractive man alive whom you love very much—send a spark through your body, right into your pussy. “What’s wrong.”

It’s easier to show him, so you grind down on Ben once and his hands tighten on your hips.

“You have a problem, Pretty Boy.” You give him a too sweet smile and heat flashes between your cores. “Couldn’t let you deal with it yourself.”

His nostrils flare, and he bucks up into you once, making you almost collapse of his chest. “Don’t think I’m the only one with the fucking problem, beautiful. Think we can help each other?”

“Maybe,” you lean down to speak against his lips, and Ben slides you further up his lap. “How would you want to help me?”

“Right here,” he grunts, eyes dropping down to your tits—pressed against his chest—and where you’re straddling him. “Fuck up into you. See if you can take me going slow this time. If I can make you so fucking dizzy I need to carry you to the dining hall.”

“Oh, shit,” you mumble, starting to twist in Ben’s lap. “The meeting-“

“We’ve got time,” Ben’s hands hold you firm above him, and when you turn around to frown at him, his eyes are narrowed. “Plenty of fucking time, my love. All the damn time in the world for me to fuck you, take real good care of you, and get you in a hot shower before Mallory starts being a fucking bitch about how we’re late.”

You stay against him because he called you my love again, and it’s doing something to your brain that makes the world bright and happy. You still manage to glare at him, though, and snap, “how long.”

“Two hours.” He grins, pushing slightly up into you. “Two long fucking hours for me to make you moan.”

If you were a stronger woman, if you weren’t so blinded by love and lust and thirst and Ben, you have him and he loves you and you can feel it and fuck anyone who tries to take that away from you, you’d have rolled off of him, given him a sharp glare, and said Benjamin, we have work to do, you can fuck me later.

You are not a stronger woman. But Ben’s cock is pressed right against you, his hips are rocking just enough for him to slide easily between your folds, and he’s watching you with a drunken, high look in his eyes, so you think you’ll be able to find peace with that. All your love is spreading between Ben and your minds and bodies, and it’s making him look a little feral, so you think you’ll survive being susceptible to his low voice and handsome face.

You fall onto him, pressing your lips against his in a heavy, long, deep kiss, and you grin. Prove it.

He’s not bothering to prep you this time, but you’re so wet you can hear it when he shifts you into a better position, so it won’t really matter. Ben runs one finger between your pussy lips, spreading them open as he slowly pumps his cock, and when he guides himself to line up against you, he pauses.

“Gonna go slow, Sunshine,” he grunts, and you nod. “Arms on my neck.”

You listen to him mindlessly, wrapping yourself around his body, and it only takes one, deep thrust for Ben to push himself up into you.

He lets you move on him. His head is falling to your chest, one big, rough hand palming at your tits, and when you roll your body above him he just takes a sharp breath and lets you move. You start to bounce on him, your mouth pressed against his brow and his hold on your waist growing bruising, and when he starts to suck on your throat with a fervor you almost scream. He yanks you down, stilling your motions as he throbs inside you, and he bites at your pulse point with a flick of your nipple.

Slow, his voice rumbles in your head, and your breath hitches. One more chance, beautiful, then I’m taking over.

You nod, and his thumb soothes the hurt on your breast as you start to grind down onto him. You let every whimper and moan and sigh leave your throat, savoring the way it always makes Ben jerk inside you. He’s still touching you—slow and gentle and leaving goosebumps whenever his hands ghost over a new area of skin—but the most he does is a groan against your collarbone that rolls through your body, or a buck of his hips when you clench around him.

“Real fucking good,” he grunts your name, voice muffled on your body. “So good, riding my cock all pretty and sweet. Making all those perfect fucking sounds for me, Christ-“

His hand on your hips has moved up, pulling you so close your heartbeats are in time and your teeth are brushing against his ear when you moan. You make a choked gasp when you roll your hips on a circle, feeling every twitch of him inside you, and every single word Ben says is making a hazed pleasure spread through your body, making you squirm above him.

“Let me fucking hear you,” he rubs your nipple between two careful, broad fingers, and you give him and loud, deseperate, pleading, moan. “Good girl, so fucking good.”

Please, Ben, more- You gasp when he switches his attention to your other breast, and Ben chuckles.

“You like that, Sunshine? Like me inside you, like feeling how perfect you fit over me, how, fuck,” you’ve started to rock back and forth, and his hand drops from your tits to brush over your stomach, down to your clit. “You feel so fucking good, so good and fucking beautiful, I fucking love you, love how good you take me, how you say my fucking name-“

Ben-

“Just like that, fuck, you’re so fucking good, fucking, Christ, you need, fuck-“

Suddenly you're still, Ben’s hand moving around to press on your lower back, and realized you’d started to ride him again. Fast and rough, lost in his words and how he was saying your name like a prayer, how Ben is everything, you should give him everything-

“I told you we were going slow,” he mutters in your ear, and you can’t stop your breathless moan when he starts to fuck, up, into you, and his groan sending electricity through your body as you squeeze around him. “You didn’t fucking listen, brat, so now it’s my turn.”

He’d tricked you. The fucking asshole had known what all the praise would do to you—it was like he’d studied just what say to wreck you with only his words—and had baited you into it. Called you good girl and pretty and said it in that way that echoed in your ribs like a drum, that made you crave more, to make you move faster on him. You know Ben, you can feel how smug and prideful he is, how the glow is being hounded by a cocky, massive sense of triumph. He’s grinning against your shoulder, and you’re going to give him hell for it.

Later. You’ll shove his chest and slap his arm later.

Right now you can’t really dwell on how much of a dickhead he is, because he’s holding you tight against his body and splitting you open on his cock. It’s so slow, he’s set and unrelenting pace of torture when he knocks against the deepest part of you, rolls his hips, and pulls almost fully out before driving back up in a lazy, unhurried, and careful thrust.

You’re going to kill him. You make empty threats like this all the time, but this one you mean. He’s such a smug bastard, and this feels so fucking good, and you’re so full, he’s holding your with such care and love and your name is falling from his lips like it’s holy, but you’re going to kill him. He’s dragged you right to the edge, but won’t just push you over it.

“Benjamin,” you hiss, the needy and high tone of your voice not selling how genuine close you are to punching me. “I need you to go faster, I’m so close-“

“I want to fucking feel you,” he grunts your name, and you shake your head and tug at his hair. “You feel so good, you just need to wait. Patience is a virtue, beautiful, you just have to hold on and wait.”

You whine, and his hand moves back to trace around your clit, but never right over it. “Ben, please-“

“Almost,” he mutters, running his thumb over you for a split second, making your whole body shiver. “So good. I fucking love you, Sunshine, want you to cum with me.”

“Please-“

Ben’s last thrust, powerful and rough as he pinches your clit, sends your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. He’d pulled a little further out, sucking on your neck as you shake in his arms, and you can feel his cum dribble out of you, running down your thighs. As your moans and curses fall into slow breaths and whimpers, Ben leaves gentle, reverent kisses up your jaw and across your check. Your head tilts down on instinct to catch his mouth, and he hums as your tongue runs over his lips.

You’re caged against Ben’s body, his arms flexing around you as he holds you, and you’ve never felt safer. This is where you belong. All your blood pouring out your body with love, and Ben’s own love so demandingly devout it makes you rest against him without any fear. Only love.

You love Ben, he loves you, and he’s where you belong.

——————

Ben was pretty sure that, at Vought Tower with Butcher and Maeve and Homelander and Annie, he’d actually just fucking died. Someone had figured out how to kill him, an awful misjudgment or error had been made, and he’d ended up in heaven. Or some sort of fucking purgatory, testing him to see if he’d be worthy. If Ben would stand at Her side, wait for her, do what she told him and only sometimes bitch about it. Love Her like she fucking deserved. Earn paradise, prove that he wasn’t a disgraceful, undeserving piece of shit, prove that—if this was heaven—he’d tend to it and care for it and worship it for the rest of his goddamn life.

Of all the possible options for why She loved him, it was the made the most fucking sense. Everything else, in comparison, seemed pretty fucking stupid. This was heaven. She loved Ben, he’d gotten to hear her say it, gotten to fucking feel her around him, and he hadn’t died at Vought she’d certainly fucking killed him there. Squeezing him, moaning his name and scratching his back and Her heart racing in her chest from what Ben did to her, loving Ben and letting him feel it.

It had hit him again. Buried deep inside Her, that high, infinite feeling had crashed through his body, and he’d almost fucking lost it. It had been Her love, for fucking Ben, everywhere around him and making the whole world better.

He’d almost cum just from that alone. He’d never stop being in awe of Her for a whole lot of goddamn reasons, and being able to just fucking live like that was now one of them.

Ben had, in a truly futile effort, tried to convince Her to just stay in bed for the whole goddamn day. The team could take care of it. This might be their problem, but they deserved at least one fucking break. One day for Ben to see if there were in fact limits to their supe stamina, if She’d look just as perfect as she came when she was riding him. Pressed against the wall. Bent over the couch or sitting in a chair, slammed against the floor or squirming against him in the shower or bent over a table-

It hadn’t worked. He’d been very descriptive of all his ideas, very open to suggestions as well, but after many minutes of Her shooting down all his arguments with good fucking points and smart fucking words, she’d crawled away from him, rolling off the bed, and he’d had to follow her into the bathroom for his promised shower.

He’d moved around Her, turning on the water, and she’d glared up at him.

“We’re already going to be late, Benjamin-“

“And who do you have to blame for that, Sunshine?” He’d grinned at Her, and she’d wrinkled her nose at him.

“You’re the one who hid my phone under the pillow,” She’d snapped, crossing her arms and pushing her pretty tits up to fucking taunt him. “That’s sabotage, you cunt. You’re not allowed in my shower.”

“Our shower-“

“Shut the fuck up, Pretty Boy.” She’d pushed his arm lightly, and Ben hadn’t even swayed. “If I let you in here, you’ll just try to fuck me and we’ll be even more late.”

Ben shrugged. He would do that. He’d been planning to do exactly that, but he’d also be damned if he was ashamed for wanting to show Her how much he loved her at any given opportunity. “I will, but you can just fucking tell me no. I’ll stop, and we can have a boring, sex-free shower.”

She’d flushed. “No. Stay out here.”

He’d grinned. She was almost pouting at him, but had stopped trying to shove him away, and her pretty eyes were blown out. “You want me to fuck you in the shower-“

“Fuck you-“

“I know,” his voice had been gleeful, his smile almost straining his face. “You never have a problem telling me. You don’t fucking want to tell me no.”

“Shut up-“

“Here’s the deal, beautiful.” He’d leaned over Her, watching her swallow and smirking at the slack, thirsty expression on her face. “I won’t try to fuck you. Won’t even damn mention it, because I’m a fucking gentleman and I love you. But I get to shower with you, and I’m putting an offer of fucking you on the table. Say the word and I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. But you have to start it. Clear?”

She’d nodded, and let Ben herd her into the steam.

He’d kept his hands to himself. Ben had only thought about how he wanted to push her into the wall and crack the tiles—in a way that he was pretty sure she couldn’t hear—and even tried to stop his semi-hard dick from brushing against her.

Then he’d—fucking innocently—reached over Her to grab his shampoo, and she’d snatched his hand out of the air and brought it down to her center, grinding back into him and will whining pleas.

He’d have been fucking insane to say no. To not rub and flick and play with her perfect fucking pussy until she came, shaking on his hand with her head thrown back against his chest. Ben would’ve had to have lost his goddamn mind.

So now they were twenty minutes late to the meeting. Ben’s hand was folded in Hers, and she was pulling him down the hallway with long, clipped steps that made him want to pick Her up and fuck her.

I love you-

Shut your fucking mouth, Benjamin. You loving me is what made us late in the first place.

He snorted. My mouth is shut, brat.

Shut it more, cunt.

Right before She could push through the dining hall doors, Ben spun her around into his chest, and cupped her face with a light hand. “Let’s go home.”

“We are home.” She smiled at him, hands curling in his shirt, and Ben wasn’t capable of arguing with that foolproof logical when she was so stupid fucking beautiful. “Can you keep it in your pants for the meeting?”

“No.”

“Benjamin-“

He rolled his eyes, and pressed one gentle, soft kiss onto her lips. “Whatever,” he muttered against her, and she let out a breathless sound that was going to give him a fucking seizure from want. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

It was like a fucking damn had broken inside him. Ben couldn’t fucking stop telling Her that he loved her. Even as he slung an arm over her shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, he wanted to scream it for the whole fucking building to hear. She needed to know, to never fucking forget, and he needed to keep her right fucking there all the time. At his side, leaning into him, squeezing his hand around Her as they entered the dining hall.

Since Mallory wasn’t in attendance, the most shit they got for the late arrival with a few glares and several sighs. They dropped onto the bench, and Ben heard Her heartbeat pick up as the team gaped at them. They looked fucking normal, as far as Ben knew. They’d washed off all the dried cum, put on clothing that wasn’t torn, their hair wasn’t really that fucking out of place. It couldn’t be how they were sitting, because they always sat like this. With Her pressed into his side, leaning her weight into his body, and his body half over hers.

But everyone’s heart was a little faster than normal. And none of them were just fucking speaking. Ben was about to open his mouth and demand some fucking answer, but Butcher broke the silence before he could.

“How very fuckin nice of you two cunts to finally join us,” he drawled, glaring between Her and Ben. “First skippin dinner, then almost playin hooky on the bloody meetin? You got a more rebellious streak than I thought, Love-“

“We were fucking busy,” She snapped, matching Butcher’s glare with one twice as violent. Christ, She was fucking perfect. “Our whole lives don’t revolve around you, Butcher. We’re allowed to miss dinner.”

“And the meeting?” MM muttered, and Her glare turned to him as he raised his hands up. “It’s not out of character, but the Singer shit was your idea. We weren’t able to start without you motherfuckers here.”

“And you ain’t got lives outside of this,” Butcher added with a scoff. “So unless you’re running a secret fuckin drug ring, in which case I’d like in, you shoulda bloody been here.”

She sighed. “It’s none of your business, Butcher.“

“What, were you bloody twats fuckin all night-“

“Yes.” Ben grunted, glowering at Butcher. “Like she said, our fucking business.”

The whole room fell into silence, and Her voice rang in Ben’s ears.

What the fuck, Benjamin.

Sorry, his voice sounded insincere in his fucking brain, because he didn’t fucking mean it in the slightest. This shouldn’t be a fucking secret. People should know that Ben was fucking Her, that they fucking loved each other, and that not a single fucking force in the universe would take them away from each other.

She wasn’t that fucking angry, anyway, because all she did was slap his leg under the table, wrinkling her nose in a way that told Ben they both knew he’d probably do that again, and turn to watch the amusingly varied expressions of shock on their teams faces.

Hughie—with a red fucking face and stuttered words—spoke first. “Um, last night? This last night?”

“And this morning,” Ben winked at him, and She sighed, half burying her face in his chest. “I got good fucking stamina, Hughie, you need some tips I’d be happy to help-“

Her hand shot up to cover his mouth, and when Ben looked down she was giving him a flat look. Do not give Hughie sex tips, please.

You know how fucking good I am, would be damn cruel to deprive the world of what’s yours-

She flushed, but Her glare didn’t waver. Yeah, you’re a real Samaritan, Pretty Boy. And Hughie coughed.

“Um, was this, I guess a new thing? Like the first time-“

Ben scowled. “We haven’t been fucking lying to you pussies about not fucking-“

“It was,” She elbowed Ben in the gut, don’t be mean, and frowned at Hughie. “But I don’t know why that’s important-“

“Sorry, I’m just trying to, uh, put this shit together, I guess.” Hughie swallowed, the rest of the team watching them with a weird fucking intensity. “I, uh, what happened-“

“We fucked, Hughie.” Ben scowled. “It is not my goddamn job to explain fucking to you-“

“No,” Hughie’s heart was going to pound out of his chest like a damn cartoon. “I mean, I know what fucking is. It’s just kind of, uh, sudden? I’m wondering what changed-“

“She told me she loves me,” Ben didn’t bother to hide the smug pride in his voice, or the puff of his chest, and She’d seemingly completely given up on intervening in the conversation. Her face was fully squished against him, and Ben rubbed small circles on her shoulder as he smirked at Hughie. “And I said it back. And we fucked.”

“You just, um, went right into fucking, or-“

“I fingered her first,” Ben shrugged, and She sighed into him. “And then she sucked my cock, and-“

“Hughie-“ MM’s words were a low warning. “That’s all you should fucking need, I do not want a play by play of their sex-“

Her head peaked up, leaning around Ben to frown at MM. “What do you mean, what he should need?” Her gaze turned to Hughie, and the kid flinched. “Hughie. Why do you need to know that stuff.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, giving Her an apologetic grimace before running a hand over his face and looking around the table. “What day is it?”

“June 9th,” Annie’s answer was quick, and she was watching Hughie carefully. “Little over three months.”

She looked up at Ben with a frown as Hughie started to frown to himself, narrowing his eyes at the air.

What are they talking about?

Fuck if I know, Ben shrugged, looking back at Hughie. I can make him tell us.

I’ll keep that in mind, but for now no torture-

Hughie’s eyes refocused and he sighed. “That’s twenty-five to MM for having three and half months on sex, twenty to Annie for exactly three on feelings, and twenty-five to Kimiko for sex immediately after feelings.”

As everyone groaned and began to pull out wallets, Annie frowned.

“Why do I only get twenty-“

Hughie scratched the back of his neck, giving Annie a sheepish look. “You said he’d confess feelings first, but she did, so you don’t, uh, get the bonus. And we put more on the order and distance-“

At Ben’s side, She was gaping around the table with an indigent glare. “Were you guys betting on us-“

“Sorry,” MM said Her name with a shrug. “But we all got tired of your fucking pining shit, needed to do something with it.”

“You did not need to-“

“You forgot to ask about the positions, Petite Hughie,” The French Prick interrupted Her with a frown, and Hughie sighed.

“We vetoed that one, remember? Nobody bet on it-“

“Nah, Lad, I got fifty riding on who was on top.” Butcher wiggled his eyebrows at Her and Ben. “Think you twats can say the right shit and make Frenchie pay me what he fuckin owes?”

“Butcher,” She snapped, squeezing Ben’s leg in a silent order to keep quiet. “I am not telling you who was on top-“

“Was Soldier Boy, wasn’t it?” Her face flushed, and Butcher gave The French Prick triumphant smirk. “Fuckin told you, Frenchie-“

“She did not say it, I will not pay-“

“You bloody owe me, Mate, don’t make me fucking take it-“

“Holy fuck,” she mumbled, giving Ben an eye roll, idiots, and ignoring his snort as she raised Her voice. “Frenchie, pay him.”

“Non, you must say it-“

“He was on top!” She snapped, and Ben didn’t miss the way her thighs squeezed until the table, where only he could see. “Pay Butcher, and if either of you ever bring this up again, I’ll fucking kill you. Now can we please just do our jobs?”

“Well,” Butcher began, slowly counting the money Frenchie had passed him. “Ain’t that much to update you lot on. Singer’s still got his fuckin head up his ass, blockin us from makin any progress on the V, so we’ve found ourself in a bit of a fuckin stalemate until the president gets off his ass.”

She frowned. “Then why was this so urgent-“

“Because, Love,” Butcher’s sharp gaze rose up, scowling between Her and Ben. “I got some really fuckin interesting news from Mallory yesterday morning, about how Stan Edgar called her sayin Soldier Boy and the Anomaly still ain’t given an answer to his offer. And I’m real fuckin curious what he could be talkin about.”

Ben tensed, pulling Her closer into him, and glared at Butcher as She answered.

“Edgar kind of,” She sighed, fingers tapping on Ben’s knee. “He called us. And, um, asked us to visit him.”

“Why the hell would he want you two to visit him,” MM frowned. “He and Soldier Boy aren’t exactly on good fucking terms, and he’s only met you,” he gave Her a small nod. “Once.”

She glanced up at Ben. Can I tell them? About your IOU?

He didn’t want to tell them—mostly because they’d all fucking yell at him, and he couldn’t kiss them to make them shut up—but after failing think of a single good reason to say no, he shrugged. If you fucking need to, fine.

She nodded, and took a deep breath as she turned back to the team. “I need everyone to promise not to lose their shit, and that they’ll let me finish talking before they jump in.”

“I ain’t makin no fuckin promises-“

“Butcher,” Annie snapped, glaring over Hughie’s still-red face. “Just shut up.”

Butcher scowled, but didn’t say anything more, and Annie gave Her an encouraging nod to continue.

“Okay.” She sighed. “First of all, I’ve already yelled at Ben a lot for this, so you guys don’t have to. It was stupid, and reckless, and lacked any critical thinking skill or obvious foresight-“

You better be fucking going somewhere-

“But,” She kicked Ben’s shin, ignoring his glare. “We were desperate, and I understand why he did it. Even if it was fucking dumb.”

MM frowned. “Are you going to keep vamping for a thousand fucking years, or tell us what this motherfucker did-“

“Ben made a deal with Stan Edgar, and now we,” She gestured between Ben and herself. “Owe him.”

She tensed at Ben’s side as everyone stared at them—mostly Ben, and he probably needed to pretend he actually gave a fuck about the consequence of the IOU, but also She was curled into him and happy and safe so Ben decided he could be fucked—and they waited for the bitching to begin.

“And,” MM ran a hand over his face, shaking his head. “And you didn’t think that would be important fucking information to share with us?”

“No.” She mumbled. “I mean, I know I should’ve, but everyone was still at each other’s throat about Ben and I, and I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.”

“This ain’t about your bloody relationship drama, Love, this could fuck our asses raw with Soldier Boy’s dumb fuckin-“

“It wasn’t dumb,” She snapped, and Butcher was smart enough to shut up under her glare. It was likely more of a survival instinct, because Ben had been on the receiving end of that specific glare—where She looked like she already had a plan to kill you, there was nothing you could do to prevent it, and your body wouldn’t ever be found—and even he had been a little worried. Less worried than Butcher, because he wasn’t a fucking pussy and that glare was also fucking hot on Her, with curled lips and sharp eyes and Christ she was pretty, but worried all the same. Fuck, even Her voice was hot, firm and venomous. “And I didn’t hide it because of us,” She gestured between herself and Ben, and he needed to get it the fuck together and pay attention to thoughts that weren’t if I fucked Her on the table, how annoying would everyone be about it. “I hid it because I don’t think you can honestly tell me that, if I had told you, you wouldn’t have tried to kill us both.”

“I ain’t able to kill you, I’ve fuckin looked into it-“

“I know that,” She cut off Butcher’s muttering with a scowl. “But my point is that you didn’t trust us. This isn’t something I could share when you didn’t trust us. Got it? Can we talk about the actual issue on the table?”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but nodded.

“Thank you.” She turned back to the rest of the team, frowning into the air as she ran through her thoughts aloud. “Edgar says he has the favor picked out, but wants Ben and I to visit him. We don’t know why I need to be there yet, but we do know that he’ll be ‘in a better mood’ if I do. Whatever that means.”

“And if you do not visit him?” The French Prick watched Her carefully. “Will there be, ah, alternative actions?”

“I don’t know,” She pulled her lips between her teeth, chewing them with such force Ben was worried she’d break skin. “He’s not asking us to bring him anything. Just to keep him company, have lunch with him. He already knows what he wants Ben to do, and he said he’s willing to just cash in the IOU over the phone and that’ll be it. But he still wants us to visit.”

“It might be a, like a trap?” Hughie mumbled, looking around the table with an anxious face. “I mean, Edgar’s never been trustworthy, and he’s kind of the fucking worst-“

She shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a trap. Edgar wouldn’t realign himself with Homelander, and he’s too smart to let Sage pull his strings. I,” She took a long breath. “I want to go. Edgar might be cryptic and an annoying fucking dickhead, but he doesn’t play games that are unwinnable. He’s got some sort of endgame, and I think we should see what it is.”

“No.” Ben didn’t wait for the rest of the team to chime in with their stupid fucking opinions. There wasn’t a single fucking chance he was taking Her out of the compound, upstate, in goddamn public—where Homelander could find Her—for a lunch with Stan Edgar. “I’ll deal with this my goddamn self, we’re not entertaining Edgar’s fucking shit.”

“Ben-“

“I’m with Soldier Boy on this.” MM interjected, and Her eyes widened. “Edgar’s a slippery fucking bastard. No telling what the hell he wants from you, and it’s real goddamn suspicious he’s making it an option. It feels like a fucking trap.”

“It would be a stupid trap,” She crossed her arms, glaring around the table. “It’s way too obvious. And it’s not like we’re helpless if he does try to pull something-“

“But we can’t risk it right now.” Annie sighed, giving Her a close-lipped smile. “I mean, the IOU will be cashed in no matter what, right? Why should we play Edgar’s game when he’s already gotten what he wants?”

Butcher scoffed. “And that, Starlight, is why you never fuckin win on poker nights. Sometimes you gotta take the gamble, bloody live a little and let it pay off. I think the cunts should go, I’m all fuckin in on it.”

“Of course you would be, you asshole-“

“Kimiko and I are also on team go.” The French Prick gave Annie an apologetic look as he cut her off. “Kimiko says that she trusts the judgment of Madame,” the French Prick nodded at Her, and Ben realized he’d fully dropped saying either Anomaly or her name. He could fucking appreciate that, even if Frenchie was making to dogshit fucking choice of siding with Her dumb as fuck plan. “And I trust the judgment of Kimiko.”

She nodded, and all eyes turned to Hughie.

“I, uh, why is everyone-“

“You’re the last fucking vote, Kid.” MM shrugged. “Yay or nay on Edgar, all on you.”

“Do not let the pressure get to your head, petite Hughie.” Frenchie added, and Hughie swallowed. “I am sure neither will kill you if you do not vote their way.”

She might not. She was kind like that. Ben wasn’t.

Hughie must have known that Ben’s glare wasn’t a fucking empty threat, because he mumbled, “It’s, um, probably not worth it. Nay, I guess.”

Ben gave Her a smug grin, I fucking win, and she completely ignored him.

“Edgar’s literally locked up, he’s not a threat right now-“

MM said Her name flatly. “You know just as well as the rest of us that Edgar’s always a fucking threat. You’re still being hunted by Vought, there’s no way it’s worth taking such a goddamn risk for his,” MM pointed a sharp finger at Ben, and didn’t get it snapped off only because they were on the same side of this shit. “Stupid choices. It’s too far a fucking drive, and we can’t know what the hell Edgar’s got waiting for you. You’re outvoted on this. Back down.”

“Technically I’m not, we’re tied-“

“A stalemate is a no.” MM grunted with a shrug. “And we’re not flipping. That’s it.”

She narrowed her eyes, and Ben could hear Her brain moving.

You lost, Sunshine. It happens to all of us, and now you know how I feel all the goddamn time-

I did not lose.

Yes, you did. An don’t say something fucking insane to try and get around it-

Shut the fuck up. “What if Edgar comes to us?” She didn’t even look at Ben’s glower, looking around the table. “Home field advantage, no way for him to set something up.”

“We ain’t lettin that cunt in the house,” Butcher grunted. “I’m still on your side, Love, but we’re on strict fuckin lockdown. Not a chance in bloody hell we’ll convince Mallory to give Edgar a day pass.”

“First of all, this isn’t a house,” She shrugged, finger drumming against Ben’s leg as she frowned. “But we could bring him to a house.”

Hughie blinked. “None of us have a house-“

“But the CIA does,” She grinned. “And it’s fucking impenetrable.”

“Oh, shit.” Hughie’s eyes widened. “The safe house.”

She nodded. “Where Edgar’s family is. He won’t risk Neuman, or Zoe. We can meet him there, no risk, and hear what he wants.”

“That’s,” Annie sighed. “Yeah, okay. I’ll switch my vote.”

She bumped Ben’s shoulder, a smug fucking smirk on her pretty face. Suck on that, Benjamin. Five to three, I win.

He scowled. Brat.

You love it.

He did. And, fuck him, Ben couldn’t figure out a single good argument to flip Annie back. It was a genius fucking idea. It was safe, they’d be giving Edgar extra by letting him see Neuman, and they’d get whatever fucking generosity the pussy had promised them. And when MM and Hughie agreed to Her idea—MM making it clear that it was only on the terms of the safe house he was siding with Her—Ben gave up. She was too fucking smart, and he was too fucking stupidly in love with Her and her happy, pleased smile to keep arguing. Especially not when, as Butcher grunted they’d need four day and everyone started to disperse, Ben had several fucking plans to drag Her home and win his own game. To tease and touch and fuck Her until she was a wet, fucked out mess beneath him, take advantage of how Her heart picked up every time he called her my love, and maybe he’d get Her to squirt again-

“Frenchie?”

Ben blinked at Her nervous voice, and realized it was just them, Frenchie, and Kimiko left in the dining hall. She was leaning over the table, tilting her head at Frenchie as she spoke slow, measured words.

“You, um, you know a little about how my powers work, right? The empathy specifically?”

“I, ah,” Frenchie glanced at Ben with nervous fucking pussy words. “I do, oui. But I am not sure-“

“He knows about the suppressant,” She said with a sigh. “I’m not taking it anymore, by the way, I can give the rest back-“

“Non, they are yours. A gift.” Frenchie frowned. “Why do you bring up your empathy if not for the pills?”

“I have,” She swallowed, glancing up at Ben. “We have a few questions about it.”

Who the fuck is we, Sunshine.

You and I. She shot him a quick glare. He might know what the whole mind reading shit is, Pretty Boy. Don’t be an ass.

Ben rolled his eyes, but turned his glare to Frenchie’s confused face.

“What questions would you like answered, Madame?”

“You said my empathy is my limbic system going beyond my own self.” She frowned. “Right?”

“Oui,” Frenchie nodded, looking Her up and down. “The V, ah, causes you to connect your brain with others. Ties their emotions in with your own.”

Ben didn’t understand what the fuck Frenchie was talking about, but She seemed satisfied with that weird answer, and continued. “But it’s temporary, not a long term bond.”

Frenchie blinked at Her. “It should be. Your brain is still your own, it would be fucking exhausting for you if it was not. Why do you-”

“I think I did something to Ben.” She mumbled, staring at the table, and he scoffed.

Shut the fuck up, Sunshine, it’s not like this is torture for me. Don’t get all fucking sad about it-

But I-

“We can read each other’s damn minds,” Ben said aloud, because She wasn’t allowed to blame herself for this, so he wouldn’t entertain any protests about it. “And you’re going to tell us why.”

“Please.” She added, and Ben rolled his eyes. “And I think it’s something about the empathy because I can feel him. He’s just kind of in me-“

“He does not look to be in you right now-“

Kimiko whacked Frenchie’s arm, and sighed something that made him frown and turn back to Her.

“Are you speaking in metaphor?”

“No, but I’m also not talking about his dick, Frenchie.” She sighed. “I can feel him when he’s not touching me. Or anywhere near me, really. It’s kind of like just a thing in my chest that is Ben. It’s hard to explain, but I know it’s him. And it vanished with the suppressant, so I think it’s related to the empathy.”

Later, Ben would have to ask Her what the fuck she meant by it was him. What he felt like, why She was so goddamn certain of it. But Frenchie was nodding slowly, looking between them, so Ben had to pay attention.

“And you, ah,” Frenchie paused, glancing at Kimiko before turning back to Her. “Can you hear our thoughts?”

“No. And it’s not hearing his thoughts, it’s more selective than that-“

“Selective my balls,” Ben muttered, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

Fuck off, Pretty Boy. We’re still learning how to use it, it’s going to be touch and go. “It is selective, he’s just a dramatic fucking man child.” Ben scowled, but let Her continue. He kind of wanted some damn answers as well. “It’s like we’re talking to each other, but in our heads.”

Kimiko signed something, and She shook her head.

“No, not like the,” She sighed. “Heart eyes. That’s just reading expressions, and I can do it with my family as well. This is like some sort of mental bond, but I don’t know why we have it.”

Frenchie titled his head at Her. “Did it begin after you fucked?”

“Um,” She flushed, heart fluttering. “No. The Ben Thing in me was kind of in and out for a while, then got cemented at the Believe Expo, when we met in the bathroom.”

“And you did not fuck in the bathroom?”

“No-“

“I fingered you,” Ben supplied, and gave Her exasperated glare a wink. “And ate you out.” He glanced at Frenchie. “Does that shit count.”

Frenchie sighed. “It does. Can you, Soldier Boy, feel her?”

Ben frowned. “Fucking once and a while, yeah.”

“Really?” She blinked up at him. “When?”

“When you escaped,” he shrugged. “When you got drunk. When I fucked you-“

“And you didn’t tell me-“

“I only just fucked you, and how the fuck was I supposed to know it was you-“

“I don’t know, I figured it out myself-“

“After fucking months-“

Frenchie coughed, and they both turned to glare at him.

“I, ah, you may continue, but I have a theory for what has happened.”

“Fucking wait-“

She covered Ben’s mouth, and nodded to Frenchie. “What is it?”

“You,” Frenchie nodded at Her, saying Her name carefully. “Have, hypothetically, planted yourself in Soldier Boy.”

Ben dragged Her hand away from him with a firm, careful grip. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“As her powers have grown, and you two developed a, ah, connection, it may have led to her brain, the V of it, reaching into your brain and not removing itself, even after contact had ended.”

“But that doesn’t explain the mind reading.“ She frowned, and Ben smirked.

You called it mind reading.

Fuck you, Benjamin-

“It is just an idea,” Frenchie shrugged. “But if your empathy felt safe within the environment of Soldier Boy’s body, it might have been capable of tying into him. Making you a physical part of him, perhaps deep enough for thoughts to be traded. And the piece of him within you is the piece of your brain within him, sending you signals of his own mind and body.”

“If it’s my brain putting my empathy in Ben,” She said carefully. “Is it something I have to worry about happening again?”

Frenchie shook his head. “It is very unlikely. Just once is an astronomical fucking shock, and you would have to recreate the exact events for it to even possibly happen again.”

Ben scowled. “The fuck you mean a shock-“

“I mean it is batshit that her literal fucking brain could grow within you. It required much physical contact, a, ah, profound emotional connection, and for your own body to not view her as a parasite and terminate her within you.”

She tilted Her head. “Is it because we have the same V? Like a biological thing?”

“It may have helped,” Frenchie sighed. “But I cannot truly tell without tests.”

Do you want to test it? She glanced up at Ben, scanning his face. I mean, I don’t really think it matters-

It fucking doesn’t. And he is not damn poking us with needles just give us the exact same fucking answer. Ben glared at Frenchie. “Her brain is in me? That's it?”

Frenchie swallowed. “Oui, I imagine so.”

Ben nodded. Got all the shit you want?

I guess. Not much else I can ask. She gave Frenchie a smile. “Thank you, that helps.”

“Would you want any of the tests-“

“Fuck no,” Ben snapped, and started to stand, pulling Her with him. “No science shit.”

She glared at him, and turned back to Frenchie. Ben didn’t actually pay attention what She was saying—probably just fucking goodbyes or some sentimental shit—because he was just staring at Her. He kept staring at Her, as they left the dining hall and returned to their apartment.

She was fucking perfect. He loved Her—he’d never stop saying it, nobody could make him stop fucking saying it—and She was his whole life. She loved him, and now Ben got to give Her everything. They’d kill Homelander, and move to Rome, and get married. He’d fuck Her forever, and care for Her the same way she did for him—staying at his side, defending him with words and plans and faith the same way he defended her with his hands and body and sheer fucking will—and that would be it. She’d be it. She was it. She was a fucking part of Ben, and he’d never fucking lose Her. She loved him, and she was never fucking wrong, and Ben would spend the rest of his life ensuring he was worthy of being central in Her orbit, that he was deserving of being part of Her.

He’d always make sure was worthy of keeping that part of Her in him safe. He’d tend to it and care for Her and love Her, he fucking swore on the world she loved so much, and this was it. They, together, were it.

End Note: They really did not last two weeks before they were fucking and shouting about how much they love each other. Two most unserious people.

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