Midnight

By the end of the week, three shopping bags sit on your bed and your phone lights up.

Ben:

You alive in there or did shopping finally kill you?

-----------------------------------------------------

A smile pulls at your mouth before you can stop it. You're suprised he even knows how to use a phone.

You:

Barely survived.

-----------------

Three dots appear immediately.

Ben:

Proud of you, princess.

------------------------

Your stomach flips. Princess. He says it like it’s nothing. Like it’s harmless.

It isn’t.

You stare at the screen longer than you should.

You:

You know my dad would kill you if he knew you text me this much.

------------------------------------------------- Ben:

Your dad thinks emojis are spyware. I’m not worried.

-----------------------------------------------

You laugh out loud. He knows how to be funny. Atleast sometimes.

Ben:

You free tonight?

------------------

You hesitate.

You know exactly what this is becoming. Not official. Not said out loud. But Ben has started showing up for you. Not your dad. You. Coffee exactly how you like it. Jewelry because it “matches your attitude.” Dinner reservations under the excuse that “your old man hates sushi.”

And every time he brushes your waist or leans too close or calls you sweetheart in that rough voice, something in your chest tightens.

You:

Maybe.

------

Ben:

That a yes?

-------------

You bite your lip. Thinking.

You:

Depends what you’re bribing me with.

---------------------------------------

His response is instant.

Ben:

Use your imagination.

-----------------------

Heat rushes to your face. God.

You really shouldn’t be flirting with Soldier Boy.

Especially not when he flirts back harder.

He picks you up at eight. Because of course he does. Not a driver. Not instructions. Him. He’s standing at your door when you open it, leaning in the frame like he belongs there but then he looks at you and goes still.

“Jesus Christ.”

His eyes drag over your outfit.

You cross your arms, feeling slightly shy under his gaze. “What?”

“That dress should be illegal.” Your pulse skips. “You say that about everything I wear.”

“Yeah,” he says easily. “But I mean it this time.”

He holds his hand out. And after a second, you take it.

Which was a big mistake.

The second his fingers close around yours, your brain goes quiet, because Ben touches like he owns certainty. Like he expects the world to respond to him.

And the worst part?

You do.

Dinner turns into drinks.

Drinks turn into a rooftop bar overlooking the city.

“You’re spoiled, you know that?” you tease as he orders something ridiculous. Because what the fuck is 'The Sacred Mountains of the Pekingese Cloud Gods"? What kind of drink is that?

The place bends around him without trying. Staff move faster and people stare, while some recognize him. Ben ignores all of it, his attention stays locked on you.

He raises an eyebrow. “I’m spoiled?”

“You throw money at problems.”

“And?”

“That’s not the point.”

He leans in across the table. The space between you shrinks. “Sweetheart,” he says, “money exists to be spent. If I want to spend it on you, I will.”

Your breath catches. There it is again.

That.... shift. Heavier. Intentional. Less joke, more truth.

You look away first.

The ride back is quiet, and not comfortable. Tense.

Ben drives one-handed, city lights sliding over his face. He keeps looking at you. Every time you notice, your chest tightens. When he parks outside your apartment, neither of you move.

“Well,” you say finally.

“Wow,” he deadpans. “Compelling conversation.”

You huff a laugh, then the air changes again, making you quickly get out of the car.

“You know, I’m trying real hard to behave myself,” he says.

Silence snaps tight.

Your heartbeat stutters, feeling your palms sweat uncomfortably. “Who says I want you to?”

Then he reaches over, tucking your hair behind your ear, fingers grazing your jaw.

“So pretty,” he murmurs. You stop breathing.

Nobody looks at you like he does. Like you’re something he’s already decided on.

“Ben…” “Yeah, sweetheart?”

Your brain fails. And then you kiss him. It happens before you can think. Ben makes a low sound and pulls you closer to him instantly.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes against your mouth.

The kiss turns messy fast. Heat. Pressure. Months of restraint breaking. His hand grips your waist hard. Not rough—certain. You can feel how strong he is even when he’s trying not to overwhelm you.

“Been thinking about this,” he admits between kisses.

Your face burns. “Yeah?”

“Sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, “you have no idea.”

And you believe him.

But your mind doesent work fast enough anymore to comprehend that he just sank to his knees infront of you. Not until you feel his hot breath brush against your thighs, you squirm.

"wha-"

His rough hands tug at your skirt. "Need to taste you, Y/n." You only hear him mumble breathlessly, and with that, your skirt is off, bunched up on the pavement. Hes insane, does he really want to eat you out in the middle of the street? Feeling like he can read your mind, He licks a stripe of your clothed cunt, making you shiver. The air itself is fresh, so It clashes wonderfully with the warm wetness of his mouth on your pussy. Finally, he tugs your panties to the side and latches his lips to your sensitive clit, moaning against it. Freak. One of his fingers slowly inches inside your tight hole, but you open up with ease just for him.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and curls up his finger inside of you, making your hands tangle in his hair.

He keeps up the rythm until you finally come all over his tongue, leaving you panting.

After that, things escalate without ever officially changing. Because Ben appears everywhere.

Flowers. Packages. Jewelry boxes on your counter with notes.

'Buy something decent for dinner.'

'Saw this. Thought of you.'

Miss me yet?'

He remembers everything.

Your coffee and the way you take it. Your favorite snacks. The way you hate thunder but pretend you don’t.

On a cold evening, a storm brews up. The wind bangs against your windows as you cuddle up under a blanket. And just when you're about to turn on the tv to watch something, the power goes out. Great.

You always were scared of the dark- but you'll live! -right?

Well, twenty minutes later, there’s pounding at your door. Half-asleep and mildly irritated, you drag yourself over to open it.

Big mistake. Again.

Ben stands there soaked from the rain, takeout hanging from one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. You blink at him. “Are you serious?”

“You hate thunder.”

“I never said—”

“You didn’t have to.” He brushes past you like he belongs there, setting everything down on the counter while rainwater drips from his jacket.

“You remembered that?” you ask softly. It’s such a small thing. Barely worth remembering, really.

But he did remember. And somehow, that alone is enough to make the lump rise in your throat.

Ben pauses, glancing back at you like the answer should be obvious.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Well,” you mumble, “it wasn’t obvious to me.”

He walks past you without a word, slumping down onto the couch, leaving you standing there. 's not long before you're snuggled up in his lap tho.

Your dad notices the necklace first.

“Where’d you get that?” he asks quietly, but there’s suspicion tucked beneath every word.

Your hand instinctively rises to your throat, fingers curling around the chain. “It was a gift.”

“From who?”

The question hits sharper than it should. Who does he think he is? “Why do you care?”

“Because I didn’t buy it.” Before you can answer, Ben speaks from the couch.

“I did.”

The room goes still.

Your dad turns slowly toward him. “You buying my daughter diamonds now?” Ben shrugs, completely unbothered. “It’s small.”

“It’s still a diamond.”

“And?”

Silence streeeeeeeetches. Your dad looks between you and Ben while suspicion settles in.

Then Ben says, calm as ever, “She’s worth it.” Your stomach drops. Your dad only exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ, Ben.”

But he doesn’t throw him out, not yet, atleast.

Later, you find Ben standing in the kitchen, staring into the fridge like it personally offended him.

“You need to stop,” you say immediately.

But he doesn’t even look surprised. “Stop what?”

“That.”

“What?”

“Looking at me like that in front of him.” Now he looks at you. “Like what?”

You open your mouth—

—and absolutely nothing comes out.

A slow smirk pulls at his mouth.

“That’s what I thought.”

“You’re impossible.” “And you’re cute when you’re mad.”

Heat rushes to your face. You turn to leave before he can see it, but his hand catches your wrist instantly.

You freeze. “You nervous?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

“Liar.”

With barely any effort, he pulls you closer until you’re standing between his knees.

Too close. Always too close.

“You trust me?” he asks. That hits differently.

You swallow.

“Yes.” Something shifts in his expression then. Not softer.

Worse.

Serious.

“Then stop panicking.”

Warm. Heavy-

His hand settles at your waist.

“You think I’d let anything happen to you?”

Your throat tightens, and you cant answer.

"...No. i wouldn't. Now c'mere."

"....you know 'm not gonna stop spoiling you."

He murmurs, setting you down on the counter.

Its gonna be a long night.

Ending 's so unsatisfying, sorry guys....

The message sounded similar. Always some variant of ‘we should give them something real to write about ;)’ 

He took great pleasure in flying you over slowly. Your body’s durability doesn’t come even close to your teammates in the Seven. Your brain has always been your selling point. While you will stop a bullet, you won’t survive Homelander’s speeds. It means, however, that he gets to keep you in the air for longer, talking your ear off about the plans he has for your relationship.

A relationship that isn’t there, mind you. Yes, you fuck on the side. Yes, you could admit to yourself that you care about him. But actually committing to a relationship? You’re not sure you can do that. 

Homelander quietly lands you both on top of a shipping container in the quiet part of the New York harbour. It’s just past midnight, this place is eerily empty compared to how busy New York usually feels. 

You’re on a mission to apprehend a rogue supe that Vought can’t sink their claws into. You have very little information on her besides that she has an amateurish understanding of chemistry and makes unstable concoctions and gases. This definitely feels like a Black Noir job but Homelander insisted you two take the case. You had no choice but to smile and nod at the team when it came to your agreement.

“Couldn’t you have landed us on the ground?”

“Mh no, I can see better from here.” You shake your head and roll your eyes to yourself as you properly stand up, brushing your hands down your sides to get rid of the bunched up wrinkles in the suit Homelander’s hands pinched into it during the flight.

You go to the edge of the container, jumping off as smoothly as you can but the thick heeled boots still make you stumble.

“Baby deer.” You hear a sneer from above you where Homelander has adopted his stupid little pose, condescendingly looking down at you.

“Suck my dick.” You throw him a finger and find your footing. “And be quiet. We’re meant to be discreet. You should have let Noir take this.”

“And miss my best kitty’s claws? Fat chance of that.”

You lose interest very quickly. You’re really not sure what you’re meant to do here. Your mind powers only work to a certain range. You can’t just seek out minds in the surrounding areas and affect them with the same ailments. Unlike Homelander, you’re not a fan of collateral damage. 

You walk around aimlessly, taking care to not make much sound as you look through shipping containers or around corners but it all feels pointless.

Homelander is still standing where you left him, scanning the surroundings with his super-powered vision.

“Nice underwear.” He snorts behind you once he finally sets his feet down on the ground.

“You jackass, you’re meant to be scanning the area.”

“Well you kind of are in the area, babe.” He gives you a mean little smile when he tucks his hands behind his back, puffing his chest out in front of you. You don’t know why he bothers to taunt you all day long.

You walk away to create distance more than to secure more of the area. But you’re here to do a job after all. The city pays a hefty bill to have the Seven focus its efforts on supporting the forces ensuring the city’s safety. 

Not much left for you to do now besides check the shipping containers. Surely Homelander hasn’t scanned them all. Some of these must be zinc-lined. Twenty minutes go by and you’re ready to call it quits so you can send the actual professionals suited for this mission in.

Opening the last container you patrol, you get hit with a pungent, eye-watering gas. You gasp and stumble, choking on red fumes that burn their way through your nostrils.

Homelander gets to you before you even have a chance to call for him. He pushes you back and away, confidently stepping into the metal crate before your wispy little “no” becomes audible.

God your head is spinning. Your heart feels like it’s gonna beat out of your fucking chest. Supporting yourself on the cold metal walls you wobble as much as your legs take you—which isn’t far.

Your forehead is so hot—are you getting a fever? You press yourself to the cold metal, grateful for the chilly air of the night. You slide down, settling down on the hard concrete ground. You can’t calm down, no matter how much you focus on your breathing to slow down your heart rate, it’s not happening. You feel wrong. Holding out your hands in front of you, you see how shaky your limbs have gotten. Your skin itches all over. It’s like the fumes have reached underneath your suit—underneath your skin—and infected every part of you. 

This is not how you wanted to go. You can’t even say you’ve gone out protecting anybody. And the last thing you would’ve done would be calling Homelander a jackass.

Homelander. The thought of him alone makes your forehead break out into a sweat, veins burning with strange tingling heat from head to toe. You can’t breathe in without the fumes messing with your senses. It’s like all you can smell is the unfortunately all too familiar scent of clean musk, ozone and vanilla. Your mouth waters.

The hissing zap of lasers just about registers to your ears. Same with slamming of metal doors and creaking of metal sliding across sheets of equally heavy metal. It would’ve been grating to your ears if the thought of Homelander’s lasers didn’t make your head spin.

Now that you think about it, they’re really sexy. Ruby red eyes shining with the power nobody can hide from. Reality doesn’t feel the same anymore, you’re hazy. Has the world always looked this dreamy?

The quietest, “what the fuck,” reaches you. Homelander’s heavier, rougher groan follows right after. Has his voice always sounded this good? You tilt your head towards the empty shipping container where it all went down. You can’t see him, but the sound of his voice playing on repeat in your head has you trembling. A shiver runs all the way down your spine to the strong and sensitive nerves of your pussy.

What the fuck?!

It’s your turn to be shocked when the shameful wave of heat rolls through you again. Homelander groans again in the background and you barely manage to cover your mouth to hide the obscene moan that your body lets out. This wasn’t you doing it. You don’t act like this for him. You want to avoid playing the role of a needy slut who has to perform—regardless of how much he enjoys the thought of that.

That thought brings you back to two nights ago when you answered a booty call. Anytime Homelander has you over you refuse to fuck on his bed—it’s too intimate—so you sat on his lap, riding him through a couple orgasms.

Oh, how you want that. How you want to feel his thick cock inside you, his strength wrapping its arms around you, holding you down until he has his fill of your warm wet walls. 

Your pussy aches. It throbs so painfully you push your palm against it, as if to quiet it down. Not that it fucking works. You wipe your forehead. You don’t really understand what’s going on. You feel so… wild—it’s so unlike you. 

Shaking your head just makes you so dizzy so you lean ahead, bare palms biting into concrete when you catch yourself from falling onto the ground completely.

The metal creaks again and you look up just in time to see Homelander exit the now half-melted crate—thankfuckinggod he’s alive. He seems even worse off. As soon as he catches your eye he whimpers and groans, stumbling his way to you.

Oh god, he’s coming closer to you. Your heart is racing impossibly fast, your vision swims with past memories, vivid feelings and replays confusing your brain's concept of reality. You’re almost losing the control of your powers. You can’t even tell if you’re doing the same to Homelander.

“Oh fucking Christ.” Homelander finally reaches you, falling heavy onto his knees in front of you, leaning his entire weight against you when he sobs with the relief of feeling you close to him. You would do the same if you didn’t think that your sobbing wouldn’t stop right after you started.

“What the fuck is going on?” You’re barely coherent but he’s not listening. He pushes you closer to the metal wall behind your back, limbs thrown over each other as he dirtily licks into your mouth. Sucking your lips open so he can do what you can only describe as eat you alive.

“I need—” his whimper is cut short with an actual sob. His breath hitches, chest and hands shaking with each breath.

In a desperate attempt to pull his gloves off he ends up ripping them apart, the leather pulling apart as easily as he shreds metal. Once his hands—his beautiful hands, fuck, you want them on you so bad—are free he cradles your jaw with a need you haven’t seen before.

It’s sloppy kissing at best and messy rubbing of your lips at worst. Neither of you are very capable kissers at this moment. You don’t want to pull away, you don’t want him to ever pull away. So your kisses are just a messy exchange of saliva, tongues deep and wet in each other’s mouths with heavy hot breaths warming your already hot faces.

Homelander’s hand goes down your body, greedily squeezing a handful of your tits, prodding and poking at every part of your body just to feel close to you. You’re shaking with energy you don’t understand. Every nerve ending on high-alert, buzzing for the next touch. 

Just as his fingers press into your clit, rubbing up and down the through pool of wetness in your suit you shriek into his mouth—biting his lip in the process. Any ordinary man would’ve bled from that.

“No! Fuck! You’re-you’re making it worse!” The desperate throbbing of your cunt is only made worse by the tease of his slender gorgeous fingers rubbing the fabric of your suit. Looking at him now you notice that his lasers are still subtly on. The flecks in his irises highlight his face in red.

Have you ever noticed how gorgeous he is? Sure, you’ve always been aware that Homelander is an objectively handsome man but have you really looked? 

His eyes twitch and squeeze, desperate heavy breaths making their way out of him. His hands are equally shaky, if not more than yours.

He nods repeatedly. “Yea-yeah, okay.” He sniffles, angrily wiping a frustrated tear off his cheek. Just seeing him like this makes your cunt squeeze, oozing slick into the already drenched fabric of your underwear. He sniffles again, this time he inhales deeply. Like a predator he zeroes in on the target. 

Your pants and underwear get ripped off you in one go, and before you get a chance to think about it you’re getting hoisted up. Your thighs get thrown over his shoulders, back pressed into the metal wall as he pins you against it with speed and need you’ve never seen.

“Homelander what—” 

Homelander’s hot tongue immediately latches onto your pussy, groaning into the feeling of your hot flesh against his tongue. He gulps you down, noisily drinking down your pussy as if it was an ice cold water on a hot summer day. 

 “Do the thing,” he’s muffled by your pussy but you figure out exactly what he means.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I don’t think—I don’t know if I can control it.” It’s your voice’s turn to break. He’s holding his tongue against you in a firm position more than he’s licking you. Just like his fingers, it’s simply not enough. You try to wiggle against his tongue further to feel what your body so inexplicably craves but you can’t. His arms are holding you firmly in place.

Homelander tilts his head back. His subtle lasers illuminate his wet lashes. “Puh–please… I need—fuck—I need to come so fucking bad. I need you to help me. Please, pleaseplease help me through it.” He’s so choked up you almost feel awful for how hot that makes you feel.

You nod, unsure if he can see you particularly well through the mix of similarly hazy vision, laser distorted sight and the wet lines on his waterline.

Your powers still feel hazy, like you can’t quite grasp them in your mind. Like sand between your fingers they’re slipping through and you don’t have the fine control you usually possess. This means you don’t actually know what’s happening to Homelander’s brain when you meld your minds’ sensations together. You don’t know if it’s enough—what if it’s too much?

You’ve never experimented with what too much does to someone else’s brain.

You might be on your way to finding out because Homelander moans so obscenely as soon as he licks up your cunt you shamefully squeeze your thighs around his head. Not one to be deterred, his thick wet tongue gathers all your juices—swallowing down as much of you as he can.

Pretty blonde—now messy—hair sticks out in between your thighs as he laps at your cunt, licking up to your clit in fast bursts. He’s panting—scalding hot breath meets your already pulsating warm flesh. It’s almost too much, you’d feel like writhing away from him in any other circumstance but the fume-heavy cloud in your head urges you to push closer, urges you to dig your fingers into his hair and ride his tongue as hard as you can.

It’s no surprise that your orgasm comes quickly and explosively.

You’re not thinking about him but Homelander must come with you with the way he sobs into your cunt, sucking onto your clit in the rhythm of your orgasmic waves. He must feel every single throb of you in his own cock. You wonder how much he’s filled his cup.

He leaves your pussy red and raw, licking you furiously into two more consecutive orgasms, neither of which dull the sharp fume-enhanced nerves.

Staying in the fumes longer than you have must have dealt larger damage. The belt clicks loudly, falling on the concrete floor. He’s pulling his cock out, giving himself a couple strokes—but like his fingers on you, it’s not enough. He pulls your shaky quivering thighs off his shoulders and he sits you down on his cock.

“Don’t stop—I wanna feel you. I need to feel how you feel. Please let me feel it.” You didn’t even realise you’ve stopped broadcasting your pleasure to him, utterly focused on the stretch of his cock pushing into your orgasm-relaxed cunt.

You have no strength in you left to move, let alone perform, so you fall with your head against his shoulder and you let him fuck you—all while broadcasting each stroke of his cock inside you straight to his overstimulated brain.

He’s always been an intense lover but this is to a level you don’t think you could ever survive in normal circumstances. Though you’re not sure he could either.

He buries his head into your neck as he pushes his hips up, sharp shaky moves rattle up your spine, nerve endings slowly lighting up down your limbs as the next orgasm doesn’t afford you its usual waiting time. These orgasms have stopped feeling like a wave of pleasure after a stressful day and more like a temporary relief stopping you from losing yourself to the madness of your clouded mind. 

“I love you, you know that?” He muffles into your neck. He gently nips at the flushed skin of your neck. You can’t stand it. It’s too much. It’s all too much. Your eyes prickle with tears and you shake with a sob.

“I love you so fucking much.” He breathes against you again with a heavy sob. Your neck feels wet. “You’re the only one—the only fucking one—who doesn’t-doesn’t fucking cower in fear, who doesn’t cry when I say one mean fucking word. Fffuck. I—fuck—I love you so much.”

You don’t know what to say. You’ve barely allowed yourself to come to terms with your care for him. You can’t just—

“I think I love you too.” Your own heavy tears surprise you. Your words surprise you even more. Do you? Is this honestly you speaking or is it the fumes messing with your head. Can you trust yourself now? How will you two walk away from this? How will you see this tomorrow?

None of those questions need answering now.

So you let him rock you harder, gasping into your neck as he spills his come deep inside you, warming you from the inside out.

It doesn’t end there. You both fuck your way through the whole night. He has you on all fours, pushing himself—still thick and hard—inside you from behind, leaning his chest across your back as he barely has any leverage to pull out before he stuffs you fuller.

It feels like nothing will ever be enough. You suck his cock three times, get fucked in the air twice and against the wall once. It ends with a missionary position, however uncomfortable on the hard concrete floor. Your bodies are as close as you can handle and that’s all that matters.

When the dawn breaks you both finally see things clearer. The haze is now a dull throb at the back of your mind, no longer taking over all of your senses. You’re exhausted. You need a couple of showers and a two-day-long sleep.

“Hm, get off me.” You murmur when his heavy hot body still lies on top of you after your last shared orgasm. You’re stuffed to the brim, hot, red, and overstimulated to the point that even if you had pants to put on, they’d hurt.

What was it with him and making it his mission to ruin all of your suits?

“Not what you were saying earlier.” He grumbles back but there’s no real bite to it, he’s equally exhausted. Hair messy and sticking out all over the place. 

“I said many things.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you did.” He looks at you knowingly but you don’t want to get into it now.

Not that he’d ever allow that. “Did you mean it?” He does slowly pull off you and out of you, tucking his soft and equally spent cock back into his pants, belt clicking back into place.

His gloves are ripped and useless, though he still takes the scraps and tucks the fabric behind his belt so as to not leave any evidence.

“Do we have to do this now?” 

“Yes.” His eyes meet yours. You avoid them.

“I guess, maybe? Yes? I don’t know. My head isn’t very clear right now.” 

“Make it clear then, that’s your whole shtick.”

“Jesus, can I catch a breather please? I thought I was going to die today.”

“Fine. I just—I wasn’t kidding. I wouldn’t. Not about something like that.” You give him a sad smile. You know he’s speaking the truth. You don’t need to probe his head for it either. You just don’t know if you’re able to give him what he needs.

You don’t know if the extent of your love will ever be enough to feed the bottomless beast that resides inside him. You’ve seen glimpses of it at times. You’re scared to get formally introduced.

“I know.” You lean in to kiss his forehead. “Can we get out of here first? I don’t want anyone to find us like this.”

“Yeah, yeah we can.”

He can be a gentleman when he chooses to be. He takes his cape off and wraps it around your bottom—though it’s the least he can do after he ripped your pants into pieces a couple hours ago.

“Hey, what happened to the supe?”

“Ran away.”

“At least one of us is lucky then.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” And with that he sets off, taking you both home.

You’re not sure where this is going to take you. You’re not sure you’re ready for it or if you even want to be there for the ride. But after tonight you know, you won’t be able to hide from him for the rest of your life.

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

-“If those numbers aren’t on my desk by tomorrow morning, I swear to God—” Then the line had gone dead. So now you were here. Alone. Again.

You pushed into your office with a sigh, dropping your bag beside the desk before bending to search through the disaster of paperwork scattered across the surface.

The storm outside rattled faintly through the windows.

Your phone buzzed. Maya. You answered immediately, relieved for the distraction.

“Hey.”

“You’re still there?” your friend asked. “It’s ten at night.”

“I forgot the reports.” “Again? Jesus. That place is killing you.” You laughed weakly, rubbing at your eyes. “Tell me about it.” You could hear traffic on her end, muffled music in the background.

Normal life.

Outside life. For a second, you envied her so badly it hurt.

“You still coming tomorrow?” she asked. “Brunch. Eleven. Don’t cancel this time.”

“I won’t.”

“You said that last week.”

“That was different.”

“You always say that.” You opened your mouth to answer—

—and froze.

There was someone standing outside your office.

Tall. Broad shoulders, still as a statue behind the glass wall. Your stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt.

The hallway lights reflected faintly off the blue of his suit.

Homelander. You stopped breathing.

Maya was still talking through the phone. “…and if your boss says anything, tell her to go fu—” You hung up instantly.

His eyes followed the movement. Even through the glass, you could feel it. That unbearable pressure of his attention.

Then he smiled. Slowly. And pushed open the office door.

“Hi.”

Your throat tightened immediately. “H-Homelander.” He stepped inside casually, glancing around your office like he belonged there. Maybe he did.

Everyone in the building belonged to him in some horrible way. “You’re here late,” he said.

You forced yourself to straighten. “Just finishing reports.”

“For Ashley?” You nodded. A flicker crossed his face. Barely there. Displeasure.

“She works you too hard.” The way he said it made your skin prickle. Not sympathetic. Possessive. Before you could answer, he glanced toward your phone still sitting on the desk.

“Who were you talking to?” “My friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

Too fast. You hated how fast you answered. His smile widened slightly.

“Good.”

The room suddenly felt very small. You tried to laugh politely, but it came out thin and nervous. “Did you need something?” Homelander walked slowly around your desk instead of answering immediately, fingers brushing over the edge of the wood surface.

Calm. Relaxed.

Like a predator already certain the prey wouldn’t run. “I noticed you’ve seemed stressed lately.” Your pulse started climbing. “I’m okay.”

“No,” he said softly. “You’re not.” He stopped beside you. Too close. You caught the clean, expensive smell of his suit, something sharp beneath it like static in the air before lightning strikes. “You look tired,” he continued quietly. “You skip lunch half the time. Your shoulders tense every time your phone rings. And every morning you come into this building already anxious.”

Your mouth went dry.

Because those were things no one should know. Things no one could know unless they’d been watching. Homelander tilted his head slightly when you didn’t answer.

“I pay attention to you.”

Something cold slid down your spine. The storm cracked outside, thunder rumbling through the glass.

You took a careful step backward.

“I should really finish these reports—”

“Ashley screamed at you today.”

You froze.

His expression didn’t change.

“She made you cry in the bathroom afterward.” Your heart started pounding so hard you could hear it.

How did he—

“She shouldn’t have done that,” he said, and the softness in his voice scared you more than anger would have.

You swallowed hard. “It’s fine.”

“No,” Homelander murmured. “It isn’t.”

The office lights buzzed faintly overhead. Outside the windows, lightning flashed silver across the city skyline. Then Homelander reached up and touched your face.

Gentle. Careful.

His thumb brushed just beneath your eye like he was handling something fragile. You should have moved away.

You knew you should. But shock rooted you in place. His voice dropped lower.

“People are very cruel to you.”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly. Not because he was right. Because nobody had ever said it out loud before. Everyone always acted like you were overreacting.

Too sensitive. Too emotional. Too weak for the industry.

And now the most terrifying man on earth was looking at you with something dangerously close to tenderness.

“I can take care of it,” he said softly.

Alarm shot through you immediately. “No.” His eyes sharpened slightly.

“No?”

“You don’t have to… do anything.”

Silence. Then that smile returned. Pleasant and artificial.

“You’re scared of me.” Your stomach twisted. Because denying it felt impossible.

Homelander watched your expression carefully, and for one horrible moment you saw something wounded flicker underneath his calm facade.

Not guilt, neither shame. Loneliness.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said quietly. The words should have comforted you. Instead they made your pulse spike harder. Because you suddenly understood that he wanted you to believe him.

Wanted it badly. You stepped away from his hand carefully. “I should get back to work.”

For a second, the room went still. Completely still. Then Homelander smiled again and stepped back.

“Of course.”

Relief flooded you so fast your knees almost weakened. He moved toward the door.

Stopped. Without turning around, he asked:

“Why do you flinch every time someone raises their voice at you?”

Your breath caught and he glanced over his shoulder. Those bright blue eyes pinned you in place effortlessly.

“I hear things,” he said softly. And then he walked out.

—

Three days later, Ashley disappeared. Nobody explained it. One minute she was storming through meetings throwing binders and screaming at assistants, and the next her office sat empty with the blinds drawn shut.

People whispered about scandals.

Transfers. Rehab? Nobody knew.

But the new department head smiled at you too much and approved your vacation request without even reading it. And every time you passed security downstairs, people suddenly avoided eye contact.

Like they knew something you didn’t.

By Friday, you couldn’t sleep. Every tiny sound in your apartment made your heart race. You kept remembering Homelander’s hand against your face. That awful gentleness.

The way he’d said “I can take care of it.” You told yourself it was coincidence, because it had to be-...It had to be.

Until Saturday night.

You were standing in your kitchen making tea when your phone buzzed with a text from Maya.

you:

Running late. Some creep followed me off the subway lol

You frowned immediately.

you:

What?

No response. You stared at the screen. One minute. Two. Then your phone rang. You answered instantly. “Maya?”

Static and heavy breathing. Then a man’s voice.

“Cute friend you got.” Ice flooded your veins. “What the fuck—”

The line disconnected.

You grabbed your coat so fast you nearly dropped the phone, panic rising sharp and ugly in your chest as you rushed toward the apartment door—

—and found Homelander standing outside it, making your entire body lock up instantly. He looked immaculate as always. Cape draped perfectly behind him. Hair untouched by the rain. Like he’d stepped out of a commercial instead of into the hallway outside your apartment at eleven-thirty at night.

“Don’t panic,” he said calmly.

You stared at him in horror. “My friend—”

“She’s fine.”

“How do you know that?” He smiled slightly. “I handled it.” your blood ran cold once again.

“What did you do?”

“He scared her.” Homelander shrugged. “So I scared him more.” The hallway suddenly felt suffocatingly narrow.

You backed away instinctively. “Did you kill him?Homelander’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly.

Not anger.

Confusion. Like the question itself was unfair. “He touched someone important to you."

The word hit hard enough to make your stomach twist. “You can’t just murder people!”

“Why not?” The sincerity in his voice terrified you. Genuine confusion. As if morality simply worked differently for him.

You shook your head, breathing unevenly. “You can’t solve everything like that.” Homelander stepped closer slowly. “You were terrified when you opened that door.”

You said nothing. “And then you saw me,” he continued softly. “And part of you relaxed.” Your chest tightened immediately because he was right. You hated that he was right. He watched realization cross your face and smiled faintly.

There it was again. That look. Like he was learning you piece by piece.

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore,” he murmured. The rain battered against the apartment windows behind you. Your pulse hammered painfully. Homelander reached up carefully and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with unbearable softness.

“I take care of the things that hurt you,” he whispered.

And standing there in the dim apartment hallway with fear tangled so tightly with relief you couldn’t separate them anymore— you realized that was exactly how he wanted it.

The first thing you noticed was that the building had become quieter around you. Not all at once. Not enough to alarm you immediately.

Just slowly, subtly, over the course of a few weeks after Ashley disappeared. Conversations stopped when you walked into break rooms. Coworkers who used to dump work on your desk now smiled too quickly and told you not to worry about deadlines.

People moved out of your way in the hall.

Even the security guards downstairs straightened when they saw your ID badge, suddenly polite in a stiff, nervous sort of way that made unease crawl beneath your skin every single time.

At first, you tried convincing yourself it was coincidence.

Then one morning, you overheard two assistants whispering near the elevators.

“—I’m telling you, he watches her.”

“Shut up, are you insane?”

“I saw him leave her floor last week—”

The elevator doors opened before you could hear more. The moment they noticed you standing there, both women went pale. One of them physically stepped back.

Like you were dangerous too.

By the time you reached your office, your hands were shaking hard enough that you spilled coffee across your desk. You stared at the spreading stain blankly. Your heart wouldn’t slow down. Because deep down, beneath all the rationalizing and denial, you already knew.

Homelander. Everything kept leading back to him. The promotions. The sudden kindness. The fear in everyone else. You pressed trembling fingers against your forehead. This was insane- You needed distance, and space- and something normal.

Which was why, by six-thirty that evening, you were sitting in a tiny Italian restaurant downtown across from Maya, trying desperately to force yourself back into reality.

The restaurant smelled like garlic and wine and fresh bread, warm light glowing softly from little candles on every table, and outside the rain drizzled steadily against the windows while traffic blurred red and gold across the wet streets.

It felt normal. And safe. Thank god. Maya was halfway through complaining about her boss when she stopped abruptly and frowned at you over the rim of her wine glass.

“Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”

“Sorry.”

“You look exhausted.” You stared down at your untouched pasta. The knot in your chest had been there for days now. Tight. Constant. Every time your phone buzzed. Every time someone looked at you strangely at work. Every time you imagined blue eyes watching from somewhere above the city.

Maya leaned forward slightly, concern softening her face.

“Is this about Vought?” You hesitated. Too long, thats what makes it obvious. Her expression shifted immediately. “Oh my God. It is.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Bullshit.”

You laughed weakly, but it came out strained. Maya lowered her voice. “Did something happen?” You opened your mouth. Then stopped.

Because how could you even explain it?

I think the most powerful man in the world has become obsessed with me.

It sounded delusional. Worse—it sounded impossible. And yet every instinct in your body had been screaming danger for weeks. “I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I need to quit.”

Maya blinked. “Then quit.” “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?” Because he would notice. The realization slid into your mind so naturally it made you feel sick.

Homelander would notice, because he noticed everything. The thought alone made your pulse jump. Maya stared at you carefully now, really looking. Then her expression changed. Not fear. Recognition. “You’re scared.”

You looked away immediately. Outside, headlights smeared across the rain-streaked windows. “I’m just stressed.”

“No.” Maya’s voice softened. “You look terrified.” Something sharp tightened painfully in your throat. Because she was right. You were terrified. Terrified in that exhausting, constant way where your body never fully relaxed anymore, where every shadow felt watched and every silence stretched too long.

And somehow the worst part wasn’t even fear of what Homelander might do to you. It was fear of what would happen if he suddenly stopped paying attention altogether. That realization horrified you enough that your stomach twisted. Maya reached across the table and touched your hand gently.

“Hey. Talk to me.”

Warmth spread suddenly behind your eyes. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone normal to touch you. Someone human.

Your voice came out small. “I think something’s wrong with me.” Maya frowned immediately. “What?”

“I keep…” You laughed shakily. “I keep thinking about him.” The words tasted poisonous. Maya went still.

“Who?” You already regretted saying it, but exhaustion cracked something open inside you.

“Homelander.”

Silence. Not the comfortable kind, but the heavy kind. Maya stared at you for a second like she genuinely thought she’d misheard. Then

“…Homelander?” You nodded once, humiliated instantly.

“He keeps showing up and talking to me and I know it’s weird and I know I should report it or something but every time he looks at me I feel like I can’t think properly anymore—”

You stopped abruptly, breathing unevenly. Maya’s face had gone pale.

“You need to stay away from him.”

“I know.”

“Y/n, I mean it.”

“I KNOW.”

Several people glanced over, making you lower your voice immediatly, and Maya leaned closer across the table.

“Listen to me very carefully. Men like that— men with power like that— they don’t get attached normally.”

Your stomach dropped once again, because attached was exactly the word you'd been searching for- Not 'interested' nor 'flirting'.- attached. Like something tightening around your ribs day by day. Maya squeezed your hand harder.

“This is how it starts.”

Fear curled sharply through you, traveling from your toes to your chest.

“How what starts?”

But Maya never answered- because suddenly the restaurant went silent. Instantly.

With conversations getting cut off and forks being set down, the air itself seems to tighten, and your blood turned to ice before you even looked up. Maya’s grip on your hand loosened slowly. Around you, people stared toward the front windows. Toward the figure descending from the sky outside the restaurant in a blur of red, white, and blue.

Your heart stopped.

No.

No no no—

The entire restaurant watched as Homelander landed lightly on the sidewalk beyond the glass, cape settling behind him in perfect waves despite the rain- People immediately started reaching for phones. Someone whispered- “Holy shit…”

Maya looked at you. Really looked at you. And the horror that crossed her face made your stomach lurch. Because she understood instantly.

Homelander smiled the moment he saw you through the window. Not at the restaurant, but at you. That terrifyingly soft expression spread across his face like he’d finally found what he’d been looking for.

Then he walked inside. The atmosphere changed the second he entered. The restaurant owner rushed forward nervously. People stared. Nobody breathed properly. But Homelander ignored all of them. His eyes stayed on you the entire time, fully focused.

“Maya,” you whispered urgently, panic clawing up your throat, “don’t say anything.”

Too late.

Homelander reached your table smoothly, smiling down at you like this was some perfectly ordinary surprise visit.

“There you are.” Your pulse hammered violently. “How did you know I was here?” He tilted his head slightly.

“You told someone at work you were getting dinner downtown." Jesus fuck, had he been listening then too?

Maya slowly pulled her hand away from yours under the table. Homelander noticed immediately. Of course he did.His gaze flickered briefly toward her before returning to you.

“You left work early,” he said softly. “I was worried.” Worried. The word wrapped around your lungs like silk. You could feel the entire restaurant staring. Maya sat rigidly beside you now, fear written plainly across her face.

"i have to use the bathroom." She excuses herself quietly. Traitor, leaving you with him. Homelander noticed that too. And smiled. Not in a polite way, just Patient. Like he understood something she didn’t yet.

“You seem tense,” he murmured to you. No shit, your voice barely worked. “I’m fine.”

“No,” he said gently. “You’re frightened.” The way he said it made heat creep shamefully into your chest. Like he was the only person observant enough to notice. Like fear itself had become intimacy between you.

Homelander crouched slightly beside your chair then, bringing himself closer to eye level, and the entire restaurant seemed to disappear beneath the weight of his attention.

“You know I’d never let anything happen to you,” he said quietly, and your throat tightened.

Because part of you believed him completely. That was the worst thing. Not the fear. Not even the obsession. It was the unbearable safety you felt whenever he appeared. Like no matter how terrifying he was, nothing else in the world could possibly touch you while his eyes were on you.

Homelander saw something change in your expression then. He saw it happen. His smile softened with slow, terrifying satisfaction.

“There she is,” he whispered.

And you realized with sudden horror that he was watching you become dependent on him in real time.

Just waiting.

By the time Maya returned to the table, your head already felt strange, Like the entire evening had slipped sideways into something unreal while you weren’t paying attention.

Homelander had moved back slightly by then, posture relaxed again, one arm hooked lazily over the back of your chair as if he’d always belonged there, as if seeing the most powerful man in the world sitting in a tiny downtown restaurant beside an ordinary Vought employee was somehow normal.

But nothing felt normal anymore. Not the way people stared at you now. Not the way your pulse reacted every time his attention settled fully onto you. Not the awful, humiliating relief spreading slowly through your body whenever he spoke in that low, gentle voice.

Maya sat down carefully, eyes flicking between the two of you. You could tell she’d been crying in the bathroom. Shes always been an emotional person. Her mascara looked slightly smudged beneath the dim restaurant lighting. Guilt twisted sharply in your chest. Because she looked scared.

Not for herself, but for you.

Homelander smiled at her pleasantly. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” she answered too quickly. You noticed she didn’t look at him anymore when she spoke. Only at you, like she was trying to communicate something silently.

Run. Leave. Wake up.

But then Homelander’s hand settled lightly against the small of your back beneath the table and every thought scattered instantly. The touch wasn’t forceful, and that was the problem. His fingertips barely rested there at all through the fabric of your dress, warm and steady and impossibly careful, yet the moment he touched you, your body reacted before your mind could.

The tension in your shoulders loosened, your breathing slowed and Homelander felt it happen. You knew he did because his thumb stroked once, slow and approving.

A tiny movement. Still your stomach flipped violently. Maya saw your expression change.

Horror flashed across her face immediately, if thats even possible at her current expression anymore. You looked away from her first because you hated yourself for that.

Dinner ended not long after.

Nobody argued when Homelander quietly insisted on taking you home.

How could they?

Outside, the rain had gotten heavier, pouring silver beneath the city lights while crowds gathered along the sidewalk behind barricades and security trying desperately to catch a glimpse of him. Phones flashed constantly. People shouted his name. But Homelander barely acknowledged any of it.

His focus stayed on you as you stepped outside beside him, arms wrapped tightly around yourself against the cold night air. The second the rain touched you, Homelander frowned.

Then his cape settled around your shoulders, making you feel warmer immediately. It smelled like him.

“You’ll freeze,” he murmured.

The crowd noise seemed distant suddenly. Muted. Like the entire world had narrowed down to the warmth wrapped around you and the terrifying softness in his eyes.

You should have refused.

Instead your fingers clutched the edge of the cape tighter around yourself automatically.

And Homelander smiled. God, that smile. Not public, an' not performative. Atleast he makes you think that.

Maya stepped closer quickly before you could move.

“Text me when you get home,” she said firmly. Too firmly. Like she was trying to remind you of something. You nodded immediately. “I will."

Homelander looked between the two of you, quietly observing, or rather analyzing. Then he asked softly-

“Do you always worry this much about her?” Maya stiffened.

“She’s my best friend.”

At that, something unreadable crossed Homelander’s face, its gone almost instantly. But you felt his hand press slightly more firmly against your back. Possessive.

Maya noticed too, And you could see fear rise behind her eyes again. Then Homelander smiled warmly at her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll take good care of her.”

The words should have sounded reassuring.

Instead, they landed like a threat.

Maya heard it too. You saw it in her eyes.

But before either of you could say anything else, Homelander’s arm wrapped around your waist. The movement was smooth and natural enough to almost seem casual. Except the second he pulled you against his side, your entire body locked up from the sheer overwhelming awareness of him.

Strong.

Not human.

His hand rested securely against your hip while the rain poured harder around you, the city glowing gold and red beneath blurred stormlight.

“You ready?” he asked softly near your ear. Your throat tightened. What is he talking about?

“For what?” His smile deepened slightly, and then the ground disappeared. A startled sound tore from your chest as the world dropped violently beneath you, wind rushing past in freezing waves while the city exploded into dizzying lights below. Your fingers grabbed his suit instantly. Instinct.

Homelander laughed quietly at the reaction, one arm tightening around you effortlessly as he carried you high above Manhattan. “Easy,” he murmured. The sound of his voice vibrated through his chest beneath your hands. You couldn’t breathe properly.

Not from fear alone, no-...just, from him. From the overwhelming closeness of him.

Rain whipped through the air around you while clouds swallowed the city lights below in silver haze, and you buried your face against his shoulder automatically as another gust of wind hit.

Immediately, Homelander’s expression softened.

“There you go,” he whispered, too soft for a disgusting Manipulator. Like he liked seeing you cling to him. Like he wanted it. The realization made heat twist low in your stomach despite the terror.

You hated- no, despised- how safe he felt.

Hated how his arms around you made the rest of the world disappear completely.

The penthouse came into view slowly through the rain.

Massive windows glowing gold high above the city.

Isolated & untouchable. Your stomach flipped hard at the sight. Because suddenly, horribly, it didn’t feel like he was taking you home. It felt like he was taking you somewhere that belonged to him.

Somewhere above everyone else. Into his Nest.

Homelander landed smoothly on the balcony, barely jostling you despite the force that cracked faintly beneath his boots.

But he didn’t let go immediately afterward.

His arms stayed around you.

Keeping you close against him while rainwater slid down the sharp line of his jaw and the city glittered endlessly beneath the storm behind him.

For a second, neither of you spoke, not being able to.

You became painfully aware of your hands still gripping the front of his suit.

Of how close your bodies were.

Of the way he was looking at you.

Not hungry. -actually, hungry. Really fuckin' hungry. Your pulse stuttered unevenly.

“I should go home,” you whispered.

Homelander’s eyes searched your face quietly.

Then very gently, he brushed wet hair back from your cheek.

“You don’t want to be alone tonight.”

The words wrapped around your exhausted mind so softly that for one horrible second, you almost nodded.

Because after weeks of fear and confusion and pressure and loneliness—

the thought of leaving him suddenly hurt. He saw the exact instant your expression weakened, and something dark and deeply satisfied flickered behind his eyes.

Not victory, just ownership. His thumb brushed slowly across your cheekbone.

“Come inside,” he said quietly, knowing just what tone to use. Not a command- worse. An invitation he already knew you wanted to accept.

Lightning flashed across the sky behind him, illuminating the enormous penthouse windows glowing gold in the dark like something beautiful and dangerous waiting with its mouth open.

And after a long, trembling hesitation—

you followed him inside.

He did it. You're his perfect girl now.

His touches became softer. He lingered. Held you closer, spent more time with you than necessary. Instead of drinking from you when you were asleep, Astarion would find an excuse to be in your tent whilst you were still awake, as if wanting to hear you ask again and again if he was in the mood for a nibble.

Astarion started sharing more of himself with you, telling you of what he had been through over the past two centuries. And you realised that perhaps to Astarion you being there for him, standing up for him, seeing him as a person, was novel and very welcome.

When Astarion confessed, nervously telling you of his deception, his guilty conscience not allowing him to take advantage of your affection for him any longer, you assured him that being with him was enough.

More than enough.

With you agreeing to abstain until he felt ready to resume the sexual part of your relationship, Astarion seemed to come to enjoy just being with you, exploring intimacy that other forms of touch brought.

You felt giddy every time you asked for a kiss and Astarion agreed most enthusiastically. Kissing you deeply, both his hands squeezing your butt tightly, kneading the soft flesh in a way that had you both moaning into the kiss.

Lae’zel would roll her eyes and march past you with a huff, muttering something unsavoury under her breath about istiks and their peculiar mating rituals. Her words would go completely ignored.

Shadowheart would smirk and pretend to be annoyed, remarking that if they were to be subjected to seeing you be all over each other, at least some change in repertoire would be nice.

Gale would suggest that for the sake of the others he would be more than happy to teach you to cast Silence.

You were not really sure why everyone assumed that you and Astarion were doing more than share each other’s space. It never went past kissing. And perhaps a little under the shirt action. Just as you agreed, you gave Astarion space and time to figure out what he was comfortable with. The two of you would hold hands, cuddle up to each other, share heated looks and sweetest kisses that made your toes curl. And without fail Astarion’s hands would eventually be touching, patting, squeezing, playfully slapping, or pinching your ass.

So, it really was not that much of a surprise when you woke up one fine morning with Astarion rutting against your clothed backside. Now, whilst you had no issue with your vampire enjoying himself, having explicitly stated to him on several occasions that you were game for whatever he would come up with, you were not entirely sure what to do now.

Should you just stay still? Judging by how his pace was picking up and the way his gentle grunts were becoming more audible by the second, Astarion would be done soon. He was clearly so lost in the moment and eager to chase his release that he didn’t even pick up on the change in your heartbeat.

Most of the time you slept like a log. It would take wildebeest stampeding past your tent for you to stir. Which is probably why Astarion, having made plenty of quips and jokes about your almost impressive ability to fall asleep in any place as soon as your head touched the bedroll, was not being particularly careful about being quiet.

Yes, staying still was probably best. If you were entirely honest, Astarion wanting you so desperately was doing wonders for your confidence. And the moans and muffled grunts, his cool fingers on your hips, soft curls tickling the back of your neck, got you hot and bothered in seconds. You two weren’t intimate in... a while. And whilst this was not exactly how you thought you would next be intimate, you'd take it.

And then you felt your nose itch. What started as a just little itch that had you scrunching you nose in annoyance was becoming worse by the second. Oh, hells! You were going to sneeze!

You tried to turn your head ever so discreetly to the side and rub your nose against the bedroll. Surprisingly enough, even you moving got absolutely zero reaction from Astarion. And this would be the end of your predicament if you were anyone but the unluckiest woman in all the realms.

Your violent sneeze was like a clap of thunder on a still night.

As you blinked your watery, bleary eyes, you realised that Astarion stopped, the fingers gripping your hips no longer there. You gulped, not really sure what to do now that it was abundantly clear to the both of you that you were very awake and very aware of what was happening moments ago.

“Do you want to tal-”

“I’d rather not,” he interjected quickly, and you felt him moving away from you.

Panicking, you grabbed onto his sleeve, making him still.

“Are you really so adamant on prolonging this unbearable moment?” Astarion asked tersely, making you wince. Yet your fingers did not lose their vice-like grip on the fabric.

“Or do you want to tell me all about what you think of my disgusting, despicable behaviour?”

“I- I don’t think it was disgusting,” you cleared your throat, a blush blooming on your skin. “Not even a little.”

“I was kind of… into it,” you admitted with some reluctance. Because what kind of person did that make you? A very sexually frustrated one, that’s for sure and certain.

“Oh?” you heard the lilt in his voice as he lowered himself back onto the bedroll, settling beside you but not quite close enough for him to touch your back. Realising that you were still holding onto his sleeve, you let go, his arm moving out of your line of sight as soon as your fingers were no longer holding on.

“Why?”

The question caught you off-guard. You didn’t really want to tell him the truth. How embarrassing to admit that you would jump through hoops for his attention, even after him telling you explicitly that you were ‘well and truly taken’.

“Do I have to answer that?”

“No. But I would prefer it if you did, my sweet.”

The endearment made you relax a little. Picking up on it, Astarion drew your body closer, one hand settling back on your hip. You shivered as you felt that he was hard still.

Reigning in your raging libido, you reminded yourself that you were not to jump his bones and were to remain a perfectly well-functioning adult about this. You’d tell Astarion what you felt without giving yourself away so much that he’d feel pressured into anything.

“I don’t expect any physical intimacy. I love what we have. I love you,” you said truthfully. “But um… You being lost in the moment, being so feral about it… It felt nice.”

“My rutting against your ass like a hormonal hound would with a bitch in heat? I’m sure it was a magical moment,” he quipped sarcastically.

“Oh, you don’t have to make it sound that hot,” you laughed and put your hand on top of his cool fingers, running your fingers along his knuckles in soothing, comforting strokes.

“What I mean, it felt good to be desired, wanted by you.”

Your awkward confession and gentle touch got him to relax a little, you could feel it when he put his chin on your shoulder. You could also feel something else that you would very much wanted to press into. On top of. Around. You were not picky.

But you stayed very still. And that was pure, sweet torture.

“Make no mistake, I want you constantly.” Astarion’s cool breath tickled your skin and set it ablaze. “If it were up to me, there would be far less adventuring and helping out those pesky refugees, and far more time spent feverishly enjoying each other.”

He sighed and kissed your exposed shoulder. You grasped onto whatever restraint you had and pressed your lips together.

“But it seems that it is not up to me,” he went on. “So, when my trance was interrupted by you moaning my name in your sleep, I felt a stir. And I just- just went for it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I doubt that I was thinking at all. Not with you making those delicious sounds and you being so close. I apologise.”

“Astarion. I love you. And I did tell you on more than one occasion that I’d be happy to try anything. Consider this as us trying something new.”

“What happens now?” Astarion murmured.

“What do you want to happen?”

You didn’t get a reply. Licking your lips, you decided that perhaps a gentle suggestion would not hurt. Astarion knew that he could say no. That you would never hold it against him.

“If you like, we can pick up where you left off.”

“Meaning?”

Well, it definitely wasn’t a ‘no’. There was a distinct huskiness to his voice that made you feel that perhaps it wouldn’t be the worst thing to tell him exactly what you thought.

“I think that you should finish what you started.”

“Tsk, naughty. Who knew that you would be into something like that?”

“Who knew that you were so into my ass?”

He snorted and muttered something that sounded like ‘not yet’.

“Dearest, have you seen how leather lovingly cradles it? Nothing is left to the imagination. I can scarcely tear my eyes away long enough to fight whatever horror is sent after us!”

He was moving again and you bit your lip to stifle your moan, wondering if you could angle your body to get friction where you most needed it.

Astarion noticed. Of course he did.

With a breathy chuckle, you felt his fingers move fabric aside, sliding into your underwear.

“Allow me,” he grunted into your ear.

“Such a gentleman,” you sighed, spreading yourself a little wider to give him more to work with.

“Of course! How callous would it be to leave a lady… wanting,” he punctuated the last word with a thrust of his hips. “Although, one cannot help but wonder, what were you dreaming about that had you moaning my name, hm?”

“What was I doing to you, dearest?” Astarion asked and moved his clothed erection against the swell of your ass, his fingers circling your clit with light, unhurried movements. You bit your lip harder, not wanting to alert the whole camp to what was going on. Astarion adored the blush that overwhelmed your skin.

“Oh? Don't feel like talking right now? How about I guess. Let me see… was I gentle? Did I whisper sweet nothings into your ear as I took you slowly?” Astarion teased, lifting himself a little off the bedroll so he could see your face better.

Hm. No change in your heartbeat, no spike in arousal. Clearly, that wasn’t it.

“No,” you confirmed his suspicions, “you were not.”

“Naughty,” he clicked his tongue and gave a pleased chuckle. "How absolutely delightful.”

Astarion’s thrusts took on a different rhythm to match the increasing speed of his fingers working you.

“So, I was rough, wasn’t I?” He pressed a fang against the hot skin of your neck, biting down on sensitive flesh without breaking skin.

“Yes,” you squirmed and pushed back, making his eyes slam shut. You shivered as a strained groan tore itself from his lips.

"Fuck," he hissed, releasing your neck to put his lips on a pulse point.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Must have slipped," you said grinding yourself against the bulge beneath the leather. Because you were past the point of reasoning and definitely way past having any restraint. Astarion spoke of not wanting to be treated like he was made of porcelain. Perhaps pushing back just a little would be exactly the right way to show that you weren’t walking on eggshells around him.

Astarion’s ruby eyes narrowed dangerously, yet a smile curled his lips.

"Do you really think you can play me so easily?"

"Oh, no. I would never!" Your gasp was so theatrical it made him bark a delighted laugh.

"Ha! Trying to outplay me, dearest? Well, it is not going to be that simple.” Astarion purred and tilted your head, so you'd look him in the eyes. The expression on his face was as arrogant as it was tantalisingly attractive.  “I am always the one in charge when it comes to playtime, you'd do well to remember that, my sweet."

He nipped your shoulder blade, humming in satisfaction at the shiver this elicited.

"If I recall correctly, you were in the middle of telling me your dream."

Ah, yes. You did remember that he wanted you to talk. Talk whilst he was overwhelming you with sensations, his nearness, his scent, just his everything. Sure. You could probably manage to string some words together.

“You were rough.”

“We’ve already established that.”

 And perhaps to another, more merciful being, that would be enough to let you off the hook. Astarion was hardly known for being merciful.

His fingers slowed down, making you thrust your hips forward. Astarion clicked his tongue and nipped the exposed skin of your shoulder, “Go on, dearest.” 

“It was after a battle, you were still in your armour.”

“I’m glad that I am such a consummate lover I needn’t even strip.”

“Sex dreams don’t have to make sense, alright?”

“No, dear,” he chuckled. “I’m so very sorry, do continue.”

“There isn’t that much more to it. I woke up before we actually… well. But um-”

Oh, you might just as well go for it. Astarion knew full well that he was intoxicatingly handsome. What he didn’t know was when exactly you found him most attractive.

"I- I enjoy seeing you fight."

“Would that be a danger kink, by chance? Do you want me to take you in the middle of a battlefield? Or should I feel worried over your throwing looks at others, hm?”

"No, it’s you. Every move so precise and purposeful. Your muscles straining, metal singing against metal. You are beautiful, and sensual, and confident, and powerful."

“Go on,” he whispered with a quietness that was at odds with the possessive way he griped you. You felt Astarion grind against you. Slowly, indulgently. The hand not working you moving from your hip to your ass to give it a tight squeeze that would definitely leave a mark.

"I see you and I marvel at your tenacity, the stubborn set of your jaw as you refuse to give in. Your curls tainted red, your eyes set on your target as you strike with cruel precision."

“My, my, who knew you were harbouring such fantasies. Such deviousness under that sweet façade. Only you could care for such a monstrosity.”

“No,” you cut him off sharply. “You are not a monster.”

You licked your lips as you thought of how to make him understand.

“You are many things. My friend, my confidant, my lover, my protector. I’ve never had that before you. I trust you. And that-,” you whimpered, eyelashes fluttering, a tear rolling down a heated cheek.

“Yes?”

“And that makes me want you even more,” you admitted as you saw stars, Astarion’s fingers not breaking their rhythm, sending a wave after wave of pleasure rippling though your body. Finally, his hand stilled.

You panted, turning your head enough to the side to rest your cheek against his cool one. Closing your eyes, you let your body sag against his.

“I take it you enjoy dangerous things, darling?” Astarion whispered into your hair.

“Most pretty things are,” you forced out between breaths. “And you are the prettiest, handsomest rogue I’ve ever seen.”

"Love?" Astarion shifted and moved, and you felt his fangs graze the sensitive flesh of your neck.

"Yes."

Please.

He bit down to take long, greedy gulps, both his hands clutching you to his chest. Having been told that he could taste how you felt made you wonder, what secrets was your blood revealing? What sensations he drew into his own body from yours with every gulp?

"Clothes off. Now.” Astarion ripped himself away from you, not wanting to overindulge and leave you weak.

"But why? I thought you wanted-"

"Love, I don't always know what I want. But this is one of those times when I do."

Suddenly, Astarion was gone, making you whine in protest.

“Underwear off,” he commanded whilst fumbling with his clothes, his voice raspy because of the emotions he was struggling to contain.

You were more than ready for this. But you were feeling cheeky. So, with a smirk, you lifted yourself off the bedroll until your lips were an inch from his, your warm breath on his cool skin.

"A lady likes to be asked."

He gritted his teeth but relented. "Please, love."

"Tsk, don't pout, Star. Was it really so hard?"

"No. But this is,” he snatched your hand and put it on his length, giving himself a few strokes with his fingers clenched tightly around yours. “So be good and do as I say. Off."

You felt a shiver dance down your spine as he called you a good girl. He was playing dirty, and he knew it. This time you obeyed almost instantly, fingers shaking as you took off your smallclothes.

As soon as you discarded them, Astarion was behind you again, naked from the waist down. You turned your head to look over your shoulder, taking in his face.

Desire, need, lust.

He stared at you like he was desperate to have you. Perhaps in a way he was. You gulped, feeling giddy and excited, and also very pleased with yourself for choosing to wear a cotton slip to bed.

Angling your arm a little awkwardly, you reached for Astarion and your thumb flicked over the sensitive tip, making you gasp when his hips surged forward.

“Touch me again,” he ordered when your hand began to leave him.

“But I-I want to feel you inside.”

“Soon. Good girls who wait get fucked best, didn’t anyone tell you that?” Astarion taunted, though he knew that he was the one suffering.

His mind was clear, he was present, his eyes on the face of the one who loved him so tenderly and fiercely. He wanted to fuck you into the bedroll right there and then more than anything in his life. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to have a little fun with your first.

“Touch me, I know you want to.”

Perhaps you did, but that was beside the point.

“I need you, Astarion. Please.”

“Soon. Get to it, love.”

No matter how much he willed himself to stay still, Astarion’s hips jumped as your hand went up and down his length, moving to cup his balls and caress them with gentleness that had Astarion cursing himself for not just giving in.

“Astarion,” you whined, not quite recognising your own voice.

“Fine.” One arm wrapped around your waist, he pushed you back down against the bedroll. “Since you ask so nicely, I will indulge you.”

You were going to snap at him, but then whatever what you were going to say turned into whimper when you felt the tip of his dick rub against your entrance. You were still sensitive, and a shiver ran through your body at the slightest contact.

He gave a few shallow fucks before finally, finally giving you what you wanted.

Astarion dropped his head onto your shoulder as his hips began to grind and roll. His cock slid deeper, flexed against inner walls. He pulled out, slamming back into you and enjoying every soft hitch in your breath.

“You’re so tight. Fuck,” Astarion groaned out, nestling into your neck as he picked up pace.  “I won’t stop anymore, love. I can’t stop,” he admitted huskily. He no longer had the strength to control himself.

Astarion parted your legs to give himself better access and tore at the cloth still covering your body, the fabric tearing under his rough treatment to expose one of your breasts.

“Astarion!” Your protest turned into a whine.

“I’ll buy you a new one. I will buy ten,” he chuckled darkly and kissed your back.

“I’ll make sure to remind you,” you hissed and moaned, feeling a hand cup your breast and move to roll a nipple between long, dexterous fingers.

You were so, so close. It was maddening how well this man knew exactly where to touch you.

And then his hand was gone and you felt Astarion withdraw abruptly, leaving you concerned and panicking.

Was this too much? Was he- Oh! Oh.

Whatever thought you were about to have next died a swift death as Astarion’s tongue flicked between your folds, your throaty, desperate moan encouraging him to continue.

His tongue thrust forward, and then again, and again and-

“Astarion,” you half-sobbed, face falling forward. You held the pillow against your mouth to try to silence whatever obscene sounds you were about to make.

Legs shaking, fingers gripping the pillow so hard that your knuckles turned white, your second orgasm hit you hard, Astarion not stopping until he saw that you were finished.

Rising a little on shaking hands, you took a few steadying breaths.

“What happened to ‘I can’t stop’,” you managed.

“I slipped.”

You gave an inelegant snort and turned weakly to face him, legs and arms trembling. Astarion grinned at you cheekily, finding that he rather enjoyed how much of a mess you were. Hair mussed, clothes torn beyond repair, the red imprint from where you pressed the pillow into your skin, and the way you could barely hold yourself up.

He did all that. And he was not even done with you.

Astarion lay down onto the bedroll, pulling you down beside him, hands snaking round your middle and holding you close.

"I want that, you know," you felt him exhale. "I want to be the man you see," Astarion whispered, face hidden in your hair, as he entered you with utmost gentleness. Pausing briefly he just lay next to you and enjoyed the sound of your still ragged breath, the rapid heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You felt his hand trace patterns on your waist as it moved down, settling on the swell of your hip.

And then Astarion was moving again. Slow, so toe-curlingly slow at first. Then a touch faster, settling into a rhythm.

"You already are. You are strong.”

“Yes.”

He was speeding up, this time ready for his own release.

“You are free."

He moaned and whimpered, hips stuttering, thrust turning desperate.

"I love the man that you are."

He bit down on your shoulder and you winced as fangs peirced skin, rivulets of blood staining what was left of the cloth that barely covered you.

"I love you, Astarion."

He thrust once, twice and then again and- oh. Astarion fucked you through his orgasm and then more still, until he felt himself grow soft, his spend trickling down between your bodies.

He drew in a breath he didn’t need and shuddered as the last wave of pleasure coursed through his body.

"That was amazing," you lifted his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles.

“Well you have to say that now, after you had your way with me so thoroughly,” he said with an air of a virgin defiled by a rake.

“Are you saying that it was me that seduced you?” You turned your head to see him grin.

The nerve of that man!

“As if you didn’t know what you were doing to me when you wore that,” he pointed a finger what used to be your sleepwear, “to bed.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” you huffed.

“Perhaps then I should give you-”

“Will you two fuckers stop fucking already, it’s too early for all this!” Karlach bellowed from her tent.

“Gale?” Shadowheart groaned in dismay, probably wishing she put her tent up further away from Astarion's.

“On it.”

“Did he just cast Silence on us?” Astarion heard your voice in his mind.

“I believe we were a little too loud.” The elf wiggled his eyebrows at you as you felt him make use of the tadpole.

“This is mortifying,” you groaned and tried to hide your face behind your hands.

“Well, if they needed their beauty sleep, should have told the wizard to cast the spell earlier,” Astarion shrugged, looking completely unapologetic, and slapped your ass, delighting in your surprised squeak. “Besides, we can be as loud as we want now.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“I do not kid.”

“Astarion! No!”

“Yes.”

He rolled you onto your back and started kissing from your collarbones down to your breasts.

“No,” your voice had a little less conviction, weak hands pushing back silvery curls and tracing the tips of his ears .

“Yes.” Astarion lifted his head for a moment, ruby eyes filled with adoration, only to continue his descent.

“Oh, fine,” you gave a happy sigh, feeling him hum against your skin in approval.

You knew that you should probably feel chastened now that you knew you cost your companions precious hours of sleep, but you felt floaty and content, and far too well-fucked to feel too guilty. You would deal with the inevitable looks and comments later.  And then Astarion did that thing you liked with his tongue and you did not give anyone another thought for quite a while.

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the rapid swell of his length isn’t making this any easier. every time you make progress trying to take him, he only grows even larger inside you.

“you’re the one who begged for this earlier. i want it, too. but you have to help me—i can’t do it on my own, caleb. you've always helped me, haven't you? always been there to look out for me. can’t you do it again?” 

swallowing thickly, he admires you through half-lidded eyes. when you push your lips into a pout, he nods slowly. giving in like he always does.

nerves alight, he wills his hips to drive three feeble thrusts into your heat. it’s a rare show of weakness from him, but even his lacking efforts make you slide farther down. 

of course, your mixed arousal dribbling down his length does most of the heavy lifting.

“more,” you urge. “more. we’re almost there.” 

“i can’t.” he’s almost delirious now. “so, so tight. feel like i can’t breathe.” 

“do it. you don’t want to disappoint me, do you? if you do, you might not get the chance to make it up to me.”

“no…no.” ardent as it is, his refusal is soft. he’s crashing quickly, devoting his waning energy to blinking the tears out of his eyes rather than projecting his voice. “never.” tensing for a moment, he gathers all his strength and rolls his hips, slow and deep, into your center. you accept him greedily, hissing through the dull sting until the rest of your weight falls on his throbbing length. once you’re fully seated, the scandalous slap of skin on skin echoes through the room. his desperate moans and a string of curses follow. 

finally, finally, you feel so incredibly whole. 

you moan, lewd and lascivious, and lean down to kiss the center of his chest. 

“was i good?” he asks, rapid pants fanning the crown of your head. “you feel so good. is this good?”

when you raise your head, he sits up on his elbows, eager to kiss your lips in grateful reciprocity.

it doesn’t take much to dodge him. grinning, you splay your hand across his now flushed chest and push him back down, earning a whiny, defeated groan. sinking impossibly deeper, you give his nose a conciliatory peck.