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manicpixiefelix · 9 months

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 3.

Summary: Your second year at Oxford brings with it Farleigh, much to your delight, and you get to learn about Farleigh's personal nemesis (which he rolls his eyes at every time you call him that) Oliver. It turns out Oliver's actually very lovely, and does Felix quite the favour one unassuming morning. Farleigh's not happy to see him again, but Felix is.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: heavy drinking by everyone at the pub including the reader, and 'dog' being used to demean the reader once.

A/N: 5101 words. much longer than the last ones, and we finally have oliver!! very excited to FINALLY be able to write their weird little fuckin dynamic at oxford, i love them all very much. im a bit unhappy with the pacing of the beginning but i like how it picks up once oli is introduced, but also the bar scene is SO LONG and i will not apologise i love them your honour. id be mighty grateful for any feedback or if you have any thoughts in general about the story, i stare at so many kind asks in my inbox lovingly, i will answer them very soon i promise!! also this is so unedited, sorry lol.

Taglist: @strangemaximoff @renaissance-mama @tsach @malscorner @xhoneymoonx134 @yelchinweasleylothbrok @tarriea @florencediet @butitsbetterifyoudoittoem @belladonnadarksshade @fandom-multiamory @snazzynacho @jubileexoxo @soocore @be-lla-vie @nightingale2124 @willow-sages @null4ndv0id @gracieluvthemoon @day2dream @marvellover98 @navixfr @bitxhinthecomments @daintylovers @alesunsets @noturningbacknow @d0llysposts @alilcloudy @callsignwidow @moviequotes23 @325575 @bonnieblue0606 @osoqueen125 @hot-dino-nuggies @darkness-falls-xo @mattymurderdocks @flowerecs @weepingwitchofthewest @ilovemydinoboi @marsmallow433 @king0flies @cashtons-wife

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At first you don't notice him for who he is. At first you hear about Farleigh's insufferable tutoring partner. At first, Oliver Quick means absolutely nothing to you.

The most important part of your second year of college is that Farleigh has finally conceded to joining you and Felix at Oxford. Once, during the last Summer break, while Felix had been off confronting his at-the-time good friend Eddie, after Farleigh had told him Eddie and Venetia had been sleeping together, you and Farleigh had gotten high in the maze to avoid the fallout.

Since the Cattons were paying for his education, he'd admitted that he wanted to remove himself as much as possible from his mother's legacy and memory and the guilt Sir James held about his sister. It would be hard to do at a college where he would be a legacy student because of his mother's attendance. You think you partly understood; certain people, usually staff, liked to kiss your ass when they found out about your own legacy status and the people your parents became, you're not so sure they'd treat Farleigh the same, all things considered.

But he's out of options.

Sometimes you're not sure what to make of Farleigh; his strange place in the Catton family was never something they seemed to like to discuss around you, but Farleigh was far more candid about it. So when he pulls these stunts, gets himself kicked out of schools, puts himself in precarious positions despite how you knew he genuinely enjoyed academics, especially literature, you can't help but wonder why.

"Don't try and pathologize it," you could hear him rolling his eyes as he attempted to scale the minotaur statue in the middle of the maze. Looking up at him from where you're laying in the grass, you watch him rise above the walls into the sunshine. Maybe it's dangerous, maybe he should stop, get down, be safe, but he looks far more content up there, on the edge. Maybe he feels freer up there, even if he knows it's not true.

So now he's with you and Felix at Oxford, a first year only academically, he slots perfectly into the group of friends you'd both already managed to collect.

The point is, you have no idea that of everything that happens in those first few weeks of your second year, the parties, the hook ups, the social dances you found yourself doing, that the guy Farleigh likes to complain about from his tutoring sessions - Oliver, Farleigh always says it with an eye roll - would mean so much more to you than you'd ever expect.

Everything about the man you would come to find extraordinary, from the outside, was completely, and charmingly, ordinary. Including how you'd met him.

Felix had overslept again, and threw a pillow at the door when you'd stuck your head into his room to remind him that he had classes. You'd left yourself enough time to walk, but Felix would have to at least run if he didn't get his ass up soon, or would ride his bike instead. Its on your way, so you duck your head in to at least check it there.

What you don't expect is the unassuming man with dark hair to have a gentle, almost caressing hand on the tire of Felix's bike. When you make a confused noise, he about jumps a foot in the air.

"Sorry," he seems to shrink in from himself, recoiling from the bike like he'd been caught red handed, "just admiring." He babbles, but can't meet your eyes. For a moment, you look over him, before turning your attention to the ludicrously expensive mountain bike that Felix has always taken for granted.

"It is a nice bike," you find yourself grinning, stepping towards the bike and giving the tire a squeeze, both as a show of your own appreciation, and to test the pressure, just in case, "didn't mean to spook you..." And you trail off, prompting for his name, holding your hand out.

It hangs in the air for a moment, and the man before you gives you a proper look over. The way he holds himself, as if trying to take up as little space as physically possible, but his eyes, his gaze, oh it longed to swallow whole every detail of everything he cast it upon.

"Oliver," he says after a very long moment. Despite his demure voice, there's something deliberate, unwavering about it, "Quick," he follows it up with, "I'm Oliver Quick." And he ducks his gaze, sparing you from his intensity as you shake his hand.

"Oliver Quick," you turn the name over on your tongue; the same Oliver that Farleigh's been complaining about, you ponder, before giving him a smile, "I'm Y/N." As soon as the handshake drops, Oliver's doing that thing again, shrinking back and looking uncomfortable in the space.

"Yeah, I think I've seen you around," Oliver nods but can't meet your gaze, "around campus, I mean -" Which reminds you -

"Fuck, I'm almost running late," you hissed, spinning on your heel, "sorry to run Ollie, you seem lovely!" You call over your shoulder as you bolt to class, hearing him calling out;

"No trouble," and awkwardly trailing off the further away you get, "you seem... very nice too..."

Bursting through the door to your tutorial with five minutes to spare, your lecture looks up from his desk for a brief moment. Giving him a nod, you try and slip past him to grab a seat by one of your friends, chatting near the back, when he raises his voice.

"No Mister Catton today either, I presume," he says with a sigh, and you again check you watch before plastering on an apologetic smile.

"He'll be here," you assured, "promise." The professor did not seem impressed.

Sitting next to India, she immediately greets you with a hug.

"Felix hung over?" She grins, and you anyway in respond with a smirk.

"After last night? I'd assume so."

"King's Arms tonight?"

"Of course."

When he does eventually show up, it's ten minutes late with an apology about how his bike had gotten a flat tire. The professor, just tells him to take a seat, and Felix does with many placating thanks, sliding into one of the open few open seats in the row in front of yours. Ruffling his hair, he throws a faintly guilty grin over his shoulder at you and India, telling you both not to start.

After the tutorial, you fully intend of having lunch with India, as the two of you don't have any other classes until the afternoon, the two of you walk with Felix to where he'd stashed his bike before his next lecture. Except -

"That's not yours," you look at the bicycle curiously, "I thought you had a flat."

"Had," Felix agrees, wheeling the unfamiliar bike from the rack with a grin, "bloody angel of a man lent me his."

"Of course someone just gave you their bike," India chuckles, reaching out to give Felix's shoulder a squeeze before he mounts the bike with intent to take off.

"Lent," Felix grinned back, "I'm gonna give it back."

"And what about yours?" You asked, eyebrows raised.

"He took it back for me."

"Your hero," you laughed, shaking your head at him.

"My absolute hero," Felix agreed, "I'll tell you about it later, okay? King's Arms tonight?"

And once he's away, and you and India are on your way to the campus cafe, her arm tucked in hers, she gives you a knowing, almost exasperated smile.

"You're already trying to figure out how to fix his tire, aren't you?" Her nails dig a little too much and her smile's a little too sly and her tone almost grates against a thought you don't like to consider, so you push it to the back of your mind and give an embarrassed little smile.

"Was it that obvious?"

"No, but you are," she leans in, lips almost against your ear, smile in her voice, "endearingly predictable," she murmurs against the shell of your ear, "you're always wrapped up in him."

"Right now I seem to be rather wrapped up in you," you rest your free hand on hers, tucked into the crook of her elbow, taking her hint and lowering your voice to something flirty.

"And make darling Felix wait?" She teased in response. Instead of answering her properly, you ask her back to your dorm under the guise of lunch and she happily accepts.

The bike shop is closed and Felix has class and you can't even be sure if this supposed bike saviour has even returned Felix's bike by now; there's no waiting, but India likes feeling prioritised, so you keep all that to your self. India likes to feel important in Felix's life. Anyone who Felix spends even a little of his time and attention on ends up rather addicted to that feeling, to feeling special to Felix Catton, and India is one of the many who have picked up on your own importance to the man himself.

So you're not dating India. You're also not not dating India; you're a placeholder of sorts, which would be cruel to you if you didn't like her well enough or if you weren't satisfied taking your fun with her. It would also probably be cruel to India if she knew the truth, that Felix thought she was hot and wasn't ready to commit to maybe dating her, but that he was getting that way he sometimes got about people, that he wanted them around, wanting to not share them, but without devoting himself to them. That's where you come in. A placeholder. A proxy. An almost. Someone who makes this pretty girl feel important and close to Felix. Someone Felix isn't worried about falling in love with India even while keeping her happy and around.

When you arrive late to the King's Arms with your own around India's shoulders, Felix lights up while Farleigh, from beside him, narrows his eyes with a smirk.

"Cute shade of lipstick," he says slyly, even as he moves over at Felix's insistence to fit both yourself and India in the booth beside him. Farleigh flicks the collar of the shirt you'd thrown on in a rush to get dressed for afternoon classes, "on both of you."

"Are you jealous, Farleigh?" India grins, taking it all in stride as you pull your collar out with your thumb to try and inspect it. India's lipstick was smeared faintly against the collar from where she'd been enthusiastically kissing her way down your jaw a few hours earlier.

"Of course," Farleigh's sly smile widens to a cocky grin, and he winks at her, while she leans over you to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth with a wicked grin.

"Right in front of her partner?" Annabel, Felix's latest fling was on his other side, reaching over Felix to shove Farleigh's shoulder with a scandalised laugh.

"Not really together," India mused, even as she shifted to lean heavily against you, her arm around you and tucking herself up by your side. You nodded in kind, shrugging as Felix had to hide his laughter in his pint.

"And besides," Farleigh declares in a voice you knew all too well, "if anyone knows how to share it's Y/N," with a cheshire-cat smile and making a show of putting his hand far up your thigh under the table. Surprised by the outright boldness of it all, Felix, who had been trying to take a sip to cover his amusement, ends up snorting beer out of his nose as he laughs, which sets the whole table off.

It's later in the night, several rounds of drinks and plates of chips, when you finally remember to ask Felix about his bike. There's this look in his eyes as he recounts the details, how he'd somehow gotten on the wrong side of something small and sharp when he'd been found by his 'absolute hero'.

"Ollie," he says brightly, "Ollie - Oliver - something, I don't -" he's babbling, and though he doesn't at the time, both yourself and Farleigh react, though in vastly different ways.

"Oliver?" Farleigh draws out the name with disdain, like it's done him some sort of personal affront, or set off a bad smell, judging by his expression.

"Don't make that face," Felix rolls his eyes, giving Farleigh a good-natured shove, but it's all becoming background noise to you as you glance over your shoulder. In your mind, all you can focus on the brief but captivating moments you shared with a blue-eyed Oliver just this morning. As if by fate, when you finally come back to reality, and realise you're staring at the bar, you see those same blue eyes staring back at you, intense and surprised.

"There he is!" Behind you, Felix's voice raises above the din of the pub with barely restrained glee, "Ollie! Oliver! Oliver!" And immediately those blue eyes snap to your attention-grabbing best friend, "come over here, mate!" Felix insists, and you drop your gaze with a faint smile.

As Felix loudly and insistently vies for Oliver's attention and company, you briefly raise your gaze, only to see the disdain on Farleigh's face having grown immensely.

Oliver. Farleigh's classmate Oliver. Insufferable tutoring Oliver. Know-it-all Oliver. 'Thus' Oliver. No regard for style in his academics or his wardrobe Oliver.

Felix's hero, Oliver.

Considering how much joy Farleigh took from ribbing you at every given opportunity, just to see your squirm for his amusement, you supposed you could take some joy from his discomfort in this moment. When he sees your smug smile he scowls at you.

"This guy's my fucking hero," you've heard that warmth in Felix's voice a hundred times over, "just telling everyone how you saved my ass today," you wonder how long it will take Oliver to fall for him too.

Oliver, for his part, plays at being abashed as the rest of the group gives him faint compliments, gaze surprisingly shallow as he takes you all in. Keeping your own eyes down for the moment, you take the cigarette from India that you'd been sharing with her. You quickly reach into Felix's jean pocket beside you for the lighter you know is there, and when you look up to light it, cigarette poised between your lips, you see Oliver's gaze momentarily focused on the lack of space between yourself and Felix, where your hand had disappeared. Felix, you know without even having to look at him, hasn't even looked away from Oliver once.

"Take a seat, I owe you a drink," Felix grins, and is already shoving the few people on his left, before you put a hand on his arm to get him to settle down.

"Could you get the next round, India?" You ask her quietly, and though she hesitates for a moment, she relents, considering it was meant to be her shout after all.

Oliver is hesitating as India stands and smooths out her skirt, heading for the bar, and finally Felix remembers that most people's worlds don't revolve around him.

"Oh, sorry, are you with friends?"

Another moment of deliberation from Oliver, before he finally relents to Felix, and agrees to join them. Looking around, there's a chair next to a table behind Farleigh that was going unused, or -

When you pat the now empty seat at the end of the booth beside yourself, you're not looking at Oliver. Chin in your hand and cigarette poised between your fingers, you're giving Farleigh a grin that's all teeth, while he looks like he's trying to stave off a sudden tension headache.

"Come here, Oliver Quick," you refuse to explain your smug smile, "I don't bite."

"Yes they do," Farleigh huffs in irate response, to which most of the rest of the group cracks up. The leather beside you shifts, and you can feel the heat Oliver radiates before you even look at him.

"Quick, Oliver Quick!" Felix, behind you, is muttering almost to himself, before adding, "wait, how did you know that?" And throwing himself practically over your shoulder as you'd turned to face Oliver properly.

"We met this morning," you say quietly, gaze fixed on Oliver's, on the way he's taking you both in. With Felix's chin on your shoulder, the two of you cheek to cheek and watching him with interest, it could be enough to send anyone else running. But his gaze isn't the shallow one he'd ghosted across the others, he's drinking this moment, and the both of you, in. Smile stretching wide across your face and you tip your head against Felix's, "just as lovely as I thought," and turning your face even slightly towards Felix means your lips against his temple, not that either of you seem to mind, "your hero."

"My fuckin' hero," Felix agrees adamantly, though you and he sit back as India approaches with a tray of pints and an exasperated look.

"And you've given up my seat," she sighs, placing the drinks on the table for everyone else to take their share. Farleigh's already passive-aggressively reached behind himself to grab the extra empty chair, and you promise to make it up to her with a heavy layer of implications that the rest of the table snickers at.

Introductions are made and drinks are had and the night carries on apace until you, at the very least, felt like you could call yourself reasonably wasted. Despite how quiet Oliver is in the general conversation, Felix makes a point of always including him, arm around your shoulders so he can lean across you to talk to him, while Oliver just tried to keep up.

Everything about Oliver shouted that these people weren't his people; his clothes, his accent, his vernacular, his very unfamiliarity with who so many of them were considering their families were often titans of industry. Still, you respected the effort he was making to keep up. Whenever even the hint of a joke at Oliver's expense could be felt in the air, Felix shut it down, and though it started out subtle, it became less so as the night wore on; the grateful look on Oliver's face, even as he tried to duck to hide it, said how much he appreciated the gesture.

It's decided almost unanimously by the time you have to buy a round that it should be the first round of shots for the table. Several more would be to come, but you were getting tequila, and all the fanfare that came with it.

Getting back to the table you find Oliver's slid into your spot by Felix. Though he tries to apologise and get up, you shush him, insisting it's fine as you sit down next to him with the tray of shots topped with lime wedges, and the shot glass half full of salt for the table the bartender had kindly provided.

"You do know this is why I was late to my tutorial this morning," Felix still helped himself to a shot glass with lime as the salt was being passed around the table.

"Salt?" Oliver frowned at the glass in front of him, "lime?"

"You've never done tequila shots before?" Farleigh scoffed, holding India's hand up in front of himself where she'd offered it to him to apply salt.

"No, I haven't," is all Oliver can say awkwardly, watching as Farleigh sprinkled a line of salt across the back of India's aloft hand, licking it up in one swift motion before he took the shot and bit the lime in quick succession.

"Salt, shot, lime," you give Oliver a nudge to bring his attention back to you.

"Salt, shot, lime," Oliver repeats, looking from his glass to the glass full of salt that Felix had reached over and brought to your side of the table, "do I have to lick the salt off of someone else?"

"Not necessarily," Felix says from his other side, while Annabel giggled and allowed him to apply salt to her hand.

"More fun that way," she adds coyly.

"Not unless you want to," your own shot glass sits untouched, salt now sitting between both your glasses.

"Do you- should I-" Oliver's stumbling over his words, fidgeting with the end of the lime.

"Lick it off their neck," Farleigh barked from across the table, and though you tried to tell Oliver that he didn't have to do anything like that, and Felix's disappointed admonishment of his cousin, the entire rest of the table, who had finished their own shots and were now invested in the drama, light up with agreement.

"You're so crass, you're gonna give him the wrong idea," Felix groaned, rolling his eyes with frustration.

"I love Y/N but I don't think there is a wrong idea about them -"

"Watch what the fuck you say about them, Farleigh -"

"Watch what I say about your fucking dog-?"

"I'll lick their neck!" Oliver announces at the top of his lungs, interrupting the vicious barb, and the way Felix had practically leapt across half the table in a sudden fury. For a long moment, tense silence hangs in the air, Farleigh half out of his chair, wearing a sneer, and Felix braced over the table with white-knuckled fists pressed into the woodgrain. Then, as Felix sits back down and things begin to ease, once again all eyes return to Oliver, who's shifting in his seat, looking at you with almost apology in his eyes, "if- if you're okay with that."

After a beat, you break into a self deprecating smile.

"I do like getting my neck licked," you laughed, and immediately angled your head and pulled the collar of your shirt to the side so he could have a better angle and more of your shoulder to apply salt. The tension dropped almost entirely as everyone but Farleigh and Felix burst out in cheers. Chatter arose again as Oliver fumbled with the salt, but you caught Felix's eyes from behind him. Tension in his brow that you longed to smooth away, and discomfort in his gaze, but when you smiled you could see him take a breath, and smile back.

"I won't bite," it comes as a surprise when you hear Oliver say this, so quiet only you can hear as he diligently applies a sprinkle of salt to the soft skin of where your throat meets your shoulder, "promise," you can't see his expression but you think you can hear him smirking. It actually sounds almost like flirting.

India's been glaring at you across the table whenever she hasn't been flirting overtly with Farleigh for the past half an hour. So you flirt back.

"Not even if I ask nicely?" You murmur back, trying to repress the thrill that the whole moment was giving you. You hear the faintest, momentary rumble of a laugh from Oliver before you feel his hand on your thigh as if to steady himself, and his tongue on your neck. It's barely a second of contact, the delicate caress of his mouth as he licked the line of salt clear from your skin. Quickly, he then takes the shot, and swallows before biting down on the lime, making a pained face as the table cheered.

His hand is still on your thigh; his grip is tight.

As he's spluttering and grinning and Felix is clapping him on the back for the effort, he's rather abashedly offering himself to you, if you'd like to repeat the same salt process on him -

"You've done enough for your first shot, Ollie," you told him with a fond nudge, happily applying salt to the back of your own hand, completing the ritual with far less fanfare. Still, when you glance past Oliver to Felix, you see the way he's regarding the newcomer, with a kind of awe and warmth. This too you know well.

Crammed so close in the booth, Felix's arm stays around Oliver's shoulders for most of the rest of the night, and while no-one can see it, Oliver's hand remains on your thigh. Sometimes he taps along to the music of the pub that you've already tuned out, sometimes he's rubbing small circles with his thumb, or give you a squeeze when he's laughing at a joke, but it never waivers.

The more drunk you become, the more you find yourself leaning into him, and you begin to tune out the conversation, focusing only on your drink, the warmth of Oliver and his hand on you, and on the sensation of Felix's hand playing with your hair since his arm was around Oliver's shoulders, and you're leaning your head against him.

Everything's become blurry, your brain is still trying to catch up after you take another shot from muscle memory alone when Farleigh starts insisting on Oliver shout the next round, and for that round to be jaeger bombs.

"We just did shots," you shake your head with a faint frown, but the movement makes you feel all kind of queasy.

"You tapping out?" Farleigh, in much better spirits considering how many he'd consumed, is all wide, challenging smiles full of teeth.

"Nope," you again shake your head, against your better judgement, "never ever ever." Everything is spinning, even with your eyes closed.

"Then you shouldn't be letting Ollie snake his way out of paying for his round," Farleigh sounds all kinds of smug, and despite how you're all kind of done with him for tonight, and Oliver is trying to insist that he's not trying to wiggle out of paying for a round, the rest of the table have apparently taken up Farleigh's crusade. They're booing him, hissing at him, while Farleigh's smugness screams social triumph; you can feel Oliver's fingers twitching on your thigh, like he wants to be fidgeting but can't bring himself to let you go.

"Fine," Oliver relents to the peer pressure, letting you go and throwing his hands in the air, "can you move a sec?" He asks, and you shuffle out to let him past, before scooting back in and back beside a once more frustrated Felix.

Farleigh argues that it's the rules of the pub when Felix asks him to give Oliver a break, but you don't really hear them. You've cleared enough space on the table in front of you to be able to cross your arms on the table, laying your head on your arms to try and see if it would help. Felix is rubbing soothing circles on your back as he argues with Farleigh, probably out of pure habit, so you try and focus on that sensation, and picking a point that you see that you can focus on.

Everything's sideways, the bar, the people, the street outside, but it doesn't matter. In the moments you find yourself focusing on Oliver in the cool light of the bar, everything else falls away. He looks antsy and uncomfortable, watching the bartender pour the shots, wallet in his hand. You'd have paid in a heartbeat if Farleigh hadn't been so insistent on attacking Oliver's pride. Everything else about him was so charmingly ordinary, perhaps that's why Farleigh was infuriated by him, and why he'd attacked Oliver's pride, one of the few things that Farleigh probably believed Oliver had of value to himself.

Tomorrow, you and Farleigh were having words.

Tonight, you wanted to somehow help Oliver without making any kind of big deal about it. Problem was, you weren't sure how. You weren't even sure if you were capable of walking in straight line right now.

"Fi -" when you turn your head to your other side, you see Felix, half finished a cigarette, with a pensive look on his face as he too was watching Oliver. When he looks at you there's a moment that the two of you share, of understanding, of compassion and a shared goal, "can you get me a glass of water?" You asked, knowing he'd take the hint. Thankfully, he smiles at you, the two of you shuffling once more so he could get out of the booth and head towards Oliver and the bar.

Leaning on the end of the booth, you wait for Felix to return before you sit back down, instead focusing on the interaction between the two men at the bar. It's not that you can hear them, but you can see the grateful but anxious look in Oliver's eyes, and the way he can't look away from Felix's smile, and something sharp and bright and intrigued lights up in your chest.

There's a moment as the interaction begins winding down, when Felix takes the tray of drinks, and looks back at your gathered group of friends. His eyes meet yours, faint flicker of familiar affection passing in the next moment as he says something else to Oliver before he's making a beeline back to the group.

"Thank you, Ollie!" He announces brightly, much to the cheer and delight of the rest of the group once the jaeger bombs are set down at the table. Caught up in the sudden influx of joy, you chant Ollie's name, clapping along, not even realising that since you'd let go of the booth you were starting to take on a lean.

"You're fucking legless," Felix crows with laughter, who had already slid back into the booth and was now taking you by the arm and sitting you back down beside himself, "I'm cutting you off, you're on the waters now," he joked, arm around you to steady you, though you weren't inclined to disagree. Thankfully, in the next moment, a water was being placed in front of you, and a cheer was once again rising from the group as Oliver rejoined you all, bashful smile on his face as everyone was lavishing praise on him for following through with buying the round.

The glass was cold and clear and faintly frosted, few ice cubes floating delicately on top of the pint of water before you, looking absolutely perfect in this golden, humid pub. Even just reaching out and holding the cold glass of water in your hands seemed to make everything a little less blurry at the edges.

As you dragged the glass towards you, surprised by your sudden craving for fresh, cold water, praise tumbles from your lips, words half blurring together, and Oliver takes his seat once more beside you.

"Ollie, you're my fucking hero."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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sunshine-daisies-library · 9 months

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emergency contact | calum hood x fem!reader

FUCK this took so long and took so many twists and turns but i have finished lads

summary: you end up in the hospital after an accident, only to find that your emergency contact number hadn’t been updated. you are yet to find out if it’s a blessing or a curse.

word count: 8.9k

warnings: self doubt, talking down about oneself, she/her pronoun usage, swearing, breakups, angst, drinking, car accident, hospital mentions, injury mentions, mentions of weed, partying, fighting

author's note: it might be rushed at the end and there's no set timeline of events, so it might not align with the true events IRL.

i also would like to say that we support girls here! no hate toward anyone, girls support girls!

In defense of yourself, you hadn’t expected to be back in Los Angeles so soon. Nor had you anticipated an accident like this to update your contacts on your phone. It was on the back of your mind, yes, but you had intended to change your emergency contact list on your phone for events like these. It was something you’d remind yourself occasionally, only to push it off for the next day, then the next day, then forget about it altogether.

And perhaps you were too cowardly to change the list. You didn’t admit this to another soul since it had been nearly a year since the two of you broke things off. Your friends time and time again had persuaded you to put yourself back on the market, to get over the musician. But how could you? You had dedicated the best years of your life to him, nearly six of them. You thought you were going to marry the man, but life had other plans.

That being said, you still loved him. The small act of removing him off your emergency contacts list felt so final to you. Like that was the end of your sad little love story with him. Truth be told, it was the end. It was the end from the moment you broke things off with him. You were just too stubborn to admit that to yourself.

It was your doing, wasn’t it? You were the one to tell him it was over. He had just gotten back home from their tour and went to greet you with open arms. You had been wretched enough to deny him that, pulling away immediately. You ignored his eyes when you told him you were tired of your lifestyle. Of waiting on him like a dog for him to come back from tour. Of relishing that one month of being together like it was the last thing on earth, only for him to leave once again for tours or writing retreats.

And most of all, you were tired of not feeling enough for him. In the world of popular and beautiful stars, why did he stay with you? Calum never made you feel so ordinary, not on purpose, at least. You had nothing to offer him other than your love. You feared that wouldn’t be enough in the end. The more years that passed, and the closer the possibility of marriage became, you thought it would be better to let go of him first before he ended up resenting you for not choosing someone better when he had the chance.

You didn’t listen to his pleas for you to stay. Or his professions of love for you, or how his promise to leave the band entirely if it meant you staying. You felt so cruel to let someone who loved you so much go so easily. He was willing to give up his music for you, so how could you ever claim that you were second best to his music?

But that was the very thing, you were afraid. He loved you so much that he was willing to let his entire life go for you. You couldn’t let him do that to himself, to let go of his happiness. But you had enough self dignity to know that you deserved more out of life than waiting in an empty home to fill up again.

—

Calum wasn’t sure what to make of the phone call he received just a moment ago. He never thought he’d hear your name again, much less be summoned to the hospital to see you.

“Mate, why are you still here?” Ashton asked, tucking away his drumsticks. “The nurse called you a half hour ago. Aren’t you going to see her?”

“I don’t know,” Calum uttered truthfully. “It’s been so long since I last saw her. It was probably a mistake, right? Why would they call me up?”

Michael rolled his eyes from the couch where he was tuning his guitar. “Because you’re still down as her emergency contact,” he drawled sarcastically.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” Calum deadpanned. “I mean, why would they call me and not her parents or something? Or her new boyfriend,” he muttered under his breath.

Luke approached the group from the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair. “Easy there, tiger,” he teased, grasping Calum’s shoulders from behind. “One might assume you’re jealous.” The youngest of the group quickly dodged the bassist’s shove, laughing while doing so. “To calm your worries, no, she doesn’t have a new boy in her life. And her parents moved to the east coast three months ago so they can’t come over.”

“Well aren’t you the stalker,” Ashton snickered.

Luke shot the drummer a glare. “I’m not a stalker,” Luke defended himself. “In case you actually wanted to know, I still keep contact with y/n. At least Sierra does for the most part. Though, last time I heard she was in Boston.”

“Boston,” Calum spoke up in confusion. “What’s she in Boston for? And how did she end up here?”

Luke clicked his tongue, a knowing look on his face. “If you want to know, you can ask her yourself,” he sang in an annoying tone.

Michael set his guitar down and stood up in defense of his friend. “While that’s true,” he began. “What about..you know?”

“What about “you know?”” Ashton piped up. “There’s no harm in Calum going. She could really be hurt and need someone with her. If what Luke said is true and you’re the only nearby emergency contact, it’s better safe than sorry that you go to her.”

The boys shared a look with each other. In their heart of hearts they knew it was a bad idea to let Calum go, especially after everything that had happened. But a selfish part of them wanted their best friend back, so what harm was in that notion?

“I’ll go,” Calum finally relented. “But she’s coming with me.”

–

When Calum arrived at the hospital, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. The doctor explained it was a car accident, and although you were recovering okay you still had to be observed after minor surgery. A part of Calum’s heartstrings tugged at the thought of you alone and afraid during the accident, thinking he could have done something if you hadn’t broken things off, but he pushed that feeling down. It’s been a year; you’ve probably gotten over him and he’s started a new chapter of his life without you.

Calum followed the nurse to the recovery room where you were still unconscious. At the sight of you, he instantly lost all air in his lungs. Frozen, the bassist stood before you with a mix of emotions flooding through his face.

It was as though you were entirely different but still the same in some way. Your face, albeit bruised, looked more peaceful than Calum had seen of you. Hell, even before you broke things off you always had a furrowed brow or frown of some sort. It broke Calum’s heart to know that he was the cause of that stress.

Calum sat down beside you, instantly grasping your hand like second nature. It was just as soft as he could remember, and your nail polish was chipped and stained the skin surrounding it. Calum chuckled to himself, a tearful smile on his face. He knew your nail polish was your own doing, seeing as you had always asked him to paint your nails since he had “more precision.”

“Oh y/n,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “What the hell did you get yourself into now?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Calum jerked back to see your eyes staring back at him. “Hi, stranger,” you managed to crack a smile. “What brings you to this hospital?”

Calum choked out a laugh, his thumb grazing against the top of your hand. “Oh you know me,” he said. “Always hanging around these parts whenever I get the chance.”

“You idiot,” you snorted, shaking your head and wincing in pain.

“Easy now,” Calum reached over to cup your cheek. “The doctor said you have a mild concussion and a sprained ankle, but nothing a bit of rest can’t fix.”

Your hand met his on your face, instantly warming to his touch like nothing had changed between the two of you. “Why are you here, Hood?” you asked curiously.

“You tell me.” Calum pulled out his phone and showed his past calls list. “I got a call from the hospital saying I was your emergency contact.”

You dropped his hand and covered your face in embarrassment. If your headache wasn’t killing you, the sheer embarrassment was. “Oh my God,” you groaned. “I’m so sorry, Calum. I had meant to change it but I never got the chance and–”

“It’s alright,” Calum calmed you down. “Relax. I’m not mad or anything. If anything, this gave us a great opportunity to reconnect and catch up on things. It’s been what, a year?”

One year, three months, twenty eight days, and twelve and a half hours, the both of you thought subconsciously. But who’s counting?

The both of you were. Clearly.

“Something like that,” you lied smoothly. “How are you? How are the boys? I’ve kept contact with Crys and Sierra, but I haven’t had a chance to meet with them both. I was actually planning on shooting them a text as soon as I landed here, but obviously I haven’t had the chance.”

Calum laughed at your blunt humor. He missed that a lot about you. “I’m alright,” he replied. “The boys are great, too. They send their love, by the way. We’ve been cooped up at the studio writing and producing music, though you probably expected that from us.”

Ouch. Was that a dig toward why you broke up with him? “Naturally,” you grinned. “Do I make a special feature in this album? The trashy ex that broke up with the bassist as soon as the tour ended? You best get back to the studio, I’m sure this whole debacle has given you something to write about.”

“You are far from trashy,” Calum countered, continuing the light banter. “And I’m not going to throw your dirty laundry out like that, I have some taste, you know.”

“Oh come on,” you pressed. “That hoe called me back, gave me a heart attack,” you sang terribly, making Calum cover his ears. “Oh yeah she broke my heart, that’s not even the start-”

“Oi, quit that!” he laughed. “Leave the songwriting to me because good God that was terrible. Any more of that and you’d put me in the hospital bed next to you. And please do not call yourself a hoe. That’s worse than Luke calling Ash “daddy.””

Once your laughter had died down and you ran out of lyrics to spew, a comfortable silence filled the room. His chocolate brown eyes rested down at your joined hands.

“Thank you, by the way,” you spoke to break the silence. “For coming. You didn’t have to do that.”

“For my trashy ex?” he teased, a smirk dancing along his lips. “I’d do anything.”

God why did you break up with him? He was perfect, still is. Why does he still tug at your heartstrings and make you weak with one smile. How could you still feel this way after a whole year? Do you still love him-

“Babe, there you are! This place is a maze, I could barely understand the nurse’s directions.”

You turned your head so fast, you nearly got whiplash again. Standing before you was a beautiful girl with the most luxurious beach waves and tan that every girl dreamed of.

She bent down to kiss Calum’s cheek swiftly, making your breath hitch without you realizing. The girl smiled at you, taking your hand -that Calum instantly dropped at the sound of her voice- and squeezing it. “You must be y/n,” she concluded cheerfully. “I’m Tia, Calum’s friend.”

–

“They are so not friends,” you grumbled to your friends, days after the initial encounter.

Your friends chuckled at your gray demeanor, each of them taking sips of their coffee or bites of their breakfast. After being discharged from the hospital, the band and their significant others thought it would be perfect to catch up with you during brunch. You had agreed, eager to learn about everything you missed, especially the new couple.

“You’d be right and wrong, n/n,” Michael replied, setting his mug down. The group was significantly more relaxed to talk about the subject considering Tia needed to take a phone call and Calum insisted on accompanying her. “The way they’re friends isn’t the same as how he’s friends with us–”

“Speak for yourself, baby, Calum keeps my bed warm whenever Sierra’s out,” Luke teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Sierra rolled her eyes playfully, elbowing him in the ribs.

“And Luke keeps mine warm when they’re both gone,” Ashton chimed in without missing a beat.

Michael sent the youngest and oldest members a glare before continuing. “As I was saying,” he huffed exasperatedly. “They’re in the weird phase between friends and dating. They met a little after the tour and were friends for a while. It was Tia that made the move on Calum, like, two months ago.”

Noticing the stark difference in your facial expressions after hearing Michael’s explanation, Crystal came in to quickly finish the story. “He hasn’t confirmed or denied anything, but they have been on a few dates. He’s taking it very slowly.”

“That’s..nice to hear,” you slowly began. “But the more I hear about her, the more guilty I feel about feeling this way.” Your shoulders caved in as your friends shared a concerned look. “She seems sweet, and Calum and I are old news. It was my own decision to break things off in the first place.”

Sierra reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “Why did you break things off with him?” she asked in a quieter voice.

You couldn’t help but notice how the rest of the group leaned in to hear your answer. “You mean Calum didn’t tell you?” you inquired the boys.

“He just said it was mutual,” Ashton raised his hands up in defense. “I didn’t know you broke it off with him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us she broke up with Cal?” Luke whisper-shouted to his partner.

Sierra only shrugged her shoulders. “I thought you knew,” she responded, her hands grasping around her mug as she took a sip.

“No one knew,” you settled. “And it’s going to stay that way.”

The group let out shouts of disapproval that were instantly quieted once Calum finally returned and took a seat. “What’s the fuss about?” he asked curiously.

You shook your head, taking an overly healthy sip of your mimosa. “Oh you know,” you sighed. “Typical group shenanigans, as per usual.”

“What kind-?” he pressed before being curtly interrupted.

“Where’s Tia?” Luke cut in, saving everyone’s necks for the time being.

Calum took in a draw of breath after stealing Luke’s cup of coffee, much to the singer’s distaste. “Oh you know,” he copied you teasingly. “Manager calls, as per usual.”

“She’s been getting plenty of calls lately,” Crystal commented.

You tried to not show immense interest in the conversation. After all, you didn’t know much about Tia and the group had been too distracted to show you her Instagram profile, damn Michael and his random tangents. In the meantime, you absentmindedly twirled your straw between your thumb and forefinger as the conversation continued.

“Tia’s getting a lot of public interest, what can I say?” Calum responded. “Her videos are getting more views every day. Her manager’s been calling her nonstop since companies keep reaching out to offer brand deal after brand deal.”

Ashton let out a hopeful sigh. “Imagine having a brand deal set for life,” he pondered aloud, setting his salad fork down. “I’d adopt more goats and expand the garden.”

“Cool it, Old McDonald,” Michael snickered. “I can’t imagine the band doing brand deals. Remember One Direction and their Pepsi commercials during the Super Bowl? Louis hated them.”

The table laughed, recalling the memory. Recognizing your confusion regarding Tia’s profession, Sierra leaned in. “She’s an Instagram influencer and interior designer. She went to school for design but has branched out since. Last time I browsed her page she was doing promos for some yoga company.”

“Great, so she’s perfect,” you grumbled to yourself, quiet enough for only Ashton to hear since he was right beside you. The drummer snorted, elbowing you roughly.

Calum, thankfully deaf to your comment, nodded along to Sierra’s explanation. “She’s great,” he hummed.

Your heart clenched at his words, but a hopeful side of yourself couldn’t help but perk at his courtness. Of course, it could be just to spare your feelings to not speak much about her. But a selfish part in your mind wondered if it was because she wasn’t his missing piece, the way that you fit perfectly for him.

Stop that, you scolded yourself. Calum is no longer yours, you made sure of that. You were the selfish one who pushed him away. Why do you continue to torture him when he’s finally happy, no thanks to you. You can’t continue to pull him back, that’s why you broke up with him. And here you are, falling back into old habits.

You blinked back your tears, the tears you had so desperately fought back since the day you broke up with him. You didn’t deserve to shed these tears when you caused the problem in the first place. Instead, you sucked in a breath and maintained your rigid composure. It’s better than falling apart, which you more than desperately wanted to do at the moment.

“y/n, you alright?” Calum asked, breaking you from your trance.

You jumped slightly, lifting your head to face the group. Forcing a smile, you nodded. “Perfectly fine.”

–

You weren’t sure why you were called here. After becoming mutuals on Instagram (and thoroughly stalking her pristine profile) Tia was quick to invite you out for yoga. You weren’t too keen on attempting yoga with a certified instructor, much preferring to save face in front of the already perfect girl. However, you found her nice and sweet enough to befriend despite the heartache it caused you.

“I’m really glad you agreed to come with me today,” Tia told you honestly as you finished your session for the day.

You settled yourself onto the mat, easing yourself into a simple stretch. “I’m glad you offered,” you replied, grunting at the ache panging slightly in your ankle. You were careful not to apply extra stress on your injured foot since it was still tender to the touch at times. “I’ve been eager to relax, especially after that accident.”

“And you deserve it,” Tia reassured you, beginning her own routine. “Yoga’s good for recovery and stress, I’ve always tried to convince Cal into joining but he wasn’t the most graceful learner.”

You giggled, recalling how clumsy the bassist would be. “Yeah, I’d leave that to Ashton.”

Tia nodded in agreement. Her fingers danced down her leg as she continued to stretch. Even as jealous as you were of her, you had to admit she was graceful in everything she did (and you were sure of it with a simple browse through her Tiktoks).

The two of you stepped out of the yoga studio, mats in tow as you continued to talk about random nonsense. On the walk back to your friend’s house -you had been staying there for the time being-, you came to realize that Tia was as genuine as they come and found it very difficult to dislike her out of jealousy.

“So you know how Cal and I met,” Tia began, referencing the story of how the two met at an awards show. “How did you and Calum meet and get together?”

Your mouth went dry. She knew you and Calum were a thing in the past? “I-“ you stammered.

Tia laughed at your sudden awkwardness. “I’m not dumb, you know,” she joked. “I knew about yours and Cal’s past. He talks a lot about you, you know? More now than ever now that you’re back.”

You had to stop the butterflies forming in your stomach. “He does?” you catch yourself saying instantly.

Tia nodded, uncapping her bottle and taking a sip of water. “Oh yeah, big time,” she answered. “It’s really sweet to know that you made such a big impact on his life.”

Your cheeks began to warm at her words. “He did the same,” you responded with full honesty. Tia patted your shoulder and grinned. “To answer your question, I met Calum a little over ten years ago, once the band started getting famous. I was just a senior in high school when they moved to L.A. I interned at their studio and that’s how we formally met.”

Tia gave you an impressed nod. “You guys got history,” she mused.

You couldn’t help but smile. The memories of the past always brought a smile to your face. Dyeing Michael’s hair and staining your bathtub red, constantly buying Ash bandanas whenever you came across one you knew he’d like. Luke coming to you when he had writer’s block, and Cal crawling through your bedroom window whenever he felt homesick and wanted someone to talk to.

“We do,” you agreed.

Turning a corner down the street, Tia continued to ask you questions. “Who asked who out?” she questioned. “Three years of being friends turned partners was clearly not an overnight thing.”

“It wasn’t,” you said. “It was Calum who asked me, but it took a whole lot of convincing from the boys.” You laughed quietly to yourself, recalling how he asked you to be your girlfriend.

You heard music playing softly in the night air. You had been studying nonstop for your college finals and hadn’t seen the outside of your dorm all day. You hadn’t called the boys in a while either since they’ve been touring the world after releasing Sounds Good Feels Good. You were significantly proud of them but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss your boys. Now, hearing the soft guitar strumming from outside your window made you feel more longingful for them than ever.

Especially Calum. You had a soft spot for the bassist, everyone knew that. You spent the most time with him when you interned at the music studio. He trusted your opinion above everyone else’s, and reached out to you the most while on tour. To say you had a little crush on him would be an understatement. The boys teased you relentlessly and teased Calum much more. They always said it was a matter of time until one of you would cave in and confess to the other. But they were wrong. You’re here in a small college dorm with no air conditioning single as can be while the boy you loved was halfway across the world.

“Thinking of you,” you texted Calum with a heavy heart. “And the boys, ofc :P”

You set your phone down and attempted to go back to studying when your phone pinged again.

“You don’t have to feel so blue, n/n,” he responded. “Look outside”

You hopped out of bed and opened your window as much as the old rusty thing could go. On the campus grass were your favorite boys flashing lights from their phones at you. Calum was resting on Ashton’s shoulders, waving at you with the wild boyish smile you loved with your entire being. Michael and Luke were beside him, Michael playing the guitar and Luke grinning and filming.

Concentrating hard, you recognized the sweet melody. It was the very song you wrote with him, Beside You.

“She sleeps alone

My heart wants to come home

I wish I was, I wish I was

Beside you”

Your heart did somersaults at the presentation before you. You had always begged Calum to sing more for the album but the boy was too shy. It took some pushing but you helped him get his confidence up. Taking a cardigan, you ran out of your hall and joined the boys on the lawn, tackling each of them into a hug.

“What the hell’s wrong with you!” you shouted out with a grin. You didn’t care if your yelling woke up your peers. Your boys were here in the flesh.

“We missed our girl,” Ashton told you, giving you a strong bear hug.

“One of us more than the rest,” Luke added with a cheeky smirk.

Calum had long been off Ashton’s shoulders, awaiting your hugs he missed so much. You, on the other hand, hesitated to do so.

“Come on!” Michael playfully shoved you. “We’ve come all this way, give the boy a hug!”

Your face was on fire. The extra pairs of eyes made you embarrassed. Calum took an extra step forward, his hands bashfully in his pockets.

“Didn’t you miss me, sunshine?” he asked you, awfully shy now after his confession of love. He was nervous he put you off and that he read the signs wrong.

“I did,” you whispered back, equally shy. “But I think I want something more than a hug.”

The boys let out whoops and cheers of joy as you decided to bite the bullet, grabbing Calum by the loops of his jeans and pulling him into a kiss.

Once you had pulled away, Calum’s lips formed into a dazed smile. “Be my girl, sunshine?” he asked you softly.

You pressed your lips against his once again, though this one was much shorter. “I was always yours, Calum.”

“Why did you and him end things, y/n?” Tia asked you, bringing you out of your thoughts. You seemed to be stuck in a trance these days, always pondering over the past and what could have been.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, truly at a loss of words. What could you say? That you had been selfish and pushed him away so that he wouldn’t end up hurting you first? That you drove the knife deep into Calum, twisting it in every way shape and form out of self preservation? There was no other way to put it than that in your mind.

“Time heals but also kills,” you told her with a broken smile. “Cal and I decided to put ourselves out of our misery and end things while they were good before it got worse.” It wasn’t completely a lie. Sure, he had no say in your ending things, but you spoke the truth about putting him out of his misery.

“Do you still love him?” she asked.

You glanced over at her. Her eyes shone in the light, curious and innocent. She didn’t know the pain you both had endured that landed you in this position.

Yes, your heart cried out. You love him. You love him with your entire being, that’s why you let him go. Because you’d rather kill your soul every single day of your life than stop him from reaching his life goals. If you had to go through that awful night that you broke your own heart again, you would, just to ensure that he is happy.

Even if that meant that he would be happy with someone else.

“He’s my first love,” you told her tearfully. “Of course I love him. But I am not his love, and that is okay with me. Life goes on, and so should I.”

The two of you stopped in front of your friend’s house. Tia took your hand and squeezed it. “I really do appreciate you coming along with me today,” she said earnestly. “And I’m glad I got to hear about you and Cal’s history. It really puts things into perspective.”

You smiled back at her. “Thank you for having me,” you responded. “I hope my words haven’t changed anything between the two of you. I meant what I said; him and I are in the past. I truly want the both of us to move forward and grow in our own separate ways.”

Your butterflies in your stomach turned into fierce wasps, stinging you sharply. Lies, your heart hissed. Tell her you love him and still want him.

You forced the bile rising in your throat down. Tia, blind to your inner troubles, continued to speak. “That’s actually what I wanted to ask you,” she chuckled nervously. She grabbed your other hand, bringing them together.

“I wanted to ask Cal to be my boyfriend,” Tia confessed.

Crack. There goes your heart.

Tia seemed to notice the dip in your lips and immediately retracted. “But I don’t want to overstep or anything!” she rushed. “You and Cal have history, I’m not stupid enough to deny it. And that’s okay, that’s no one’s fault. If you still love him and want him, I’m not going to get in the way. Calum, well, it’s clear he loves you, too. I’ve heard countless amounts of stories about you to not get the memo. I really like Cal, I do. But that can’t go up against love.”

This was your chance. To right your wrongs from the past and take back what you truly wanted. Calum. You could take this moment to run to his house right now and take him back, and you’d have Tia’s full support. Zero guilt.

But why did it hurt so bad?

No. You made your bed, you have to sleep in it. It doesn’t matter if the bed was built of blades of self doubt and hate, you have to slip into the sharp sheets and let it pierce through your skin. You created your own mess. It is you alone that must deal with it. Not Calum, and surely not Tia.

You’ve made enough problems for everyone as is.

You mustered enough strength to let go of Tia’s hands and instead cup her cheeks. “Tia, honey,” you whispered calmly. “Our love is in the past. I’ve missed my chance, and I have learned to live with it. I’ve seen the way Calum looks at you, and that’s something that can blossom into something beautiful. There’s no need to dig up something that has already run its course.”

Tia’s lip trembled at your words. You nodded carefully. “You don’t need my permission or anything to date Calum. You don’t owe me anything. You both deserve to be happy, and clearly you make each other happy.”

“Are you sure?” Tia asked. “I promise you, it won’t hurt my feelings or anything if you still want him.”

“No, Tia,” you reassured her, despite the burning feeling in your chest. “Please, make him happy. Make him happier than I could ever make him. He deserves that much.”

–

Two weeks have passed since your encounter with Tia. Last thing you heard was that the two were very happy indeed, but you didn’t hear if they made it official. You had plenty of dates with the girls, but you insisted on changing the subject whenever they brought Calum up. You feared that if you heard about him one more time, you might burst into tears or do something stupid.

You finished up your work from the office in your friend’s house. Grateful to be able to work from home for the time you stayed in L.A., you had to admit that sitting on a chair from 9 to 5 made you quite sore. Eager to stretch your legs, you decided to take a walk to the local park.

However, it wasn’t any random park. It was the place you and Cal used to have endless dates when he was back from tour or the studio. You’d lay on the blanket he took from his apartment at the time and stare at the stars. Back when you both didn’t have much, you’d snack on soup crackers you took from each time you went to the diner across the street and share a can of Coke Cal took from the vending machine after work. So many secrets were shared at this park, and so many memories were made, too.

“I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who still frequents this place.”

You jumped to see the last person you expected at this place. Calum gave you a bashful smile before sitting beside you on the grass. You took in the last hour of sun beaming down your skin before the sky went dark, closing your eyes and tuning out the sound of the infamous L.A. traffic.

“How can I not?” you quipped. “This park is the only place in L.A. that isn’t stuffy or gross.”

Calum let out a laugh, quietly agreeing with you. “So what brings you here, Hood?” you asked, nudging his shoulder.

The bassist could only shrug his shoulders. “Could say the same about you,” he hummed. “Sometimes I like to sit here and write music. Other times I just sit here and listen to the ambiance.” You nodded, crossing your arms on your chest and making sure to keep a safe distance from him. His touch was mesmerizing, but you had to remind yourself that he was no longer yours.

“This place reminds me to stay grounded,” he told you truthfully. “When I get too in my head, I always go here, even after we broke up.”

You dropped your hands to the grass, braiding the blades absentmindedly. “I’m glad,” you spoke up. Calum looked over at you, awaiting an explanation. “It’s too good of a place to let go after a silly little relationship.”

“It wasn’t a silly little-” Calum fought back.

“Let’s not talk about it, Cal,” you sighed exasperatedly.

Calum instantly frowned. “Why not?” he pressed. “You never seem to want to talk about the good old days.”

“Because it wasn’t “the good old days,”” you insisted, lying through your teeth.

Calum let out a stubborn huff. “Now that’s a lie,” Calum shot back. “But whatever, I won’t push.” A pregnant silence took over the two of you as Calum tried to find something to say. “Have you found yourself a new boyfriend yet?” he decided to ask.

“Calum-” you began.

“You said not to bring up the past,” Calum argued. “This is the best I can do.”

You shook your head at his words, giving in nonetheless. “No, I don’t,” you answered.

“Are you not ready for one?” he asked.

“I-” You took a moment to find the right words. “I need to work on myself before moving forward with someone else.”

“Well, I don’t get that,” Calum commented with a snort. “You’re perfect, what could you possibly work on?”

You choked out a dry laugh, though there was no humor behind it. “Quite a bit, I’d say,” you confessed. “Calum, I was a mess, I still am. I can’t put someone through that again.”

“You didn’t put me through anything,” Calum persisted. “And now that you mention us, I can’t recall anything that you did wrong in that relationship. It was all me.”

“No Calum!” you raised your voice, standing up abruptly. He quickly followed, standing up to meet your frustrated, tired eyes. “It was me. And I’m tired of you insisting otherwise.”

“You said that I was always gone,” Calum reminded you, his voice matching the same volume as yours. “I don’t see anything that involves you in that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Because I was needy!” you exclaimed. “And I was pushy, and I hated being alone all the time–”

“But I’m right here!” he yelled back. You took a step back in shock. He was never one to raise his voice at you, even when you fought in the past. It was your throat that got raw in those arguments from having a shouting match against yourself and losing hopelessly. “Goddammit y/n I’m right here. And I promised you that night that I would always be here if that’s what you wanted.”

Tears began to stream down your face as you pulled your hair in anger. “You don’t understand, Calum,” you cried out.

“Then help me understand!” Calum took a step closer to you, taking your hands in his. His brown eyes were desperate, searching yours for an answer. “Please, sunshine, let me in.”

For a moment, you almost faltered. You nearly gave in at his sweet words and use of that old nickname. But Tia remained in the back of your mind, and guilt sunk in once more.

You released yourself from his touch, looking away from his eyes. “You can’t call me that anymore,” you whispered to him. “I can’t, Calum. I just can’t.”

Calum watched you back away hopelessly. “y/n,” he sighed.

“I’m leaving for Boston in two days,” you told him. “I’m sure Ash told you that already, though. I overstayed my welcome at my friend’s house. I should start packing.”

The bassist followed you to the gate of the park. “But I feel like we should talk about this,” Calum pleaded.

Your fingertips grazed the gate, the cool metal sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll see you at the party, Calum.”

–

When you told the boys the date you were going back to Boston, Ashton jumped at the opportunity to throw you a goodbye party. In addition to catching up with you and spending every moment available with you, the boys insisted on planning the “biggest party of the century” for your departure.

“I still don’t see the necessity for all of this,” you told the three boys with a shake of your head.

“Trust us,” Ashton said with a wild grin. “We all need this.”

So here you were, casually sipping your cocktail in the corner of Ashton’s home while their exquisite rager took the house by storm. Sierra and Crystal stayed by your side throughout the night, insisting to keep up with each other while you were away. This time, you made sure to not end contact with them the way you did last time. Tia had also been in the group but left some time ago to deal with something.

“Are you sure you have to leave?” Luke asked, pouting dramatically. “L.A. isn’t the same without you here, n/n.”

You ruffled his hair playfully. The singer was always a little brother to you, no matter how close in age the two of you were. “I do, bub,” you said in a sorry voice. “I don’t think my boss could stand another week without me in the studio.”

“Then move back to this location!” Michael proposed, raising his glass and nearly spilling his drink on the floor. “Transferring wouldn’t be a bad idea, would it? The studio would love to have you back, producing and doing whatever else you do.”

You laughed at Michael’s drunken state. You were having a lot of fun relishing in the last few moments with your friends before leaving them once again. You almost didn’t realize the shouting that was going on in the dining room of Ashton’s home.

The entire group ran to the source of the noise to find Calum standing on the dining table with Tia pleading for him to get down.

“Calum, babe, please,” Tia shouted. “You’re causing a scene.”

All guests turned to see what was going on, especially to see why the bassist of 5 Seconds of Summer was shouting complete intelligible nonsense.

Ashton ran towards the edge of the table. “Mate, you need to get down,” he begged hurriedly. “You’re not thinking straight, you need to get down before you get hurt.”

“No,” Calum insisted, his words slurring slightly due to his inebriated state. “I need everyone to listen to me.”

Someone had managed to find the speaker and turn it off so everyone could hear Calum. Your heart was beating out of your chest, not from the alcohol buzzing through your system, but because of the drunk boy standing before you.

Calum raised his cup to the crowd. “I’d like to raise a toast to the girl who broke my heart,” he announced sloppily. “The “heartbreak girl” herself, y/n l/n.” Calum clapped loudly. He was the only one who was clapping while you stood there in shock and humiliation. “I loved you, you know?” he sniffed. “And I bloody well still do. Tia’s great, though. Absolutely nothing wrong with you, Tia, I hope you know that. But you’re not the one. y/n right here, she’s the one.”

His brown eyes, red from drinking and smoking God knows what, teared up as he looked down at you. “But what I can’t figure out is why won’t she love me?” Calum threw back the rest of his drink and winced at how strong it was. “I was getting ready to propose to you, you know?” he told you. “I had the ring in my pocket, and I was just waiting for the perfect moment.” Calum chuckled to himself bitterly. “Guess I fucked that up tremendously.”

“Calum, stop,” you pleaded.

“Why should I?” he asked you incredulously. “You didn’t stop packing your things when I asked you to. You didn’t stop running when I chased after you in the dark. You didn’t stop when you booked that flight across the country to run away from me.”

Tears were streaming down your face now. “It wasn’t like that, Cal,” you cried. “W-we broke up for a reason-”

“And that’s what I can’t wrap my head around!” he shouted. “You barely gave me a reason! You told me you never saw me anymore. I was willing to make more time for you, to end my career for you, to get down on one knee and be with you, and that wasn’t enough! There had to be another reason-”

“There wasn’t, Cal!” you sobbed. “So drop it, please.”

Silence spread throughout the whole house. No one moved an inch, too shocked to make a single sound or move. All that could be heard was the sounds of your messy sobs that you failed to keep in. Cal dropped his cup and gestured his hands at you.

“The Heartbreak Girl, everyone,” he announced with a broken sigh. “Hope you enjoyed this one hell of a show, with your heartbroken host, Calum Thomas Hood.”

You ran out of the house as fast as your feet could take you. The air was brisk in your lungs, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care when the man you loved poured his heart out to you, only for you to squash it like it was nothing.

“y/n!” you heard a voice call out for you. You whipped around to see Tia, scrambling to catch up to you. In the back, you could see the band -minus Calum- and their significant others peering out the glass door to see what was going on.

Tia grabbed your hand tightly. “y/n, fuck, I’m so sorry about Calum,” she apologized, swearing profusely. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. First we were talking about our relationship then-“

“Please, don’t bring up your relationship,” you cut her off, roughly shaking your head. “I know I gave you my blessing, but please I can’t bear to get my heart broken again.”

“You don’t understand!” Tia pushed. “We don’t have a relationship to begin with! y/n, I never asked Calum to be my boyfriend, I just couldn’t. I couldn’t interfere with a love as great as yours and his.”

You stumbled backwards. “What?”

Tia nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “y/n, you and Calum are endgame, don’t you see? I only talked to him tonight to explain that you still loved him. I guess he was too caught up in the alcohol to think rationally.”

“Tia,” you said, voice dripping in disappointment and dread. “That wasn’t your secret to tell him.”

“Were you going to say anything?” she shot back. “You weren’t, so I had to take matters into my own hands. n/n, I’m a firm believer in fate and second chances. This is your chance at making everything right-“

“But I can’t!” you cried, ripping your hand away from hers. “Don’t you get it? I’m the one that’s killing him! I put him through hell and I can’t continue to do that. Why can’t you see that I’m a fucked up mess that ruins everything I touch? I love Calum, I’ll never stop loving him, but I’m not blind enough to not see that my love is torturing him slowly.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration. Tears reappeared in the corner of your eyes, but you were too tired to wipe them away. “I’m never going to be enough for Calum,” you confessed. “That’s why I broke up with him. I can’t watch him waste his life away on a girl that’s only going to disappoint him. I’m not like you, Tia. I’m not perfect, or beautiful, or smart, or anything remotely interesting. And one day, Calum is going to see that and realize he missed his opportunity to find someone good for him, someone that he deserves.

“I don’t deserve him, Tia,” you finished in a broken whisper. “I never will. So I’d rather fade into the background and be a distant memory than become a face he can’t stand to look at.”

“That’s not true,” Tia insisted, tears gracefully falling down her beautiful face. “y/n, you have to believe me when I say that’s not true.”

A car drove down the street, approaching the two of you. You let out a sigh of relief, recognizing it as your uber. “I don’t have to believe you,” you replied, opening the car door. “My word is all that I need.”

—

Calum woke up the next day with a pounding headache. He groaned aloud, sitting up on the couch and cradling his head. He wished he was drunk enough that night to forget everything that happened, but he remembered every single detail. From the beat of the bass from the stereo to the way your dress hugged your curves he loved to kiss and hold.

He finally pushed you away, he realized. And for good, this time. Calum felt dread and regret rush through his system, and all he wanted was to crawl into his bed and sleep his life away.

“You know grumbling isn’t going to cure a hangover,” Tia’s reprimanding voice rang through the living room.

Tia. Calum jumped up to face her where she had been leaning against the door frame.

“Oh Ti,” he sighed, covering his face in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry for last night, I must have humiliated you. I’m a right idiot, and I’m so sorry I put you through that.”

“Oh shut up,” Tia laughed, walking over to him and sitting him down. “I can’t say that I wasn’t hurt, but I also can’t say I was surprised with how things turned out.” Calum hung his head low, ashamed of his behavior. He never wanted to hurt either of you. “Cal, you don’t have to be so sullen. It’s okay, there’s no hard feelings or bad blood between us.”

When Calum couldn’t bring himself to respond, Tia decided to take it a step further. “I always knew you loved her,” she confessed. “That’s why I brought it up to you last night. I wanted both of you to work things out. She really does love you.”

Calum let out a bitter laugh. “She sure has a way of showing it,” he muttered. “Tia, don’t make me feel worse by feeding me lies. It hurts enough that I hurt both of you, don’t make it worse by saying that bullshit.”

“I’m telling the truth!” she fought back. “y/n still loves you, she told me that herself.”

“Then why did she break up with me?” Calum retorted. “If her love never left the table, where was it when she broke things off? Correct me if I’m wrong, Tia, but I don’t think that’s how you treat the people you supposedly love.”

Tia screwed her eyes shut, heaving out a sigh. “She loved you so much, she thought you deserved more,” Tia finally explained. “She let you go so that you could find someone better, someone who makes you happier.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Calum shook his head, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “How could she think that? No one could be better than her, um, no offense.” Tia snorted at the last part. “If anything, I thought I didn’t deserve her.”

“Well you’re both idiots,” Tia deadpanned. “You two clearly love each other more than life itself but were too blind to see you were perfect for each other.”

Calum’s shoulders caved in as he drowned in his thoughts. His hangover headache was piercing his skull but he couldn’t care less. He couldn’t process why you’d ever think so lowly of yourself when he praised the ground you walk on.

“How can I go back to her and repair things when I never realized she was hurting?” he asked. “Why would she ever want me back when I wasn’t there at her lowest? All the signs were there. She stopped calling me every night to talk about her day while I was away. She’d dodge my Facetimes with bullshit excuses that I failed to point out.” Calum huffed to himself, beating himself up critically. “What makes you think I won’t fuck up again when she needs me?”

“Because you’ve learned from your mistakes before,” Tia told him, rubbing his arm soothingly. “And you can learn from them again. That’s what I like about you, Cal. You always made an effort to better yourself, no matter the challenge. And if you truly love her, you’re going to end up fine.”

Calum smiled softly at Tia’s words, raising his chin to look her in the eyes. “I love her so much,” he whispered. The bassist took her hand, squeezing it affectionately. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with us, Ti,” he apologized genuinely. “I really do hope you find someone who is willing to lay down their life for you.”

“I’ve watched two lovers reconnect like no time has passed at all,” Tia smiled back. “Trust me, I have the groundwork laid out for what’s ahead of me.”

Suddenly, Calum’s phone began to ring. Lunging towards the arm of the couch, Calum pulled his phone off the charger and read the caller ID. Eyes wide, he looked at Tia who gave him a knowing look.

“I’ll start the car.”

–

You opened your eyes, immediately squinting at the bright light. You were met once again with the familiar feeling of a skull splitting headache and aching ankle.

“Must you always get yourself into these situations?”

You turned to face those brown eyes and cheeky smile you adored. Calum shook his head in disbelief, taking your hand in his. “I thought you said you’d change your emergency contact,” he said in a scolding tone.

Your face was on fire at his words. “I forgot,” you told him honestly.

Once again, you ended up in the hospital with similar injuries to what you received at the beginning of your trip. But instead of a car accident, you’d clumsily fallen down the stairs on the way to your Uber to the airport. Luckily a neighbor next door heard the ruckus and loaded you into the Uber straight to the hospital.

“Or it’s fate,” Calum suggested, resting his hand on the side of your head.

“Calum,” you tried to counter.

He stopped you instantly. “I know why you ended things,” he simply told you. “And I think I deserve a say in it.” Closing your mouth, you let him speak. “You’re wrong, y/n. You do deserve me as much as I deserve you. And I love you no matter what. I don’t need a famous celebrity as my partner when I have you in my life. None of that superficial stuff matters to me, y/n, you know that. And I know that for as long as I live and you forget to change your emergency contact list, I’ll always come for you.”

Your heart fluttered, and you allowed yourself to feel hope for the both of you. “But what if someday down the line you want more?” you asked in a small voice.

Calum blinked away his tears. “What more can I want?” he said in response. “You’re all I want, y/n. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you laughed, tears beginning to fall, too. “It was my stupid brain that made me doubt in the first place.”

Calum leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. “So is that it?” he asked. “Are we done doubting? Will you finally come home, y/n? Be with me forever?”

You raised your hand to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your touch. “With you,” you told him surely. “I’m always home. I’m yours, Calum Hood.”

–

if you enjoyed, please like and reblog! it would mean a lot to me <3

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holidayinhell · 3 months

Text

The Laundry Room

Characters: creepy/intimate Whumper, captive Whumpee CWs: captivity, noncon (mostly implied but eh), sexual/noncon nudity, food denial, discussion of amputation, classic whump shiz

In the early days of his captivity, Whumpee was allowed to sleep on the couch in the basement. Now he spent his days chained up on the floor of the wash room, tethered to the column in the center of the laundry room with a radius of no more than twenty feet to roam about. The cold of the cellar was inescapable. Sometimes, late at night, he would secretly turn on the dryer on its lowest setting and press his face to its warmth. It was one of the only good things left in his life anymore. Now all he had to look forward to was the sweet release of sleep and laundry day once a week.

“Whuuuum-peeeee!” Called a singsong voice from the top of the steps.

Whumpee swallowed. No matter how many times this happened, he was never prepared for it.

The wooden steps creaked in protest under Whumper’s heavy boots. The tall man rounded the corner of the basement into the subterranean laundry room, where he found his favorite captive chained to the central support beam, exactly where he’d left him.

“Got a little something to keep you busy.” Whumper grinned, dumping the contents of the laundry basket he was holding onto the floor. “Turn around.”

Before he finished giving the command, Whumpee had already presented his captor with the zip ties securing his wrists behind his back. Normally Whumper would remove the binds the moment he got home, but he'd had already been back for hours. Maybe he was busy with something else. Or maybe he did it on purpose.

Whumper retrieved his switchblade from his pocked and flipped it open.

“So I saw something on the news again today.” Whumper informed his captive, snapping the plastic ties with his knife.

“Apparently someone found an old hat in the woods. They think that it’s one of yours. It started another search for you, if you can goddamn believe it, and it’s even bigger than before. There’s helicopters and scent tracing dogs and all.”

Whumper unbuckled his belt, sliding the leather strap through the loops of his pants. “That’s some crazy persistence, all for one person. Like, move on with your lives, people. What’s it been, a whole year now?”

“Ten months.” Whumpee replied weakly, rubbing the red marks on his wrists.

“Shietttt, has it really been that long? I was just kidding.” Whumper said playfully, his voice laced with something sinister. “Well, you know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun.”

Fun. Is that what this was?

“I’m just glad they haven’t given up hope yet.”

Whumpee knew he’d misspoke the second the words left his mouth.

“Wrong, Whumpee.” The air went heavy. Whumper shot a disdainful glance at Whumpee, his eyes narrowing with contempt. “People need to stop searching. They need to give up already.”

Whumper was still clutching his leather belt in his hands. For the sake of his physical wellbeing, Whumpee decided to ignore the comment completely.

“Uh, so separate these by color, then?” Whumpee asked as he pawed through the dirty laundry on the floor, desperate to change the subject.

Whumper’s mind was still on the search. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, like usual. Remember to run the sheets—“

“On delicate mode?” Whumpee finished his thought. “Mhmm. Got it.”

Whumpee busied himself by sorting through the dirty laundry pile while Whumper loomed by the room’s entrance. Whumpee watched him cautiously from the corner of his eye. The sociopath was silently brooding, his eyes fixed on Whumpee’s form.

He wished Whumper would fuck off and go back upstairs.

Doing laundry once a week was one of the only tasks he was allowed to do, and as depressing as it was, he actually looked forward to it. It was one of the only things he had to keep himself entertained with.

In the early days of his captivity, Whumper had allowed him to watch the small tv in the basement living room and provided him with an endless supply of magazines and books. And to think, Whumpee thought he was a prisoner back then. Like most everything in Whumpee’s life, his privileges had been taken away one by one.

Whumper removed the tv within the first month. He never gave Whumpee a reason why. Next were the books. Then the couch. And soon enough, Whumpee found himself chained to a pole with his wrists zip-tied behind him for ten hours at a time, praying that his captor would at least remember to feed him that day.

Whumpee started a pile of lights, darks, and colors, sorting each garment into its designated pile. Whumper remained in the doorway and watching his captive intently, his presence entirely unwelcome.

“So, um. Did you make something good for dinner?” Whumpee piped up, breaking the tension of the silence.

Ever since he’d been captured all his brain would fixate on was food, and the only thing he could think about currently was the sumptuous meaty smell that had been tantalizing his tastebuds for the past hour.

“Mmm.” Whumper nodded, crossing his arms and stepping into the room. “Roast chicken and mashed potatoes. Garlic bread too, just from the store.”

Whumpee’s eyes widened hungrily.

“No leftovers I’m afraid.” He added.

“Oh.”

Whumpee crumbled in on himself. That meant no dinner tonight.

Whumpee opened the cabinet above the sink to retrieve a box of detergent. He popped off the lid and scooped the plastic measuring cup into the powder, leveling the mountain of excess with a swipe of his finger.

“You should wash your clothes as well, Whumpee.” The tall man remarked from across the room.

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Whumpee agreed, continuing to avoid eye contact. He placed the pre-measured cup of detergent on the counter, turning to gather up the sorted pile of white clothes from the floor. He chucked them into the washing machine, sprinkled the soap crystals on top, and closed the lid.

He really wished Whumper would go away now, but the tall man stood firmly in place. Whumpee knew where this was going.

“I said you should wash them, Whumpee. That means to take them off.”

Whumpee stiffened. God fucking damn it.

Not right now. Not that he wanted to go through this shit ever, but Whumper seemed to be in an especially odd mood this evening.

Whumpee did as he was commanded. It wasn’t worth the fight. He lifted his pale blue button-up over his head, not bothering to unclasp the buttons, and tossed it into the pile of colors. He removed his socks and pants and did the same. Finally he stood in nothing but his white boxer-briefs, awkwardly shimmying them down his thighs until they slid down his legs and hung at his ankles. Blushing, he stepped out of them and walked over to the washing machine, chucking the underwear into the load of whites as it filled with water.

A chill rocked his body when Whumper approached from behind.

The larger man pushed his hips into Whumpee’s back, pinning him squarely against the machine as it hummed to life. “Mmm. I should make you walk around naked all the time. Don’t you think?”

“It, uh… it gets really cold down here.”

“Psht.” Whumper draped his arms around Whumpee’s neck. “So I’ll buy you an electric blanket. That’d be nice, right?”

“Sure. But, please, I really do need my clothes.”

Whumper’s arms traveled down the sides of Whumpee’s torso and trailed inwards to find his ass. One hand delivered a crisp smack, which immediately left behind a glowing red mark. He smiled, scooping a buttcheek into each palm, jiggling what little flesh was there.

“Your ass is so tiny.” Whumpee quipped.

Yeah, that’s what happens when you average 400 calories a day for nearly a year.

“Yeah. I’m pretty skinny now.”

“You look good like this.” Whumper purred into his ear as he delicately stroked the length of Whumpee’s back. “But I do miss the ass.”

Time to go away now, Whumpee thought. Please, please just go the fuck away.

Whumper smacked Whumpee’s ass again, scooping it up and grinding the denim fabric on his crotch against the thin man’s perfect, bare skin while caressing his neck with his hot, wet tongue. He took Whumpee’s earlobe into his mouth and suckled it lightly, biting down on the soft flesh with only a tiny amount of pressure.

“Mm, you have goosebumps.” Whumper murmured with a self-satisfied grin. “Did that turn you on?”

Two of Whumper’s fingers traced the curvature of his ass and found Whumpee’s entrance. The digits dabbed at the hole gently, teasing and prodding the skin but never pushing inside. The firm touch sent an involuntary shiver up Whumpee’s spine. Whumper smirked at his reaction and nibbled at the side of Whumpee’s neck.

He was so cold, the warmth on his neck felt good. But nothing else did.

“I keep thinking,” Whumper cooed, Whumpee melting into him for heat. “Maybe it’s finally time to give your friends closure. Feels cruel to keep dragging things out like this. They need to stop looking for you.”

For the first time in months, Whumpee felt a vague twinge of hope.

“What? You mean that you’ll--?”

“What I mean is, they’ll be looking for a body.”

Oh. Oh no.

“W-what?” Whumpee stammered. He twisted out from under Whumper, his chain rattling against the floor as he side-stepped his captor. “What does that mean?”

“I feel a little guilty about it. The search for you has been going on for ages, and now they’re bringing out helicopters and shit? That’s a waste of taxpayer money. The cops could be out there doing real good.”

“No. What did you mean by ‘body’?”

“I was thinking we could chop off one of your legs or something. Maybe just a foot.”

“No!” Whumpee shrieked. “You can’t!” He delivered a feeble push against Whumper’s chest, pivoting out from underneath him. His heart was pounding in his ears so loud, he pressed his hands to cover them and doubled over in fear.

The reaction took Whumper by surprise. “Bad joke.” he offered, placing a calming hand on the other’s shoulders.

It wasn’t a joke.

The tall man rubbed his captive’s back until Whumpee’s breath finally evened out. It felt like a betrayal, the way his body responded so well to Whumper’s comforting touch. He jerked away from the sociopath’s reach.

Whumpee blinked incredulously at the man, his cheeks burning with anger. “Don’t.” he spat.

“What?”

“Don’t you fucking dare--”

“Excuse me? Don’t I fucking dare do what?”

“Don’t fucking joke about mutilating me!” Whumpee shouted.

“Hey.” Whumper cautioned. “You’re being too goddamn loud right now.”

Whumpee was frenzied, his chain skittered around as he paced around in a tight circle, pulling at chunks of his hair.

“How long are you going to keep me here?!” Whumpee demanded. “How much fucking longer!?”

“As long as I goddamn like.”

“Just let me go. Just please…” Whumpee pled tearfully, his emotions see-sawing violently between anger and complete despair. “You got what you wanted from me. Why won’t you let me leave…?”

Whumper shrugged. “It never was a part of the plan.”

“Fuck you!” The captive yelled. “I fucking hate you!”

“Whumpee.” Whumper warned with a stern finger, “it’s time to shut the fuck up.”

“I HATE Y—!”

Whumper grabbed a length of chain from the floor and yanked it towards him, forcing Whumpee to the ground by the shackle around his ankle.

Whumper continued pulling the chain into himself, dragging Whumpee’s body across the cold cement floor with every tug. It all happened too quickly for Whumpee to process.

“I should bash your face into the concrete again.” He growled, standing over his collapsed body. Whumpee could taste blood in his mouth. “But I’ll give you one last chance. I guess I didn’t say it explicitly enough last time, so hopefully this time it fucking sinks in: you are here to stay. There will be no more talk of kidnapping, or rescue, or freedom, or fucking escaping. No more of that. You’re here. You’re mine. This house--no--this room, is your whole fucking world, and I am your god. Get used to it.”

Whumpee lifted his head slightly and shot a fiery glance in Whumper’s direction.

“You better wipe that look off your pathetic face while you’ve still got one.” Whumper flicked his switchblade open.

He lifted one of his boots and rested its rubber sole on Whumpee’s back, pressing him into the floor. Brandishing the knife overhead, he commanded Whumpee: “Show me why I choose to keep you around. Remind me that you haven’t fucking forgotten your sole purpose in life, or I’ll saw your leg off right fucking now.”

Face-down on the floor, Whumpee let out a sigh so small only he could hear it.

He knew what he had to do. He didn’t have any other options. Silent tears rushed down his cheeks and fell soundlessly to the floor.

And so out of self-preservation, Whumpee thrust his hips into the air and pushed his face to the floor, his bare ass on full display. He shifted weight into his palms and spread his legs out, his dick and balls tumbled forward, swaying slightly while he found his balance. His hands reached back behind him, blindly tracing the outsides of his thighs, following a line up and over to the round cleft of his butt cheeks.

Choking down a sob, he forced his ass apart. He disgracefully presented his hole before Whumper’s shining, ravenous eyes.

The captor’s jeans fell to the ground. The man dropped to his knees, settling himself in the space between Whumpee’s open legs.

“When I’m done with you, you are going to fucking thank me like your life depends on it.”

The sudden, high-pitched beep of the washing machine pierced the quiet of the room, signalling that the washing was done.

Whumpee didn’t dare move an inch.

“And after I’ve filled you up,” Whumper’s hot breath hit his ear.

“You’re going to tell me exactly which limb to cut off.”

#sorry lol #whump #whumpblr #intimate whumper #captivity whump #captive whumpee #whump trope #whump fic #creepy whumper #noncon touch #whump community #tw: sa #tw: noncon #tw: nudity #nsfwhump

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usedtobecooler · 2 years

Note

Sorry I keep blowing up your inbox w virgin Eddie thots. I just have so many. 😓 latest since I’m currently suffering: Virgin Eddie + period sex

do not say sorry cause this had me feeling some type of way and it's given me inspo for the first time in a few days!!

part one // part two // part three // part four

pairing | eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings | sexual content (18+ minors dni), fingering f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), period sex, mentions of tampon removal, eddie taking care of reader, eddie being endearing (when is he not), dirty talk, lots of fluff and reader being nice to eddie, reader also kind of snarks at him for being annoying, eddie professing his love for reader, no use of y/n. i think that's it? possibly. maybe.

word count | 3.6k

a/n | i made this way fluffier than any of my past stuff so this is really off brand for me. i'm also currently suffering on shark week and i'm definitely in my feelings about it so that probably explains it. reader is softer than her usual self here which gives eddie time for his more dominant, carer side to shine. hope u all love it.

You'd been doubled over on your chair all day, not even your heat pack and strongest pain killers were relieving your cramps. Everything hurt, everything ached, and you were being exceptionally snarky (even by your own standards) for no reason.

It was quiet in the store, a weird Tuesday where the weather was putting off anybody from stepping foot out of their house. Misty, grey, dull and wet. A bit like you were feeling yourself, almost like the sky knew you weren't on top form and was sympathizing with you.

Eddie was whistling along to whatever crap he'd put on the store's boom box; in the back of your mind, you think it's Motley Crue but you can't even find it in you to tune into the song enough to make it out properly.

You felt anxious, every little noise creeping into your ears and booming loud, making you feel like your head was about to explode. You hated to admit it, but Eddie's voice in particular was grating on you, every time he opened his mouth you wanted to snark at him, tell him to shut the fuck up.

You were trying your best to block him out before you blew up at him, twirling in your chair a little for comfort whilst you redundantly pressed the useless heat pack closer to your aching tummy, when he suddenly jumps out of nowhere at your side and starts doing the air guitar to a particularly loud and annoying solo.

"Eddie, shut the fuck up. You're driving me up the fucking wall." You snap, voice stern, angry, gruff, and it makes him stop in his tracks, looking crestfallen. You'd usually feel bad, but not today. He'd been pushing your buttons since you opened up, albeit he wasn't doing anything wrong and wasn't meaning to upset you, but your temper was short, and he wasn't getting the fucking hint.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck absentmindedly, big puppy dog eyes looking apologetic and sad, "M'sorry, sweetheart. I know you're not feeling good, I was just tryin' to make you laugh."

Your face softens a little, the guilt creeping in as you look at Eddie's sad features, "I'm sorry, handsome. I'm just exhausted these cramps are wiping me out." You sigh, groaning a little as your tummy coils up unpleasantly, radiating pain throughout your belly, back and legs.

Eddie comes over to lean over the counter, rubbing at your shoulder softly, and you melt into the touch, tense body slackening under his fingertips, "You know, I read in a girly magazine-" Eddie cuts himself off, like he's pondering on if he should actually continue on his sentence, you egg him on by nodding your head, "it was in the doctor's office, okay?"

"Hey, I never said anything." You hold your hands up in self-defense, giggling a little and trying to ignore how Eddie's inner brat jumps out as he rolls his eyes and lets his hand fall from your shoulder. You make a show of pouting until his hand comes back out, this time brushing down your arm.

"Anyway, in this girly magazine there was this article, about how to relieve menstrual cramps..." Eddie cringes at himself, screwing his face up at his wording and you laugh properly then, "Apparently, orgasms are the best way to relieve the pain. Something about the hormones it releases."

You balk at him a little, dumbfounded by the fact that he, for one, chose that article out of all of the pages in a women's magazine. And, for two, that he actually took in what the article said and stored it somewhere in the back of his head, almost like a mental note for if this were to ever happen.

He furrows his brows at you, "Is that- is that not right?" He asks, cocking his head a little, tips of his fingers still brushing your arm absentmindedly, "I thought since it was in a girly mag it'd be true."

"No, I mean I think it's true, I've heard that before." You shrug, trying to ignore the ache in your back at a particularly strong cramp, "But I don't really like to touch myself when I'm on my period. I'm usually too sore to focus and it makes a mess."

"Well," Eddie starts, cheeks flushing dark and his breath shaking, "I'd be more than... more than happy to help you with that. If y'want."

You suck your cheeks in, looking at him with narrowed eyes for a second before they soften, and you're pretty sure if he looked at you properly, he'd see the love hearts swirling round in your irises, "You're the sweetest boy I've ever met, Eddie Munson. Don't feel like you have to do that, though, I've gone like at least ten years on my period and am yet to do that."

"I'd like to," Eddie cuts in all too quickly, and now you wonder if he's doing this for your sake or his own morbid curiosity, though you suspect it's somehow both, "I'd like to help you feel better, that is. I don't - I don't mind the mess."

"Well, okay then." You shrug, trying to ignore the way that your thighs clench a little at the thought of Eddie touching you whilst you're menstruating. It was never something you'd thought about before, but now that Eddie had said about it, you wondered just how much you'd actually be into it.

"We can go to my place, uh, Wayne's gone until tomorrow, took a double shift for the extra money." Eddie rambles, like he has to justify every single detail to you. It's cute, endearing almost.

You nod your head in reply, subtly drifting your eyes to the clock and realizing there were still four hours left until closing. You couldn't help but wish the time away.

***

Eddie ushers you into the trailer slowly, a hand hovering over your lower back in a soothing motion, "You can go to my room and make yourself at home, sweetheart. I'll go get some, like, towels or something?"

"Towels should work, handsome. I don't think it's bad enough to justify a tarp." You say it as a joke as you toe your Docs off, but Eddie's eyes widen comically, "It was a joke. Though a tarp would be easier to clean."

You saunter off through to Eddie's room, sliding a comic book off of his desk and plopping down on the bed. You have no interest in it as you flip through the pages, tummy doing flips for two reasons now - your obvious cramps, but also the nervousness of what was about to happen.

You? Nervous? This never happened. You and Eddie had only had actual sex once, but you were in control, in a situation you'd been in plenty before. You showed him the ropes and took charge, that was your comfort zone. This was... different.

There's no more time to worry and ponder when Eddie comes bursting through the door carrying an array of things he thought you might need. Pain killers, a bottle of water, two towels and what looked like one of his oversized, ratty Metallica shirts.

Your heart melted a little. Eddie was just so, so sweet. You couldn't believe nobody had snatched him up before now, he was caring and attentive to you, albeit a bit fumbly and nervous but you think that's just because of how you are towards him.

He had the biggest heart. To match his dick.

"D'you need these before we start?" Eddie asks quietly, pulling you out of your trance and shaking the bottle of pills at you. You can tell he's nervous too, his breathing all jagged and his hand holding the pills jittering enough for you to notice.

"No, no, that's okay. I took a few before we left the store so they should start kicking in soon. Hand me the towels, would ya?" You lift yourself up off the bed, gently plucking the towels from Eddie's open arm. You strip his comforter out of the way in silence, laying the towels flat and spreading them out as well as you could. His twin bed was small enough that it covered just fine, but you spent extra time focusing on it and trying to block out the pounding in your ears.

Eddie's warm hands on the base of your spine jolt you out of your thinking, you melt into the touch slightly and lean back against his chest. He huffs into your hair, "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, sweetheart. Was just a suggestion."

"I'm just used to knowing everything and showing you the ropes. I dunno how to do any of this and I'm worried I'll gross you out." You say it matter of factly, making sure that as always you have the upper hand in showing him that you don't panic and you're always in control.

"S'not gonna gross me out, it's you. What if we... what if we did this in the shower instead? Would that make you feel better?" Eddie suggests, voice barely above a whisper and a clear nervousness breaking through. He's worried you're going to say no, you can tell.

You don't want his second time to be messy in a shower. But you make note of it for another time, now that you knew that was something he was clearly into.

You turn in his arms, shaking your head and nudging up to press your lips to his softly, just a brief kiss. But, Eddie grabs hold of your waist gently, deepening the kiss and forcing you to stay in place when you went to move away.

He's still not a good kisser, you make a mental note of that. He's still sloppy and giving too much tongue but you can't help but suck on it, causing a moan to escape him as he nudges you back towards the end of the bed until the backs of your knees knock on it. You fall backwards with a small thump and Eddie's lips never leave yours as you shuffle up the bed, until your head is cushioned by his one lonely pillow.

"What do you want me to do?" Eddie asks gently once your lips part, soothing your hip with his big hand. You keen into the touch, loving the feeling of how soft his hand was, unwinding how tight you felt with nerves.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wanna do, pretty boy." You start, and Eddie's eyebrows furrow at you, "You can finger me, if you wanna? You can just stick to rubbing my clit, though."

Eddie doesn't humor you with a reply, simply tucking his fingers under the waistband of your leggings to drag them down your legs and off in one swift motion. You raise a brow as he goes to strip his jeans off as well, leaving him in a pair of tight black boxers which you swear you've never seen him wear before.

They leave nothing to the imagination - you sit up on your forearms for a better look at his half hard cock already straining a little. You catch it kicking up in interest as you stare at it with wide eyes.

"Theyre - they're new." Eddie stutters over his words, flushing a dark shade of red and there's the Eddie you know all too well, all flustered and embarrassed.

"They look great, Eddie." You say with a strained voice, gasping as he slides back onto the bed and in between your spread thighs, only your respective underwear and shirts blocking your touch. "I still have a tampon in so that I, like, don't leak everywhere."

Eddie slides his palm over your hot cunt, eliciting another small gasp from you. It makes you feel, well, weird. And kind of dirty. But he doesn't seem to care, as his fingers pull the material of your panties to the side and he dips the tips in between your folds, seeking out the tampon string.

"Can I take it out?" He asks, eyes wide in earnest as if he doesn't realize how strange and weird of a request it is. You cringe a little, falling onto your back so you don't have to look at him whilst you nod your head yes.

It's not like you to be so mortified by something so normal, always one to not be a priss and try anything at least once. This just makes you feel vulnerable, and Eddie is so inexperienced that it makes you question if he knows that this isn't necessarily 'normal' to do during sex.

You throw your forearm over your eyes and squeeze them shut as you feel Eddie's fingers grab the string and tug your tampon out gently, then the telltale sign of him lifting off the mattress, clearly leaving to dispose of it.

His footsteps come back quickly; you feel the bed dip as he gets back onto it and snug back in between your spread legs. Then, you gasp as he runs two fingers back in between your folds, this time to slide them through and gather some slickness.

You let your arm fall from your face, plucking up the courage to finally look back at him and he's smiling with this dumb look on his face. It makes your cunt clench around nothing - you didn't realize through all your nervousness that you were clearly into this, slick mixing in with your menstrual blood to make things extra wet.

Eddie doesn't seem to care about the blood at all, swirling his fingers around like you'd previously taught him to, finally catching them on your clit and rubbing in slow circles. He leans over the top of you, mouth against your neck to press a sweet kiss, "Does this feel good?"

You nod your head, shivering at the feeling of his breath on your soft skin, goosebumps blooming down your arms. He probably didn't mean for his words to sound dirty, but they did, made you flush warm with want for him.

His fingers slip through the mixture of fluids with ease, rubbing relentlessly on your clit until you're a whining, shaking mess under him. Somehow, this feels more intense than it ever has before, and you can't tell if that's because of you being on your period, Eddie taking the lead or a mixture of both.

"E-Eddie," You choke, hips jolting up of their own accord, a loud whine escaping your lips, suddenly you're aware of how submissive you're being but you can't find it in you to care, "f-feels so good, Eddie."

"Yeah?" He asks, fingers rubbing at your clit with purpose, clearly trying to get you there and it's working, "Y'gonna come?"

Eddie can sound so dirty without even trying and you feel your cunt clench, can feel your warm fluids dripping down your ass, pooling there and probably making such a mess. It shouldn't be as hot as it is, you shouldn't be as turned on as you are, but it feels so dirty and Eddie loves it more than you do and it's making your brain short circuit.

You nod your head, squeezing your eyes shut but Eddie's free hand grips at your jaw, shaking your head a little until your eyes reopen to see him staring at you intently, "Look at me whilst I finger you, sweetheart. Wanna see you come undone on my hands."

You gasp, the coil in your belly tightening at Eddie's vulgar words, the loud slick sounds of your cunt being violated by his hands filling the air and engulfing all of your senses. Your mouth opens in a soundless moan and Eddie sees that as an opportunity to shove his thumb in your mouth.

"Suck on it." He says it like it's casual and like he's told you to do it before, the way you obey and immediately begin licking and sucking at his calloused fingertip makes you question yourself, but then his fingertips dig into your cheeks a little rough and any thought leaves your brain.

Your body feels like a livewire, tummy tensing up impossibly tighter. You're looking into Eddie's glassy dark eyes, his puffy pink lips open slightly as he stares you down, feeling every catch and drag of his fingers on your clit and you're a goner. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train and you're biting down gently on Eddie's thumb, moaning and squeezing your eyes tight as you come so hard you see stars.

"That's my girl." Eddie grins, rubbing your clit slowly as he works you through it, not stopping until you're trying to clench your legs shut from oversensitivity.

You open your eyes again just in time to catch him wiping his fingers on the towel below you, a creamy dark pink colour staining the grey fabric. You're still trying to catch your breath, can feel your shirt clinging to your back with sweat.

You grab Eddie by the front of his own shirt and pull him down to kiss you, all needy as you gasp into his open mouth, tongue lapping in to drag against his own.

Eddie moans, shuddering against you as his hands roam up under your shirt, soothing the hot, damp skin under his fingertips. You slide your own hand down his torso, grabbing at a handful of his hard cock through his boxers and squeezing until he bucked into your hand with a whine.

You're honestly surprised he didn't come in his pants again, it seemed to be a running theme with him. Not that you minded, you liked having that power over him.

"Can I..." Eddie breathes into your mouth, cut off with another groan as you attacked his neck, nipping and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, "Can I fuck you?"

You nod into his neck, hands deftly sliding over the waistband of his boxers, blindly tugging them down his thighs as you continued your assaults on his pale skin.

You grab a hold of his cock by the base when it springs out of his underwear, giving it a few quick tugs for good measure, which has Eddie shivering and almost collapsing on top of you. You slide the wet head of his dick in between your folds, shuddering at the wet sounds as it catches on your entrance.

Eddie has no patience and shoves his hips forward, sliding into you with ease. He grips at your hips tightly, sucking in a shaky breath as he bottoms out, "Jesus, you're so fucking wet."

You clench around his cock at his words and he positively mewls, pulling out a little and thrusting back into you, eyes tearing away from you to look down at where your bodies meet, the absolute mess you're both making. He's so mesmerized, watching how your cunt sucks him in so well with every thrust, "Your pussy is so greedy."

It tumbles out like word vomit, but there's no embarrassment in Eddie's eyes when yours fly open to look at him, watch him looking at your cunt with hearts in his eyes. You cry out, hips bucking of their own accord as his thrusts pick up, finally gaining a good rhythm and abusing your gspot with ease.

"Harder, Eddie, please," You gasp, tears pricking at your eyes as he doubles down his efforts and leans over you, fucking into you harder, faster than before. His curls are matted to his forehead, this wild look on his face as you lean up to brush his hair back, fingers gripping into it at the crown of his head so your foreheads are touching, "You're so fucking pretty like this."

Eddie lets out a shaky laugh, grinning like the Cheshire cat, "Don't say that, I'm gonna come." He grits his teeth, hips beginning to falter and stutter.

Your soft spot is being abused by his cock, grazing at it with every thrust and you too feel your orgasm impending on you, "Come with me then. Come in my wet pussy."

Eddie whimpers, that in turn makes your cunt throb around him and he's shoving his cock into you so hard you move up the bed a little, the slick sounds invading your senses and making you clench sporadically until you're coming with a loud shout of his name.

"Fuckfuckfuck, god you're so tight, fuck." Eddie's babbling nonsense, clearly struggling at the feeling of your pussy sucking him in so well, then he's coming too, hips stilling as his eyes roll into the back of his head.

You watch him in awe, you don't think you'll ever get fed up of watching him come undone inside of you the way that he does. He's so perfect it makes you feel like you're suffocating every time you look at him.

He collapses down on top of you, breathing heavily as you pet his hair gently, soothing him quietly, "I think I'm in love with you, fuck."

"I'm in love with me too." You say jokily, trying to hide the way your words come out panicky, though you're sure Eddie can hear your heart going a million miles an hour under his head.

Eddie barks out a laugh into your chest, snuggling up a little, "You'll say it back eventually." He shrugs, nonchalantly like he could care less that you brushed off his confession.

Little did he know how much you'd been in love with him from the day you set your eyes on him. But that was a conversation for another day.

"Yeah, yeah. We need to get up before these towels stain your bed." You giggle, "That was... perfect, by the way. Thank you for always taking such good care of me."

"So long as your cramps are a bit better." Eddie sighs sleepily, snuggling into you a little more. You lie there a bit longer before you're shoving him out of the bed to clean up, worried he'd fall asleep in the mess.

If you followed him into the shower and sucked his cock clean later, then nobody needed to know.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #my fanfic #joseph quinn fic #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn x reader #virgin!eddie #virgin!eddie munson

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alexetbishop · 8 months

Text

THE SUN AND THE MOON

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Demigod!Reader

Summary: Kate makes a visit in your universe after weeks of not seeing eachother.

Word count: 2.5K

Pure fluff. Kate is such a dog mum. This is taking the sapphic long distance experience on a whole other level. Reader is a daughter of Apollo.

a/n: there might be a prequel of this on the workings. It's still an abstract idea but I already got something laid out.

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"Okay, I'll come and pick you up tomorrow morning at 10:00. And if I find you two doing cheeky stuff again you can say bye-bye to your personal multiversal taxi." America warned Kate as she was opening a portal right on the fire escape outside your bedroom window.

"Just to clarify, we were just making out." Kate points out. "We were half naked but only making out." She adds mumbling to herself. She took a step forward, finding herself in your universe. "Whatever. You own me so many pizza balls for this." America grumbles before closing the portal.

You were sitting at your desk, music was blasting through your headphones as you were finishing up an assignment on your computer.

Kate opened your window and jumped inside your room. She smiled as she saw you concentrated on your work. Her backpack slips out of her shoulder, hitting the hardwood floor. She sneaks behind you and takes your headphones off.

"Whatcha listening to?" She whispers in your ear. You jump on your seat and turn around.

"Oh my god!" You whisper shouted. "Kate? What are you doing here?" You stood up from your chair, a smile plastering on your shocked face. You weren't supposed to see her until next week, so this was certainly a very nice surprise.

"Hi, baby. 'Was just popping by. Wanted to see what my beautiful girl was up to." She shrugged as her hands found your waist, immediately connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. When you draw back you notice she has cuts and bruises all over her face and probably on her body too since her suit was all ripped and a bit bloody. You tilt your head. "Did you come here because you wanted to see me or because you want me to be your personal nurse again?"

"Both?" She raised her eyebrows and made her famous puppy eyes at you. You shake your head and chuckle. "Take off your suit." You step back, crossing your arms under your chest. "Eager, are we?" She teases as she peels off her archery suit, throwing it on the floor. Now she's left with a black tank top that accentuates her muscular form and some boxers that had purple hearts on them. Of course she was wearing something like that.

You roll your eyes. "Just stay still." Your hand reaches her jaw, where a fresh and deep cut was glaring at you.

You took a deep breath: a golden aura began to shine around your body. Kate felt your warmth streaming from your fingers to her jaw. In a matter of seconds the cut disappeared. "Who did you fight this time?" Your hand moved to her forehead. "Just some thugs that were trying to steal some kind of dangerous substance. It was a pretty cool fight, actually. I knocked out three guys with only one shot." She says proudly. You smile at her being all cocky of her actions. "That's amazing, love."

As your hands were moving all around her body, healing her from every single bruise and cut, she rambled on and on about her mission. You had to force her to stay still because she was moving around trying to demonstrate how she back flipped and knocked a guy out kicking him in the nuts with her left foot.

Once her skin was smooth again you removed your hands and returned to a normal non glowing human. "Thank you, princess." She smiled at you and gave you a quick peck on the lips. "You knows you're always so hot when you do that. Literally and figuratively."

You chuckled and sat down on the bed, reaching for a bottle of soda on your bedside table and drinking it to get your full strength back.

Kate crawled on the bed, laying on top of you. Her arms cradled around your hips and her chin rested on your midriff as she gazed up at you with her dazzling angel eyes.

"I missed you." She whispers and leans her head forward. She starts to leave a trail of butterfly kisses from your collarbone to your lips. You can't help but giggle at that sweet action.

"I missed you too, Katie." Now her face is right above yours. Your hands find the small of her back and caress her there, your touch is as soft as a feather while you draw heart shaped figures on her bare skin.

"Lucky misses you too." You could feel one of her calloused hands sliding up your back and reaching your neck. "He's always so excited whenever I say your name." She then lets go of you, and goes to retrieve her phone that was in her backpack. "I've got a few videos of that, actually." She crawled back next to you, opened her gallery and pressed play on a video of Lucky being all happy and stomping around as his tail was wagging like an helicopter. You chuckle at the adorable sight.

For the next few minutes Kate proceeds to show you every single video of Lucky she had. (even the ones that you had seen a million times already) "Wait! I almost forgot." She reached in her backpack, taking out a small folder. She opened it and inside there were dozens of pictures of her, Lucky, and a couple with her team too. "I printed some more pictures for you." You melted. Kate knew you couldn't have a phone (being a demigod was really shitty sometimes.), and every time she made sure to print a lot of pictures (and yes, some of them were spicy too). You, in the other hand, were more prone to writing. So while you had an album full of pictures, she had a folder with all your letters and poems.

You couldn't help but to lean forward and kiss her on the lips. "Thank you." You looked at the pictures for a few moments and then looked up. "I got something for you too." You stretched your arm to open the drawer of the bedside table and took a small notebook, handing it to her. "It's a small scrapbook I've been making for the past couple of weeks." There's all kinds of things: poems, flowers, pictures and small things that remind you of her.

The corners of Kate's mouth reached her ears. "You're amazing, princess." She took the scrap book in her hand, starting to open it and flip through the pages. You stopped her. "Nah uh." You put your hand over hers, shutting the scrapbook closed. "That's for later. When you're back home."

Kate rolls her eyes. "Fine." She carefully puts the scrapbook in her backpack. She crawls back to you, fully laying on you and burying her face in your neck. She starts giving you little kisses on the same spot. "Come with me." She says in between kisses. "Come back to my universe."

"Katie, you know I can't." You sigh. Being long distance was certainly not easy. Especially if you both live in different universes, and don't have any type of communication besides iris messages, that you discovered can work between universes, but those can last just for a couple of minutes. (One time you left the "call" go on for the whole night. You had to toss 15 drachmas to pay for it. The inflation has reached the mythical world too apparently.)

"Please." Her soft voice was humming against your skin. You wanted to. You wanted to be with her, be close to her, falling asleep in eachothers arms and waking up to Lucky jumping on the bed and licking your faces. But you had your family to take care of. You were the oldest of the family. Your mum worked all day long, leaving you to take care of your two little siblings. And also you had college. You had missed the whole first semester due to the whole "disappearing into another universe thing" and now you had to catch up.

"I promise that I will, just not now. I have so much going on right now. I can't just disappear again after being away for months." You made her look at you, cupping her cheeks. "You promise?"

"I promise." You whisper, a small smile tugging on your lips.

She leans in and kisses you. She wants time to stop. Tomorrow morning she'll have to go back and it's going to be another couple of weeks until she can see you again. So she doesn't dare to pull away from you. She wants to be in your arms forever.

Soon her tongue slides in your mouth, sinking into you. But it's not enough. Touching you isn't enough. Her hands move up and down your sides, squeezing your waist over your sweater. Or better, her sweater that you stole the last time you went to visit her. Her fingers graze your stomach and slides her cold hands under the soft fabric. Your skin perks up, a shiver running down your spine to Kate's electric and intoxicating touch.

"Katie..." You whisper when her lips detach for a millisecond. She just hums against your mouth, her hands sliding upwards. She knows you're not wearing a bra underneath.

"Darling..." You say again a bit louder but she continues. And right when her fingertips are about to reach your breasts, you stop her. She leans back from your face, her hands don't move, they're warm, now having stolen the heat of your body. She's looking at you with her mouth agape, she's slightly panting, her pupils are blown out and tendrils tickling your now rosy cheeks. "We can't do that right now."

She furrows her eyebrows and she's about to ask why when someone knocks on your bedroom door. "Y/N?" It's your mum. You totally forgot that on Sundays she only works in the morning. Shit. She tries to open the door. This is the only time you thank the gods for having a crappy and old apartment. The handle of the door is almost broken, so it's pretty hard to open it unless you know the right mechanism to not tear the knob out.

"Quick. Hide somewhere!" You tell Kate as she panics and jumps out of the bed. She looks around and then she hears a click. The handle slightly turns and the door opens. Kate crouches down and slides under your bed right before your mum walks in your room.

You quickly put all the pictures that were next to you on the bed under your pillow and smile innocently. "Hey, mum. What's up?"

"I've made tea, do you want some?" She asks.

"Uhm- no. Thank you. I'm fine." You fold your arms under your chest.

"Are you sure? You've been in here for the whole day. You need to take some breaks from those books." She points at your messy desk.

"Yeah, I know. I'm taking one right now. You know, laying in bed and- looking at the ceiling." Kate has to hold in a laugh for your lame response. "It's very relaxing. You should try it."

"Alright." She says reluctantly. She takes a step back when she notices Kate's backpack on the floor next to your bed. Fortunately her suit was on the other side so she couldn't see it. "What's that?" She points at the black backpack.

"Oh. That's uhm- Will's. He left it here yesterday." You lie. But it was pretty effective because Will actually came to visit you the previous day. He would never own a backpack like that but your mum buys the lie and nods. "Hm. Okay. Well, if you need anything I'll be in the living room. Your siblings want to see Cars again." She states and closes the door behind her.

"Okay. Cool, thanks. Have fun!" You hold your breath until you can't hear her footsteps anymore and pat the side of the bed. "Coast is clear." Kate rolls out from under the bed and lays on your bedroom floor, a smirk on her face. You sit criss cross on the edge of the bed and look down at her. "What?"

"You're right. It is relaxing watching at that nice and smooth ceiling." She mocks.

"Shut up." You dangle down one foot and lightly kick her on her hip. She fakes a hurt face and pouts. She stands up and now she's the one looking down at you. "So, I gather you haven't told her yet?" You shake your head. You did want to tell your mum about Kate. But you know she would freak out. She's... very protective, to say the least. The first time you heard of camp half-blood or the term 'demigod' was when you were 15. You didn't even suspect anything since monsters wouldn't attack as you weren't as powerful as some other demigods. So she took that as an opportunity to keep you safe next to her. But the time comes for everyone and one day, after a big fight with her, you sneaked out, walking all the way to camp. And it wasn't a nice little promenade at all with monsters attacking you left and right every single step.

You only reconciled after the whole thing about your dad getting transformed into a teenage boy. Now you were on pretty good terms again, but her protectiveness hasn't ceased that much.

"I want to. I really do but... She'll definitely ban me from going to see you." You look down. "If she even finds out that in those months I've been in another universe and not at camp she'll probably get into a coma." You scoffed.

"Yeah, but you're an adult now. You are way capable to make your own decisions." Kate sat down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

"I know. But the past months we became so close, more close than we've ever been and I don't want to ruin that again." Your eyes are fixed on your lap. You stop the urge to take your fingers to your mouth and bite your nails. Kate sees you getting anxious and she places her hand that wasn't around you over your hands. She speaks with a calm and smooth voice. "Hey, get those bad thoughts out of your head. In the first place, you didn't ruin anything. And secondly, I'm okay with you taking your time. I won't push you to do anything you don't want to." She kisses your temple and then presses your forehead against it.

You lean into her touch and exhale deeply. Then you turn your head, your eyes fix on her collarbone, the sun necklace you gave her is shining on her toned skin. You had a matching one, but with a little moon charm instead of the sun ("That way, it's like we will never be apart." Kate said when she gave it to you.). Then your gaze travels along Kate's features until you meet two oceans rumbling in front of you. "I really love you."

She smiles. "I love you too, baby." She pauses and her sweet smile turns into a cheeky grin. "So no head?"

You chuckle and shake your head. "Can't risk having my whole family hearing your pretty sounds." You peck her nose, making her scrunch it in an absolutely adorable way. "Those are only for me I'm afraid. I can propose some cuddling with a little make out session if you'd like." You suggest.

"Okay. That's fair." She nods in agreement. "Let's get started then, we have so little time and I have to tell you so many things." She climbs on top of you and gently pushes you down the bed. You giggle and your lips press together.

You stayed up all night. Talking about random stuff, taking breaks to make out, and chat again trying to maintain your voices and giggles as quiet as possible.

And it's in these moments where you understand that whatever happens, you won't ever let go of eachother. Because despite the distance you need eachother. The sun and the moon will always need eachother.

#kate bishop #kate bishop x reader #kate bishop x female reader #kate bishop fluff #kate bishop x you #fluff #marvel #hawkeye tv show #demigods #lucky the pizza dog #demigod reader #young avengers

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bandgie · 10 months

Note

Hey I saw your requests were open so I figured I’d shoot my shot. Can I request a fic Where Hyunjin really needs to pee and reader is joking around with him while straddling his lap and he keeps warning her that he needs to go but she thinks he’s kidding and he ends up peeing a bit and he feels kinda shy about it so reader tells him it’s okay to just let go while she’s on his lap. Then she starts grinding on him and he gets turned on and they fuck raw for the first time 😁

a/n: oh you're siicckk I love it

warnings: just read the ask man, MDNI 18+, established relationship, under the influence, fem!reader, dom-ish reader, soft dick hyunjin (lets fucken go), fluff mostly, PIV, no protection, come on you should know me by now!

1.4k words

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Maybe drinking wasn't the best idea. You could only imagine the pounding headache that would come in the morning. However, you couldn't manage to care enough as you sat on Hyunjin's warm lap. His hands were lazily placed on your hips, softly rocking them against his crotch.

Another bad idea in getting wasted was that neither you nor Hyunjin had explored each other much. The relationship was still new, but that didn't stop either of you from grinding up against each other late into the night.

Hyunjin could feel the excitement bubbling in his stomach. The feeling of your plush thighs on his, how your chest was pressed in his face. It sent a thrill down his spine to be this close to you, but there was a familiar pressure in his bladder that ruined the mood.

"Babe," his voice was velvety soft as he spoke. "I gotta piss."

You looked down at your lover. A confused look on your face as you replied, "Now?" He nods, looking at you like a dog who got his bone taken away. "Yes, now."

Rather than getting up, you grab the back of his head and force him between your breasts. He makes a mmf! sound then giggles at your behavior. "Babbeee," he drawls. "I really need to go." His hands tap your ass as an encouragement to get up, but you aren't having it.

"You just don't want to touch me," you pout. The alcohol must be getting to your head. You're not one to deny someone of relieving their bladder. Hyunjin, however, is too drunk to catch onto the playfulness of your tone. "Of course I want to touch you! I'll just go to the bathroom real quick and-"

Hyujin's cut off with a moan as you grind your hips down on him. You rock back and forth, trying to create some friction between the layers of clothes. "You can hold it." It's not a request, but a demand from you.

He shakes his head, "I really can't. We drank a lot. I'mma piss myself."

This makes you giggle, "Big boys don't pee their pants." You ignore Hyunjin's whines as you lift your hips just enough to remove your skirt. With your white underwear exposed, he can see the small patch of wetness that's accumulated.

"If you do wanna piss that bad, you can go here," you look down to your bare thighs. Your hands move from the back of his head to the front of his pants. He doesn't protest when you unbuckle his belt, zip down his zipper to pull out his soft cock.

You coo at the sight, grabbing ahold of his dick and running your thumb along the slight. "You really are drunk," you mumble. "Can't even get hard." Hyunjin looks both horrified and aroused. It's your first time seeing his cock, and he's flaccid. You, on the other hand, are beyond ecstatic to see it.

The warmth of your hand makes his hips jerk upwards. He groans. "Fuck, I'm gonna pee on you."

No matter how many times Hyunjin's warned you, you're still shocked to see a yellow stream emit from his tip. He tried to cover his cock, but you quickly slap his hands away. His piss lands on his jeans, leaking into the material. The warmth seeps onto your thighs, all the way down until your white underwear is stained with a yellow hue.

He moans. Moans when he sees you covered in his pee, his fifth. Hyunjin expects you to jump off his lap and run to the bathroom. He's waiting for your disgusted expression, but he's surprised to see a wide smile on your face.

You pump his wet cock, drooling. "Fuck it's everywhere. Peed on me like a dog, you're so hot." Some piss leaks from his cock as you stroke him faster. Your underwear sticks to your cunt, but you're certain it's more of his own fluid than yours.

Hyunjin whimpers, "I...You think it's hot?"

The uncertainty in his voice pulls at your heartstrings. Your boyfriend could do anything, and you'd find it endearing. He has you wrapped around his finger, and he doesn't even know it. "I think you're hot," you emphasize. "I need you in me now. I really wanna fuck you."

If Hyunjin was more sober, he would be horrified at the thought of having sex with you like this. He wanted your first time to be romantic. He wanted to take things slow and feel your body on his, completely nude. Still, he can't ignore the delight in how you pull your soaked underwear to the side.

His cock twitches in your hand. After his tinkle, Hyunjin feels himself getting hard in your soft palms. He helps you over his dick with his hands on your waist, slowly lowering you to his length.

Everything is so easy, so perfect when his tip breaches your walls. There's not an ounce of pain as he fills you up. You shiver and place your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself. "Mmm so good," you moan. "Deeper."

Hyunjin complies eagerly, shoving the remaining inches of his cock. It nestles snugly in your cunt, the head kissing your cervix. As much as you would like to bounce on him, you stay sitting fully on his dick. You want to feel how the curve of him hits every spot within you. How your walls tighten and squeeze around his unfamiliar girth.

It's only when you've begun dripping that you move upwards. A few inches of Hyunjin's length slip out before you slide back down. He slides effortlessly in you, stretching you wonderfully.

Hyunjin can't decide whether he wants to look at your face or where your bodies connect. He loves watching his cock disappear in you as you ride him, but he also loves your fucked out expression. How your mouth hangs open to moan uncontrollably, the way your nose scrunches when he thrusts his hips upwards, how your eyes look into his so dreamily.

"Fuck," Hyunjin groans. This might not have been the ideal way he wanted to make love, but he'll forever save the image in his mind. Imprint the feeling of your body on his. He'll immortalize this moment in a painting.

Both of you are too tipsy to properly fuck into each other. Your thrusts are sloppy and they don't match. Sometimes you have to stay hovering while he grinds upwards to you. The sounds of his thighs clapping against the back of yours echo in the house.

You throw back your head when he decides to use you to his liking. He bounces you on his cock like a fleshlight, eyes crazed. With your throat exposed to him, he can't help but lean forward to bury his face into your neck.

Without warning, he bites down. You cry out from the sensation, feeling his teeth pierce your flesh. The saltiness of your skin settles on his tongue and the primal taste makes his hips move rougher.

A warm sensation builds quickly in your stomach, and you find yourself flooding before you can comprehend it. The familiar pale yellow liquid spurt from your cunt, and sprays all over his lower stomach.

Hyunjin laughs tiredly upon feeling the liquid stream out of you. He pulls his head back and looks down, seeing the mess. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who needed to go."

You babble incoherently, jumble 'sorrys' and 'don't stop.'

He chuckles again and focuses his attention back on your dripping cunt. The extra warmth and wetness only push Hyunjin closer to the edge. His grip tightens on your hips and he drives into you. His balls tense and his cock twitches, and for a moment he thinks about pulling out.

But the way you're helplessly letting him use you and looking at him so endearing makes it seem as though you might get upset if he pulls out. So he doesn't, and he buries his cock to the base as he cums inside.

You thought it was impossible for you to feel wetter, but you're proven wrong. Hyunjin's cum shoots itself deep inside to claim you. You feel gravity pull his arousal down and out of your pussy, dripping onto his thighs and the couch.

Tiredly, you collapse on his chest. His arms wrap around you and pull you close, peppering your neck and cheek with kisses. Both of you find solace in each other's embrace, giggling and giving open mouth kisses carelessly. It doesn't take long for the cum and piss to get uncomfortable.

Both of you decide a thorough shower is much needed... and maybe another round.

a/n: this was pretty fun to write! little secret for ya'll, men can't piss during sex (unless they have a medical condition) so that's why I had him soft to pee. but tbh we need more skz soft penis appreciation. if you're with me say 'i'

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shall-we-die · 1 month

Note

Hello 😍

Can I ask you to write some headcanons for bsd? How would they act in a relationship with a s/o who was previously in love with fyodor? if you dont mind, please include Ranpo and Kunikida 🥺🥺

Thank you in advance and please, keep doing this amazing blog!!!!!!!

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{Used to love the Devil}

☰[Main list]•⊰ Bungo stray dogs

↬[A/N]•⊰ Hey darling🫂 How are you doing? Hope you are well and healthy.

Thank you for being patient so I can write your request and also thank you for giving me such kind words 💕

I hope you enjoy my writing. I'm sorry though, I can't write about characters I don't feel close to, I feel it's better to remove them than to have to write boring stuff for them.

╚═══════════════•⊰•°༄༚‌‌‌

[Atsushi]

If his s/o used to be Fyodor’s ex, Atsushi will likely have mixed feelings about their relationship.

On one hand, he may be curious about the nature of their relationship and how it ended. He may also feel a hint of jealousy or insecurity, wondering if his s/o still harbors feelings for Fyodor or if they compare him to their former partner.

On the other hand, he may be understanding and supportive, willing to listen to his s/o and let them share their past experiences with him.

After the initial shock of learning that his s/o had a history with Fyodor, Atsushi’s relationship with them will likely become stronger and more trusting.

He will likely appreciate that they were able to share their past experiences with him and feel that they trust and care about him enough to be vulnerable with him.

This may lead to a deeper emotional connection between the two, and Atsushi may feel more secure in his relationship with his s/o now as a result.

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[Dazai]

He knew (as always) He wanted to use you because of that, but he finally fell for you.

Dazai is not the type to get jealous, but thinking about seeing you with Fyodor will put him on the edge. Dazai is extremely protective of you.

Sometimes... he feels like you might leave him for Fyodor...

He tries to be very loving, very caring and protective.

He has a soft spot for you, he is very possessive and has trouble being without you.

He is also clingy,he is more physically affectionate than usual, he doesn't hesitate to shower you with.

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[Chuuya]

Chuuya would absolutely flip out over the fact that you're Fyodor's ex (dramatic choke on his expensive wine),

he'd have a complete mental breakdown, he's already extremely jealous, but knowing that his dear y/n was with a person like Fyodor... beforehand would only make his jealousy go up through the roof.

He'd be on edge all the time, he'd be pretty clingy, very possessive, wouldn't allow you to be alone with Fyodor, ever!

Extremely wholesome and sweet, yet quite intense. He tends to get very over possessive and jealous over her to the point where he can seem pretty controlling, but his heart is in the right place, his clinginess and possessiveness just stem from his deep insecurities and fear of losing the person he cares about.

But... he's a big romantic, who goes through great lengths and makes many sacrifices to make you when it's needed.

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[Akutagawa]

Well he would be very confused on how and why his s/o was Fyodor's Ex. Once he found out about it he'd probably try to figure out why they broke up and how long (or short) their relationship was.

He probably feels quite possessive, like he has a need of showing that now his s/o is his and not anybody else's and would be quite protective and a really jealous af.

After some time he'd probably still feel very possessive and protective, since they used to be with Fyodor.

He'd probably also be jealous as hell because why should his S/O stay with him when they also liked the rat man. (yeah he definitely calls him a rat man)

But his relationship with his S/O is overall not that bad, he's just very extra protective and clingy around them at times and also really really damn jealous.

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[Tetchou]

He would be in complete shock to say the least. He would feel that his s/o betrayed him by even getting with someone as dangerous as Fyodor.

That would also make him have a strong dislike for Fyodor. If he ever meets Fyodor, he knows he won’t be able to stop himself from trying to kill the man.

If it is straight after he found out, then he’ll have a cold and distant attitude towards his s/o, not really wanting to look or talk to them as it only brought him pain.

If it is after the pain has gone down, he’ll be back to his usual, more warm and calm mood towards his s/o. Still a little colder than before, but he’s trying...

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[Jouno]

Saigiku would constantly find himself comparing his s/o to Fyodor due to the thought of his s/o being previously together with him.

He would attempt to keep them close to him, refusing to let them leave his side for fear of them going back to Fyodor, to which he would get jealous.

As a result of these feelings, he would also act much more possessively and a bit more protective toward his s/o. As of now, his relationship with his s/o is more of a complicated, somewhat toxic dynamic.

Because of the feelings of jealousy, fear, and possessiveness, he has for his s/o, he can't help but act cold and snarky towards them while also keeping a careful eye on them, refusing to let them stray too far from him.

He wants to have them all to himself, which has made the relationship between them become strained.

His s/o, however, is not all that pleased at how the dynamic has changed between them.

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[Nikolai]

Nikolai would be quite insecure and try to compete (and get the better of) Fyodor to prove that he's the better partner for his s/o.

Nikolai would also definitely act more clingy than usual and try to cling onto his s/o to make his claim and make sure his s/o was really his, and not still interested in Fyodor.

Nikolai's relationship with his s/o is probably pretty good. Nikolai's a very affectionate and caring person, so he tends to be quite loving towards his s/o.

He'd probably be quite jealous, but in a cute way (it's a lie, he really wants to tear Fyodor apart).

Nikolai is a very clingy person and probably wouldn't leave his s/o alone, wanting constant attention from them.

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[Sigma]

Sigma knows that Fyodor used to have an ex. He also knows that Fyodor isn't the kind of man who ever had any romantic feelings.

Even though Sigma knows this, he still feels a pang of jealousy over the thought of his s/o and Fyodor being together at any point in the past.

Although he'll never admit it out loud, he always has that nagging feeling in the back of his head.

His relationship with his s/o is good, although he does still have a nagging feeling in the back of his mind about their former relationship with Fyodor.

He can't help but worry sometimes that if given the opportunity, y/n would choose Fyodor over him.

Even though he tries to push these thoughts aside, they still linger within him, and he has to work to suppress them. Despite this, he is genuinely happy being with his s/o and shows affection and love towards them.

#𝚂𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜–[📩]#𝙰𝚛𝚒𝚊'𝚜 𝙼𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚡–[📮]#bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd headcanons #bsd hcs #dazai osamu x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader #bsd chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #atsushi nakajima x reader #ryunosuke akutagawa x reader #tetchou suehiro x reader #bsd jouno x reader #jouno saigiku x reader #nikolai gogol x reader #bsd sigma x reader

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godmadeaterribleerror · 24 days

Text

Chapter 13 - The Terror of Knowing

Series Masterlist

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

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 12 - Chapter 14

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

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

A lot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you go?”

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

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

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

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

His frown deepens. “No.”

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

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

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

“Gift?”

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

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

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

“Passcode?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my shield.”

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

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

You blink. “What, the photo?”

He grunts in affirmation, still staring at the screen.

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

“With what. How did it get there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut it. Open the phone.”

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

“Ready to admit defeat?”

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

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

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

“Say you were wrong.”

“No.”

You shrug, “then I’m not fixing it.”

“Brat.”

“Cunt.”

“You’re fucking annoying.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Apps? What the fuck are apps?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking obviously.”

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

“Answer my question.”

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

“Porn? You use this for porn?”

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

“What kind of porn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes you snort. “I doubt that.”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No.

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yogurt and toast.”

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

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

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

“What were you thinking about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

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

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

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

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

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Lovely. Open your phone.”

“Why,” he grumbles, and you shrug.

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

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

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

“A text?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We ran out.”

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

“What about the yogurt?”

“You barely have any.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes him look up. “A hummingbird?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But your phone buzzes before you can.

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

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

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

You look hot when your being annoying

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

“That’s all you have to say?”

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

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

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

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

You sigh, but do.

Benjamin: Handsome Fucking Dumbass Cunt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I just think it’s hilarious.”

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

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

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

“So that’s a yes?”

“I didn’t say that.”

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

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

“I said huge fucking baby.”

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

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

“My point still fucking stands.”

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

“No.”

“What if I said please.”

“I don’t care.”

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

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

“You don’t know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Benjamin-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-“

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

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

His brows raise. “Strawberries?”

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

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

“No. Because this won’t work.”

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

“Maybe.”

“Then get a move on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which is really annoying. Cheating is easier.

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

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

“It didn’t work,” you say flatly.

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

You sigh. “It’s only 10:30.”

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

“You’re a fucking cunt.”

“You love it, brat. Go again.”

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

“Again.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you do it again?”

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

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

“What are you-“

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

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

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

“Again, that’s rude-“

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

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

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

“And whose fault is that?”

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

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

“Fucking shower!”

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not grumpy.”

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

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

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

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

You smile softly at the screen.

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

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

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

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

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

He scans your face. “Vanilla?”

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

“Shut the fuck up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was terrifying.

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

“What if I fucked a dog?”

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

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

“Did you fuck a dog?”

“No, that’s just an example.”

“Why the hell is that your example?”

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

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

“No, but that’s not the point-“

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

“Really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And you,” he winks. “Free you.”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

He does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a talent.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

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

“You dick-“

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

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. Try again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t something to worry about.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?”

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

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

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

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

“I’m still sor-”

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

You nod slowly. “No lies.”

“You done freaking out?”

“I wasn’t freaking out-”

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

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

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

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

His eyes flash. “Liked it?”

“Sorry-”

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

“All of it.”

“How much.”

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

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

“In the bathroom-”

“Did you cum?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Cun-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat.”

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

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

“Why does the whole room smell like vanilla.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking know about cameras-“

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

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

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

He scowls. “Shut up.”

“Answer my question.”

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

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

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

“It’s the front view.”

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

“For selfies.”

“Selfies?”

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

“Why would you need that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Social media?”

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

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

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

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

“Turn the camera.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is Instagram.”

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

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

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

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not if I just walk the hell away-“

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

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

“Candy Crush.”

“What.”

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

“I am not-“

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

“Spend money?”

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

“I’m being serious.”

You grin. “And I said okay.”

“Brat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Charming.”

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because She was perfect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sunglasses?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And their fucking families, Butcher.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you were. You always say that.”

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

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

“Be pretty, huh?”

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

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

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

“Is that a fucking yes?”

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

“Nice?”

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

“Say the whole thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween.”

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

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

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

“I am?”

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

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

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

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

“You’re good.”

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

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

“Oh,” She whispered. “Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

“I never fucking blow my load early-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m aware. He can.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not a new safe house?”

“Because.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“MM?”

“Standby to help Annie get people out.”

“Frenchie?”

“Fire alarm.”

She signed at Kimiko, who responded with a smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is fucking stupid, Sunshine.”

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

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

“Couldn’t if I tried. Go.”

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

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

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

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

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

“But-“

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

“Ben-“

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

“Show off.”

“You fucking told me to do that.”

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

“The top one, I think.”

“You think?”

“I’m like 98% sure.”

She sighed. “Then we better start climbing.”

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

“I’m not-“

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

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

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

“I don’t have my fucking phone-“

She tossed it at Ben wordlessly, raising Her brows.

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

“Ready?”

Ben grunted, and Cocksucker gave a barely perceptible nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Vicki-“

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

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

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

“Fuck no-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mom-“

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

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

“Well, uh-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cocksucker paled, “Vicki-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not fucking leaving you-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Get more unwelcome attention.

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

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

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

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

Something of Her, forever.

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

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

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