#dad!ben

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard your footsteps and gave you a look that felt like it dragged teeth down your spine—slow and biting.

“Well, well,” he muttered, voice still scratchy with sleep. “Thanks for finally gracing me with your presence, Mrs. America.”

You blinked, still groggy. “Good morning to you too.”

He turned back to the pan like he hadn’t just delivered a line meant to sting. “Made you breakfast.”

You stared.

He said it like that was normal.

“I—thanks,” you offered cautiously, stepping further into the kitchen. You were still in your robe, hair half-damp and skin clean and soft and smelling like the expensive soap from the marble tub upstairs. The idea of a bath, and prolonging the journey out into the apartment, had been too tempting. You could feel his eyes drag over you. 

He slid a plate across the counter toward you—eggs, bacon, toast blackened on one side—and didn’t even look at you when he said if. “Eat. You’re too goddamn skinny. No more skippin' meals, not on my watch.”

You choked on a laugh. “I eat.”

“Not enough.” He brought the joint to his lips again, taking a long drag before dropping his hand again. “I like a little meat on my girls.”

“Your girls?” you echoed, lifting an eyebrow as you moved to sit.

“Yeah,” he said plainly. “Ass, tits, thighs—I like somethin’ I can grab on.”

He didn’t apologize. He didn’t explain. He just poured you a cup of coffee—the real kind, thick and black and strong smelling— and slid it across to you like it was a peace offering.

“Just sayin’,” he added after a beat, “I wouldn’t mind seein’ a little softness on those hips. Can't have you eatin' like a little bird once you're knocked up either.”

Your cheeks burned hot. 

“Ben,” you warned, but there was no bite to it. You were smiling.

He leaned against the counter, watching you like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. When you picked up the fork—slowly, a little self-conscious now—he let out a pleased hum.

“There she is,” he said. “That’s my girl. Good appetite, bare feet in my kitchen… fuck, sweetheart. You’re a vision.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping it would tamp down the blush still going strong on your cheeks–it didn’t. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m romantic,” he countered, deadpan. “Old-school.”

“You’re high.”

He laughed then—low and rich and golden, head tipping back slightly. “Also true.”

You smiled. Couldn’t help it. It was all absurd. Surreal. But somehow… oddly sweet.

Ben finished his joint, stubbed it out on a chipped ashtray, then stretched like a cat—arms over his head, abs flexing, pants riding low enough to show the start of that sharp V of muscle.

You looked away too fast and took a sip of coffee.

He caught it. Of course he did.

“Well,” he said casually, his voice a low drawl, “I’m gonna go shower.”

You looked up, a small polite smile already present. “Okay.”

And then, slow and deliberate: 

“Feel free to join me.”

Your eyes widened just slightly. He smiled. Lazy and pleased.

“Or just come sit and keep me company,” he said, voice dipping low. “I don’t mind an audience. You can even keep the robe on if you want. Or don’t. Dealer’s choice.”

You laughed—quiet, startled, but real.

Ben winked, “see? I’m gettin’ there. You’re startin’ to smile when I flirt with you.”

“I’m not—” you started to protest, but you were still smiling.

He grinned, turning toward the hallway with a stretch and a low groan. “I’ll leave the door cracked. Just in case.”

You watched him disappear down the hall, and the heat in your face didn’t fade for a long, long time.

You didn’t follow him. Not then. 

But the warmth stayed in your chest all day. The sound of his voice. The lazy charm of his grin.

You stared at the empty doorway for a full minute, heat crawling up your chest. You picked at your toast.

You weren’t sure what you were feeling.

…Later that night…

The hallway was quiet. That rich, echoing kind of quiet that made everything feel heavier. It was dark, late, which made it feel even more forbidden despite the fact you lived here. You were grown. Married. 

The soft pad of your bare feet against the hardwood barely registered over the rush of your own pulse. You felt warm beneath the silk of your nightgown, skin buzzing like it knew what was waiting behind that door. Your fingers brushed the hem of it once, twice—nervous, uncertain, a little aching.

You weren’t even sure what you were doing.

Just… saying goodnight.

That’s what you told yourself. You were doing what any good wife would do, right? 

You paused in the doorway. He’d left it cracked, just like he said he would. Like he’d apparently done every night since you’d gotten here.

Ben was already in bed—shirtless and golden in the low amber light, his body half-shadowed and impossibly still. The glow caught on the ridges of his chest, the broad spread of his shoulders, the rough slope of his jaw. He looked carved—something ancient, massive, unapologetically male—and the sight of him hit you all at once. The reality of him. The way his stomach rose slowly beneath the sheet, the way his arms were folded behind his head like he’d been there a while. Waiting.

It made something hot bloom in your chest, sharp and soft all at once. You weren’t sure if it was desire or nerves or something else entirely—but it was overwhelming. He had his arms property behind his head like he had nowhere better to be—like he’d been waiting there forever, perfectly relaxed, legs stretched wide beneath the thin sheet. He looked half-drunk, maybe a little high, but very, very awake.

Your breath caught.

And when he saw you, something in his face changed. His eyes dragged down your legs, up the hem of that little nightgown—and he smiled. Low. Lazy. Like you’d just proven a point he hadn’t said out loud.

“Well,” he said, voice thick as molasses. “Look who finally came to bed.”

You flushed instantly. “I—I wasn’t—I just came to say goodnight.”

“If this is how you say goodnight,” he said thickly, “I might not survive a real good morning.”

You opened your mouth—maybe to protest, maybe to make a joke—but none came to mind. Your throat felt tight. The warmth of him, the way he looked at you, it all caught you off guard.

You hesitated, then said softly, eyes on the floor, “I… just didn’t want to go another night without saying it to your face.” Your voice cracked a little at the end, like you surprised yourself with the words.

Ben stilled, just for a beat. Like something in him softened. His whole expression shifted—heat giving way to something quieter. He looked at you like you’d just offered him a lifeline.

His hand dragged down his chest, scratching along the v of muscle that disappeared beneath the sheets. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, “I’ll be honest, I’ve been sittin’ in this bed, thinkin’ about you. Palming my cock and tellin’ myself to be patient for three fuckin’ days.”

You blinked.

“Then you come in here all glowin’, smellin’ like flowers, legs out, tits bouncin’ when you walk,” he said, letting his gaze sweep across you like a caress. “like I’m not hard as fuck just from lookin’ at you.”

He sat up, slow and smooth, letting the sheet slide down to his hips. There was nothing hurried in the way he moved—just this heavy, coiled confidence. The kind that said he knew what came next.

And then his voice dropped. “C’mere, baby.”

Something about the way he said it—c’mere—so soft, so sure. Like he wasn’t asking. Like he knew. He looked at you like you were something fragile. Something he’d starve without.

“You been sleepin’ in that guest room like I don’t fuckin’ notice you,” he murmured as you got closer. “Like I ain’t hearin’ your little footsteps when you get up at all hours a’the night. Gave you your space. I let you have it. Wanted y’to, baby.”

You nodded, fidgeting.

His hand reached out—slow, gentle—and hooked around your wrist. He rubbed a thumb against your pulse point, eyes on yours. “But I’ve had just about enough of bein’ polite.”

Your heart thudded.

He stood—all heat and mass and intent—and loomed over you without ever making you feel trapped. Just wanted. Just… his.

Ben leaned in, mouth at your ear, voice so low and warm it made your spine arch.

“I need you in my bed, sweetheart. Need you under me. Need to hear those pretty little sounds I’ve been dreamin’ about since the minute I put that ring on your finger.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“You don’t gotta do a goddamn thing,” he whispered, cupping the back of your neck. “Just come lie down and let your husband take care’a you”

You whimpered—barely—and he grinned.

“There she is.”

He kissed your cheek. Just once. Just enough to make your knees soften.

Then he nudged his nose down along your jaw, murmuring, “If you don’t let me take this little nightgown off and see what I’ve been missin’, I might lose my goddamn mind.”

His other hand slid down, fingers grazing the curve of your hip—warm and possessive.

“Come to bed, baby,” he coaxed, guiding you backwards. “Let me get my hands on my wife.”

You swallowed. Nodded. Let him guide you back toward the mattress.

And Ben—he let out a breath like it hurt to wait even another second.

“‘Bout goddamn time,” he murmured, pulling you close. “It’s bedtime, sweetheart. And I’m not lettin’ you outta this bed until I make you mine.”

He laid you back on the mattress like you were made of glass. Like you were something he’d prayed for and never expected to touch.

Ben stood above you for a second, just looking—all muscle and menace and awe, like he couldn’t believe his luck. His jaw twitched like he was holding something back. Words, maybe, or just the need to devour you whole. His eyes dragged over you with a slow, searing hunger, cataloging every inch like he meant to memorize it. Not just lust—possession. Reverence. Like he’d waited a lifetime for this exact moment and couldn’t stop staring just to make sure it was real. heavy-lidded and golden in the lamplight, chest rising slow and hungry like he was trying to take you in with every breath. His hand dragged through his hair, tousling it even more, and he let out a thick, low groan.

And then, slowly, reverently, he climbed onto the bed. His knees bracketed your hips. His arms came down beside your shoulders. His weight sank into the mattress like inevitability.

“I got a wife,” he murmured, more to himself than you. “I got a fuckin’ wife. And she looks like this.”

You flushed. Your hands slid up his arms, unthinking. His skin was hot and tight over muscle, flexing under your fingers.

“I didn’t know if you’d want—” you started, voice small, but he cut you off with a sound just shy of angry.

“Sweetheart,” he growled, lowering to your neck, “if you think I’d let you, my brand spankin’ new wife, come in here, all soft and shy in that fuckin’ slip, legs out, smellin’ like lavender, and not lay you out like dessert? You’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

He kissed your collarbone. Your shoulder. His hands skimmed up your thighs, big palms rough and reverent. He pushed your nightgown up slow—so slow—baring inch after inch like he was peeling open something sacred.

“Oh, baby,” he crooned, voice thick. “Fuckin’ knew it. Knew you’d be sweet all over.”

You gasped as his thumbs brushed the crease where thigh met hip, and he smiled—starving and satisfied.

“You shy now, sweetheart?” he murmured. “Gettin’ quiet on me? That’s alright. I can talk enough for both of us.”

His fingers slid higher, catching the waistband of your panties. He let out a laugh—soft and filthy.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, honey. And I haven’t even touched you proper yet.”

You whimpered, hips shifting—and that was all it took.

“Oh, baby,” he rasped, sliding down your body, kissing your stomach on the way. “You’re gonna let me have a taste, yeah?”

He settled between your legs like he was made for it.

“I gotta know what my wife tastes like,” he muttered, lips dragging over the inside of your thigh. “Gotta feel you fall apart on my tongue. Gonna ruin you for anybody else even thinkin’ about tryin’.”

Your hands flew to his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he pulled your panties down and tossed them aside. “Please, Ben-”

“I’ll be so good to you, baby,” he promised, kissing the seam of your cunt. “Swear to God. I’ll take my fuckin’ time. Gonna make you cum like it’s my fuckin’ job—‘cause it is, isn’t it?”

He looked up, pupils blown, lips parted. 

“I’m your husband. This is what I do.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot, wet, deep. His tongue pushed inside you slow and deliberate before he dragged it up and latched onto your clit, sucking like he meant to pull the sound right out of your throat.

“Ben—” you gasped, hips jerking.

He groaned like it hurt to go slow. Like your voice was enough to wreck him completely.

You whimpered again, overwhelmed, and he licked you harder—tongue flattening, swirling, filthy and adoring.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured against you. “You taste like fuckin’ heaven.”

You were panting now, fingers still buried in his hair, hips starting to roll—grinding up into his mouth like you couldn’t help it. Your thighs trembled around his head. The silk of your nightgown clung to your skin, damp with sweat and bunched around your ribs.

Ben moaned like it pained him. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, broad palms rough and steady, anchoring you in place like he felt you slipping. But one hand broke away, dragging up—slow and sure—fingertips grazing the inside of your thigh, then sliding under your nightgown, pressing flat to your belly.

He groaned when he found it—warm and soft beneath his palm.

You gasped—sharp, breathless—and his mouth went sloppier after that. More frantic. More needy. His tongue licked deep, slow strokes up through your folds, groaning like he was trying to get drunk off your taste.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. Hold on, baby. Let me have it.”

Your whole body arched. His mouth moved with you, relentless. His tongue circled your clit, then sucked it between his lips—firm, focused, obscene. You choked out his name.

“Ben—!”

He groaned—hard—his voice breaking against you like gravel. His fingers flexed against your thighs, keeping you spread.

“That’s right,” he growled. “Say it again. Wanna hear my name comin’ outta your mouth while I’ve got my tongue buried in your fuckin’ cunt.”

You whined, overwhelmed. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Your body was stretched tight, trembling on the edge. “Ben, I—I can’t—”

He lifted his head just enough to speak, voice rough and utterly gone.

“You can,” he rasped. “You will. Gonna cum for me, baby. Right on my fuckin’ face. You hear me?”

His hand returned to your belly, firm and grounding. Holding you down like he could keep you tethered to the earth.

“I’m gonna do this every fuckin’ night if you let me,” he said, voice like a vow. “Put you to bed with my mouth on you. Remind you what it means to be mine.”

You sobbed—helpless. You were already there, seconds away. Already unraveling.

“Fuck, look at you,” he breathed. “All shaky, tears in your eyes, drippin’ down my chin. You’re gonna soak me, aren’t you? Gonna cum like the sweet little housewife they promised me.”

Your hips bucked. You nodded—wild and frantic. “Please—”

“Oh, baby,” he whispered, licking his lips like he was high on your taste. “Don’t beg. You don’t have’ta beg me for nothin’.”

Then his mouth was back on you, unrelenting. Tongue swirling, lips wrapped around your clit, groaning every time you cried out. The pressure built sharp and hot, your legs trembling so hard it felt like your bones would break—

And then you were cumming.

Hard.

Your cry broke the air, sharp and wet. Your hips jerked once, twice—then you were shaking, thighs locked around his shoulders, gasping for air as he licked you through every quake. Your fingers slipped from his hair, grabbing at the sheets, his arms, anything.

Ben didn’t stop. Not until your thighs twitched and your body went limp, melting into the mattress in a boneless sprawl.

Only then did he finally pull back.

And fuck, he looked wrecked.

His face was glistening with you. His beard was soaked. His lips were red, his jaw tense, his chest rising hard like he’d been holding his breath the whole time.

He stared down at you like he couldn’t believe what he’d done.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice ragged and full of reverence. “You’ve got a perfect fuckin’ pussy for eatin’, honey.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. 

Your thighs were trembling. You couldn’t move—you didn’t want to. You wanted to stay right there, boneless and wide open, and let him look at you like that forever.

Ben crawled up over you, huge and burning, and settled between your legs like he meant to live there. His cock pressed against your inner thigh, thick and straining under the soft fabric of his pajama pants. You whimpered when you felt it.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Don’t do that. Don’t make that sound. You do that again, I’m not gonna be a fuckin’ gentleman.”

He lowered his body, crowding you in, bracing himself on his elbows so his weight kissed every inch of your skin. The heat of him was everywhere. His hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing over your kiss-bruised lips.

“You let me have that pretty little pussy like I earned it,” he whispered, filthy and fond. “Like you wanted it. You did, didn’t you?”

You nodded, breathless.

His eyes flashed. He grinned—lazy, dangerous.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured. “God, you were so fuckin’ soft on my tongue. I could’ve stayed there all night. Could’ve made you cum again and again until you were cryin’ and shakin’ all over for me.”

You whimpered again. Your hips shifted up, helpless, trying to chase friction.

Ben moaned—a deep, gravelly sound that rattled in his chest—and pushed down against you in return, grinding his cock against the soaked heat of your core, only his pants separating him from sliding in.

“You feel that?” he hissed. “That’s what you do to me. I’m leakin’ for you, baby. My fuckin’ balls hurt. You got me so worked up I’m seein’ stars.”

Your hand reached for him—shaky, needy—and found the hard line of him through the fabric. You gave one small squeeze.

He growled—an animal sound—and caught your wrist fast, pinning it to the mattress above your head.

“No,” he said firmly. “Not tonight. You touch me again, and I swear to fuckin’ God, I’ll pin you down and fuck you like we’re tryin’ to break the bed.”

He dropped his forehead to yours. His voice shook.

“You don’t get it, baby. I’ve been imaginin’ this. Every night. Lyin’ in that bed, jerkin’ off like a fuckin’ teenager, thinkin’ about what it’d be like the first time I fuck you.” 

He swallowed hard, like he hated himself for putting a stop to it. “And it’s not this. It’s not rushed. It’s not messy. And it sure as hell isn’t me losin’ it the second I get between your thighs.

“Ben,” you breathed, dazed and trembling.

He kissed your neck—open-mouthed and hot, dragging his tongue up to your jaw.

“I wanna fuck you so bad it’s makin’ me stupid,” he murmured, mouth brushing the corner of your lips, “but when i do, I’m gonna take my time. Need to do it right.” 

He leaned back just enough to look at you—really look at you, all flushed and wrecked, mouth swollen, chest heaving.

“I’m not just gonna slide in and call it done. No, sweetheart. I’m gonna show you what I’ve been thinkin’ about. Night after night. Fistin’ my cock to the thought of you.”

His hand curled over your waist—firm and slow—and dragged down, tracing the shape of your body like he owned it.

“First thing I’m gonna do?” His breath hit your ear, hot enough to burn. “Get you on your knees. Right in front of me. Let you see what you do to me up close. Let you wrap those pretty little hands around it. Let you kiss it. Lick it. Get it wet.”

You whimpered, and his hips rolled against yours—slow and unhurried—but you could feel the thick press of his cock through his pants, heavy and hot and twitching with need.

“Let me see your mouth stretch around it,” he rasped. “Let me feel that tongue, soft and wet, gettin’ it ready. Wanna watch you choke on it a little, baby. Just a little. Hear you gag when it hits the back of your throat.”

His voice dropped even lower, like it cost him something to keep it gentle.

“Not ‘cause I need it. Just ‘cause I wanna see what it looks like. You, on your knees, makin’ a mess for me.”

His mouth brushed yours again, light and almost reverent.

“And then,” he said, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes, “I’m gonna lay you down. Just like this. On your back. In our bed.”

He cupped the side of your face, thumbing your cheek like you were fragile.

“I’m not gonna rush it. Not gonna throw you over and fuck you ‘til you cry—not the first time.”

He was hovering above you, mouth brushing your cheek, his weight braced in his arms so you could feel the heat of him without being crushed. His hips pressed down, slow and heavy, grinding just enough to remind you how hard he still was—how close.

“I’m not just gonna tear into you like I haven’t been dreamin’ about it for weeks. No. You’re gonna be right here, drippin’ onto the sheets, legs spread, all soft and open for me.”

His hand trailed down your side, reverent. Possessive. Like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch.

“I’m gonna kiss you while I do it,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your jaw, “real slow. Gonna hold your hips still while I slide in, inch by fuckin’ inch, watch your face the whole time, just to see how it hits you.”

He let his palm drag across your belly again, low and firm, the heat of it seeping into your skin like a brand.

“I’m gonna fill you so slow, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Stretch this pussy out around me ‘til you’re takin’ all of it. And when I bottom out, when I’m buried so deep you feel me in your throat? I’m stayin’ there.”

You gasped, helpless.

He pressed his hips forward again—just enough for you to feel the weight of his cock against your soaked core, thick and ready and restrained.

“And when I cum?” His voice dropped to a growl. “I’m not finishin’ on your tits or your ass or your tongue. I’m not makin’ a mess.”

His hand slid lower. Flattened over your belly, just above your mound. He moaned, deep in his chest. “Right here,” he murmured. “Gonna make you soft, baby. Knock you up so good they’ll see it in your fuckin’ eyes.”

You whimpered. Your legs shifted, opening a little wider without even meaning to. The way he said it, soft and sure, like a promise, made your whole body ache. You wanted it. God, you wanted it.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching you like he was watching the sun rise. “You’re gonna let me. Gonna take it. Gonna wrap those pretty legs around my waist and hold me there while I fuck it in.”

His other hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips.

“I wanna see your face when it happens,” he murmured. “When I knock you up. Wanna watch you fall apart under me while I make you mine for real. Gonna love on you through every fuckin’ second while I fill this pretty little pussy up ‘til there’s nothin’ left to give. Gonna watch it take.”

You moaned, half-choked, already shaking.

“You’re gonna beg me to stay inside, aren’t you?”

He pressed his hips forward again, just enough to make you gasp.

“Gonna cry when I pull out, even though you’re already stuffed so full it’s runnin’ down your thighs.”

You made a desperate, needy sound in your throat, and Ben kissed it away—dragging his mouth over your jaw, your cheek, your temple.

“I’m gonna tell you how perfect you are the whole time, too,” he whispered. “Gonna fuck you slow, deep, let you feel every drop I give you. Let you moan into my mouth while I give you a fuckin’ family.”

He kissed your belly then—open-mouthed and wet. Reverent.

“This is where our baby’s gonna grow,” he whispered, lips pressed low against your skin. “Right here. Gonna keep you full all the fuckin’ time. Let everybody see who you belong to.”

Then he looked up at you, eyes dark and full of fire.

“They made you my wife,” he said, voice like thunder under silk. “But I’m gonna make you a mother.”

He kissed your lips again, deep and slow, then pulled the covers over you both without leaving your body. He gathered you close, your thigh over his, your chest against his chest, your breath tangled up in his.

“No more sleepin’ in that guest room,” he said roughly. “You sleep here. With me. In our bed. Every night.”

He nuzzled your temple, voice lower now—almost tender.

“I ain’t spendin’ another night reachin’ for you and findin’ cold fuckin’ sheets.”

You couldn’t speak. You just nodded, overwhelmed. His arms tightened around you.

“Fuckin’ knew it the second I saw you,” he whispered against your temple. “You were meant to be mine.”

And then softer, right against your ear—so low it was barely a breath: “And the next time you get in our bed, sweetheart? The nightgown hits the floor first.”

He kissed you deep after that—tongue sweeping, filthy and reverent, like he was sealing a vow—and you knew, with every fiber of your being, that he meant every single word.

A/N I’d love to hear some ideas or things you’d want to see! I truly had so much anxiety while writing this and getting ready to post since pt. 1 garnered such a following so hope I lived up to that! And if I don’t just dooooon’t tell me. It went through so many evolutions to get here and I’d love to here your thoughts or things you might like to see with this series

TAGLIST @spxideyver @tendertulip @n-o-p-e-never @suckitands33 @lunaleah @fandomchik @tinas111 @0ccvltism @cupidzbunny @losers-clvb @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @thatg8rl @fratboychrisera @angelically-yours @dina-winchester @maneaterarabella @ralilda @ilikw @lupinslibraries @ladykitana90 @kyleighsstuff @deans-yn @k-illdarlings @ohperiodtpoohhh @poisonivy2267 @scrmqwn @sadpods @mochminnie @estelleyyyy @spookyysinsanity THIS SERIES @smoke-and-tunes @muhahaha303 @agustdpeach @chaoticbasicallyuselessbisexual @exzidss @spoiledcarmen @mimiimmii @theblackcherries @mindfulmesses

He was relentless, dragging his fingers inside your quivering pussy, rubbing his thumb around your clit, but almost never where you wanted him. Your thighs were shaking on either side of his frame as he had you naked on your back, writhing in the middle of your shared bed. You’d sucked him off until his spine rattled and his eyes nearly crossed, swallowing up as much as you could of what he had to give.

Still, he wasn’t satisfied.

“I’m sorry!” you burst in frustration, but you also had to stifle your laughter. Your husband narrowed his eyes at you, spying the hint of your smile.

“How come I don’t fucking believe you?” said Ben. With his elbow digging into the bed beside your shoulder, his occupied fingers curled inside you, finally brushing against the sensitive ridge of your inner walls. It drew a faltering moan from your lips. 

“What exactly are you sorry for?” he demanded. He bowed his head and laid a biting kiss along your throat. “Use your fucking words.”

You exhaled roughly, gripping his hair tight again. Now that he couldn’t see your face, you could allow yourself to grin in amusement.

Three Days Ago…

Ben was tired and more irritable than usual when he stepped into the Flatiron Building. The night before had been a battle of wills between him and his infant daughter, who’d been finnicky, having a hard time going back to sleep. He’d done his best to help her, since you had been dead to the world and unable to leave the bed (or so you’d seemed).

Now, he took the elevator up to the right floor and used his key to get into the office suite, where Butcher and the rest of your delinquent friends were already dicking around.

Some horrible French rap was playing on the Bluetooth speaker. Kimiko was flicking tiny pieces of paper across the dining table, into a “goal” made by Hughie’s hands. Frenchie wore a “Kiss the Cook” apron as he pulled a fresh batch of croissants out of the oven in the kitchenette, while M.M. swept the excess flour stains off the counter. 

Annie was trying to get Butcher to smoke his cigarette out on the balcony.

“Really, you had fucking cancer. You’d think you’d try a little harder to take care of yourself,” she said. Butcher gave her a wan smile, and blew a coil of smoke upward between them.

“Nice,” she said flatly.

But all that stopped when Ben strode into the room. They stared at him, each starting to smile, no matter how much some of them tried to hide it (like Kimiko, with a hand over her mouth).

“What the fuck’re you staring at?” Ben snapped. “We got a job, right?”

Butcher cleared his throat and recovered first. He dabbed his cigarette on an ashtray on the dining table and grabbed an iPad to give to the supe.

“Yeah, got us an escapee. Our little slumlord, Sapphire,” he said.

Ben frowned. Sapphire was the supe who nearly vaporized you a couple of years ago, after they broke up her drug ring. While he read the file documenting detailing her escape and what the CIA knew of her whereabouts so far, Hughie shared a look with Kimiko and Annie before he spoke.

“So, uh, how’s Lila doing?”

 Ben shot him a look through furrowed brows.

“Fine. She’s with her mother,” he replied. Hughie predictably asked about you, and again, Ben said you were fine at home with the baby.

“Lila’s almost a year old, right?” Hughie asked. “Aw man, that’s gotta be a fun age, right? I mean, fun, but challenging. All the crying, the diaper changing. Getting her to sleep through the night must be tough.”

Ben’s attention piqued at that, and not in a good way. His dark suspicion grew when his gaze flicked up to Hughie’s dumb fucking face, and then the rest of them, with their dumbass smiles. Biting her lip to stop herself from smiling, Annie pressed a button on her phone.

All of a sudden, Ben heard his own voice playing from the speaker.

“H-Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in New York City?”

“Now ain’t that a lovely warble,” Butcher remarked. Ben shot him a warning glare, but the Brit raised his hands in amused surrender. He crossed his arms and continued to smoke as he watched the scene unfold.

Ben tossed the iPad onto the kitchen counter and strode over to Annie with menacing steps, intending to put an end to this bullshit. She grinned and tossed her phone over to Kimiko, and Ben glowered, changing directions.

“I'm a thousand miles away, but girl, tonight you look so pretty. Yes, you do. Time Square can’t shine as bright as you…I swear it’s true.”

Kimiko’s eyes widened at the angry supe heading toward her. She tossed the phone to Frenchie next. The phone bounced between his flour-stained hands as he yelped in surprise.

“Oh, shit,” he uttered, when Ben began stomping his way.

“Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely. Give this song another listen…”

“A voice like warm butter,” Frenchie praised. He quickly tried to move from side to side to evade his attacker. “You should be proud, Monsiuer Grincheux! A man soothing his baby is a beautiful thing.”

“Shut your fucking cockhole,” Ben gritted out, but he still reached out when the phone sailed under his arm—only to land in M.M.’s hands. He froze with widened eyes, not wanting to be in the game. But it was too late, for him and Ben.

“Hey there, Delilah, here’s to you,” his voice sang, more quietly, more tender, deep and baritone. “This one’s for you…”

A brief pause. And then—

“What the fuck’re you doing?”

M.M. managed to pause the video. A beat of utter silence, and then...

Everyone burst out into laughter. Hughie started it; he was damn near folded in half, leaning heavily on his girlfriend as he wiped a tear out of his eye. M.M. tossed the phone back to Frenchie, whose entire frame was shaking with restrained glee.

Ben’s jaw worked as he contemplated how exactly he was going to kill every one of these cocksucking morons.

And then you. Because how else had they gotten that video? You had to have sent it somehow before he got ahold of you last night.

“All right, enough!” he bellowed.

The entire room fell silent.

“First of all, erase that shit right now, or it’s coming out your ass,” he barked, pointing at Frenchie. The other man jolted and did as he was told.

“As for the rest of you, I better not hear another fucking word about this, or so help me Christ, I’m gonna do some barbecuing.” 

About three days later, Sapphire had been caught and re-imprisoned, and Ben returned home. He found you in the living room. He was taciturn to your happy smile when you welcomed him with a hug around his waist, though your smile fell after he didn’t respond to your kiss.

He slowly lowered his gaze down to you, and you knew.

Biting your lip, you soothed a hand along his cheek. “So, how’d it go?”

“Fine,” he said, but little else.

In fact, Ben didn’t speak to you for most of the evening. You tried cooking him a good hot meal, but he barely said two words to you. The only thing he did, before he was even showered and changed, was venture into the nursery to lay a gentle hand on his daughter’s head as she slept, over her downy brown hair. He bent down to press a kiss to her forehead.

After that, he strode past you in the doorway and slammed the door shut in the bathroom.

Aw shit. Despite yourself, you couldn’t help chortling with laughter. You should’ve known he’d be a great big man child about this.

So you decided to call your mom and see if she could take Lila for the night.

You had some damage control to do.

Now…

He'd brought you to the edge of your pleasure three times before he withdrew his mouth or his hand from your body, not letting you touch yourself, not letting you come—driving you to the point of frustrated tears.

You grabbed his head with both hands and guided him to look you in the eyes.

“Baby, please. Stop torturing me,” you pleaded. You used every tool in your arsenal to make him break, giving him soft, tearful eyes. You leaned up and pressed gentle kisses to his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I need you,” you whispered, drawing him into deeper, messier kisses. Part of him started to falter. He briefly closed his eyes and breathed into your kiss.

But then, he stubbornly broke from you with a frown.

“Nice try. You’re not getting off that easy,” he said. “Now say it. Why the fuck are you sorry?”

You huffed in aggravation, but you twined your arms around his neck and brushed slightly sweaty strands of his hair away from his forehead.

“I’m sorry for embarrassing you,” you said, even though your mouth began to curve upward. “It was a sweet thing you did, and I’m glad I captured it. But I am sorry that sharing that moment with our friends bothers you so much.”

“First of all, they’re your idiot friends,” he said. You wanted to interject on that one, but you knew he wasn’t in the mood, and you didn’t want to fight with him for real.

“Second of all,” he began…but he didn’t have any more words after that. They were caught between his irritation, and his unwillingness to even voice what it was he felt. Eventually, he found them.

“There’s some shit that needs to stay between us,” he said.  

You smiled, but you mercifully drew him down for another slow kiss.

“Okay, okay. I hear you. It’s not that big a deal though. You love your family, and look! Your macho-ness is still very much intact,” you said, gesturing at his very much hard cock pressing against your thigh. “Now are you gonna fuck me like a man, or do I need to find a vibrator that will?”

At that Ben looked down at you with a raise of his brows. His lips twitched, mostly at your audacity. Shaking his head, he slid a hand behind your neck and drew you in for a kiss, fueled by passion and frustration in equal measure.

You wrapped your thighs around his hips, urging him closer. His straining length pressed against your center, the wet tip slipping against your glistening folds. He groaned at the sensation.

“Please,” you repeated, licking into his mouth for a sensuous kiss.

The once-iron grip on his restraint finally broke. Ben slid a hand between you to hold himself to your entrance. With one smooth thrust, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moan of relief echoed his own. If nothing else good came out of this situation, you two hadn’t had the time or the energy to go at it like this in a long time.

He grabbed your thigh and angled you higher, so he could sink in at an even better angle as he began to rut into you.

With all of his earlier edging and teasing, you were already so close. Your inner walls fluttered around him, welcoming him home and gripping him tight. All it took was a few well-placed swipes of his thumb over your clit to have you tumbling over the edge—a delicious cresting of pleasure that made you arch off the bed, biting your nails into his shoulders, a cry caught in your throat.

Ben fucked you through your release, all while chasing his own. His grip on your hip tightened as his thrusts grew ragged, his own breathing shallow and rough, until his balls tightened and his body locked up on him. He spent himself inside you, coating your inner walls until he had nothing left.

He just barely managed to keep himself from smothering you as his body relaxed. You still welcomed his weight on you, soothing your hands up and down his back while you both caught your breath. Your thighs slipped from his hips, your feet meeting bed and sliding out a little.

Ben brushed your sweaty hair away from your face. Looking down on you now, his face gentled from its hardened angles and furrowed brows. You smiled lazily.

“Still mad at me?” you teased.

Ben resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he let out a rough exhale through his nose.

“Something tells me you didn’t learn your fucking lesson,” he said, somewhat incredulous, and yet, amused.

Your smile was undoubtedly cheeky, even as you leaned up to give him a sweeter kiss.

“Sure did, baby,” you said against his lips. And another kiss. “Lesson learned, I promise.”

He really did roll his eyes this time.

AN: 😂 Ben just can't win, can he?

Translation: Monsiuer Grincheux - "Mr. Grumpy"

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, Ben has his Adventures in Babysitting moment in Green:

Summary: Ben spends the day alone with his daughter, to varying degrees of success. When you get home, it prompts a serious conversation.

▶️ Keep Reading: Green

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"I think you look so beautiful in the morning," he whispers, gentle kisses pressed against her jaw. He slotted his lips over hers, hiking her legs around his waist, as they both exchanged a slow kiss. "And your lips are the softest I've ever kissed," he mumbles against her lips.

"Hmm, kissed many lips have you?" Y/n teases, running her hands through the back of his hair.

Unbeknownst to the loving couple, Poppy had left her bed, waddled out of her room, joined by her brother, as they both crept towards their parents' bedroom door. Ben was just about to remove y/n's shorts when he heard the door handle turn, quickly rolling off her.

"Why didn't we send them to my parents this weekend?" He groans, sitting up in the bed as the two of them poked their heads around the door. Y/n just giggled, sitting up to greet the little ones.

"Dada!" Poppy shouted, running towards the bed with a bright smile on her face. Ben lifted her up onto the bed, the eighteen-month-old climbing into his lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. "My dada," she insisted, looking across at y/n.

"And mine!" Lachlan protested, climbing onto the bed so he could sit with y/n. He wasn't much for cuddling in the morning, but after spending most of the week ill with a cold, he sits on y/n's lap, head resting against his chest.

"Feeling any better?" Y/n asks, running her fingers through his hair. He shook his head, smirking as he looks at Ben; nearly two years on and the 'who loves mummy more' debate was still going strong. Ben shook his head, knowing this was mostly an act at this point. "Indoor play for you then," she mumbles as she kisses the crown of his head.

"Indoor play for both of them," Ben says, looking to their bedroom window. They had forgotten to shut the curtains last night, so they had a clear view of the rain washing their windows. "Don't want you getting ill too," he chuckles as Poppy stares up at him with a large pout. If Poppy could live outside, she would. It didn't matter if it was the middle of a heatwave or the middle of a snowstorm, she wanted to be outside.

"But the game?" Lachlan protests, remembering today was a match day. He had all of Ben's games marked down for the month in a calendar he had asked specifically for Chelsea games. Nothing would upset him more than to forget about a game.

"We're just going to have to watch this one from home today," y/n answers, draping both arms around him. She kisses the top of his head twice, before letting her chin rest there. "We'll build a blanket fort and eat all of daddy's sweets," she whispers, giggling as Ben shoots her a playful stare, "the really nice sweets too, that he thinks are hidden in the top cupboard in the kitchen."

"That's not happening," Ben fires back, moving Poppy's hand as she tries to pull on his beard.

"You would deprive your dying son of the good sweets-"

"He's not dying, y/n," he interrupts her, laughing as she pretends to cry, "he just has a cold." Y/n rolls her eyes. "And no one is getting any of the good sweets except for me," he announces, adjusting Poppy turns to sit sideways across his lap.

"And me?" Poppy asks, looking up at him.

"And you."

Poppy spent the next ten minutes trying to explain the dream she had had last night, the most that were coming out were words or nonsense and the occasional word she did know. Y/n and Ben nodded along, both having a feeling that neither knew what their daughter was talking about. There was a teddy bear, then something about her daddy and something about Luck - Poppy couldn't pronounce Lachlan yet, so Luck was the best she could do.

"Wasn't mummy in your dream?" Ben asks, brushing her soft curls out of her face. She shakes her head. "Why wasn't mummy in your dream?"

"Didn't want," was all she said, tucking her head underneath Ben's chin. Poppy was beginning to get territorial over her daddy, not allowing anyone to touch or hug him if she was also in the room, and y/n couldn't even look at him without earning the teeny tiny daggers. "Mama takes dada," she tells them, her fingers playing with Ben's hair.

Lachlan lifts his head up, gazing up at y/n. "You are always in my dreams, mummy," he tells her, lazily smiling as she kisses his forehead.

"And that's why you're my favourite," y/n whispers in his ear, just loud enough for Ben to hear. Her husband shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "And because you are my favourite you get to choose what we have for breakfast, lunch and dinner-"

"Really?" Ben interrupts her. "You're going to let a five year old choose what you have for breakfast, lunch and dinner?" Y/n nods her head, grinning as she looks back at him; she knew it would annoy him for her to centre her day around their son, Ben being easily jealous when he took all of her attention. "It's going to be a very bland meal then," he says in a sing-song voice, "all he wants to eat is ice cream."

"Speak for yourself," she fires back, "ice cream for breakfast sounds amazing!"

Lachlan lifts his head up to look at y/n, quite enjoying the idea of having ice cream for breakfast. "I want ice cream for breakfast!" He shouts excitedly.

"And you can have it," y/n replies, shifting her eyes to look at Poppy, "but not Poppy because Poppy wouldn't let mummy be in her dream."

Poppy pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. There they were, the teeny tiny daggers be sent y/n's way as she glares at her. "I want ice cream!"

"Only good children get ice cream for breakfast."

"I am good," she protests, looking to Ben for reassurance, "dada?"

Ben strokes his fingers through her curls, looking back at her with a warm smile. "Of course you are," he tells hers, "you are the goodest girl in the whole entire world!"

Y/n rolled her eyes finding the show all a little bit tedious. She knew it was just a new phase, just as Lachlan had the same territorial phase a couple of years ago. She only wondered when it would end, she had missed being able to touch, hug and kiss Ben without worrying if Poppy would suddenly turn into Chucky in the middle of the night and kill her in her sleep.

"Can we have ice cream now?" Lachlan asks, tugging on y/n's arm.

"Of course." Ben gives her a side-eye, silently questioning if she was actually going to give him ice cream for his breakfast. She leans over to him, taking her chances to place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm going to take him downstairs," she mumbles, an inch from his face.

"No!" Poppy threw her hand out, the palm of her hand slapping against y/n's mouth. "My dada!" She wrapped her arms tightly around Ben's neck, nuzzling her face into his neck. "No," she repeats, turning her head to look at y/n.

Y/n looked to Ben for help, him grinning as he holds onto their daughter. "Oh, I see how it is," she nods, "you can't even play the neutral ground?" Ben remained quiet, always enjoying it whenever his two favourite girls started to argue over him. "Well, I guess you're definitely not getting that ice cream then," she mumbles, giving Poppy a playful glare.

"Dada will!" She pokes her tongue at her.

Y/n scooped Lachlan off the bed, the large child wrapping both legs around her waist. "We'll be downstairs when you've decided to switch allegiance to your wife and not your daughter," she throws back over her shoulder, carrying her son out of their bedroom.

"Ice cream, dada?" Poppy asks, looking up at him.

Ben smiles, pecking both of her little cheeks. "My favourite girl can have all the ice cream she wants."

“Is Uncle Diego coming?” Christine asks, nearly bouncing out of her seat with excitement.

“Not today,” you say only for her to deflate with a frown, “but he’s coming over on Christmas to spend the day with us, and he’s bringing Lila.”

Christine’s head peeks up curiously at the mention of her Uncle’s new girlfriend, but she doesn’t say anything other than, “I like Lila. She’s pretty.”

“She certainly is,” you nod in agreement, deciding to leave out the part where you mention that she also packs a pretty hard punch. Your jaw still aches when you think about your first encounter with the woman, but you were a firm believer in second chances, so you decide to let bygones be bygones.

The sound of keys jingling in the doorway pulls both of your gazes towards the living room door where Ben emerges, fresh snow coating his jacket and dropping onto the welcome mat below him as he kicks off his shoes with a tired groan. However, the sight of Christine scrambling down from her seat and rushing towards him quickly brings a smile to his face as he crouches down and catches her in his arms.

“Hey, kiddo!” He exclaims, pressing dozens of kisses to the crown of her head and beaming with pride at the giggles the act elicits from her. “Gosh, you smell like gingerbread.”

“Mommy let me eat the leftovers,” she boasts proudly, draping her arms around her father’s neck as he carries her back into the kitchen.

“Is that so?” He asks with an amused smile, his eyes softening when he reaches you at the counter. “Well, hello my gorgeous wife.”

“Hello handsome husband,” you reply with a giggle, smiling as he captures your lips in a sweetly chaste kiss. You’ve been married for six years, but you’ve never really quite moved out of the honeymoon phase— not that you’re complaining. “How was it?”

“It was good. Mom got the tree she wanted and we got a pretty good deal with the price. God, you have no idea how great it is seeing her so happy. Dad never let her do anything, but now that he’s gone...”

“I can’t wait to see how she decorates the house,” you say with a small smile. Ben’s love for his mother never fails to warm your heart.

“We’re going over Christmas Eve, then everyone will come here for Christmas Day,” he explains. “I didn’t want to overwhelm her, and we all agreed mom deserves a day off where she can just relax and have fun with the rest of us.”

“Grace is a sweetheart, she deserves it.”

Christine squirming in Ben’s arms reminds you both of her presence, and with knowing looks shared between the two of you Ben carries her out into the dining room to clear off the table and make space for your festivities.

“I’m going to build the bestest gingerbread house,” Christine brags only for Ben to raise a brow at her.

“Wait a minute, I thought I was going to build the bestest gingerbread house,” he says, feigning mock surprise with a frown. Christine giggles.

“It’s okay daddy, you can help me make mine.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Ben seats your daughter in her designated chair while you set out the supplies to make your houses; bowls of gumdrops, peppermints, and various holiday candies line the table alongside your gingerbread pieces and tubes of frosting. Christine looks on at the display with excitement, wriggling around in her seat impatiently as Ben carefully ties her hair up and out of the way in order to avoid a mess.

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” you say, rolling up the sleeves of your sweater and securing your apron before seating yourself across the way from your husband and daughter. “I see you’ve decided to tag team me.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Ben says with a shrug, laughing at the way in which you roll your eyes.

“I spent nine months carrying my daughter around only for her to come out as a daddy’s girl.”

“It’s okay, honey, I’m sure you’ll get the next one,” he jokes in response, helping Christine frost the walls of her house to keep them in place.

“Guess we’ll have to wait another nine months and see,” you shrug nonchalantly, stealing a quick glance at your husband immediately after.

“Yep,” he replies, only half paying attention to your statement in the moment as he’s too focused on attaching the gumdrop buttons to his gingerbread man. A beat passes before the words finally register in his mind, and much to Christine’s dismay the gingerbread house is knocked over by his sudden movements. His eyes are wide, head shooting up to look at you, actions causing the table to shake slightly.

“Dad!”

“Wait, what?” He breathes out, eyes already welling with tears.

“Oh, yeah, did I not tell you? I’m pregnant,” you reply as casually as possible, but you’re unable to hold back the large grin that spreads across your face. Ben is on you in an instant, showering you with kisses as you laugh before pulling both you and Christine into the tightest family hug you’ve ever had. Your daughter, too young to understand what’s going on in the moment, is just happy to be included.

“You can,” you replied, walking over to your closet. “You just usually have a different look on your face.”

“I was just enjoying the view.”

You hummed at him in response and grabbed the other dress off the hanger.

“Also,” Ben continued. “I was just thinking about some things.”

“Such as?” You stepped into the dress.

“Well, you’ve been rather tired lately, and you’ve been eating a bit more.”

You turned to Ben and stared at him. Waiting for him to continue, but you didn’t say anything.

“A…and…well,” Ben cleared his throat, now seemingly embarrassed. “Now your dress isn’t fitting right and…I just…I’m thinking that…maybe it’s time to check again.”

You closed your eyes, “Ben,” you sighed.

“I know, I know,” Ben stood up and walked over to you. “But we haven’t checked for a while and…” Ben took one of your hands and started playing with your fingers. “It’s not like we’ve been super careful or anything.”

You wrapped your arms around Ben’s neck, and he wrapped his around your waist. “I know, but I just…I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

You and Ben had tried to get pregnant for the last two years but stopped trying because you’d both gotten frustrated with the process, and eventually each other. You’d stopped trying around June and started working on your relationship again. It had been great, but neither of you had brought it up since then, even though you both knew it was something the other still wanted.

“I understand,” Ben kissed your forehead. The two of you stood, holding each other, until Ben spoke up again. “We should really get going. My mum is going to be angry if we’re late again.”

The two of you made your way to the church, with just enough time to find your seats before everything started. You were sandwiched between your mother-in-law and husband and your mind started to wander.

What if you were pregnant? Ben had brought up some good points. You had barely had any energy lately when you got home from work, but you had chalked that up to the holidays coming around and it being the time of year where you just got more tired. You also had been hungrier, but again, you just thought it was not getting out and just mindlessly eating. Maybe you should take the test again. Maybe…

“Y/N,” your mother-in-law whispered. “Are you okay?”

You blinked and turned to look at her, but realized she was standing, and you were supposed to be too. You quickly stood up and recited the prayers with everyone else.

The rest of the service passed without incident, but you still couldn’t get the thought off your mind.

The remainder of the night was spent at Ben’s grandmother’s house. The family exchanged gifts, and ate, everybody enjoying themselves.

“Y/N, come here, dear,” Ben’s grandmother called to you from the living room.

You’d been in the kitchen with your mother-in-law, sipping on wine. You walked into the living room, your glass in hand, and sat next to Ben’s grandmother on the couch.

“I don’t know if you should be doing that,” she nodded at the wine glass.

“Oh,” you ducked your head, embarrassed. “Well, Ben’s driving home so…”

“Oh no, I wasn’t talking about that. I just meant that drinking while pregnant is not advised.”

You nearly dropped your glass as she fixed you with a sly smile.

“Did you think I didn’t notice? I was waiting for the two of you to say something at dinner, but neither of you spoke up.”

“Well, if I’m being honest, w…we’re not sure about it, yet. I haven’t taken a test or anything.”

“I would suggest it,” she simply shrugged, but the grin on her face never changed.

“And just what are the two of you whispering about in here?” Ben poked his head into the living room.

She bated at the air as if to shoo Ben away. “Oh nothing, but I’m about to ask all of you to leave. I’m old and I’m tired.”

Ben rolled his eyes with a smile. “Nan, you’re not that old.”

“Well, I am about to be a great…”

You jumped up on your feet, cutting her off. “She’s right though, Ben. We should get going. We’ve been here nearly five hours, not counting church.”

Ben looked between the two of you. “You alright?”

“Yes, but let’s just get going.”

The two of you said your goodbyes to Ben’s family before leaving in the house. As you drove past a pharmacy, you told Ben to stop.

“Um…sure, why?” Ben pulled into the parking lot.

“I just…want to grab something. I’ll be right back.”

Ben gave you a strange look before you ran inside. You picked up a pregnancy test and stared at if for a bit before finally walked up to the front to buy it.

You walked back out to the car, hiding your purchase in your purse and Ben looked up from his phone. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?”

“No, not yet,” you replied, putting on your seat belt.

“Alright then, keep your secrets,” Ben told you as he started up the car. “The boys say Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Aw, how are the boys?”

The two of you drove back to the house, talking about possibly taking a trip to the states to see them once the two of you had time.

Once you made it back home, you and Ben went inside. He started to change but you went into the bathroom. You took the test and waited.

Ben knocked on the door. “Sweetheart, can I come in?”

“Not yet!” You still had another minute on your timer before the test was done. You heard Ben mutter something through the door, but he didn’t come in.

Your phone buzzed and you took a deep breath before looking at the test.

‘Pregnant’. You read it three times just to make sure. And after you made sure, your eyes started to tear up.

“B..Ben?!” You yelled. “You can come in now!”

Ben walked into the bathroom, raising an eyebrow at you.

“So, I…I think…um…your grandmother…” You stumbled around, trying to find the right words to say before you finally just handed him the test.

Ben took it from you and stared at it for a few moments before he looked up at you, tearing up. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, we can’t be sure until I go to a doctor but…”

Ben cut you off by pulling you into a close, tight hug. You buried your head in his chest and tried not to cry.

“I love you so much,” Ben whispered in your ear.

You let out a chuckle before you looked up at him. He was staring at you with such a loving look that you felt like your heart was going to explode. You leaned up and pressed your lips to his.

“I love you too.”

10 MONTHS LATER

“Don’t you want to eat, sweetheart?” Ben murmured at your daughter as he tried to give her a bottle again. She would start to eat, but then she would turn her head and whine. “Look, your brother is eating.” Ben nodded at you, holding your son as he was sucking down the bottle you were giving him.

“She did eat more than him at breakfast,” you replied, not taking your eyes off your son. He had his big blue/green eyes open staring at you. It made your heart want to explode how much he looked like his father. Your daughter had gotten Ben’s blonde hair, but other than that looked like you. You loved her just as much.

It had been a huge shock that you were having twins. So much of a shock that most of your friends didn’t actually know. The two of you had decided to keep a low profile about most of the pregnancy, including the birth, only letting people on social media know that everybody was doing great. The only ones that knew were your parents and siblings.

You glimpse over at Ben holding Lily. He was staring down at her like she was the center of his whole universe. You felt your eyes tear up seeing your husband and daughter just staring at each other and quickly tried to stop. You looked back down at Logan in your arms but that didn’t help the tears.

“So she doesn’t need this whole thing?” Ben held up a bottle, shooting a look to you. “Oh, love, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you sniffled, not meeting Ben’s eyes. “Just left over hormones, you know.”

Ben chuckled under his breath and walked over to you. He pressed a kiss to your temple. “I love you too.”

You laughed a bit before glancing up at him. “We should get ready. I think that mad lot will get here soon.”

Ben offered to get the babies dressed so that you could take a shower to get ready. You couldn’t have asked for a better partner through everything. Ben had been so attentive through your pregnancy and now that you were home, he was always the one that got up if one or both the babies were crying or needed a late night feeding.

After a much needed shower, you came out to see Ben on the bed, just watching the twins sleeping.

“I can’t believe you just…gave birth to them,” Ben whispered to you. “They were inside your body not even a month ago and now here they are.”

You smiled a bit before walking over to the bed. “I know, I’m amazing, but.”

Ben grabbed your arm and looked up at you. “No, you really are,” Ben kissed your hand.

You bit your bottom lip, trying your best not to cry again. Damn these hormones.

“You should get ready. Everybody will probably be here soon.”

Nearly an hour later, your doorbell rang. You and Ben were sitting on the couch, the twins were in their swings, still sleeping.

“You should get the door,” you told Ben. “I think they love you more than me.”

“I know for a fact that’s not true,” Ben gave you a kiss before he got up to answer the door. “Well, hell…OOF!”

“BEN! IT’S BEEN TOO LONG! I ALMOST FORGOT WHAT YOU LOOKED LIKE!” You heard Joe Mazzello’s voice carry through your flat. You then heard a twinkling laugh along with some other ones.

“Who let you out in public, Joe?” Another familiar voice, belonging to Brian May asked.

You laughed along with everybody else and noticed that the twins’ eyes were now open. They weren’t upset, just sort of looking around, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Now, where is that baby of yours?” Roger Taylor’s voice seemed to be getting closer.

Everybody then walked into the living room. You stood up, ready for hugs and hellos.

You gave hugs to Gwil, Joe, Rami, Roger, and Brian. They all asked how you were and how things were going with motherhood.

“Um…guys?” Joe’s voice had a tinge of fake concern. “Does the hospital know that you have two of them?”

Everybody’s attention finally turned towards the babies.

“Well, no, we just got the one but the other was so cute we took them too,” you laughed.

“Oh, Y/N, congratulations!” Brian pulled you into another hug.

“Thank you, now who wants to hold them?”

Roger picked up Logan, not needing any more of an invitation and introducing himself as his “fake grandfather”.

Rami and Joe played Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who would get to hold Lily first. Rami won and gently picked her up, staring at her like he might break her.

“Does anybody want anything to drink?” Ben offered before making his way into the kitchen, Brian going with him to help carry the drinks in.

“So, Y/N,” Gwil asked. “How’s Ben at being a father?”

You looked over at Ben, laughing at something Brian had said as he filled a glass with water.

“He’s absolutely wonderful.”

The rest of the afternoon, you, Ben, and everybody else had a great time catching up. You hadn’t seen most of them since you’d been pregnant, especially Joe and Rami.

Joe was in the middle of a story, holding Logan, when Lily made noise in Brian’s arms.

“Oh, she’s probably finally hungry,” Ben offered to take her.

Brian tutted and asked if she had a bottle. Ben got up to get it ready for her.

That was the moment you took in what was really going on. You had literal rock stars and movie stars fawning over your babies. How crazy had your life become?

Ben came back with the bottle, handed it to Brian, and then sat next to you. You took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Ben looked at you with a smile.

“skin to skin is important,” he touts, raising a brow at you. it’s true—you both know so—but you mostly know that he just does this to have an excuse to walk around without a shirt on. not that you mind.

his hips hold on to a little bit of that stubborn sympathy weight, soft to the touch when you rest your hands above the waistband of his shorts. the baby is cooing happily, her little head up and moving around the best it can. she can’t fully hold her own head up, so mostly she’s just stretching, but he’s got a secure hand on the back of her neck to ensure that she doesn’t hurt herself. you’re content just to watch. he had always run a little cooler. he slept like a furnace, but when the boy was up and moving, he was cool and easy. the heat didn’t bother him in the way it did you, and he took every bit of advantage of that.

especially with the baby. she likes spending time in the sling anyway, a stretchy swaddle wrapped tight to keep her pressed against her dad’s chest, but she especially thrives in them when it gets hot like this.

you’re trying to get a little bit of work done at the kitchen table when he walks in, one hand on her back and the other swinging around his empty water bottle on his way to refill it. it had always amazed you how quickly he had taken to being a father, and it only continued to confuse you how natural he looked doing so, like he was made to have a baby wrapped to him.

“getting anything done, babe?” he asks casually, twisting the lid off of his bottle and glancing over at you.

with a smile, you stood. “not really. especially not with you two in here distracting me.”

your girl gurgles and ben chuckles, settling his bottle down and opening an inviting arm to you. you settle a hand against the cool skin between his shoulder blades before you leaned in to kiss him, quickly followed by one on your daughter’s head.