#and also clean my fucking wreck of an apartment

[howtobeamagicalgirl]

I told my boss I wasn't going to be in tomorrow bc of a personal emergency and that I would keep her updated and she said thank you...... what does that mean......

[orcelito]

Looooving this song rn

[drdemonprince]

For the last eighteen years (the entirety of my adult life), I have never lived in a place longer than twenty-four months. 

If you’re a renter, you know the deal: one apartment has leaks coming from the ceiling, thanks to a bathtub upstairs that the landlord never sealed up; in the next, you can hear skittering in the walls. I get a new job, so I have to head a mile south to find a commute that is tolerable. The relatively affordable one-bedroom on the corner where the ambulances are always blaring gets bought out, so the rent shoots from $900 to $1200 per month. Over and over the leaf blower of economic progress has expelled the flimsy debris of my life from the corners where it has settled.

There were less prosaic reasons for the many moves, too, like the 55-year-old roommate who would bang on my door at six in the morning accusing me of sampling her milk and let her dog shit on my rug. Or the boyfriend who stalked me after we broke up in graduate school, who would sit in the parking lot outside my window curled up into an angry, devastated ball, shrieking and crying until somebody came out the back exit and he could rush in to get me. I left the rug behind when I moved, because it had gotten stained. And when I escaped from the boyfriend, I left behind all the books from graduate school that reminded me of him, too. 

As a renter (especially one with a limited income) you never have any control over your surroundings. Where you live, how much space you have, what pests reside there, what works in the building and what doesn’t, how things get fixed, if things get fixed — it’s all determined by market forces and landlord whims. Nothing is permanent, and everything is uncomfortable, so you learn to keep your life light and ready to be picked up and dashed away with at the first sign of trouble. 

I never really learned to settle down into a place and let my weight expand gently all over it. It was better not to count on anything. Every time that I moved, I culled my possessions: the vintage exercise bike that I brought with me from Ohio got left behind when I darted from a depressing, windowless spot in Roger’s Park to a tiny studio in Lakeview. When the studio in Lakeview had cockroaches crawling up the bathtub drain, I found a dupe of a subletter and left behind my desk and half my kitchen items, and used a $40 folding table from Aldi as my counter, dining room table, and workstation for the next five years. 

That’s one thing that people don’t talk about, when they complain about landlords: how much disregard for your surroundings that renting breeds in you. It’s not only that the owner of your building never cleans the pipes. It’s also that you have no reason to feel invested in the pipes’ long-term functioning, and every reason to feel bitter about the thousands of dollars you’re already wasting on a broken building each year. 

And so you buy the Drain-o, even knowing it does damage. You don’t invest in a hair trap, because it shouldn’t be your job. Maybe you even flush kitty litter down the toilet, as one neighbor of mine did, because why the fuck shouldn’t you? It almost feels like revenge to wreck a place that was never yours, even though the only people who will suffer the consequences are the poor broke renters who come after you. 

There is no gratitude, no sense of continuity — only a steady march of expenses and breakdowns that never stop, until you’re kicked back on the street again.  

But this June, after almost twenty years and fifteen moves across various apartments and sublets, I have finally arrived at a place where I might be able to stay a long time. I’m no longer paying a landlord’s bills with my wages. I have become, as Eula Biss puts it, the husband of a space. This home is my duty to protect, to build up into something that might last for me and everyone else who passes through it. 

Suddenly I can see the consequences of my actions: A stick of incense left burning on the bathroom counter leaves three small, orange marks I have to buff out with a scrubbing sponge and a layer of Barkeeper’s Friend. When I ignore a leak from the hot water spigot that runs over the side of the tub, the liner swells up with moisture and has to be cut out and replaced. Life is no longer lived in pay periods, but in years. Unattended problems only get worse over time, and everything is riding on me. 

I wrote about making a home, adopting a cat, and learning to let my life have weight. You can read the full essay for free (or have it narrated to you by the Substack app) at drdevonprice.substack.com

[yanderenightmare]

what possessed you to write that nasty gamer boyfriend fic, not being judgemental, just genuinely curious cuz I love that fic and it seemed so vivid with all the detailing, did anything inspire you?

♡ GAMER BOYFRIEND

Yeah! A couple things actually!

I'd been staying with my brother and his girlfriend for a while. And while my brother is nowhere near the guy in the fic, he is a gamer who games a lot while his girlfriend does the grocery shopping and makes all the food every single day. So, I guess the idea first started with me just thinking about what a hopeless wreck my brother would be if she decided to suddenly leave him.

But my brother isn't useless or incompetent or anything like that. Nor is he a slob. He's just very comfortable with letting his girlfriend make decisions, I think. So this isn't a diss to my brother! Though, maybe a little...

Anyway. While I was staying there, my brother was watching a lot of Asmongold. I don't know so much about him, but from what I gathered by staying at my brother's place, he's this streamer who plays video games and discusses different topics of interest. But, more importantly than that, what I really noticed is that the guy lives in a complete pigsty. Like, the stuff I was describing in the fic is literally how this guy lives, and he's completely at peace with it, too. Idk, it's the wildest thing. He was talking about how, a while back, he had this dead rat that he didn't bother tossing out and that when the sun rose in the morning and shone through the window, the dead rat would start cooking, and the smell of that would wake him up and let him know it was time for him to stream. He called it the dead rat alarm clock. Like, I'm not even making this up.

I'm not really dissing him, either, though. Like, to each their own. I just thought it was the wildest thing I'd heard in a while.

And we were watching other Asmongold-ish streamers who just have the wildest fucking lifestyles. Literally just living in trash with cockroaches roaming around. Idk. Stuff is wild. But it got me to realize that, yeah, some people really don't give a fuck about hygiene and tidiness whatsoever.

And then, funny enough, my best friend's boyfriend broke up with her. And while we were dishing about how he wasn't good enough for her anyway and all that jazz, we were also digging up and talking trash about all her other previous boyfriends. And then she opened up about how one of them was a total fucking disaster. She'd been too ashamed to tell me this when they were together, but apparently, not only was he a hoarder, but she could tell he never ever cleaned his apartment because the bathroom had something she called "layers of sticky dust coating everything"

Like, it seems like such a common standard to have, but no, some people don't think cleaning is important at all. Or they just don't care enough to bother with it.

And, yeah, I suppose it just got me thinking about boys in general and how completely dirty their apartments are, with exceptions, obviously, and probably some girls included.

But yeah, the last guy I dated had constant shit stains in his toilet. And he had a pair of Lego flowers in there he was so proud of. And don't get me wrong, Lego flowers are cool, but they were always completely shrouded in dust, so you couldn't really enjoy them. And, you know, it's fine not to have everything spotless all the time. I'm not a neat freak myself, but I mean, if you're having visitors, the least thing you can do is make sure there isn't shit in the toilet. I don't know. That stuff is so wild to me.

But yeah, in the midst of all these musings and discussions, I got the idea to write that fic. I just really felt the need to make that character as he'd become so real to me all of a sudden.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Happy fake season 5 premiere. Now are you ready for some SAD? Chapter Title from Pavlove by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 21.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You want to go home. Usual Warnings, and also just so sad.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, heavy angst, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

It had been one month, one week, two days, five hours, thirty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds since Ben had lost Her. Failed Her. Held Her and heard her voice say his name. 

The Thing kept time for him. It had forbidden him to forget for a single second that She wasn’t there. Because of him. She was gone, he’d broken his promise, and now the Thing’s only job was to look for Her in corners—in strange shadows and oddly placed objects that might be Her—and beat every part of Ben bloody with an anguish for Her. To remind him, as another second passed, that he had failed Her. That She wasn’t at his side, where she belonged. That She had trusted him, and now she was in danger. 

The first week had almost killed him. He’d barely slept—and when he did nightmares of Her, just out of reach and screaming, would carve into his chest as the drums overtook him—so he’d wait until he was about to fucking collapse and then do it on the couch. Never on the bed. He didn’t go into the bedroom except to get to the bathroom. And every time he did, he had to fight the sick feeling in his body that She wasn’t there. He’d almost wrecked the apartment in wrath as well, smashing two chairs against the wall and shattering the TV. Then he’d been furious with himself for losing his fucking control, because She’d be upset the TV was broken. 

How the fuck is that helping anything, Benjamin? She’d cross her arms and glare at him. Then make him clean it up while She watched, cross legged on the couch. Still not really that mad at him, because Ben would grunt and glower at Her but do it all the same. Then he’d steal Her chocolate from the cafeteria in a silent apology, and even though she’d already forgiven him She would smile at him and tease him for being a grump as he watched Her eat.

She was haunting him. Ben knew Her too well, She’d planted herself so deep in his every thought that She was everywhere. Not just scattered through the apartment—clothes in drawers he had to pretend he couldn’t see, unfinished books on tables, and an empty coffee mug in the sink—but plaguing his every move. He couldn’t eat or cook without hearing Her frown at instructions and ingredients. 

What does “crisp up the edges” mean? Like, burn lightly? 

Ben had to stop cooking. It was wrong when Her voice was there but he couldn’t kiss the top of Her head or wrap his body around her own, hugging her into him as they both frowned at the stupid recipe.  

As such, at first he’d only left the apartment to get food—stalking back immediately after because if the Pussy Brigade kept looking at him with fucking pity he’d kill them all and that would defiantly make Her pissed—and to attend briefings. Boring, pointless fucking briefings where Butcher would say they still didn’t have a lead—at that point they didn’t know anything except that She was with Homelander and Vought said she was in “recovery”, so nobody had even fucking seen her—and Ben had to find another way to live with himself. With how he’d failed Her.

The Pussy Brigade had been pissed with him. MM’s glares had become somehow damn angrier than before, Annie and Hughie kept fucking sighing, Frenchie looked at Ben like he was about to rip everyone’s heads from their shoulders at the smallest word in his direction, and Butcher and Kimiko were acting like Ben was the fucking asshole. Like they weren’t the ones sitting on their fucking asses, and Ben was slowing them down. He had been attending their stupid fucking meetings and managing not to kill anybody when every single fucking one ended the same way, with Her not any closer to coming home. So every single one of them could go fuck themselves until She was. 

Then he’d been called to the dining hall for another meeting, and found only MM and Annie waiting for him. 

“You need to talk to her sister,” MM snapped. “She needs to know what happened.” 

“No.” Ben’s grunt was meant to be final. He didn’t want to talk to Violet. He didn’t want to be reminded of Her, he already had to see Her perfect face whenever he opened his phone. He had no desire to see her in all the similarities and mimicked expressions on Her sister’s features, or hear her in the way they both always spoke with a frantic pace, as if the words might get away from them. 

“We’re not fucking asking-“ 

Annie had stopped MM with a hand, looking at Ben carefully. “She’d want her sister to know.” 

She would. She’d be pissed Violet didn’t already know. But Ben couldn’t. “One of you pussies fucking do it then.” 

“It has to be you,” Annie had said Her name gently. “She would want it to be you.” 

Ben had wanted to kill Annie. To tell her she had no fucking clue what She would want him to do, but she was right. Ben had to do it. This was a fitting fucking punishment for failing Her.

They’d called Violet. Annie had wanted Ben to see her in person, but MM had decided it was too dangerous. So they’d called her, using MM’s phone. 

She’d asked Ben what the hell had happened, and he’d told her. 

The line had gone silent for a long, painful minute before Violet spoke again.

“You’re going to get her back.”

Even though it felt like the words were clawing at his throat, Ben had parroted what he’d been telling himself since he’d lost Her. “Like I fucking said, we have to kill Homelander-“ 

“I don’t give a shit about Homelander,” Violet had snapped. “You’re going to get her back.” 

“You think I don’t fucking want to?! You think this isn’t fucking killing me?” Ben had almost roared into the phone. He knew he’d failed, he didn’t fucking need this. Nobody needed to tell Ben he’d lost Her. He’d never be able to goddamn forget it if he tried.

“I know this is fucking killing you. And I don’t goddamn care.” Violet’s response had been cold. Furious. “She’s my sister, and I want her back. And if you care about her even a quarter as much as I think you do, you’ll want her back too. So go get her back.”

It hadn’t been a question or a plea. It had been a command. Ben was going to get Her back. Fuck Homelander, fuck Butcher and MM and Mallory. Ben cared about Her, more than he’d ever cared about anything, and if he didn’t get Her by storming the Tower he’d rip the world apart until he found Her and brought her back. Brought her home. 

Violet had hung up the line, Ben had chucked MM’s phone back at him, and turned to stomp back to his room. To get his shield and fucking bring Her home. He’d spent a week doing it the team’s way, fucking sitting on his ass like a pussy, and that was fucking it. He’d get her back, his way, no matter fucking what. 

MM had stopped him. Planted himself in Ben’s path with a glare. 

“Move.” Ben had hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. He had to do something. Get Her back right goddamn now. 

“Stop being a fucking child,” MM’s words had been blunt. Furious. And Ben’s vision had gone red. 

“The fuck did you just say to me-“ 

“You’re being a whiny, pathetic, sulking child.” MM hadn’t flinched, and Ben had been certain he had a death wish. “I sure as hell understand why Violet’s angry. But she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We’re going to get her back, but when it’s safe.” MM had said Her name, and Ben had almost broken the teeth in his own mouth. “She’s strong. She’s smart. She wouldn’t want us to compromise the mission for her.” 

Of course She wouldn’t want that. She was always fucking throwing herself in the line of fire, taking bullets meant for everyone else because she could. But she shouldn’t fucking have to. Ben didn’t give a shit how strong She was, she shouldn’t keep fucking doing this to herself. He couldn’t keep fucking allowing everyone to just let her do this to herself. 

“I don’t give a single fucking ass’s ballsack.” Ben had hissed. MM needed to be crystal fucking clear where his priorities were. Not with the Pussy Brigade, not with the mission. With Her. Always with Her. “I’ve already fucking wasted too much goddamn time pussyfooting around for you-“ 

“This isn’t for me, you dense motherfucker,” MM was still in Ben’s way, and Ben had been more than ready to fucking move him. “Or for Annie, or Hughie, or even fucking Violet. It’s for her.” 

“Fuck you, you don’t know what the goddamn hell you’re talking-“ 

“She hasn’t broken out,” it was Annie who spoke, and Ben had turned on her with a scowl. “She’s still there-“ 

“I’m well fucking aware-“ 

“For a reason, you fucking asshole.” MM’s sneer had been cold. “We all know how strong she is. She could’ve broken out-“ 

“Her fire wasn’t working.” Ben’s fists had been curled at his side, and he’d felt fucking sick. “It just stopped. She can’t break out, she fucking needs me-“ 

“We haven’t damn seen her. We don’t know even if she’s in the fucking tower or not. And no matter what, we have to play this like she would.” 

That had halted Ben. “What in Christ’s fucking asshole are you talking about.” 

“We can’t play this like Homelander. Or Butcher.” Or you. Annie hadn’t said the last words, but Ben knew they were implied. “She’s the one who’s there. Who knows what is and isn’t possible, what precautions Vought does and doesn’t have. What they’re planning with Her. Right now we’re in the dark, but she isn’t. So we have to play this like she would, like she’d tell us to do if she were here.”

Ben had been silent, trying to find a good reason to not just fucking killing Annie and MM and storm Vought Tower to get Her back. He didn’t care about the mission or plan anymore. He just needed Her home. With him.

It’s not about us right now, Ben. Her voice had echoed in his head, gentle but firm. Don’t throw a temper tantrum, I’ll come home soon. Once this is over. Trust me. 

She’d play it smart. He’d known that immediately, that She’d play it smart. She’d play it underhanded and unfair—with sharp words and dirty tricks—but fucking smart, and She’d get the job done. At any cost that She deemed truly unavoidable. 

Ben really fucking wished She’d start realizing that she wasn’t an unavoidable cost. 

But that’s how She’d play it. She’d use herself like a weapon and then crawl back to Ben with Her guts falling from her body. She’d be planning something. Ben knew Her, he knew that she’d be planning something. But She was so fucking afraid of Homelander. There was no certainty that she was Her right now, that her mind was currently capable of finding a way out of this.

“We don’t know where she is,” MM had said slowly, and Ben had remained silent. “And we don’t have a way to get her safely, except killing Homelander. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you asshole.”

“We won’t rest until she’s back,” Annie had added, tone a hell of a lot more soft than MM’s. “I promise.” 

Ben had stormed past them, uninterested in their fucking promises, and tried to find a way around this. A good reason that he could just go get Her.

He could go to the tower. Demand Her back. 

And I’m sure they’d be super chill about that. Homelander would just hand me over and apologize for the inconvenience. 

He could just fucking kill Homelander right now. Stop waiting for whatever pointless fucking shit Butcher and Mallory were planning and kill Homelander now.

He’s not going to fight you. Not after we kicked his ass on the lawn. He’d see you and fly off.

He could bribe someone-

With what money, Pretty Boy? 

If you’re so fucking clever, Ben had hissed at the voice. Then what would you do? 

I’d play it out. I’d make a plan and then I’d play it out. 

You always shut the hell down when you’re afraid, no plans, barely even full goddamn sentences. And you’re fucking terrified of Homelander. 

Wow, I wonder why. 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben had snapped that last part aloud, and Her laugh had carried on the wind. 

He’d sat in it, arguing with Her voice in his head for hours until his phone had buzzed on the table.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible.

Emergency. Dining hall, right now.

Don’t make me fucking drag you. 

They’d all been waiting when Ben had arrived. Huddled around Hughie’s laptop with wide eyes and mouths hanging open like fucking idiots. 

“Unless the emergency is you pussies doing a fucking circle-jerk-“ 

“It’s not,” Hughie had spoken over Ben, and his eyes had widened slightly as he saw Ben’s murderous scowl, realizing what he’d just done. “Uh, I mean you’ll want to see this. It’s important. It’s uh,” Hughie had opened and closed his mouth like a fucking fish, and Annie had taken over. 

“It’s her. It’s-“ 

Annie said Her name, and might have been about to say more, but Ben hadn’t fucking cared. He’d crossed the room in two steps and ripped the laptop up from the table. Ignored the protests of the group as he’d stared at the screen. 

They had been watching some fucking cable channel, with BREAKING NEWS written in bold letters on the bottom of the feed. It was a fucking interview, where a charismatic haircut in a suit was behind a desk, smiling at Homelander. Smiling at Her. 

Her. 

Alive. In public. In immeasurable fucking danger, but within an arms reach. She wasn’t speaking, just smiling and looking between Homelander and the host as they spoke. Laughing on a perfect fucking cue when Homelander made a horrible joke. 

But Her eyes were fucking empty. That wasn’t her real smile, or real laugh, and no part of Her body was relaxed. She didn’t look harmed, but it was impossible for Her to look harmed. Her hair was styled perfectly, but she never wore it like that. She wasn’t speaking, even as Homelander compared them to Romeo and Juliet and called it the best love story ever told. She hated Romeo and Juliet. She’d lectured Ben at least twice about how it was a fucking cautionary tale, a tragedy, not aspirational. She was laughing at jokes Ben knew she wouldn’t find funny, and Her eyes were fucking dull. She was sat with her hands on the table, and he could see Her middle finger, tapping slightly. 

“Unfortunately, Soldier Boy got away. What are your plans going forward to bring him to justice?” The Haircut had been asking Homelander, and She’d blinked. The only sign she’d heard. 

“Well, I was so focused on saving the love of my life,” Homelander had placed a gloved hand over hers, and She given him a too sweet smile. “That Soldier Boy managed to run away. I could’ve caught him, of course, but she needed me. So I stayed. But we’re working on a way to find him, and eliminate his threat all together. Permanently.”

The Haircut had nodded, and looked at Her. “The public is dying to know more about you and Homelander’s plans, now that you’re reunited. What can you tell us?” 

She hadn’t even opened her mouth, letting Homelander speak for Her. “Right now we’re just focusing on each other. Building a strong foundation for our future together. You’ll hear more when we’re ready to share,” Homelander had given a shark-like grin. “And it will be juicy. Right, honey?” 

She’d nodded. No words, only a nod. 

Ben had been about to smash the laptop and leave. Go fucking find Her. This was live, she was somewhere in the city right fucking now, and he’d made up his mind. She wasn’t herself, her eyes were vacant and she was never fucking silent. She needed him, and he was going to find her. 

But then She’d looked right into the camera. For only a half-second—he’d almost fucking missed it in his anger—She’d made eye-contact with Ben through the camera. And her face had morphed. Twisted into one Ben recognized for just that split moment, before growing blank once more. 

I’m okay, Benjamin. Trust me. I’ll see you soon. 

She’d see him soon. And when she’d stood up—hand clasped in Homelander’s without fingers tangled, without touching him beyond his glove—she’d been wearing green. It had been a hideous dress, fucking frills and bows and lace and one size too small. But green. 

And Ben understood. 

She was playing this her way. She was asking him to trust her. She’d see him soon. 

He fucking hated this. But She was asking him to trust her, and he did. She was still Her, perfect,  and she was wearing green.

She’d see him soon. 

Ben had chucked the laptop back at Hughie, and glowered around the table. “What’s your fucking plan.” 

“We, uh, don’t really have one-“ 

“Then fucking make one.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. At all of them. “Now.” 

Annie had frowned at him. “I mean, I don’t think that’s important, not when she just-“ 

“It’s the only fucking thing that’s important.” Ben had hissed. “If you goddamn pussy idiots want to play it like her, do it fucking right. No fucking room for error, or doubt, or goddamn hesitation. If we’re getting Her back by killing Homelander, then let’s fucking kill Homelander.”

Butcher had nodded. “Welcome back, Gov. Whatever it fuckin takes.” 

Ben had left. He hadn’t answered Butcher, because he’d have just killed him. Split his face open in fury. The pussy didn’t fucking get it. Butcher’s whatever it takes was about the job. Ben’s whatever it takes was about Her. Getting Her back, making her safe. He was a goddamn fucking hypocrite, and he didn’t fucking care. 

Whatever it takes.

Not Butcher’s whatever it takes—what Ben had once meant, a lifetime ago—where he was really saying at any and all costs. 

Her whatever it takes. Where she was saying at my cost. At my sacrifice. 

Her sacrifice was giving every part of Her. Letting Her worst fears and nightmares become reality. 

Ben’s sacrifice was going to be his fucking sanity. His peace of mind traded for the torture of failing Her. Of having to let Her do this. But she’d done it, and he’d be fucking damned if she did it for nothing. She was playing this how she wanted, and Ben knew a lot better than to stand in her way. He’d play fucking nice, and do what the Pussy Brigade told him to, because She’d come home to him. 

He’d failed his most important promise to Her. That was broken, shattered, gone into the fucking past.

Now he had to let Her do what she needed to do. And then everything would be keeping Her safe. 

She’d need to be safe when she came home. Ben had to keep himself the fuck together, so he could hold Her when she came home. So he could be Her home, and make sure she still trusted him to touch her, care for her, and- 

Ben had nearly run straight into the Kid. 

He didn’t look like Homelander. There wasn’t anything evil on the Kid’s face, anything deeply gut twisting and skin crawling. Homelander’s face was fucking wrong. Weak. Inhuman. The Kid just looked like a damn kid. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes that Homelander did, but a lot of fucking people had blond hair and blue eyes. Fucking Annie had blonde hair and blue eyes. And, to keep it damn fair, Homelander didn’t look like Ben. Homelander wasn’t Ben. So the Kid probably wasn’t Homelander.

But Ben had lost Her for the Kid. 

So he didn’t really give a shit about if the Kid was Homelander or not. Butcher had what he fucking wanted, and She had given it to him. Butcher had traded Her for the Kid. And Ben didn’t want a goddamn thing to do with either of them. 

The Kid had been about to say something. Maybe call Ben fucking grandpa again. She’d have loved that. She’d have fucking fallen over laughing and then kissed Ben’s scowl, calling him an old grump.

Something hurt deep inside Ben’s chest. He might be doing this Her way, might have resigned himself to sitting on his fucking ass and working fully with the Pussy Brigade, but he didn’t need another fucking reminder that She was gone. Not when the Thing was keeping time. Not when Ben couldn’t escape Her voice.

He’d shoved past the Kid without a word. 

It took Ben two whole fucking weeks to find a rhythm without Her. To pull his shit together for Her. 

He didn’t sleep in the bed. He wouldn’t sleep in the bed, not if She wasn’t there. He changed the sheets because she deserved them to be clean. He brushed his teeth because she’d notice if he didn’t. He fucking perfected pancakes, so he could make them when she got home. He fixed the TV. He called Mallory to fix the TV. The TV got fucking fixed, and it didn’t really goddamn matter if it was Ben or Mallory or Hughie who did it. The TV was in one piece, and She’d be able to use it when she came home. 

He found small ways to torture himself until She returned. Ways to remind himself She was gone, fucking gone and alone, while still holding Her as close as he could. Ben used Her stupid fucking flower shampoo once a week, just so he could smell her like a pervert. He watched all the movies and shows she adored and tried to learn all the goddamn million songs she loved. For such an intelligent person, She liked some stupid fucking shit. The music was slightly harder for Ben to get through, mostly because of the sheer goddamn whiplash. Bright pop to heavy guitar to—fuck him—showtunes. He managed to get one song down to a key, which brought his total up to two whole songs that Ben knew and could sing to Her. Moon River and Rainbow Connection. He’d have to learn a third, because the fucking banjo made him want to shoot himself. For TV, he could’ve watched all the movies and shows She liked because they were good—The award winning ones made by a bunch of pretentious whining art pussies—or he could watch the ones She loved because she was a fucking enigma of a woman. A low-budget film about a hot woman and the worst fucking “dread pirate” Ben had ever seen. A fucking movie about pageants and the FBI. A goddamn cartoon about talking cars and spies. Another fucking cartoon with a billion damn episodes about a family who made burgers. Another too long show about monsters and hunting them and being a self-righteous pussy all the time. 

Ben didn’t actually hate that one. He liked how much they decapitated people, and that he could almost hear Her talking through the whole thing. He couldn’t see any deeper meaning in any of this fucking dimly-lit shit, but She’d find some. And he wanted to try and look for something so that when she inevitably made him watch it, Ben could blow her fucking mind with some sort of stupid observation or metaphor. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and her eyes would widen—half with disbelief and half with delight—and She’d be so fucking happy. 

And that was where the torture part began. She wasn’t smiling at him. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t even fucking safe. She was with Homelander. She was doing fucking everything for fucking everybody instead of resting against Ben and telling him about all Her perfect, strange, and pointless thoughts. Ben wasn’t holding Her, laughing with her or fighting with her over nothing. She didn’t even have a fucking way to know how much this was killing him. How every movie he watched and song he listened to made every part of Ben just fucking miss Her. He missed Her so fucking much. 

That was the worst part, really. It wasn’t that Ben had to put up with Butcher’s fucking lectures or Annie and Hughie’s goddamn sympathy. It wasn’t seeing the Kid or having to play nice with the Pussy Brigade and their terrible ideas. It was that he fucking missed Her. Mallory and Butcher would start fucking bitching about plans and intel other boring shit and Ben couldn’t look to the side and roll his eyes at Her. He had to eat alone—Ben was pretty goddamn certain he wasn’t welcome at dinners without Her—and she wouldn’t throw food at him or talk to him through large mouthfuls. He had to go into the bedroom to get changed and see Her clothing, still mixed in with his. Static. Never fucking moving from place unless Ben touched them. Because She wasn’t fucking here. If She was here she’d know what to fucking do with all of this, she always knew what to do, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t smiling at him with a pretty mouth and adoring expression. She wasn’t snorting or giggling at him with that same perfect smile. She wasn’t watching the world with sharp eyes that became soft when She looked at Ben. She wasn’t looking at Ben at all, except through the camera. All he had of Her were moments where the mask would drop. Where Her eyes would flash with confirmation through the screen that She was still Her, but nothing more. She never had enough time for anything more. 

Homelander was fucking parading Her around. After that first week—where nobody had even known if She was still in the damn city, or state, or country—She was everywhere. Red carpets and interviews and rallies where She’d stand, silent and empty, and Homelander’s side. Never speaking or moving, only smiling as Homelander guided her with a hand on Her lower back. She didn’t flinch when Homelander touched Her, but that wasn’t where She was supposed to be touched. She wasn’t meant to be herded around like a fucking sheep by Homelander. She was meant to be wrapped in Ben’s arms, safe and tucked into his side while she held his hand on Her shoulder. She was never supposed to be fucking silent. All She fucking did was talk, and when she didn’t it was because Ben was touching Her the right way—carefully and devotoutly—and all she could say was pleas of his name. But those were still goddamn sounds. Perfect fucking sounds. Ben didn’t even hear Her goddamn voice until around the third week, when everyone had been gathered around Hughie’s laptop in the dining hall to watch a film premiere for Fish-Boy’s movie and Homelander had dropped down from the sky with Her in his arms.

She’d looked fucking terrible. Still perfect, always perfect, but not Her. Ben couldn’t miss the slight gray lines under her eyes the makeup wasn’t covering, or the sheer fucking emptiness on Her face. She kept tapping her finger on the ridiculous fucking dress they had Her in—dark blue with lace and velvet that made Her face twitch almost imperceptibly whenever she looked at it—and Her cheek was being pulled into her mouth. That had almost been it. Ben had almost decided to just goddamn fuck it and go get Her now. She wasn’t fine, Homelander was still goddamn touching Her, and fuck it all Ben was getting Her back. 

But She’d spoken. For the first time in three weeks, one day, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds, Ben heard Her voice. It had been mechanical, over-saturated, but Her voice. 

They’d asked Homelander another useless, brown-nosing question about Fish-Boy and supporting sea animals, and he’d met them with too many teeth and cold eyes. And told Her to answer it. 

“Marine wildlife and its safety and preservation is a cause that’s very important to us both,” She’d smiled at Homelander, and it hadn’t reached her eyes. “Which is why, after the premiere tonight, me and Homelander will be donating 2 million dollars to the Timothy Foundation!” 

“We really care about octopi,” Homelander had kept talking, and She’d still been fucking smiling at him. “And squid, and ocean slugs.” 

She’d blinked, and Ben saw the words flash across Her face. 

Slugs aren’t cephalopods, you fucking idiot. 

She’d said me and Homelander. Not Homelander and I. She was tired, and being fucking used like a puppet, but still Her. They were letting Her speak now, and when the pussy interviewer had asked Her to spin so they could see her full dress, Ben had seen it. A jewel hair pin, completely out of place. Too fucking elegant, too fucking Her for whatever the hell they had her wearing. Green. 

So Ben had to keep waiting. It was fucking killing him—especially as they let Her speak more and more and he had to keep hearing Her voice speak words that weren’t hers—but he fucking pushed through. He wasn’t a pussy, he was a goddamn man, and if She could keep herself together then Ben could as well. For Her. 

But it was still fucking destroying him. 

The nightmares got worse. The longer She was gone, the less Ben slept. Half because the couch was not meant to be slept on—Ben’s legs kept dangling uncomfortably off the side and he could only fit one arm at time—and half because he couldn’t fucking sleep. Not without Her there, not when she was in fucking danger and that thought was chasing him into his sleep. His nightmares weren’t about Russia anymore, they were of Her, screaming and screaming and begging Ben to help Her. And Ben never could. He’d run and turn the fucking world upside down but he could never fucking save her from Homelander. He’d drop at Her side, give Ben a cold grin, and they’d both fucking vanish. 

And Ben would wake up with the drums tearing out of his chest. 

At one month, one long, horrible, mindless and suffering month of being without Her, the Thing became painful. It had been painful, reminding Ben of everything he’d lost and how the whole world was fucking shit because She wasn’t there, but now it was starting to grow bloody. It hadn’t gotten weaker with Her absence, if anything it was becoming a fucking monster. Stronger, angrier, more goddamn insistent to tell Ben that one fucking thing. The one he couldn’t figure out, the one he had needed to tell Her and had never been able to. It couldn’t use words, so it used memories to try and fucking kill him. To try and make Ben understand what he just fucking couldn’t. To make him rip himself further apart because She wasn’t fucking there. The Thing only offered him good memories, which was worse. The horrible ones—the images flashing in his head of Her fear and terror that would climb into Ben and make him want to kill whatever was making Her hurt—were justified. Ben had fucking failed her. And they reminded him to just keep fucking going until she was gone.

The good ones made him want to die. 

The memories of Her legs tangled in Ben’s or wrapped around his torso. Of Her smiling at him with so much joy and Ben kissing her when she laughed because it would turn into a moan and those were the two best sounds in the whole fucking world. Of Ben touching her, casually and always, and her leaning into him and pressing her head into his chest. Of watching Her—he always watched her, she was like a fucking star and he couldn’t look away—and how he’d memorized every perfect fucking detail of Her face. Of how her eyes would light up when she looked at him, and She’d tell him she adored him. He fucking adored Her. She was fucking perfect, still fucking perfect, always goddamn perfect. And every single piece of Ben that mattered, his will and resolve and care and mind and blood, was trapped in the tower with Her. Leaving only his body and the Thing, wrathful and desperate, to ache. His whole world fucking ached because She wasn’t there. 

And Ben couldn’t fucking do shit to get Her back. 

The Pussy Brigade was working on it. Whenever Ben would yell at them or demand updates, they’d always say they were working on it. They’d leave for meetings and missions that they’d brief Ben on, but never let him just fucking help. Let him bring Her home. Ben couldn’t go out in public, not after the tower, not when he’d been declared Public Enemy #1 by Vought and was a threat to America in the eyes of the general population. So he was fucking benched. 

“We’ve got another lead,” MM had been giving a briefing, and Ben had been half-listening. All these meetings always amounted to the same thing. Ben stayed behind, the Pussy Bridage found nothing, and She was still fucking gone. “It’s on Sage, old member of Teenage Kix’s might know some sort of fucking psychological weakness we can use against her.” 

Most of the fucking missions were about Sage. Trying to figure out what she was planning, what her long-game was, how they could get her out of the picture for an easier shot at Homelander. The pussy had locked down all of the Seven, and was taking goddamn precautions. Limited press, limited public appearances, all the focus on Her and Homelander’s fake fucking love story. On how Vought was trying to take Ben down for justice, to avenge Her. Fucking protect the country. 

“I don’t think she has psychological weaknesses,” Annie had frowned. “I think we need to be focusing on what her plan is-“

“Or we could just bloody kill her,” Butcher’s glare had been around the whole table, even at Ben. Which was stupid, because he was entirely in fucking favor of killing Sage. “Take her out permanently. Blow a hole in her fuckin chest that she ain’t gonna heal from.” 

“If you find an actual window for that,” MM had snapped. “Then let us know. Until then, we’re following the lead.” 

“It ain’t even a good lead, Mate.” Butcher had grumbled. “It’s fuckin useless. We’re not makin any progress chasing leads.” 

Ben agreed. He might have even spoken up and told MM that Butcher was, for once, fucking right about something, but the asshole never knew when to shut his mouth. 

Butcher had said Her name, and Ben had seen red. “Still with fuckin Homelander. And we don’t know what type of shit he’s doin to her while we sit on our asses-“ 

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking asswipe of a pussy.” Ben’s hiss had been a promise. A threat of blood on the tiles and Butcher’s brains scattered across the table. Butcher didn’t get to talk about Her. Didn’t get to say what she’d want, or imagine what pain Homelander was inflicting upon her, or even fucking think about her. She was lost because Butcher made her think she was worth less than the Kid, was worth less than all of them, was better off as a fucking pawn. So Butcher didn’t get to fucking say Her name.

“I’m fuckin defending her, Gov.” Butcher hadn’t stood down, because he was a goddamn self-assured idiot. “We’re all tryin to get her back-“

“I said,” Ben had pushed back the bench, standing with his fists clenched. “Shut the goddamn fucking hell up. You’re the piece of shit who said we had to wait. And you don’t get to fucking defend her, she’s not yours to fucking defend.” 

“But she’s yours?” Butcher had sneered, rising as well with tensed arms. “She’s your fucking woman? Your Sunshine? You think she feels like you’re fucking defendin her, when she’s trapped with Homelander?” 

She was Ben’s. Ben was Her’s. They didn’t fucking own each other, but She was Ben’s. To protect, to make happy, to hold and touch and- 

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Ben could hear the drums somewhere in the distance. “Or I’ll fucking kill you. You’re a weak, pathetic, excuse for a man, a manipulative, lying, backstabbing pussy. You couldn’t defend her if you fucking tried.” 

Butcher had been about to hit him. Ben had seen his fist curl, seen the flash of violence in his eyes, and fucking prayed Butcher was going to hit him. To throw a fist at Ben that he’d let land, to fucking feel it. Real, physical pain, instead of this never ending fucking ache. Then he’d fucking kill Butcher. It would be justified, the pussy would’ve thrown the first punch, so Ben could cover his hands in Butcher’s guts as he tore them out and nobody would say shit. He’d have proof, real fucking evidence, that he was fighting for Her. That he was doing goddamn something. 

But Butcher hadn’t hit him. He’d just glared, and Ben had stormed out of the dining hall. Back to exile in their apartment. Without Her. 

Hughie had tried to follow him. To fucking apologize.

“Soldier Boy!” His weak, nervous voice had called after Ben, and he’d felt fucking sick. He had never hated his supe name before, it had been his whole fucking life. He’d been fine with the Pussy Brigade using it, because to them he was Soldier Boy, and he got to be Ben to Her. But She hadn’t called him Ben in a month. He’d only heard his supe name. And now he fucking loathed it. 

He’d kept walking, and heard Hughie’s heart speed up as he chased after him.

“Wait, please just,” Hughie had taken a large gasp. “Holy shit, you walk fast. I just want to talk-“ 

“Go fucking talk to Annie,” Ben hadn’t turned around. “We’re not fucking buddies, Kid. I don’t have shit to say to you.” 

“It’s not about me-“ 

“I don’t fucking care.” 

“It’s about her!” Hughie had stopped running, just yelling Her name after Ben. “I want to talk about her!” 

Ben had turned. Not to talk. He didn’t have single fucking interest in talking about Her with anyone. But he’d needed Hughie to see his face when he spoke. “Don’t fucking say her name.” 

“She’s, she’s my friend too-“ 

“I don’t give a fucking flying shit what she is to you!” Ben had roared, closing the space between him and Hughie with furious, long steps. “Or Annie, or Butcher, or fucking anybody. She’s fucking-“ 

“She’s something to you.” Hughie had, in an act of bravery Ben hadn’t imagined him capable of, cut him off. “She’s something really important to you. Something more to you. I, uh, I don’t really know what, but I know she is. And I just, I wanted to ask if you were okay. With her not here. You haven’t really talked to us-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben wasn’t about to talk about his fucking feelings. Not with Hughie, not with fucking any of them. Ben’s feelings weren’t important right now, and they weren’t for the Pussy Brigade to ever fucking see. Let alone fucking talk to him about. 

“I’m, I think she wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.” Hughie had stood his ground, and Ben was almost impressed. “She cares about you. Like a lot, a kind of insane amount. And we all care about her, but she really, really cares about you. And like I said, she’s kind of more to you. So I just, I want to help.”

She was more to Ben. She was the whole fucking world to Ben. Fucking perfect, and she wouldn’t want Ben to feel guilty. She’d probably fucking apologize to him, or get pissed at him for being a dick to Hughie.

You’re being a baby, Benjamin. Her voice ran through his head. This isn’t anyone's fault. Not Hughie’s, not yours. I mean, a lot of things are your fault, but this isn’t one. 

Ben didn’t fucking care. He’d still lost Her. He might miss Her, and it might be destroying him that She was gone, but he’d see Her again. Soon. And he wouldn’t fucking break, so that She could. When she was safe. With him. 

“I’m not a fucking pathetic pussy who needs you to jerk me off about my goddamn emotions.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. “And she’s not fucking here. So don’t pretend you’d know what she’d fucking say or do or want.” 

None of them fucking knew Her like Ben did. None of them had any clue what She’d want, they barely had a grasp of what She fucking do, and they wouldn’t let Ben tell them. They knew he wouldn’t leave, not until She was home, but they still didn’t trust him. Not like She trusted him. Not like Ben trusted Her. And any care they had for Her was worth nothing compared to how She was fucking everything to Ben. How he was fucking devoted to Her, how he- 

“What would she want?” Hughie had asked, taking a slight step back but not leaving. “What do you think she would do?” 

“She’d talk to Neuman.” Ben had shocked himself with the words, because they’d fucking fallen out of him with certainty. She would talk to Neuman. And She wouldn’t bother asking about Sage. She’d look for breaks in Vought, or Homelander.

Sage is too smart to leave a leak. Her voice mused in Ben’s head. We need an in. A way to pull Homelander’s attention and trust away from her, or find a breach that Homelander is responsible for. He’s not a fan of being told what to do. You need to exploit something she can’t control or predict. Neuman worked with them both. She’d have an idea what they clashed about, and we can use that. 

Hughie had stared at Ben. “Neuman? What would Vicki-“ 

“She worked with Homelander and Sage.” Ben had echoed his imagined words of Her, saying Her name and trying not to let it hurt. “Would think chasing after Sage’s weaknesses was stupid. She’d think it’s a waste of time, especially after a fucking month with no result.” It’s the definition of madness, Benjamin. This door isn’t opening, you can’t brute force your way through it. Find another entrance. “She’d want to talk to someone reliable. Find another fucking way, that actually works.” 

Ben had left Hughie gaping in the hall, and marched away. Back to the apartment. Alone. 

Another week passed, and nobody had called Ben for a meeting. He was running out of patience. They were nowhere fucking closer to Her. He had to keep fucking watching her on the TV, watch Homelander touch her incorrectly and repulsively, watch Her smile in a way that wasn’t hers. He was kept from insanity by those small moments that proved She wasn’t gone, just not safe, but Ben was at the end of his fucking line. 

He was about to do something. Every day he’d been getting closer to doing what he should’ve from the fucking start, because the Pussy Brigade kept saying they were playing this like She would, but they fucking weren’t. Ben knew how she’d play this, he’d even damn spelled it out for them, and they were still doing it fucking wrong. 

He was going to do something. Today. Now. Ben was going to just fucking risk it, and everyone could hate him and he couldn’t give a single shit about that. He was getting Her back, his way, today- 

His phone buzzed. Lighting up with a message from Hughie. It stabbed Ben’s chest to have to read it, because he had to look at Her face on his lockscreen and see the name She’d entered for Hughie’s contact. But he did anyway. He wasn’t a fucking pussy. He could read a damn text. 

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt.

We’re having a meeting.

Please come ASAP. 

When Ben arrived in the dining hall, everyone was gathered around Hughie’s laptop again. He was starting to think this was some sort of fucking mating ritual of theirs, with how damn often they did it. 

“Oh, you’re here.” Hughie sounded surprised. As if he hadn’t fucking told Ben to come. “You’re uh, on time. The call hasn’t started.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about.” 

“We’re calling Neuman,” MM snapped, meeting Ben’s eyes with a glare. “Congrats, motherfucker. Looks like your idea might actually work.” 

Ben scowled, but stalked around the table. He didn’t gather in their little fucking herd—standing off to the side as they all shot him glances—but waited. They were finally fucking being half as smart as She was, so he’d put up with their weird looks and goddamn attitudes to make sure they didn’t fuck this up. 

Neuman appeared on the screen after five minutes of heavy silence. Ben immediately knew where she was. His old room, in the safe house.

For her sake, he hoped someone had fucking cleaned it before she arrived. 

“Hi, guys.” Neuman’s voice crackled slightly, but the video remained smooth. “Mallory said you had some questions for me?” 

“How are you, Vicki?” Hughie asked, apparently with no fucking sense of urgency. “Have you and Zoe settled okay?” 

“We’re good,” Neuman shrugged. “I mean, a little stir-crazy, but good. I heard about the Anomaly, I’m really sorry-“ 

“This is actually about her.” As Annie spoke, Ben’s fists tightened at this side. “We’re, uh, we’re trying to find a weakness in Homelander. Kill him faster, get her back. And we were wondering if you had any ideas.” 

“Ideas?” 

“You worked with both the cunt himself and Sage,” Butcher drawled. “You can’t be fuckin clueless as to what they might be plannin.” 

“I mean,” Neuman frowned. “I remember Sage was trying to develop a gas to use against Soldier Boy-“ 

“We got that already,” MM leaned forward, slightly over Hughie’s head. “We’re thinking more long term shit. Something we can use against Homelander, something that might make him turn away from Sage. She’s the real threat right now. We’ve got Soldier Boy to blast Homelander, but we can’t get a shot as long as Sage is keeping him in check.” 

“Huh,” Neuman’s face twisted in thought. “I’m not sure. In November, right before Maine, I heard Homelander and Sage fighting about something. Homelander had gone somewhere and not told her. She said if word got out it could ruin everything she’d planned, and he said she wasn’t his boss, he was hers, and it had been for his own health.” 

“Health?” Annie frowned. “He’s invulnerable.” 

“Mental health,” Neuman corrected herself. “He said he needed closure. That he’d gotten it, and now he could move forward.” 

“The hell would that asshole need closure about?” MM and Butcher exchanged looks. “He kills everyone he hates, everyone who threatens him. He doesn’t have a family-“ Ben didn’t miss the pause, or everyone’s quick looks in his direction before MM continued. “Or at least one that matters. No childhood, no friends, no past. The fuck-“ 

“He was made in a lab, no?” It was the French Prick who spoke up, looking around at his team for confirmation. “That is his childhood. Maybe that is what he needed to move forward from.” 

Butcher nodded slowly. “Prick is bloody obsessed with family. That was his whole fuckin thing with Ryan and-“ 

Her. That was Homelander who fucking thing with Her. And Ben wasn’t going to let Butcher fucking say it. He stormed forward, into Neuman’s view. 

“Where the hell is Homelander’s lab. Where they fucking grew him, or raised him, or any of that fucking shit.” 

Neuman gaped at him, shaking her head slightly before speaking. “It was, um, I don’t really know. Sage said he couldn’t just disappear right now, and Homelander said he hadn’t even left the city. So he was in New York, but I don’t know where.” 

“It’s a big fucking city,” MM muttered behind Ben. “I don’t think we’ve got the time to comb it for one lab.“ 

Kimiko was signing something to the French Prick. Fast, with a determined face and a lot of nods. 

“What the fuck is she saying,” Ben snapped, and could feel MM’s glare through his skull. He didn’t fucking care. 

“She said that sounds similar to where they kept her,” the French Prick said Her name for clarity, watching Kimiko carefully. “That we found that by looking for the dead scientist. That the Homelander probably was not paying his childhood home a visit for fond memories.” He looked over Ben, at Butcher. “She wants to tell Monsieur Butcher that when they made her into a monster, they tried to find weaknesses. She thinks they might have done the same for the Homelander.” 

“MM,” Butcher said, and Ben looked back to see him frowning. “Call Grace. Tell her we need any records of Vought scientists she’s got. Lad,” Hughie turned as well, blinking at Butcher. “Keep talkin to Neuman. See what else she’s got while we work this.” 

Butcher started to walk away, and Ben followed. Blocking the asshole in his path. 

“The bloody hell is your problem-“ 

“I’m going on this one.” Ben snapped. “There’s not fucking shit you can do to stop me. We won’t be in public, this is the best fucking lead we’ve gotten in a goddamn month, and I’m fucking going to check it. Make sure you pussies don’t fuck it up.” 

He thought Butcher would argue. Tell Ben to shove it, that he was still benched. But he just looked Ben up and down with a scowl and narrowed eyes, and shrugged. 

“Your fuckin funeral, mate.”

Ben let Butcher walk around him, and stalked back to the table. Sitting silently off to the side as Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko all spoke to Neuman. The French Prick had left with MM, leaving Kimiko to type her thoughts on Her phone, but Hughie always repeated them aloud for Neuman, and Ben had fucking ears. Nothing interesting happened—New Noir was weird, Neuman was pretty sure Ashley was bald, and something called a Believe Expo was happening in a week—until the end of the hour. 

“How are you guys holding up?” Neuman asked, and Hughie shrugged. 

“I mean, we’re fine. Can you, uh, repeat the thing about the Deep-“ 

“What, that he’s an octopus fucker?” Ben couldn’t see Neuman’s face, but she sounded exasperated. “You already knew that Hughie. I’ve told you everything I have, I just want to talk to my friends.” 

“We’re okay, Vicki,” Hughie glanced across the table to Ben, watching silently. “I mean, it’s rough, but we’re okay.” 

“How is everyone, with the whole Anomaly thing?” 

Ben really fucking wished they’d all stop looking at him like that. Like he was about to start fucking crying. 

“We’re mostly just worried about her,” Annie said slowly. “I mean, we miss her. It’s weird without her here. But there’s not much we can do until we kill Homelander.” 

“That sounds like Butcher talk, Annie.” Nueman said flatly. “That doesn’t sound like you guys.” 

“It is Butcher talk,” Hughie admitted, rubbing his neck. “But he’s not always wrong-“ 

“I didn’t say he was,” Neuman interrupted. “I just wouldn’t trust his judgment with this. I mean, he’s being a hypocrite.” 

Annie frowned, glancing up at Ben again. At his hands, curled into white-knuckled fists as he listened. “About what? Like, with Ryan?” 

“No,” Hughie shook his head, giving Annie a sad look. “Becca. That’s what you’re talking about, right, Vicki?” 

“It is. I mean, this is almost exactly like Becca. And you told me he was doing anything to get her back. But Soldier Boy-“ 

All eyes shot up to Ben, and he held their weak, nervous fucking gazes as Hughie cut off Neuman with a stutter. 

“He’s, uh, Vicki he’s here. Soldier Boy, he kind of, uh, he’s listening.” 

Neuman didn’t falter. “Good, he should hear this. Butcher had a wife, Homelander did to her what he’s done to the Anomaly. And Butcher did pretty much anything he could to get her back. Searched for her, killed for her, whatever he could to get her back. I mean, Stan even told me they cut a deal for it. If Butcher wasn’t such a heartless asshole, he’d care more about Soldier Boy and the Anomaly. About how Becca didn’t seem like the type who would want him to let what happened to them happen to anyone else.” 

Hughie swallowed. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, or isn’t trying to help her. I just-“

“Hughie, don’t make excuses for him. I saw how Soldier Boy was about her. Like Butcher was for Becca. And if he’s still there, then that old asshole should know that Butcher did whatever it took for Becca. He might even be right, but he’s still a hypocrite.” 

Ben left. If they all kept looking at him like that, with all that fucking pity, he’d lose his goddamn mind. He already fucking knew about Butcher’s wife. The Kid’s mother. He’d learned about her on the first go. She’d had Homelander’s son, got killed, Butcher had made her some sort of fucking promise, and Ben hadn’t given a fucking shit about any of it.

But he’d never known Becca Butcher. He’d heard Her talk about Becca, when she’d yelled at Butcher about Homelander and when they’d been planning to trade Her in for Ryan, months ago. But he’d never known about Becca outside of those sparse details. He didn’t know the lengths that Butcher had gone to. Lengths he wasn’t allowing Ben to go to for Her. 

Ben was going to fucking kill him. 

Jesus, Benjamin. Were you even listening to Neuman? 

Shut up. His voice in his own head was a growl. Ben didn’t need Her voice to tell him off right now, because even in his head she was always fucking right, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being talked out of this. 

You shut up. Butcher’s a dick, but he’s not an idiot. 

He’s a fucking hypocrite, Sunshine. You’d be fucking home if he wasn’t such a goddamn cold-hearted pussy. I’d have gotten you day one if Butcher hadn’t stopped me. 

You wouldn’t have gotten me, though. Butcher’s, for once, right. Homelander would’ve hidden me the moment you stepped foot in the tower. 

Homelander hid Becca. Butcher still fucking fought to get her back. 

Becca died, Ben. She’s like, really dead. 

Ben faltered for a second. Becca had died. That doesn’t fucking mean anything. 

I’d say it’s kind of important. If I’m really Becca two, then maybe Butcher’s just trying not to get me killed as well. 

You can’t fucking die. And you’re you, not Butcher’s fucking dead wife. 

I know that. All I’m saying is maybe Butcher just doesn’t want you to lose me, like he lost Becca. 

I don’t think he gives a fuck about me that much, Ben drawled Her name in his head, and could almost fucking hear Her sigh. 

He’s not heartless, Ben. I mean, he’s a cunt. But he’s not Homelander. He’s capable of thinking of others, sometimes. 

Ben wasn’t a fan of how, when She was just a voice in his head, he couldn’t shut Her up by kissing her. He had to listen to Her, and she was always fucking right. She was too good, too kind, but right.

Ben didn’t kill Butcher. And, when he was called to the dining hall two days later for a briefing, there was finally a fucking plan. 

“We’re heading to Queens,” MM was stood at the head of the table, Butcher a pace behind him. “A group of known Vought scientists and a handful of chem and bio majors at NYU interning with Vought all went missing round November, and they all got cars that were parked in Queens. Mallory found a building that’s getting electrically wired underground, and we’re going to check it out. Got it?”

Annie raised her hand, and MM nodded. “Do we have a way in? If it’s a Vought building-“ 

“Ain’t nobody been seen entering it since all those fuckin nerds vanished,” Butcher shrugged. “I’d wager we’ll just walk right in.” 

“What about security, Butcher. Keycards. Locks.” 

“We’ve got America’s strongest cunt comin with us,” Butcher shot Ben a smirk. “You think you can open a locked door, Gov?” 

Ben scowled at him. “You fucking know I can, you pussy.” 

“That’s the bloody spirit.” 

“Do we, uh, what are we looking for?” Hughie glanced nervously between Ben and Butcher as he spoke. “Is it just kind of a pray we find something situation, or is there like something specific?” 

Butcher didn’t stop glaring at Ben as he answered. “A weakness, Lad. Anythin that Homelander or Sage wouldn’t want us to see or know.” 

Hughie nodded. “Like a weapon? Or a drug?” 

“We’re not sure yet, kid. But I’m sure there will be something.” MM sighed, then muttered under his breath. “There better be fucking something.” 

“Oh, okay. So it’s all of us, or-“ 

“Me, Soldier Boy, MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie. You and Starlight will stay and hold down the fort.” Butcher clasped Hughie on the back, and Hughie gave a sputtering cough. Idiot had just put water in his mouth. “Try not to fuck on the tables while we’re gone.” 

“We’re not going to fuck on the tables, asshole.” 

Butcher winked at Annie. “Long as you clean up after yourselves, I don’t care where you twats fuck.” 

“It’s not your business-“ 

“As much as I’d love to have another long and graphic conversation about my co-workers sex lives,” MM cut Annie off with a glare at Butcher. “Can we get our fucking asses up and into the van?” 

“I’m not the one who can’t keep it in my fuckin pants, Mate-“ 

“We all keep it in our pants!” Annie was almost shouting. “Everyone keeps it in their pants, it’s not our fault we’re capable of love, you lonely, bitter asshole!” 

“Love ain’t lust, Starlight-“ 

“Can we please fucking move-“ 

Ben stood up, and the Thing was trying to fucking kill him. It was Her, she had to know that unspeakable fucking thing Ben couldn’t goddamn understand- 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” MM shouted after him, Butcher and Annie still locked in their pointless fucking argument that was making the Thing go feral. 

“I’m fucking getting ready.” Ben snapped, not bothering to turn. “And I want a gun.” 

He didn’t wait to hear MM’s response. If they wouldn’t give Ben a gun, he’d take one. And there was not a fucking world where they could stop him from bringing his shield or wearing his suit. This was fucking important, and their bitching and moaning about protocol and safety wasn’t going to help with fucking shit. 

I feel like you just really want a gun, Ben. Her voice hummed, carrying through the silence of their apartment. 

I do want a fucking gun. It’s a goddamn useful weapon. 

You’ve done fine without one before.

No, I didn’t. I gave you my gun and I fucking lost you.  

And how the hell would the gun have stopped that? 

I don’t fucking know. But it would’ve. 

You can just want the gun, you know. You’re allowed to just want something. 

I only fucking want you. Ben's jaw was going to crack. The gun will help me get you. I don’t want the damn gun, I want you. 

Aw, I want you too, Pretty Boy. 

You as well. 

Fuck you. 

“I wish I fucking could, Sunshine.” 

He’d spoken aloud again. He had to fucking control that better, or the Pussy Brigade would start asking questions Ben didn’t want to answer. 

They were taking the Pussy Mobile. Butcher’s car only fit five—a limited they’d tested once and had no interest in testing again—and nobody seemed thrilled with Ben’s pitch of just leaving Butcher behind, so he found himself in their awful fucking van, pressed up against the wall without Her at his side. The ride was silent, and Her ghost—not a fucking ghost, she wasn’t fucking dead—whispered in his ear the whole goddamn way to the Bronx. 

Do you think they ever clean this thing? 

No. 

I mean, they have to. They all get shot and beat up way too much for it to not be a biohazard. 

It doesn’t fucking smell like they clean it. 

But MM’s like, obsessed with cleaning. I don’t think he’d step foot in here if they didn’t. 

Maybe this is where Butcher jerks off. MM cleans it and Butcher jerks off right after. 

Her giggle rattled around Ben’s head. What type of porn do you think he watches? 

Hentai. 

How the fuck do you know what Hentai is, old man. 

There was fucking hentai in the 80s, Sunshine. I’m not a damn dinosaur. 

See, I don’t believe that. 

Doesn’t fucking matter what you believe. You’re the one who’s going to fucking benefit from my years of experience and study. 

Ben could see the flush of her face somewhere behind his eyes. Could just fucking hear Her heartbeat pick up, a million miles away. 

Shut up. 

Someone backs down real fucking fast when she’s horny. 

I’m not the one who just promised to fuck me with tentacles. 

I never said shit about tentacles. 

Fuck you. 

I want to. 

You’re impressively horny, Benjamin. 

It’s all for you, beautiful. 

Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve always aspired to be an old man’s spank bank. 

Brat. 

Cunt. And you’re wrong. Butcher is actually into femdom. 

Ben snorted aloud, and the French Prick gave him a strange look. 

He was losing his fucking mind. He missed her, and he was losing his damn sanity over it. 

This better fucking work. 

Butcher had been—fucking annoyingly—right. They all but walked right through the front door, down into the basement, and found the elevator. Without any damn buttons. 

Butcher hadn’t been right. Good. 

“What the fuck are supposed to do now?” MM scowled at the sealed metal doors. “We don’t have a keycard, and there aren’t any more stairs-“ 

“I’m fucking thinking, MM, calm the bloody hell down-“ 

Ben’s attention was pulled away when Kimiko tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What the hell do you want.” 

She waved the French Prick over and began rapidly signing, occasionally pointing between herself and Ben. 

“Mon Coeur,” the French Prick frowned, glancing at Ben. “I am not sure that this is a good idea.” 

She shook her head, and repeated a lot of the same signs once more.

“But-“ 

She covered the French Prick’s mouth with a hand, pointing at Ben again before removing it. 

“Very well,” the French Prick addressed Ben with a twitchy gaze. “She says both you and she could go down the shaft. Send the elevator up after you. But,” the French Prick looked back at Kimiko. “Mon Coeur, what if you cannot send the elevator-“ 

“That’s a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped. “Tell her that’s a goddamn good fucking idea.” 

Kimiko flipped Ben off, and the French Prick sighed. 

“She can hear you.”

“I don’t give a shit what she can and can’t hear. We’re doing that.” He turned over to MM and Butcher, still fucking arguing. “Me and her,” Ben pointed to Kimiko, still glaring at him. “Are going down.” 

“The fuck are you on about.” MM grunted, looking between them wearily. “Frenchie-“ 

“Kimiko wishes for Soldier Boy to open the doors, then they will both jump down the shaft. They will survive, and send the elevator up for us.” 

“Ain’t no way in Satan’s fucking taint we’re letting you out of our sight, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Me and MM will figure it out, and you’ll follow our fuckin orders-“ 

“Fuck you, Butcher.” Ben marched over to the elevator. “I’m not going to fucking run or betray you. I’m not a fucking backstabber, and if I wanted to pull something I would’ve already.” 

As Ben pulled the metal apart, ripping the doors open with ease, he still fucking heard MM’s low mutter to Butcher. These fucking pussies kept forgetting he had super hearing. 

“He’s not lying, Butcher. If he was going to betray us, he’d have done it in fucking February. When she went soft of him.” 

“MM, you of all damn fuckers-“ 

“I know what I’m fucking saying.” MM’s voice had gone cold. “I goddamn know who I’m defending. And I also know he’s not going anywhere. Not until Homelander’s dead.” 

Not until She’s back. MM didn’t have to say it. He knew, just as well as Ben knew, that he was fucking stuck here until She returned to him. Technically he could run. He could fuck the whole lot of them and break out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave Her—with Homelander or just in fucking general—so he wouldn’t go anywhere until She could go with him. 

And Butcher fucking knew it as well, so the asshole fell silent, and let Ben pry the doors fully open. 

Nobody ended even fucking needing to jump down, making the whole goddamn argument pointless. The elevator was stuck right at their level, and didn’t require a keycard to operate, so they were able to all fucking ride it down the normal way. 

When they finally halted after far too goddamn long and the doors opened with a pleasant ding, the smell hit Ben’s nose first. The whole lab, tubes and equipment and computers, was covered in a goddamn horrible smell. It was rotten, and fucking disgusting. 

“Merdre,” the French Prick spoke first, the group filtering off the elevator. “I am not the only one who is smelling this, non?”

“I sure as shit do,” MM glanced around the lab as they spread out and spotted the brain-crushed, pantless, very dead man who had a clean hole right through his fucking dick. “But it’s fucking putrid, it can’t just be Dick-hole.” 

“If someone finds a candle or somethin,” Butcher drawled. “We’ll light it. Until then we’ve fuckin work to do.” 

Ben stared around the lab, and his eyes landed on a large, red door. Sealed shut, burn marks scorched around it. It took only five seconds to open it. One to wish he hadn’t fucking bothered. 

“Christ on a fucking Cross.” Ben muttered. “It’s not just Dick-hole.” 

It was blood. Fucking bodies and blood and rotting flesh smeared and torn across the room. A slowly decaying body of a woman—untouched save for being tied to a chair and half her face having fucking fallen off in death—was in the corner, but everyone else had been ripped limb from fucking limb. 

“Bloody hell,” Butcher muttered, a few feet behind Ben. “I’d say it’s a safe wager that Homelander’s visit wasn’t a happy fuckin reunion.” 

“Holy fucking shit!” Ben turned to find MM’s face twisted in a nausea, hands raised like if he blocked the view it might vanish. “Some warning might have been fucking appreciated-“ 

“We ain’t got time for warnings, MM.” Butcher started moving around the lab, poking over papers and frowning at folders. “Faster we find what we’re fuckin lookin for, faster we get out of this place.” 

It took four hours. Four whole goddamn hours for four grown fucking men and Kimiko to tear apart the whole goddamn lab and find absolutely nothing of use. Ben took half of the room—he moved faster than all four of the pussies combined—while MM and Kimiko searched their half closer to the elevator and the French Prick and Butcher searched closer to the door. Files and papers and records and half-finished experiments all amounting to goddamn zero. They overturned tables, ripped plaster off of walls, and shouted at each other to keep fucking looking. Still finding nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Kimiko gave up first, around hour two, and turned on the old TV in the corner of the lab. Squatting down next to Dick-hole and watching the only channel the piece of shit seemed to get, Vought News Network. The French Prick joined her almost immediately, and around hour three MM stood off to the side—away from Dick-hole—and watched with them. 

By hour four it was just Ben and Butcher. Destroying whatever was fucking left. Finding nothing. 

Butcher grabbed Ben’s shoulder, and Ben nearly fucking punched his face in on instinct. 

“Calm your bloody shit, Gov, I ain’t tryin to fight.”

“Then what the fuck-“ 

“Nobody’s cleared the office. It’s the last check on our list.” 

Butcher was right. Nobody had stepped foot in the maggoty, fly ridden and foul smelling office. They’d all shot it looks of repulsion, but nobody had actually set foot in the guts and innards. 

“I am not fucking going in there, Butcher.” MM called from the TV. 

“I ain’t askin you, but someone’s fuckin gonna have to-“ 

Ben didn’t wait to hear any more of their pointless arguing. He spun around and stomped into the room, ignoring how everything smelled so much goddamn worse when he had to be surrounded by it. He turned over severed legs, marred torsos, and one face still twisted in a scream, looking for fucking something. Anything. A single goddamn thing that could help them- 

There’s a desk, Benjamin. Maybe check the desk. 

Shut the fuck up. 

I mean, it’s pretty obviously right there- 

I said shut up. 

Cunt. 

Brat.

What would you do without me? 

Fucking die. Ben would fucking die without Her. He was fucking dying without Her. Nothing fucking mattered, nothing was beautiful anymore. He was losing his mind, but it didn’t matter because She wasn’t here to lose it with him. 

You’re just a voice in my head, Sunshine. I’m the one who saw the desk in real goddamn life. 

Maybe. He could fucking see Her shrug. But I’m the one who pointed it out. 

Ben rolled his eyes as he searched through the desk, and tried to ignore the wrath of the Thing inside him. How much he fucking missed Her. How he was dying without Her. How he was pretty fucking sure that’s why the Thing was growing so agonizing. He was simply just going to die without Her. 

There, Ben. Files. 

They’re covered in fucking blood. 

Literally everything’s covered in fucking blood. Get the files. 

It was a simple manila folder with CLASSIFIED written large black letters but no other apparent precautions to keep it classified. Ben thumbed through them, not really fucking sure what he was actually looking for. 

It’s like porn, Pretty Boy. You’ll know it when you see it. 

Half the files were redacted, the other half were full of a bunch of fucking science words Ben didn’t understand. But one, stained in rusting red and typed in faded, small letters, looked important. Ben squinted at the words, and he’d found it. He’d fucking found it. 

He stomped out of the room, shoving the papers into Butcher’s hands. 

“The bloody shit is this.” 

“Read it.” Ben snapped. “Use your fucking eyes and read it.” 

Butcher’s brow furrowed, scanning the page, and looked back up at Ben with a wide grin. “Well fuckin done, Gov.” 

“What is it?” MM called, pushing off the wall. “The hell did you find.” 

“Homelander’s fuckin recipe.” Butcher smirked back down at the paper, reading it aloud in a gleeful tone. “Due to the nature of the donor,” Butcher winked at Ben. “The boy will be immune and unaffected by the original formula of compound V. His DNA had been engineered to engage with specific elements of the drug (i.e. strength, durability, enhanced hearing and vision) and ignore others (i.e. immortality, complete healing factor) and as such additional shots will be null.” Butcher looked up at MM with a childlike grin. “Cunt ages no matter what. If we don’t get him, fuckin time will.” 

“Butcher, we can’t just wait fifty fucking years for time-“ 

“Don’t lose your pants, mate, there’s more,” Butcher’s attention returned to the paper. “Comparatively, the compound V used in other super-abled subjects will overload the boy’s body, sending him into a temporary vegetative state. Unlike the original formula, modern V shots act as only an enhancer on the subject, and his body is designed for an exact amount, blah, blah, lot more of the same shit.” Butcher looked around the room, and Ben had never seen him look this genuinely fucking happy. “We’ve fuckin got it. We’ve finally fuckin got it.” 

MM shook his head slowly. “You’re telling me, this whole goddamn time, all we’ve had to do was shoot the motherfucker up with V?” 

“Occam’s fuckin Razor,” Butcher shrugged. “We’ll need to get a real bloody sharp needle, and some V, but then we’re fucking golden. Sage won’t matter if we can turn the cunt into a coma patient.” 

“We could go to the Believe Expo,” the French Prick had turned away from the TV, but was still sat next to Kimiko and Dick-hole. “That is where they were previously transporting the V, it is a good start.” 

“Bloody good idea, Frenchie,” Butcher nodded, a maniacal grin still plastered across his face. “Let’s head out, we’ve got some fuckin work to do.” 

The French Prick started to rise, but Kimiko grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. 

“Mon Coeur-“ 

She grabbed his head, physically turning the French Prick’s eyes back to the screen. Ben’s followed, even as MM and Butcher moved to the elevator, and he froze in place. 

It was Her. In that same stupid fucking news room Homelander had been dragging Her to, wearing a fucking costume. An all red supe costume that she’d have made fun of. Called frivolous and gaudy and other pointlessly big words. It look ridiculous and out of goddamn place on Her body. On Her—too fucking perfect to be wearing so stupid—across from the Haircut, smiling. 

No Homelander. 

“Oi, Gov, let’s fuckin move-“ 

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben stomped to stand behind Kimiko and the French Prick, unable to rip his eyes from the screen as the interview began. 

The Haircut spoke first. “Anomaly, thank you for joining us today.” 

She smiled. No teeth, no light joy. Fucking empty. “Thank you for having me.” 

Her voice was too high, too sweet, with no edge or amusement. It made Ben’s skin fucking crawl. 

“Now, this is your first interview since you’ve returned from Soldier Boy’s captivity. How have you been recovering?” 

“As well as I can be,” She wasn’t even blinking. Like a damn robot. “Homelander has been incredibly supportive and understanding, but it’s been hard to keep it in.” 

The Haircut leaned forward. “Keep what in?” 

“The truth,” Her face was a portrait of sadness and confliction. Her pout too large, her eyes too doe-like, timidness slathered on every feature. “It’s been so hard to recover, fully recover and move on, when nobody even knows.” 

“What the fuckin hell is she doin?” Butcher and MM had walked up behind Ben, and Butcher’s grunt was low. Almost worried. 

On the TV The Haircut, still smiling at Her, was blinking in surprise, shooting looks off the camera. “Um, that sounds very difficult-“

“I mean,” She gave a pained sigh. “I just can’t believe they’ve tricked you.” 

Nobody in the lab was breathing. Ben wasn’t fucking breathing, trying to just focus on Her words over the rapid heartbeats around him. 

“I’m not sure I’m following-“ 

“Starlight!” Her voice had gotten desperate. Turned into packaged, too loud, exaggerated desperation. “She’s been lying to all of you, working with Soldier Boy since the start! The CIA, they woke,” she gave a choked sound. “Soldier Boy,  he never died, and they woke him up to use against Homelander. They’ve forgiven all his crimes against this great country and have been trying to use him to kill Homelander! And Starlight’s been helping him keep me away! They were going to use me as bait, because they knew he’d always save me, and then kill him!” 

She broke down in tears as the Haircut gaped at Her. Pretty tears, with no sobs or screams or gasps. Just pretty, pouting tears. 

“What the hell-“ 

MM’s words were cut off by the Haircut, giving Her a comforting, nervous part on the arm as he spoke. “That’s, wow. I mean, you heard it here first, folks. Soldier Boy isn’t in fact a terrorist, but a CIA plant, working with Starlight to kill our great heroes. I, uh,” the Haircut looked back to Her. “Is there anything you’d like to say? To Soldier Boy?” 

She fanned Her face, wiping away one stray tear. “If he's listening, I just want him to know I’m not broken.” The Haircut pointed down the camera, and She turned to stare into it. Through the screen, right at Ben. “You tried to burn me, but I’m not broken. And I’ll see you soon.” 

“For justice?” 

She smiled at the Haircut weakly. “Of course.” 

As the Haircut moved onto a commercial break, Ben stared at Her through the screen. In Her stupid fucking costume, giving the Haircut a fake fucking smile. And Ben’s blood felt hot. 

When the TV clicked off, Butcher spoke first. “What the bloody fuckin shit was that.” 

Ben turned to Butcher with a glare. They were not even going to entertain the idea that She’d flipped. Not when she was such a fucking genius. “She just fixed a lot of your fucking problems for you. Like she always fucking does.”

The French Prick frowned. “I do not see how this helps us-“ 

“The best lie is made of the truth,” MM watched Ben carefully, his brain clearly moving a lot goddamn faster than the rest of them. “And she just said all the right things, in the wrong way.” 

“In a way that saves your fucking asses,” Ben snapped, and Butcher scoffed. 

“If anything She just fuckin damned us-“ 

“Butcher,” MM shook his head. “He’s right. She just did us a huge favor. Nobody already aligned with Starlight will believe the whole kidnapped narrative. We can flip this easy to Soldier Boy aligned with Starlight and to protect the public, and she was just as dangerous as Homelander. We didn’t kidnap her, she was detained for crimes. Or we can let people start to look further into who she actually is. The footage of her and Soldier Boy fighting Homelander will resurface, same with Firecracker, and we’ll just tell the fucking truth. The ball is in our court now. The CIA can distance themselves, or not. That’s up to Grace. And he,” MM pointed to Ben. “Can go in public. He’s not a terrorist anymore.” 

Butcher nodded, and as he and MM continued to talk about responses and how to play this, Ben could only fucking see Her.

Still Her. Playing it like Her. Planning something, fighting in Her own insane, fucking sacrificial way. With carefully chosen words and broken metaphors She’d never normally use that told Ben it was Her. 

He couldn’t go get Her. He was certain now, because the crack in her voice had been real when she’d said he’d always save me. Ben would always fucking save Her, and she was telling him not to. 

She was telling him She wasn’t broken. That they’d still burn together. 

That She’d see him soon.

——————

It was going to take two months, three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes, and forty-two seconds for—if everything worked—you to go home. Back to Ben. 

But everything had to work. 

The first week, they lock you up. You only see Homelander and Sage, asking you questions you couldn’t answer because they won’t take the gag off of your mouth. 

Then Sage sits down across from you, leaning forward and speaking like you were a child. 

“I am going to give you one opportunity for this, understood?” 

You glare at her, and she sighs. 

“I am going to proceed as if you confirmed. As you know, physical threats and acts of torture are not viable for long-term cooperation. So instead I’m offering an incentive. If you work with us, cooperate fully, then we refrain from actively targeting Butcher and his associates. We can kick the can down the road, make threats, but never actively pursue action.” 

You look up at Homelander behind her, eyes narrowing, and he waves you off. 

“Please, I can fucking control myself enough to not kill them, even if they deserve it for poisoning you against me.” Homelander steps forward until he’s leering over your body. “Until you say you’re ready, I won’t kill any of them. We’ll work on us. I’ll even, look I’ll pinky promise.” 

You give him a flat look. Your hands are still wrapped and cuffed and you can’t pinky promise, even if you trusted him. Which you didn’t. 

“We’re serious,” Sage says your name, and your attention returns to her. “Until you’ve come to terms with their treatment of you, we will ensure they remain physically unharmed.” 

Sage was lying. Not about the promise, about the come to terms with their treatment part. She knows what Homelander had done. She knows you had chosen to leave. She knows about you and Ben, and even if she doesn’t fully get that you loved him she knows you’d never turn on him. Ever be ready to kill him. 

She’s feeding Homelander’s delusions. She has a plan, one that even Homelander wasn’t privy to. But you need the gloves off. Your plan needed to be set in motion. 

So you nod. 

From there, time is long. You don’t wander through the tower, or see anyone Homelander doesn’t want you to see. They’d taken off the gag and handcuffs, but you’re still locked in Homelander’s room. You’d never actually been in Homeland’s room at Vought tower before this, because he’d kept you secret. In the white room, or the lad. You’d known he had one, just from knowing generally about the Seven from the news and media and billboards everywhere, but you’d never imagined it being real. As far as you’d been concerned, he didn’t sleep. He was mechanical, monstrous, and something as human as sleep wasn’t something he was capable of. 

But he did. Homelander always, for at least an hour a night, would sleep. In the bed you were forced to use as well. He hasn’t touched you. By some miracle, Homelander hasn’t touched you. He makes you sleep in his bed and smile at him and say all the right things, but he hasn't touched you. Not like that. 

Because he’s afraid. Of you. It’s the only thing that helps you hold down your vomit, allows your fire to stay under your skin. The knowledge that Homelander is afraid of you. It’s so easy to miss, how he won’t look away from you for more than two minutes at a time. How when you move he watches you far too closely. He won’t touch you with bare skin unless he has to for the camera, and even then it’s brief flashes of something like fear. The room is kept cold, and you know it’s meant to quell your fire. It doesn’t—and you still think Sage knows that—but Homelander seems to be unwilling to take you anywhere warm. TV sets are cold, ice is offered in large cups at outdoor events, and when you’re eventually allowed out of the room, the tower is almost numbingly air-conditioned. 

It took another two weeks for them to let you leave the room. Two weeks to prove that you would behave, to make Homelander think you were coming around. Time spent being choked by artificial coconut, receiving PR training, and making small, careful moves. Carefully calculated smiles at Homelander off of the camera, small, fake flinches into his hand when someone else would come near you. 

Play the part. Play the role you’d been given and fall apart alone. Let Homelander show you off wherever he could and ask all the right questions about his life and fame. 

“Are all these people here for you?” You ask him in a too soft voice. You know they were all here for him—they were literally holding Homelander is America’s True Hero signs—but the question makes him laugh like you were a silly, stupid child, and that’s what you’d been aiming for. 

“They’re here for us,” He says your name, grinning around at the crowd, and waving at the gathered people like he was the Queen of England. 

Fucking pussy might think he is the Queen of England. Fucking bitches and moans like it. 

That made it easier. Ben’s voice would mutter in your ears, and make this all easier. Easier to look around in awe, give Homelander one of your rare smiles, and get through this. 

Then—when Homelander locks you back in his room and leaves to do who knows what—you fall over the toilet and hurl your guts of disgustingly fancy food, sobbing until it was all out. Covering your mouth with a hand so you wouldn’t scream, swallowing and drowning in your own tears. A small period, every day, where you just broke. Where you let yourself mourn and hate this and miss Ben. Wish you were anywhere but here, wish you could just go home. You just want to go home. 

But you always pick yourself up, and amble through the apartment until Homelander returns. 

He has food delivered to you. It’s pretty much whatever he wants—you think he’s not actually sure what food you like and can’t really be fucked to find out—and he’ll make you eat it with him, making sure you eat it, before informing you he’s going to bed. 

Which means you’re going to bed. 

You don’t sleep. You can’t sleep. Not when Homelander is on the other side of the mattress and everything is so cold. He hasn’t touched you, and that gets you through the night, but you’re not stupid. You know better than to try and predict what Homelander will or won’t do. To trust him to follow a pattern. Which means you lie awake at night, eyes closed and breathing controlled so Homelander thinks you’re sleeping, and try to drag your fire further up into your body. 

The cold isn’t harming it. But it keeps going numb. All your fear and pain and hatred and anger keeps washing over you, feeling like it’s going to burst out of your body, and the fire grows dormant again. And when Homelander’s too close, when there are too many cameras, when you have to smile and laugh and pretend you’re not dying, the fire falls further away. 

Ben would say you have performance issues. You’d try to punch him, tell him if anyone has performance issues it’s going to be the hundred-year-old man, and he’d laugh and remind you that you know he doesn’t have performance issues, and you miss him. You miss him so much. Because if you looked at him and said I miss you, and I love you, and I’m so sorry I should’ve just come home because I miss you and love you and you were right we should’ve just left and I’m so, so sorry, he’d just hold you. He’d pull you into his big, warm, safe body and let you scream until your voice was hoarse. 

I was right. His voice still rumbled through you, even when he wasn’t there. Even when he was just a piece of you that was always dedicated to missing him. To loving him, all the time. I was absolutely fucking right, but if you keep trying to apologize, Sunshine, I’ll lose my damn mind. So shut up. 

And you miss him more, as you became more certain you can’t let him get hurt. That your two jobs right now are to do this right, and do this careful, and never let them hurt Ben. Play your role and never let them hurt Ben. 

When you were given a choice, a say in your outfit or hair or makeup, you always chose green. It made everything in your guts and lungs painful, because it always moved your brain from I have a plan to Ben. Ben, I love you, but you have to. You have to keep telling him you were fine, you have to tell him you hadn’t broken, without actually saying it. The only sign he’s seen you and understands was that he still hadn’t appeared in Vought’s lobby, demanding they return you to him with roars of your name and a lot of violence. 

But you worry. You worry Ben will notice the days when you were just exhausted, when the cracks are starting to show because everything in you hurts. When a strange sort of beast that has started to wake in your blood wants to make everything hurt the way you are. Every time that happens—every time Homelander drags you somewhere and you have to smile and swallow down strangled noises and a vile taste when Homelander’s hand finds your body—you worry that Ben will come. You want him to come, you want more than anything in the world for him to just grab you and take you far away, but he can’t. Because this doesn’t work like that. 

You resort to allowing him to follow you. For your love of him to walk a pace behind you, a phantom nobody can see but you. 

In the first three weeks, locked in Homelander’s room and in front of cameras, it’s just you and that phantom. Nothing in Homelander’s apartment is Ben, he’d call the whole thing fucking pathetic—over-expensive bullshit, and that coffee table is too fucking ugly to even do coke off of—but he’s still there. Everywhere around you, but still just a figment of your love. In the air and thumping with your heart, and you love him. 

But not real. 

They keep asking you questions about your relationship with Homelander—you’re still not allowed to actually speak and Sage doesn’t think that’s sustainable—so they sit you down and run over the backstory. 

“So, the story is you’re Homelander’s sweetheart,” a skinny man wearing plaid—you can’t remember his name, you’re pretty sure it starts with an S—is pitching you a life story, like you’re going to make it into an Oscar-bait coming-of-age story. “Childhood best friends to lovers, star-crossed, soulmates, made for each other.” 

“But fate has other plans. Thing’s weren’t going to be so easy.” The shorter, bald one jumps in over… Sam. Sean. Steve. 

It doesn’t fucking matter. Call that one Bald Pussy and that one Skinny McBrown-Nose. 

You’ve been introduced to about a hundred different Vought employees’ dedicated to selling Homelander and Sage’s lie over the span of today alone. Bald Pussy and Skinny McBrown-Nose it is. 

“You’re torn apart at every turn. He’s in the Seven, but you don’t want the fame.” 

Bald Pussy makes a sad face, picking up again from Skinny McBrown-Nose. “You just want him.” 

“You’re an independent woman, you want a career.” 

“But he wants a family.” 

“Fights, compromises, making up because whatever happens-“ 

“You’ll always find each other.” 

They’re still bouncing off of each other, and your blood is trying to burst out of your body. You feel like something is killing you, ripping apart your head and heart and tongue and you miss Ben- 

You think they fuck each other while they rehearse this bullshit? 

The phantom is behind you. Whispering in your ear with a low, gravely, voice that—just within itself—pulls you down and holds you together. 

I’d hope this doesn’t require rehearsing. They’re just saying words people vaguely associate with love. Soulmates and made for each other mean essentially the exact same thing. 

I can’t believe this is what Vought has fucking come to. Paying a bunch of pussies to talk. Goddamn anyone can just say words about love. 

Really. 

Are you doubting me? I can be fucking romantic. 

Uh huh. 

Remember when I made you hot chocolate with all those weird pink marshmallows? 

I had to walk you through that, and you got mad the marshmallows weren’t, and I quote, “proper fucking marshmallow color. They perfected marshmallows damn decades ago, fucking idiot pussies didn’t need to make them pink and add fucking candy canes.” 

Shut the fuck up, I still did it. I’m a goddamn gentleman. 

You are not a gentleman, Benjamin. 

I fucking am, and I’m romantic. I can say shit about romance like those pussies, fucking watch me. Love, chocolate, flowers, orgasms- 

You just said orgasms. That’s not romantic. 

I can make it fucking romantic. And you fucking love the orgasms I give you. You love me. 

I do. The pain is becoming softer, something that’s sitting where it shouldn’t be. A part of you that knows all of this is just plain fucking wrong, to be here—be anywhere—without Ben. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say. 

You must really fucking love me. All you ever do is talk. 

Sage snaps your name. “You aren’t listening.” 

Show time. 

Knock them fucking dead, Sunshine. 

Shut up and let me focus. 

“Is it,” You give Homelander the most pathetic, nervous look you’re capable of. “Is it important for me to listen to them? I’m really tired, and I have a lot of downtime. You could give me a file, I promise I’d read it.” 

“It is important,” Sage watches you carefully. “You need to understand-“ 

“I understand,” you sigh, and let a little bit of your genuine exhaustion show. “I’ll say whatever I need to for this to work for you. I’m just tired, I want to go home-“ 

That does it. You called it home, and Homelander turns to glare at Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. “You two have written this down.” 

Skinny McBrown-Nose stutters out a response, “Uh, Seth, you said you were going to-“ 

“I told you I couldn’t, Evan, because I had that thing-“ 

“You mean your fucking dick replacement surgery?” Homelander sneers, and Seth—Bald Pussy had the S name, not Skinny McBrown-Nose—flushes and stares at the floor. “I do not care who writes it down, as long as you give it to her tomorrow.” Homelander’s sharp words make them both nod nervously, and he offers you a hand. 

You take it, slow, tentative, and deliberate, and trying not to jerk it back and scream when cold leather wraps around your hands. This is working. Everything is where it needs to be right now. Not where it wants to be, not where it should be, but where it needs to be. You can scream when it’s safe to do so, when you can muffle the sound into Ben’s skin. 

After that, Homelander tells Sage that you won’t be doing PR training anymore. You don’t hear the conversation—or, more likely, argument—but when Sage tells you she’s watching you through narrow eyes with a sour expression. She passes you a large stack of papers, tells you to memorize them fast. 

That afternoon is spent flipping through the pages, trying to focus on the words and not rip them to shreds. Most of it is information you already know, just from the PR campaign Vought’s been pushing since January. Homelander’s secret lover. Two supes from the same small town, one stronger than any before and one who's very pretty. He loves her, because she’s sweet. She loves him, because who wouldn’t? 

You have to take a five minute break after that. Five minutes of heavy breathing, thinking about happy things before you can keep reading. 

As a supe, you have fire, but it’s not well controlled, and this you can only heal herself. You’re no longer immortal. Your name, Anomaly—there’s a footnote that says you’re dropping the the part of the Anomaly, to match Homelander—is because you have absolutely no control of your powers when you use them, which is why you don’t. You finished high school and never went to college, but you got experience in marketing from following Homelander around. Your parents were married for almost 30 years before a truly tragic car accident killed them both. You had them cremated, no gravestones or other possible evidence, and decided you wanted to start a family with Homelander. Then Soldier Boy kidnapped you, and your plans were put on hold. 

Another five minutes. Happy things. 

You—this you that’s been manufactured and designed to wear your face and not be you—aren’t a real person, with interests or hobbies or anything important to say about you except you love Homelander. The personality section calls you sweet and gentle, nice and loving. You enjoy cooking, clothing, and books. That’s it. Cooking, clothing, and books. You’re an independent woman, but you love Homelander, and you gave up everything because you love Homelander and he asked you to, and you’re smart but not smarter than he is, and you’re also a girly girl but you’re still smart, but still not too smart, not enough to be alienating or off-putting or annoying, and you’re not that funny but you’re really pretty, and you love cooking and clothing and books and Homelander- 

Music. City Lights. Ben. 

Music. Ben. City Lights.

Ben. Music. City Lights. 

Ben. 

Sitting with him. Eating with him. Laughing with him. Talking with him. At him. To him. Real and safe. 

Music. City Lights. Pine trees and strawberries and malt vanilla. Movies and TV shows and music. The color green and city lights and Ben. 

The tears fall, slow and silent, and your hand is itching to your throat. You still can’t breathe. This is lonely and you’re tired and you miss Ben. You’re not breaking. You won’t break. But you’re cracking. You can’t think outside of the cold, outside of your blood trying to spill into everyone else. 

You're trapped. Homelander will come back and he might not touch you but you can’t be sure, you have to get on stage and pretend to be this half-person in the morning, and you don’t love Homelander, you love Ben. And he isn’t coming to save you, because you’ve been making sure he doesn’t, but you miss him. You want to go home. Not here, never here. This isn’t home, this is an execution room. Cold and dangerous and everything is wrong. Home is warm and safe and everything is yours. None of this is yours. None of this is you. You can’t break, you’re not allowed to break. You can’t go home if you break, but you can’t go home now, and all of this hurts. It just hurts, and you want to go home, and all of this hurt is trying to burst out of you and it’s so cold- 

Fucking breathe. The phantom hums your name around your head, into your body. Breathe. 

You can’t. You can’t breathe. You don’t know why, but this is it. This is the thing that’s going to make you collapse and not get back up. You’re going to fail because of something so pointless, that doesn’t even matter- 

It fucking matters, Sunshine. All of this shit isn’t you. You’re a fucking pain, but you’re you. Not this weak fucking hussy bitch. Breathe.

Breathe. You’re you. You’re cold and alone but you’re you. 

When you get home, because you will fucking get home. Don’t think for a goddamn second I’m going to leave you here, you will come the fuck home. And when you do, you can cry all you damn want. 

You’ll break when you're home. You’ll go home soon, and you’ll break when you’re home. Ben was going to be angry, so fucking angry you were doing this to yourself. But he’d stay. He’d always stay. 

You memorize the script, memorize the role, and play it well. Smiling. Don’t break. Say the lines they’ve given you and don’t break and spend a half hour of the Deep’s 90 minute movie throwing up in a bathroom stall. Alone. 

It takes another week for them to let you roam the floor. You’re not allowed off of 99, or into actual meetings, but they unlock the doors and you’re officially introduced to the Seven. Sage knows you, and won’t stop watching you with narrow eyes. The Deep nods at you, and tells Homelander you’re smoking hot. Noir II nods in agreement, and then starts to talk before the Deep whacks him upside the head. Ashley—who is apparently a part of this—pretends she doesn’t know you, but when your hands shake you can feel her anxiety. A-Train just gives you a nod and a nice to meet you. 

You have your first real conversation with him a day later, when he speeds into Homelander’s apartment in the middle of the day. 

“We need to fucking talk.” 

You yelp, jumping back slightly. “Please, I’m not-“ 

“Cut the bullshit. You’re not Homelander’s girlfriend, no matter what they’ve been telling us to say.” 

You watch him carefully, not fully dropping the mask. “It’s, I don’t know. I’m confused, I’m not sure-“ 

“I said cut the bullshit.” A-Train snaps. “They don’t put cameras in Homelander’s room, he’s not going to find out about this. You can drop the act.” 

You pause. He might be lying. He could be baiting you out, but he doesn’t seem like the type. If he didn’t trust you, he’d probably just keep yelling until you confirmed his suspicions. And, based on the way he keeps looking at the door, pacing back and forth, A-Train’s not supposed to be here. Talking to you. 

“Fine.” Your face falls from nervous anxiety in exhaustion. Every fiber of your features is barely held together over the exhaustion. “What.” 

“What are they planning. Your team.” 

You shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been preoccupied. You’re the one who’s allowed to leave.” 

“They’ve locked us in since you and Soldier Boy’s little show outside. Sage is cracking down on our downtime, she’s still convinced there’s a leak.” 

“There is a leak.” You hold A-Train’s glare. “And Ben and I’s little show got Ryan Butcher out.” 

A-Train blinks at you. “Ben?” 

“Soldier Boy,” you mutter. “I call him Ben. He’s my…” You trail off. He’s not your boyfriend. Or, technically, lover. But you do love him. He’s everything, and you love him. “Friend.” 

“Friend?” He frowns at you. “Back at the diner-“ 

“It’s complicated.” 

A-Train halts in front of you. “Whatever. I don’t care about your complicated relationship with Soldier Boy. I need to know what Starlight and Hughie and MM and the rest of them are planning.”

“And I told you, I don’t know.” 

“Guess.”

“I can’t,” you hiss. “They might be planning to kill Homelander. They might be planning to kill Sage. Maybe just focus on Vought. I’m not exactly able to talk to them, so I don’t know.” 

“What about you?” A-Train glares at you, hands on his hips. “Are they not going to try and come get you?” 

“No. They’re not.” 

“I thought those assholes were all about teamwork and morality-“ 

“Morality,” your voice is softer than you want it to be. “Is relative. In this scenario, it would be immoral to focus on one person in exchange for an opportunity to kill Homelander.” 

A-Train gives you a look of disbelief. “You’re not being serious.” 

“I am not the priority.” Your nails are digging into your skin, and something in your throat has become like a stone, but you keep going. You have to keep going. “I am doing what I need to do. They are doing what they need to do. Right now, that’s what this is about.” 

“What, you think being some kind of self-sacrificing hero is going to help anyone.” A-Train scoffs. “Grow up. This is the real world, the big leagues. You’re not going to get a parade just because you did the stupid, selfless thing.” 

“I don’t want a parade.” I want to go home. “And I am well aware of the real world. The real world is expensive and tiring and lonely. I have nothing, I’m exhausted, and I’m completely fucking alone. This is hell.” The anger is trying to leave your body through your throat. “I’m not making the hard choice for glory. I’m making it for the real world.” 

A-Train glares at you for another long second, and then he’s gone in a whoosh. 

Three days pass. Three days of being alone and missing Ben and trying not to break. You’re in front of a camera almost all the time now. They won’t stop putting you in the ugliest dresses known to man, but you make sure they’re green. You make sure to look into the camera and give Ben signs. Something else that tells him you’re okay, that keeps him from trying to save you. That you miss him, but you’re fine. You’ll see him once this is over. Once all the pieces fall into place, once it’s safe and will be simple. 

You hope they’re trying to kill Homelander. Whenever you think about it you become a little lightheaded, because what if they're not. What if they’re trying to kill Sage, or the Deep, or Noir II. What if they just haven’t come for you because they’ve spent the past month planning to get you. A lot of this relies on them finding a plan to kill Homelander. Without you they’re not strong enough to keep him anywhere, and Ben can’t just ask him to stay still and take the shot. They’re going to need to keep him down, keep him still or trapped. They need to be looking for something, because all of this will be pointless if they aren’t. 

When A-Train finds you again—in another marble bathroom, and another awful gown, throwing up into the toilet—you swallow down what’s left and speak before he has the chance. 

“I still don’t know what they’re planning. But you need to find out.” 

You’re met with a blank stare for only a second as A-Train takes you in. Still knelt before the toilet bowl, tears falling, cracks appearing at the surface. “Holy shit, what are you-“ 

“I’m vomiting. You need to go to MM and tell me what they’re planning.” 

He shakes his head. “I told you, I can’t risk it. They’re watching our every fucking move, they even know I’m in this bathroom.” He freezes, staring at you. “Shit, they know you’re in this bathroom-“ 

“No, they don’t.” Your words are fast, sharp, said just before A-Train takes off. “They couldn’t put the tracker in my body. It kept burning and short-circuiting. They don’t know we’re talking.” 

A-Train nods curtly. “Fine. But I still can’t fucking risk taking a trip to talk to MM right now.” 

“You need to.” 

“I can’t, I have a family that they’ll hurt-“ 

“I’ve got a family that they’ll hurt,” you snap, standing on shaking legs. “We’ve all got families that they’ll hurt. People we care about that we have to keep safe. I’m not asking you to kill Homelander yourself, I’m asking you to find out what my team is planning.” 

“Why the hell do you need to know?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “You can’t help them, and you’re obviously having some sort of mental break that’s stopping your powers-“ 

“I am not having a mental break,” you take a rough step forward. “I’ve just been fucking kidnapped, again, so I’m crying. And I need to know so I can adjust.” 

“Adjust?” 

You laugh. It’s not a real laugh, it’s cold and tired and angry, but it feels good. You’re angry, and it’s not trying to explode from you because you can show it. “I’m working on something. I need to know what they’re planning so I can change my plans to match.” 

A-Train frowns at you. “Your plans… You mean you’re-“ 

“Not just sitting on my ass? Actually trying to help? Yeah, I am. I may not be a hero,” You jab a finger into his chest, and he flinches. “But at least I’m not a fucking pussy.” 

He’s gone again. It’s getting really annoying. But you don’t let yourself dwell on whether A-Train will help you or not. Because Homelander finds you the next day, and your timeline has to move up. 

“You’re going on TV again. Tomorrow.” 

“Okay,” your voice is soft, and something foul and molding is rooting in your gut. “Where are we going-“ 

“It’s just you.” 

You blink at him with a parted mouth, and most of the fear in your voice is real. “Just, just me?” 

“Well, obviously I’ll be going with you.” He waves you off with a hand, rubbing his forehead. “But just you on the TV. Sage wrote you a script, you’ll read it during the meeting.”

“Meeting?” 

“We’re making you a supe outfit. You fucking need it. You’re a hero, you’re my partner, putting you normal fucking human clothes give the public the wrong idea.” 

You wait for him to continue. You know better than to try and interrupt, or ask questions. 

“You’re not human. They can’t think just anyone can have what we have. If people keep seeing you dresses like a fucking actress they’ll think you’re just like them. That we’re just like them.” 

The silence is long enough for you to nod. “Okay.” 

Homelander’s look of surprise at your compliance lasts only a second before turning into satisfaction. “Good.” 

You’re going on TV, alone. You have a chance to knock the first domino down. You sit through the meeting and all the pitches and don’t speak or scream or vomit. Your costume is red, because Vought employs geniuses who understand that red and fire are often associated with each other. It’s revealing, there’s a corset and lace and high leather boots that hurt your feet. The script is bland, blatant propaganda, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t really need to memorize it anyway. 

Homelander’s gone again that night, and you’re not sure this will work, but you give it a shot. 

“A-Train?” 

Silence. He’s not an on-call angel, you’re not sure why you thought he’d respond- 

“What.” 

You turn to find him glaring at you. “I need your help.” 

“Why.”

“I can’t tell you.” 

A-Train shrugs. “Then I’m not helping you. Nice talk.” 

“Wait!” He’s not gone, just glowering at you, so you sigh and push the words out of your mouth.

“I’m going on TV tomorrow. Alone.” 

“Good for you.” 

“A-Train, I’m going on TV. Without Homelander. To give an interview.” 

“I don’t give a shit-“ 

“I’m going to do something.” You snap. “I need you to pull Homelander away, so I can do something.” 

He narrows his eyes at you. “Do what.” 

“I can’t tell you. But it’s important.” 

“Is it,” he pauses, looking around the empty apartment like Homelander might jump out and laser him. You understand the instinct. “Part of your plan? For them?” 

“Yes.” 

“To help them.” 

“Hopefully.” 

“Huh.” A-Train crosses his arms. “Why should I help you.” 

You scoff. You don’t have time for this. “Because if you don’t, then we’re all fucked.” 

“I’m already fucked. I put my skin on the line for your team, and got put in lockdown. And they still haven’t done shit-“ 

“They’re working on it.” They have to be. “I’d know more if you would just do what I asked.”

“I told you I can’t-”

“And I told you need to, if you want to actually do something. But I’m not asking for that right now.”  

He frowns at you. “What are you asking, exactly?”

“To pull Homelander away.” You repeat, sighing. “Just distract him from the studio.”

“Why.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m still not going to tell you. All I can say is it will help them if I do it. But I have to do it.”

A-Train is silent. Examining you before speaking slowly. “You think they’re going to win.” 

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

“Why.” 

“Because, there’s not another option.” You swallow. “Please. All you have to do is make sure that Homelander leaves the studio. That he’s gone and busy.” 

“And this,” he finally takes off that stupid visor, meeting your eyes. “This will help those idiots? Really help them?” 

“It will.” You make your voice firm. It will help. It has to. “But I can’t do it with Homelander there.” 

“You’re really not going to tell me what exactly you’re going to do?” 

“Nope. It gives you plausible deniability.” 

“Not if I’m the one who calls Homelander away, Sage already doesn’t trust me-“ 

“So make the Deep do it. Or Noir, or literally anyone else that deserves it.” You frown into the air. “I’d go with The Deep, though. He’s too fucking stupid for them to think he planned anything.” 

A-Train takes a long breath, still glaring at you. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work-“ 

“It will.” 

“For both our fucking sakes,” he puts the visors back on, shaking his head. “It better.” 

It does. By some miracle, you get every single one of the words you’d been rehearsing for weeks out on live TV, and Homelander—pulled away for a PR crisis in which the Deep publicly admitted to fucking another octopus—doesn’t stop you. The cameras go off, the show goes to commercial, and you blink into the darkness of the studio. You have to trust they’ll understand what you said. Why you said it. That Ben or Butcher or Annie or someone will know what to do with it. That they’ll take your opening and use it, that Ben will be able to help them. 

One step down. One step closer to going home. 

You’d expected Homelander and Sage to be mad. You hadn’t slept last night, knowing that whether or not this worked you were going to have to think fast, act quick, and hope you’d done enough to make Homelander think you were just confused. Just a nervous, confused girl coming around to understand what he’d done for her, what his enemies had done to her. All you had to do was have convinced Homelander. When it came down to it, Sage’s opinion of you wouldn’t matter, not if you’d really, truly convinced Homelander. 

At first, you thought you had. He drops into the silent studio, everyone’s hushed and nervous whispers falling dead as Homelander marches up to you and yanks you up. Your mask is still on, and some of the tears are real. A small allowance of grief, for yourself. For saying everything that was true, for having to say he would always save you and know who you were speaking about. But not be able to scream Ben. Ben, I love you, into the camera and just go home. You know Ben will understand what you were telling him. He’ll have heard your words, the one explicitly for him, and understand. 

You weren’t broken. You were breaking but not broken. He hadn’t been able to burn with you, but he hadn’t failed you. Ben could never fail you. You’d see him soon. The words you've been staring into cameras since you’d been able to. You love him, and you’ll see him soon. 

He won’t understand that you love him, because you’ve only ever thought that part. You’ve stared into countless lenses and thought Ben, I love you and I’ll see you soon while only letting your face say I’ll see you soon. 

When Homelander drops you back into his apartment, that’s what will get you through whatever comes. One step closer. You’ll go home soon. 

You put on your most meek face and soft voice, and start apologizing before Homelander can even say your name. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I was just thinking about what they did and I couldn’t stop,” you shake your head and fall backwards onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me, I’m so sorry, please-“ 

It’s not Homelander that cuts you off—he looks annoyed but not angry—but Sage, stomping into the apartment.

“What did you just try to fucking pull?” She sneers, stopping above where you’ve curled into yourself. “You think you’re smart? That was insurmountably idiotic, I thought you’d know better than to try and go off script so blatantly.” 

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” you double down. You make yourself look pathetic and scared, try to push yourself into the cushions. “I swear, I just couldn’t stop, I keep thinking about what they did-“ 

Homelander grins, clapping his hands together. “Finally, some fucking progress.” 

“This isn’t progress, you idiot,” Sage snaps. “She’s tricking you.” 

“Look at her, she’s sobbing,” Homelander gestures to you, and it takes all your effort not to flinch. “So she messed up, this is still good. She’s coming around, and now people will know about what a bitch Starlight-“ 

“This is not good. Soldier Boy is a threat now. A real threat to your image, a threat to her,” Sage points at you, and something twists in your upper gut. “Staying where we want her. We both know that not a word of what she said was true-“ 

“I’m sorry-“ 

Homelander silences you with a raised hand. “Don’t apologize to her, she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We can deal with Soldier Boy, and he’s got nothing to do with her.” 

“Really,” Sage’s voice is dry and bored. “You’re sure about that.” 

“Of course I am, he’s Butcher’s fucking lapdog right now. They haven’t come to get her back, he’s not going to do it. They don’t care about her, and she’s finally getting that-“ 

Sage says your name, and your blood runs cold. “Would you like to tell him, or should I?” 

It’s all you can do to stutter and shake your head. “I, I don’t know what you’re-“ 

She gives you an annoyed look. “Fine. But I expected better from you.” She turns back to Homelander, and all your fire is gone. Replaced by something feral, that’s trying to make everything else just as afraid and dreadful as it feels. “She and Soldier Boy are fucking.” 

Homelander scoffs. “Please, don’t be fucking insane-“ 

“They are,” Sage’s gaze snaps to you. Looking you up and down. “Or at least she wants to fuck him. But he’s the only real threat to you right now, because he’s probably going to try and get her back.” 

“I, I’m not, I don’t understand-“ 

“Yes, you do. You can’t be trusted right now, not while you’re still Soldier Boy’s pet.” Sage shrugs. “I personally don’t think you’ll be able to pull off that leash, but we’ll see. Now,” she looks back at Homelander, whose face is blank, jaw ticking. “I have to go deal with one of your other mistakes. Find me when you decide what to do with her.” 

Sage leaves, something smug flashing in her eyes. She’d been waiting. This is what she’d been waiting for. Your move, so she could retaliate. 

And now Homelander is speaking your name, slow and cold. “Did you fuck Soldier Boy.” You open your mouth, and he raises a finger, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes onto his. “And don’t you dare fucking lie to me again.” 

You didn’t. You never actually fucked Ben. But you don’t think Homelander is going to care about specifics. “Yes.” 

“On purpose.” 

“Yes.” You can’t breathe. All your words are forced out of your body, and the feral thing inside of you is everywhere in your body. Trying to get out. 

“Do you still believe that I hurt you.” 

You’re going to scream, but his grip becomes tighter. “Yes.” 

His eyes flash red. “After all I’ve fucking done for you? You’d turn around and fuck my father?” 

“I didn’t-“ 

“No more fucking lies!” Your jaw might break. “I turn you into a supe, a god, and this is how you repay me?”

“Please-“ 

“I love you,” he pulls you up off the couch, and your hands fly instinctively to grab at his arm. “I fucking love you. I made you. Do you think anyone would want you like this? Weak? A fucking weak, ungrateful, lying bitch?” 

“No-“ 

“Exactly,” Homelander hisses, pulling your face closer. “Nobody else. You’re strong, I made you strong, but don’t forget your place. Mine. You belong to me, just like everything else. You don’t love Soldier Boy, you love me.” 

“I don’t-“ 

“I chose you because you’re nice.” Homelander sneers. “I chose you because you’re sweet. You were so pretty and nice, singing on that sage, and I fell in love with you right there. You’re just pretty, nice, and sweet. I made you a supe because I was tired of women who thought that their words made them worthy of me. Don’t think your fire, that you can’t even control, makes you my equal. You’re more powerful than Soldier Boy, but you’re not more powerful than me. Don’t get caught in the taste of someone weaker, and think that’s what you need.” 

You speak on instinct, the words falling from you before you can stop them. “Ben’s not weak.” 

“Ben?” Homelander face twists in hatred, and you think he’s going to kill you. Or try to, or just lock you up forever again. “Did you just call Soldier Boy Ben?” 

“I, I’m-“ 

“I thought you were getting better.” Homelander drops you back into the couch. “But you’re still too human. Too weak. Too easy for them to manipulate, make you think what those roaches want you to.” His eyes narrow. “We’re going to have to fix that.” 

You don’t hear the call he makes. You can’t hear anything over the blood, pounding in your ears. You want to go home. You should’ve just ran when you could, not taken a brief moment of Homelander’s fear and taken it as a reason to stay. You should’ve just run and gone home and now you can’t. Now you’re never going to go home. You’ll never see Ben again. Never be safe again. 

“Sir, you wanted to see me?” 

You don’t recognize that voice. You can barely focus on it, because the fear in your body hurts. It’s stabbing and snapping everything inside you, and you’re going to shatter into a million pieces. 

Homelander’s guiding someone in front of you. Noir II, the one that talks. The one Homelander didn’t kill.

“Stand right there. Don’t move or I’ll fucking laser your brains out.” He turns back to you. “Kill him.” 

You make a sound from your throat, and Noir II becomes rigid. 

“Uh, sir-“ 

“I said don’t move,” Homelander snaps, still looking at you. “You know who he is?” 

“Yes,” you breathe out. “He’s Black Noir.” 

“You know that he and Ben worked together? He was in on the Russia deal?” 

“I, uh, I’m just playing a role,” Noir II stutters. “I don’t know who Ben is-“ 

Homelander whips around, eyes glowing. “Don’t move.” 

You can hear Noir II’s swallow. “Yes, sir.” 

Homelander says your name. “He wanted to kill Noir for that. Like he’s going to kill you, for betraying him. For staying with me.” 

You can’t breathe again. Ben knows you didn’t betray him, you’d never betray him. He’d never hurt you, you trust him with your whole life to understand that you weren’t still here because you wanted to be. You’d always chose Ben, you love him. 

“So you’re going to kill Noir here,” Homelander steps aside. “And stop these pathetic delusions that Soldier Boy gives a fucking shit about you.” 

“I can’t,” you whisper. “Please, Homelander-“ 

“Yes, you can. Use your fucking fire or something. Kill him now.” 

You shake your head. “I can’t-“ 

“Christ, stop whining and just do it.” Homelander pulls you up again, dragging you across the room. Right in front of Noir. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all move on.” 

“Please-“ 

“Now.” 

You can’t move. Every single muscle and tendon and blood vessel wants to leave your body. Everything is freezing, trying to spread like mold around you and you can’t breathe. 

“If you don’t do it.” Homelander’s body is pressed against yours, shoving you forwards. “I will. But no matter what, you’re going to stop lying to me, stop trying to trick me, and understand what your role in this is. You’re not Maeve, or Stormfront, or Starlight. You’re not a hero or bitch who’s going to try and control me. I made you for me. Now kill him.” 

You just choke on the air, and Homelander grabs your jaw again. “You can even do that fucking singing. Just kill him.” 

He rips off Noir II’s mask, revealing a young man. He grabs your hand, pushes it onto Noir II’s face, and he’s afraid. You didn’t have to be touching Noir II to know he’s afraid. You can hear his heavy breaths, you can see the way he’s frozen, and you can’t. You can’t kill him, you won’t.

Noir II makes a sound that might be a plea, and your heart falls into your gut. 

“I-“ 

Red flashed through the room, and Noir drops to the ground. Body sliced in two. 

“You were taking too long,” Homelander moves in front of you, pulling off a glove that’s been splattered in blood. “I’ve got things to do. You’re still going to the Believe Expo next week, but you’re going to stop being a little girl and start telling the truth. Understand?” 

You nod, still staring at Noir’s body. 

Homelander sighs. “Don’t think I like being mad at you. But you need to stop trying to be something you’re not. You’re the first woman that hasn’t tried to fucking control me, and that’s one the reasons why I love you.” He turns your head to look at him. “I forgive you for Soldier Boy. You weren’t yourself. But never,” his hand moves lower, sitting against your throat. “Forget your place again.” 

You hate him. You hate him so fucking much, but every part of your body feels far away. The whole world is just pure hatred and fear and it’s everywhere.

Homelander’s face twitches, hand tightening on your neck—your fear feels bigger, it almost makes you collapse—and he pulls his hand back as if you’d burned him. You couldn’t have, because everything is just fear and hatred and making the fire numb, but Homelander is staring at you like he’s seen a demon or a ghost. Then he’s gone. Leaving you alone again, with only a dead body for company. 

You don’t have anywhere to go. You haven’t felt small like this in a while, this useless and pathetic. But you don’t have anywhere to hide, anywhere safe to just fall apart. So you sink to the floor, gripping your arms with nails and cold hands, and scream. For the first time in over a month, you just scream. 

You want to go home. You can’t do this anymore, you just want to go home. You’re crawling up the stairs, away from the body to the bathroom where you can lock the door and break. Alone. Homelander wasn’t afraid of you anymore, he knew you were weak, and this might be your last time alone. 

I’ll come get you. Ben’s voice is everywhere, but still not real. You just want it to be real. 

“You can’t,” you whisper into the air, because it just doesn’t matter anymore. You’d lost everything already, the world is a blur, and there’s no point in trying to keep your sanity. “They’re ready for you. They’ll put you back to sleep.” 

I don’t fucking care. 

“But I do.” 

Sunshine, I will come get you. Say the word and I’ll get you right fucking now. I’ll fucking destroy the tower and you’ll come home. Back to me. 

“You don’t love me, Ben.” It hurts to say, but it’s the truth. Ben cares about you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him.  

Shut the fuck up. Don’t doubt for a fucking second that you’re everything to me. Homelander’s a fucking pussy, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

“But you don’t love me.” Everything is cold. Everything hurts and Ben doesn’t love you and you’re never going to see him again. Never going to tell him that you love him. You’re shattering, breaking, falling into something monstrous that can’t be put back together. Nothing is good, you’re not safe, and you’re weak. You’re exactly what Homelander says you are, weak. You’re not smarter, or stronger, and you’re never going to feel anything but cold again. 

When Ben’s voice sounds through the air again, it’s louder. Almost like he’s right in your ear. You can almost feel him. You’d recognize him anywhere, in any form, and this feels like him. 

He says your name, there’s something warm and powerful in your chest. I’m waiting, because you told me to and I trust you. But it’s fucking killing me. Whatever you’re fucking doing, it better bring you back. I don’t give a shit about Butcher or Homelander or any of this but you. I’m playing nice because you’ll be home soon. But you better fucking come home. 

I will. You don’t say it aloud, because all of the world suddenly feels far away. The only thing that feels real is Ben’s voice. Deep and warm. 

Fucking swear it. 

Promise. 

Good. The voice is silent for a second. That’s never happened before. I miss you. 

I miss you too.

Something around you sparks and flashes. It reminds you of Ben’s amusement in your body, rough and bright.

Don’t try and correct me, Benjamin.

I wasn’t going to say shit.

Yes, you were. I meant to say ‘too’. Statements that begin with an I are better suited to end with too. 

Smartass. 

I hate you. 

No, you don’t. 

The voice doesn’t remind you that you love him. It always reminds you that you love him. Instead it just keeps going.

If you hated me, you wouldn’t be wearing green all the time.

It’s a signal, Pretty Boy. I wear green so you pay attention. 

I’m not a damn toddler, I don’t need you to flash a color in front of my eyes to pay attention. 

Sure.

Shut the fuck up.

I agreed with you. 

We both know you fucking didn’t.

Sure.

Brat.

Cunt.

Silence again. Then-

For the record, I’m always paying attention to you. You’re fucking impossible to ignore, even when you’re gone. It’s damn inconvenient, I’m starting to look like a goddamn mental patient. And I fucking miss you, more than I’ll ever be able to tell you. 

Something rages inside your chest, something that feels bigger than the whole world and more valuable than oxygen, and then the warmth is gone. But you’re not screaming anymore, and all that’s cold is the floor of the bathroom and the air around you. Your vision clears with your head, you can feel the fire. It’s weak, not nearly enough to tear through Vought and escape, but awake.

You’ll survive this. You’d get through this. You’ll adjust, adapt, and keep moving. You will not break. You trust Ben, and you’ll feed the fire until you can make Homelander afraid again. He needs to be afraid again, to understand that he won’t fix you to what he wants, make you into anything. And when your plan works—in two weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, fifty-six minutes, and seven seconds—you’ll go home, and Ben will hold you. And you’d be safe. Soon, you’d be safe.

End Note:  Big thanks to everyone who’s sticking through the rough so we can get to the happy. You’re all amazing <3

Thank you all for reading, and please leave if a comment if you are so inclined! Every single one is the highlight of my day, from your jokes to your thoughts and feedback!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

@deansbbyx @s0urw00lf @ciuguapa @ilyaasansaif @whimsicalcherry

@sadpods @ahoytothestorm @silverwingxox

[kiestrokes]

You should have seen this coming

I need to know your thoughts on all on Ateez’s sex styles

ATEEZ and their Sex Styles | NSFW

▸Pairing: ATEEZ x Reader/You/Yn (vagina pov) ▸Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. ▸Genre: headcanon, imagine, smut. ▸Warnings: aftercare mentioned in some portions, cuddling, kissing.

Sexually Explicit Content: sex positions, rough sex, choking, marking, biting, pain kink, stone top, pillow princess, cum/semen, orgasms?

🗝️ Note: oh luce...are you prepared for this? this is quick run through, and I don't have my glasses on- so feel free to kindly point out any spelling or big grammatical errors. this is my own opinion, don't take it too serious.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted here. 

Park Seonghwa hmmm Hwa, this man likes things deep and slow, lots of kissing and biting going on before he quite literally dives in. He is the opposite of HJ, eye contact is what really gets him off. He wants to watch you fall apart and quickly follows you. Hwa's aftercare is showering together, so that he can ensure you both are clean for post sex snuggles and lego building.

Kim Hongjoong I have never met a scorpio that has the ability to stay in a minimum of two positions, it’s always 2++. HJ is great at foreplay; he's observed your body and gets you so keyed up in foreplay that you almost cum. But when it comes to actual sex, he's all over the place. Gets you is missionary first, but it's too intimate for his aromantic ass, puts your legs around his neck and focuses on your body, then he pulls a leg over so you're halfway into doggystyle and eventually you're on your stomach getting your shit wrecked. I don't think this man can cum if you're making eye contact.

Jeong Yunho hear me out- he looks incredibly unassuming, and Yunho is more of a cuddler than a fucker. But when he does, he performs. You're having at least two orgasms and begging him to cum already. He loves to fuck you in spoon, and gives you double stim on the clit, that has even the quietest person screaming. Arguably the best sex you have ever had and he's v humble about it.

Kang Yeosang this bitch...he manhandles you left and right. up against the wall, picking you up in bed, to um- slow it down and make it bouncy. He isn't much for kissing. But is the king of aftercare and loves to cuddle afterwards. Kind of oblivious to when you orgasm though, he accidentally fucks you into another- or three.

Choi San he is the opposite of Jongho, a stone top. your pleasure means more to him than his own. his favorite position is cowgirl, wants you facing him, admiring all his muscles and sneaking in little kisses. he might also have a mild neck kink, not quite choking but his hand is always there. so sorry but San immediately falls asleep after you fuck (re drunkteez).

Song Mingi ohhh Mingi...leo men don't come to fuck around (well they do. but you'll understand in a minute) similar to Yeo and Yunho he wants you to cum first. he likes to think his favorite position is doggy, but this man falls apart in missionary. it's the eye contact, the kissing, the biting, the hair pulling, how your legs wrap around and pull him in like you just can't get enough. man is gone. he also doesn't like cumming inside you, he wants to cum on your thighs or your stomach or your tits. to show you what you did to him. Mingi's aftercare is lots of food, he needs to eat and he wants you to eat with him, then cuddle up in bed and hold you like a little burrito (re sangi live)

Jung Wooyoung I saved this bitch for last, Woo likes it the roughest...even if I think HJ is the one with the pain kink. Woo wants you to be aggressive passionate with him, wants your hand on his throat, clenching his jaw, nails in his back. is kissing you non-stop, you cannot breathe between the thrusting and him literally stealing the air from your lungs in each kiss. tbh I think Woo prefers to give you oral and maybe receive oral over everything. but those little hips of his know how to work out the most intense orgasms.

Choi Jongho ok...sooo, Jongho and my libra bestie were both born on October 12th. I'm going to use a lot of what I know about her- is secretly incredibly kinky, willing to try anything once. He is a pillow princess, loves skinship but only when he initiates it, prefers to see a lot of his partner's skin. drops a ton of affectionate touches but screams he was just joking when you drag him off to the bedroom. he is the most vocal of all the members, literally singing his praises.

© COPYRIGHT 2023 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

[lmskitty]

The JJk fandom has some INCREDIBLE writers and artists and I just felt like showing a bit of love so here are some of my fave Satosugu fics!!!

Audience by @c-valentino

"Three years after the KFC breakup, Satoru caves and visits his old friend late at night with a problem. They are far from what they used to be, but when he hopes they might get a second chance after all, assassins show up to hunt down Suguru."

As you like it by planetarypedxng

"Ieiri Shoko has laid down the law: the three of them will hereafter hang out only at Geto’s place, because Geto is the perfect host, and because Shoko refuses to clean up after anyone, least of all men, and because Gojo’s room always disgustingly reeks of sex.

Gojo had laughed at that, a little too loudly, perhaps, and curiously did not have a single comment about it. What can he say? The truth? That he was still a virgin?"

Falling in love is easy. Admitting it is not. By @ellionwrites

"At 20 years old - sharing an apartment and joint Jujutsu missions - Geto and Gojo are inseparable. But it takes Geto going on a first date for them to start to figure out their feelings."

Two sorcerers chillin' in a hot tub (five feet apart cause they’re not gay) by @hollow-lime-green

"Geto Suguru has almost two decades of practice pretending not to see things that are clearly there, and Gojo Satoru has a well-documented history of being the most socially-stunted motherfucker alive.

That’s how they got here.

Love is in the hands by @thequeenofsarcaasm

That’s also why neither of them know where the hell they’re going with this."

To be a woman by @sadgreekboys

"After getting kicked from his home for being queer, Geto Suguru comes across his old best friend/first love, in a gay bar. He finds a new home in him."

close your eyes (nothing changed at all) by themoonisdead

"Satoru is the strongest. She is a woman. She is not meant to be those two things at the same time.

VIRGIN GETS WRECKED BY BEST FRIEND [FREE PORN VIDS] (18++) WATCH NOW!!!!! By Daisy__dupes

"That day in xx village, suguru makes a call" -what if Suguru had called Satoru for help that day?

Over the Threshold by @fushiglow

(Satoru gets hit with a sex curse and asks Suguru to help him!!!)

4AM by damiselart

"Larger than life K-pop idol, Satoru, approaches introverted record producer, Getō Suguru, to collaborate on his debut Japanese-language studio album. They both get more out of the experience than expected — for better and for worse."

(Tattoo artist Geto and model Gojo. Hot as fuck.)

Post-It Notes by monochromevelyn

"Shoko was sick of watching her two best friends pining for each other. Don't worry, she had a plan to move things in the right direction."

The Two-Headed Calf by malneiro

"Gojo gets a knock on his door late at night: Getou is sick and Mimiko and Nanako don't know who else to turn to."

Vows to Amida Butsu -

" Gojo has a great idea. Geto thinks his classmate should at least ask him cutely instead of just announcing his intent. Consent is important, after all."

and Long Bitter Autumn - both by Daphnerunning and Galiko

"Five years after his best friend left Jujutsu High to become an evil overlord, Gojo Satoru can't sleep. And there's not THAT much difference between a butt dial and a booty call, semantically speaking."

There are so many amazing satosugu fics and most of the writers listed here have multiple incredible fics but these are just some of my absolute faves!!!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 30: Pink Lace

(No image, Z is very tired)

Bearblr Promptober Day 30: Sweaters

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend (who he calls Darling) sends him a photo when he's late coming home, and she awakens The Bear.

Warnings: Swearing, oral sex (f receiving), Carmy is sir'd, fem reader/lass who is a trauma surgeon, she/her pronouns. (661 words) Smut.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list. Sideblog for commentary and yapping: @m-z-shoroi

Also, if random letters or words are black/white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for weeks.

30 Oct 2024

Darling sent me a selfie of her in my gray cable knit sweater, and I had to leave the restaurant.

It was past close already, but there was so much little shit that’d been put off for so long, that my anxiety latched onto so badly, that I couldn’t stop fucking cleaning. I’d scrubbed down the kitchen all over again and was in the process of moving the tables and chairs into better arrangements when my phone chimed at me. 11:30 pm. Photo from Darling.

She was in my sweater, lying in bed, dim lighting, but enough to see that her pupils were blown out. Lip pink and swollen from biting it. Just at the edge of the frame, her hand was underneath some fuchsia lace. Between her legs.

My stomach did a backflip.

Where are you?

Leaving right now, I replied.

The walk home was agony. It took forever and a thousand years to get back to the apartment when all I could think about was that sweater and that pink fucking lace. I could almost feel it fraying apart under my fingers as I tore it off, almost taste the heat of her cunt on my tongue, hear her moaning my name, feel her fingers tangled in my hair. My heart threatened to crack my ribs, my hands were shaking, thank fuck, thank fuck, thank fuck it was so late and no one was out at that hour or the embarrassment of being seen in such a wrecked state would’ve given me a fucking heart attack.

She was still in bed when I got home. Went to get up.

“No, you stay right fucking there,” I growled, throwing my jacket to the floor.

Her eyes locked on mine for a moment before darting away. I dragged her down to the end of the bed by the ankle, causing the sweater to ride up and reveal that pink lace with a prominent dark spot at the front.

“Hey! Woah, easy, Carm!” she squeaked.

“You want me to go fucking easy when you do something like that?” Did I really just say that to her?

I yanked the lace down her legs.

“I just wanted to—don’t rip them! I like them!”

“I’ll buy you new ones.” It came out frustrated. Angry, almost. The fuck? Why? What had gotten into me?

“Carmy-Carm, you should eat dinner and get a show…er…” she stopped when I dragged her down further and threw her leg over my shoulder.

This is dinner.

I bit her inner thigh hard enough for her to jump and whine. That’s for pulling shit like this. You wanna act like a whore, you can get marked up like one.

“You fucked up and decided to be a fucking tease on a day I already wanted out of my reality, so now you’re gonna lie here and fucking take it, am I making myself clear?”

Her larynx clicked. She flopped onto the bed and draped her arm over her eyes. “Carmy, please, I have work tomorrow.”

You should’ve thought about that before sending me the picture. “Am I making myself clear?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I dragged the flat of my tongue up her soaking wet cunt, and she flinched again. Fuck, it made my head spin just how wet she was. It was enough that her cunt was this soft heat that begged to be loved, but when she was so wet, so slick, it shattered any ounce of self-control I had. I wanted all of her. I would devour all of her, and she’d beg for more. Fuck, her pussy was so fucking good that it made me forget everything in the world. All the stress from work, from life, from people, it evaporated and my whole existence became that soft, tight, wet heat, her hands in my hair, her delicious moans.

You have work tomorrow, do you?

You woke up the Bear. You have no one to blame but yourself.

End Note: This one is also truncated, but yer friendly neighborhood journal thief is struggle-bussin' right now. Thank you for reading.

[scrunckled-idiot]

ok so i've been putting this off for WAY too long and ermm- yeagh :D

here's my silly mini fella <3 (design will most likely change in future posts with this guy cus im not too fond of the outfit)

(in case writing in the pic is hard to read:)

"a mute, miniature, blu super human experiment gone rouge to red, the pocket merc proves themselves to be a highly dense and nimble asset to their team... when the aren't hiding in walls or being trod under a barrage of boots"

this little fella was from a fanfic i wrote for myself before Tumblr. thinking about cleaning it up in the future and posting it on my ao3. idk.

additional heap of info! (im... not good at these AUGJ-):

because of their densely and tightly packed form, they're pretty much invincible to anything, from temperatures up to 1600c, as cold as -197c, and can withstand a weight limit of 30,000 tons. so medic didn't even bother adding a respawn chip to them. but he didn't count for the fact that every. single. one of those hurts like hell. death isn't even an easy way out. either wait for help, or get out of the situation themself.

lol again wtf is gender my bitches, bastards, and cunts in-between 😎

on the field, they're mostly used as a pest to distract the enemy so that their teammates can get the final blow.

lives in a hole punched into the wall by heavy in engineers workshop.

though they're a nervous wreck and cowardly most of the time, once attacked, or a teammate is in trouble, they act on an apeshit instinct and go as ham as they can, mostly going for the eyes, nape of the neck, or even the groin at times. its hard to hit something so small y'know.

they, engie, and pyro hand out most of th time. family bonding <3

literally experiencing the terrors everyday. pls help them.

they're mute because blu didn't create them with vocal chords since they were just gonna attach a camera with a mic to em. so since they cant talk, they use a lot of hand gestures and charades, sometimes using objects around them. fuck sign language that shits too hard to learn 😔

engie made their lil' suit, boots, and nail gun. had a blast with it since it reminded him of those minifigures sets he used to own as a boy.

nail gun works like a rifle but with arching projectiles. the arc aint that big, its mostly a straight shot.

its lonely being so small and miles apart from everyone.

idk what else to add ahah :) wugahy

relationships:

likes:

engie. heavy. demo. pyro. sniper

tolarates:

scout. spy.

dislikes:

medic.

miscellaneous:

soldier. they aren't sure. he's sending mixed messages. wtf.

ALSO CAN POCKET PLEASE MEET UP WITH @bluespace-skull CELINA AND @moon-0f-m4rs CIG pls i beg on my knees it would be so awesome sauce. the holy trinity.

(ahah)

[simply-trash5]

heeeyyyy do you happen to do trigun 🥺👉👈 also BNHA DILFs is such a vibe rn can we have sum yummy hcs pretty please 🤤 i can't decide who so dealers choice 🥴

Heyyyy anon sweetie!

Sorry I am just now replying, I have the flu so miss girl is struggling. I am planning to watch Trigun so I don’t do it yet, but please come back soon and request because I will once I watch it ✨

So BNHA DILFs huh? Yummy HC will be under the line.

First and foremost let’s assume that all of my DILFS are divorced DILFs ✨ single and on the prowl…

Let’s start with Daddy OneforAll:

DILF Izuku is that big hunk of man with the boyish charm that has NO IDEA how sexy he truly is. I have this idea about you meeting him in the park while he plays with his kids. His kid will accidentally throw a ball where you are reading a book in the shade of a tree and here he comes to retrieve it. Curls falling in his face, a blush covering his cheeks when he notices your beauty that makes his freckles pop…he will stammer a little when he asks for your number…

Next thing you know you’re in his apartment. He arranged for a sitter for his kids and he took you on a date; now he has you on his couch kissing sweetly on your neck asking you if all of this is okay. His large scarred fingers are playing at the hem of your shirt ready and willing to all but rip it from your body.

DILF Izuku is patient and wants to take his time worshipping every inch of your body when he has you laid in front of him. He treats you like a goddess came to earth just for him as he watches you come undone from his tongue while you beg for him to fuck you mercilessly.

“Don’t worry sweetheart…I’m going to give you exactly what you want. Gonna take care of you…”

Next up DILF Bakugo:

Now I HC you meet him at some event for his children. I think his daughters are dancers and maybe you are their instructor and when he caught sight of you in your tights—all bets were off. He began to flirt here and there until he finally was bold enough to ask for your number and take you out.

Now you are bent over his bed being absolutely wrecked as he is pounding into you with a handful of your hair. He is all muscle and hard planes bent over you growling into your ear—“that’s right, be a good fucking girl ‘f me”

Now once he’s made sure he’s ruined you for anyone else he’s going to spoil the absolute shit out of you and show up at your studio all the time—even on patrols just to give you kisses or food or little gifts he thinks you’ll love because you’re one of his girls now and

“I’ll always take care of my girls…”

Now on to DILF Kirishima!

You meet DILF Kiri at the gym—at kids gym of course! He’s taking his little one to kids gym for a day of fun but he catches sight of you lifting and decides you need a little…help..on your form. So he leaves his little one in the caring hands of the instructors and comes over to ask if you want some help. You are stunned and maybe a little grumpy (which he finds cute) but sure why not. After a little fun banter you ask him for his number because he’s hot and you haven’t had a good fu—I mean date in a while.

One thing leads to another and Kiri has you in a mating press in his bed rubbing circles on your clit with those large fingers. You’re in shambles over his frame pressing on you and his cock hitting that spot so well and he’s cooing how ‘aww pretty girl you are doing so well don’t cry’ as he is wiping your tears. After you have came more times than you can count and he has marked you with his teeth—he cleans you up in a warm shower together and you lay in his soft bed as he strokes your hair and tells you how beautiful you are. You’re whipped and he’s whipped.

Now you’re going to the gym with him and bringing him lunch to the agency and prancing around in Red Riot merch as his little girlie friend. Good thing you’re getting speared by his dick every day that ends in a “y”. You’ll be moving in soon.

DILF simps come get yalls juice—lemme know if you want any other DILFs ✨❤️

[ccscocoapuffs]

Randy Meeks NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Randy is a big cuddler, he loves being wrapped up with you. It's honestly probably his favorite part of the entire experience of sex. He for sure is the type to get you a wet rag and clean you up and pamper you with kisses.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Randy loves his eyes, i mean come on he has puppy dog eyes. Who wouldn't love them. Randy is a thigh guy, he loves seeing your thighs in a short skirt or in thigh highs. He loves to keep his hand on your thigh when you two sit next to each other as well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) He's messy, though he doesn't mean to be. He just cums ALOT. He loves when you let him cum inside though, that's is favorite. His next favorite is definitely your tits.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Panty stealer CHANGE MY MIND. Randy will steal a few of your thongs and use them to wrap around himself when he wants to jerk off.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) It's Randy.....its safe to say you're his first. He's eager to learn though, you'll just have to walk him through it the first time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Randy likes missionary or cowgirl. In missionary he loves being able to see your face and kiss you. In Cowgirl he completely falls apart, he throws his head back and lets out the loudest ass moans, he loves keeping his hands on your hips while you ride him till he cant take anymore.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Randy can be in the middle. He usually stays on the goofy side though unless he's really into like he is when you ride him. He keeps a smile on both yours and his face and will make you giggle while he relishes in the feeling of you clenching around him.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Randy has kinda stubble like pubes. They match his hair but he likes to keep it shaved decently short down there to keep from you choking on it when you go down on him.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Randy is an excited wreck. He gets so excited at just the thought you wanna have sex with him. He tends to be kinda handsy at first because he doesn't really know how to start things. So it's safe to say you'll kinda be in charge.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) He jerks off alot. As mentioned earlier he loves to wrap your panties around him and cum in them. He gets off at the thought of you finding them one day in his room.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Randy is kinda vanilla, though as mention before he is eager to learn. If there's something you are into he is more than willing to try it out with you.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) His bed and his car. Randy loves being able to take his time with you and lay you out on his bed and enjoy the moment. In his car he likes the riskiness of it and the sexiness of having you climb into his lap and ride him in the car.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) The thought of you actually liking him. We all know Randy is a nerd, there's not really a whole lot of girls running up to him wanting to date him let alone fuck him. That's why he loves it when you make people know he's yours in public, it turns him on so much to know you aren't embarrassed to kiss him in front of everyone.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Share you with someone. Randy already gets alot of shit and teasing from Stu when it comes to you. The thought of sharing you with someone like Stu and you liking him better is just to much for him.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Randy prefers receiving, Considering you were most likely his first, he damn near past out when you sucked him off for the first time. He can't get enough of the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. As for giving if you teach him he will actually start to get pretty good, he relies alot on his fingers while he eats you out though.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) In the middle, Randy isn't to fat but he isn't to slow. He likes to cherish the moment with you but also keep it fun.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Randy is 100% down for a quickie. Randy has this secret thrill of maybe getting caught, so he will ask you to suck hm off in the bathroom at one of Stu's parties or to let him finger you in the janitors closet at college.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Like I said before Randy has the thrill of getting caught so he for sure likes the risk. He is also down to experiment with you, he has a particular interest in you edging him one day.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Randy is a one round kinds guy, now this doesn't mean he's bad, it means that he truly gives you all his energy in one round. He does everything he can to please you as much as possible.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Randy actually kinda likes toys, he likes to keep it simple though. He is down to let you use a vibrator on him and a cock ring. He also likes the idea of fucking you while he uses a vibrator on your clit and maybe letting you peg him one day.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Randy only teases a little bit, He likes to get you wound up just a little bit to let you know he's in the mood. He secretly hopes you'll get mad at him for his teasing and take him upstairs and rail him.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) He's VERY loud. If you guys ae trying to be sneaky, you're gonna have to cover his mouth. If you have sex in his dorm at college you FOR SURE are gonna get noise complaints.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Randy likes to try stuff he's seen in movies with you. God forbid you let this boy watch 50 shades of gray or something, he's not ready for all that.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Randy is about 6 inches, he has a slight curve upwards and he's on the thinner side. Though don't let that fool you, he knows how to use it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Surprisingly high, Randy loves fucking you and you fucking him. Once he gets that first taste he can't get enough, he wants you all the time.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Decently quick, He gets you cleaned up and gives you plenty of kisses and cuddles before he lays down on your chest and falls asleep. Yes, Randy lays on your chest. He's Baby.

[generalllimaginesss]

Loom

Trevor Zegras imagine based on Zach Bryan’s song Loom…solely my interpretation of the song.

As always there will probably be mistakes, but I hope you enjoy!

Heads up: Jordan is Y/N’s bf

a/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for almost a year. Also, I am alive, just going through a different stage of life and trying to find my passion for writing again.

How do I make you fall in love with me?

And how would I let you know I care?

And how would I say that the man your laying with is not the man that should be laying there?

How would a boy like me put it?

A man with some sense probably wouldn’t,

But I don’t give a damn, I am not a smart man

I’m gonna say some words I shouldn’t.

Some would say that Trevor Zegras’ best friend was Jack Hughes, Jamie Drysdale, Cole Caufield, or some random hockey player. That person would be partially correct, Trevor loved all of his friends deeply. However Y/N Y/L held a spot in his heart for best friend. Their families had been close friends since before the two were ever even a thought. They had watched each other grow up and turn into the young adults that they were today.

Where Trevor was outgoing and charismatic, Y/N was laid back and reserved. They balanced each other out in the most perfect way. Trevor’s flirty personality was something that the girl had grown used to, she didn’t take him seriously when he commented on her body, or made advances. That was Trevor, and there was no changing that.

Things started to change, however, when Y/N started dating somebody in college. Trevor had been drafted by the Ducks, so the two really only saw the each other on random FaceTime calls or holidays when they both happened to be home. Y/N lived clear across the country, but she loved watching her best friend show out in Anaheim.

“What are you doing?” Trevor’s voice echoed from Y/N’s phone throughout her apartment. Trevor had just gotten home from a game, his hair still wet from the shower he took, but his FaceTime with Y/N was a priority.

“I’m cleaning up. Jordan is on his way and I don’t want the apartment to look like a wreck,” she explained as she wiped the kitchen counters.

“Why the hell is he still in the picture? I thought we had a conversation about his douchey tendencies,” Trevor questioned as he began to play his Xbox.

“I don’t know, he’s just what I envisioned as my future. We’ve got similar beliefs, he loves my family, he’s kinda hot….there’s just something about him that I can’t let go of,” Y/N rambled on as she lit a candle. She walked back over to her phone, only her forehead showing on the camera, and watched as Trevor bit his lip in concentration.

He was acting like the whole ordeal was strictly a worried best friend, but in reality it ate him alive that his best friend was being treated like she was replaceable. In Trevor’s eyes she was far from replaceable. There would never be anybody that could take that place in his life, and he prayed to God that he could show her how she deserved to be treated.

“He’s a fucking prick, Y/N. I mean he went golfing with his buddies when your grandmother died. Who was left picking up the pieces? Me,” Trevor rolled his eyes just thinking about that instance where he realized how shitty of a boyfriend Jordan was.

“In his defense, we had only been dating for a few weeks. Like, that’s a lot of emotion for the beginning of a relationship, so I get it. It would have been awkward,” Y/N defended him, resulting in Trevor tossing his remote to the side and looking at Y/N.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. I’m almost positive that he’s only with you because you’re hot and gave him sex the first date,” Trevor couldn’t stop it from rolling off his tongue. As soon as the words left his mouth he wanted to grab them back and destroy them. He knew Y/N confided in him about intimate things in her life, and for him to be throwing them in her face broke and unspoken rule.

“Fuck you, Trevor,” Y/N’s voice rose slightly as a tear threatened to spill out of her eye.

“I didn’t mean it, Y/N,” he tried to apologize, but Y/N was having none of it.

“Yes you did, dumbass,” she responded as she ended the call.

Trevor didn’t know how to go about these emotions with his best friend, but all he knew was that he had to do something about it. He couldn’t take it out on her or anybody that had interest in her.

And I had a dream I was falling

And maybe that’s a fucked up metaphor

Maybe it just means, when I meet you in my dreams

Nothing stops me from going through the floor

Almost a week had passed from the time that Trevor had a word vomit and the present day. There had been a few messages between the two since then, but not the regular communication that the two were used to. Trevor had finished a workout and could not get her off of his mind. No matter what, all he could see was her face of hurt from his poor word choice.

As soon as he got home, he crashed on the couch. His muscles and mind were exhausted from a long day’s work.

He didn’t know if it was because she was weighing on his mind so heavily, or if it was because he was so tired, but he dreamt of a life where him and Y/N were totally in love.

“I’m gonna marry you one day, Y/L/N,” he held her in his arms and kissed her temple. She tasted sweet, like the vanilla body wash that she always used. He swore he could smell strawberries in her hair, a few pieces lingering on his face as he pulled away and looked at her.

“And what makes you so sure of that, Z?” She playfully bantered back. Her cheeks were rosy, but it could have been from the summer sun that they had been in all day.

“Because nobody will ever love you the way I do,” he whispered as he closed in on her light pink lips.

Before the kiss had finished, Trevor jolted awake. The sound of Jamie closing the door interrupting his slumber. He had been out cold for a good 3 hours, sweat drenching the curls that covered the nape of his neck.

“You good, Z?” Jaime asked from across the living room.

“No, man. I don’t think I am,” he groaned as he got up, patting Jaime on the shoulder and heading to his room. He climbed into his bed while scrolling through his phone, hoping to see his best friend’s name pop up on something. He reread their last texts going over plans for their summer break coming up. They weren’t the normal talks of exciting things, but discussing who was and wasn’t going to be there. The only thing that could make matters worse was the fact that Jordan would be there for a wedding that they were all invited to.

Trevor plugged his phone in on his nightstand and tried to go back to sleep as best as he could, but the thought of his girl made the task feel impossible. He settled for staring at the ceiling fan until it lulled him into a dreamless sleep.

And I know all the bad things about you

But I still think you’re the purest of our kind

I remember being younger with an awful pining hunger

For a good that a boy could never find

And the fear of a man still left behind

Trevor always thought he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that he fell in love with his best friend, but the plane ride back to Bedford gave him plenty of time to rethink that. All of the memories of growing up with the girl seemed to pass as a blur, but he could remember one night that the two were playing truth or dare with a group of friends. The two of were probably 15, at most, going through that awkward stage of freshman year and trying to figure out who they were were.

“Y/N, truth or dare?” Trevor displayed a devilish grin as she rolled her eyes and groaned.

She gave it a considerable thought. Trevor knew some pretty embarrassing things about her. He knew that she carried her childhood blanket everywhere she went until she was twelve. He knew that she was the one that stole her grandfather’s dentures and tried to put them in the dog’s mouth. He knew every single guy that she claimed to have a crush on, so she definitely knew what she wouldn’t pick.

“Dare, but please go easy on me, jerk,” she practically begged her best friend. Nothing could prepare her for what he decided, however.

“Kiss me,” he smiled as the whole group of friends giggled and pushed Y/N towards him.

Trevor thought back to how it was a simple peck on the lips, but he distinctly remembered the nerves in his stomach and the race of his heart after it happened.

Y/N had immediately wiped it off and ran to wash her mouth under the sink, leaving the group in fits of laughter. Everybody except Trevor, of course. He kept his appearance of the clown of the group, continuing on with the game like he didn’t just steal his best friend’s first kiss.

The sound of the captain of the plane interrupted his thoughts, announcing the plane’s landing in LaGuardia. Trevor took one AirPod out as everybody began to get their carry on bags and joined in the jostling in the aisle.

After picking up his checked bag, he began to look for his brother’s car outside of the airport. Immediately, he spotted his little brother, but nothing could have prepared him for seeing Y/N standing beside him, sporting a wide smile with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

He gave his brother a hug and then turned to Y/N, rolling his eyes as he forced her into a hug. She gave up her tough persona and buried her head into his shoulder, squeezing back.

“I thought you were still pissed at me, to be honest,” he let go of her and ruffled her hair.

“I was for a while, but I had to keep the surprise so I just kept it up,” she admitted and stuck her tongue out at him. Griffin let his older brother drive and Y/N sit in the passenger seat.

Maybe, just maybe, Trevor might have a chance with his best friend. He pined for that feeling he had at 15.

So I guess I’ll just love you from the window

While you’re dancing with the charmers in the room

And I’ll sneak out that door like I have a time before

And just let that lost love loom

And just let that list love loom

Summer was going amazing, that is until Jordan showed up the day before Y/N’s cousin’s wedding. Trevor knew this was inevitable, but the disappointment was there nonetheless. Hearing his best friend laugh with him, watching them sneak kisses when they thought no one was looking, the whole thing made Trevor sick to his stomach. One, because it was actually disgusting to watch the douche kiss his girl, but two, because that should have been Trevor. Trevor swore that she laughed more genuine with just himself though. He smiled at the thought.

The next day came quickly. The Zegras family had gotten dressed and drove to the Y/L/N’s house to help with anything they could. Y/N’s mom was grabbing last minute details that she had been responsible for, so Julie began to help.

Trevor was making small talk with Griffin when he glanced up the stairs and saw Y/N coming down. His breath hitched for a second, but he let out a slightly audible groan when he saw Jordan walking down behind her. Griffin shot a confused look at his brother, but shook it off.

The families loaded up into a few vehicles and made their way to the venue. The ceremony was beautiful and the reception was so much fun. At least at first.

The DJ had been playing upbeat songs that everybody was dancing to, but as the night progressed the first slow song began. Trevor left the dance floor to go outside and sit at one of the tables that was set up. He could still see everything that was happening through a window, hearing the slow song continue. He thought he would be ok, but when he saw Jordan and Y/N swaying to the music he felt a surge of jealousy rise up. He wanted to march in there, tell Jordan to go to hell, and steal Y/N. He watched Y/N, her dress swaying with the movement of her body. The lights gave her a sort of glow. Trevor longed to be the one holding her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.

“I know I have no say in the matter, but I do wish that something would have come from the two of you’s relationship,” Y/N’s dad startled Trevor, eliciting a chuckle at the reaction.

Trevor gave off a sigh and turned to the man that was practically his second dad.

“I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but me too,” Trevor rubbed the back of his neck, glancing back at Jordan and Y/N. The slow dance was coming to an end, but Trevor really wanted to get this off his chest, even if it was just with Y/N’s dad.

“I love her a lot, Trevor. She’s my only girl,” Her dad laughed and slug an arm around Trevor’s shoulders, “But she has been so oblivious to your feelings,” the man gave Trevor a squeeze.

“Have I really been that obvious?” Trevor’s cheeks were burning, especially when Shut Up and Dance With Me by WALK THE MOON started playing and he watched as Y/N was looking around the room, desperately trying to find her best friend. This had been their song since 8th grade homecoming, and there was no way she was going to let it play without dancing with Trevor.

“Extremely,” Y/N’s dad chuckled, “My opinion counts for nothing, but I think you should tell her.”

Trevor smiled at the idea, but he didn’t even know where to begin with that. Was it really worth ruining their friendship? A 22 year long friendship?

“I think, for now at least, things are better left unsaid,” Trevor responded.

“If that’s what you think, then that’s what you think,” The older man laughed as he watched his daughter stomp towards them.

The conversation was interrupted as Y/N stepped in between the two men.

“There’s no way in hell that you’re getting off without dancing with me to this song,” She grabbed Trevor by the hands and pulled him onto the dance floor. The two danced hard, sweat beading on their foreheads as the song played.

Trevor’s personality was shining through his dance moves, and Y/N was letting him have his moment. Neither one of them were thinking of Jordan until the song ended and her boyfriend tapped Trevor on the shoulder.

“I’d like to steal my girlfriend back,” he slurred slightly, totally oblivious of Trevor’s feelings toward him. Y/N squealed as Jordan took her to a corner of the venue, placing kisses on her cheeks and lips. Trevor had made his way toward Griffin, but not before seeing Jordan whispering in Y/N’s ear, something that made Y/N blush and giggle.

Trevor couldn’t watch it anymore. He found Griffin, let his parents know that they were leaving, and made their way back home.

His mind was in a cycle of asking himself if he should tell his best friend his feelings, to reasoning why that would be the worst idea, to genuinely being curious if something would come of it. Maybe this feeling is better left hanging between the two.

How do I make you fall in love with me?

Is it lost in the emptiness of apathy?

Should I fight for it like war, should I nail it down to boards

Or do I live in a love I’m dying for?

“I should have listened to you,” Y/N admitted to Trevor, snuggled to his side on the couch as some random movie played in the background. The thunderstorm outside provided the perfect ambience for a cozy movie day with Trevor.

Y/N had found text messages that Jordan had sent to girls while the two had been together. Messages that revealed that she was not the only girl occupying his mind and bed.

“I’m not going to say I told you so, but I do recall a conversation that went a little like me explaining how he was a douche,” Trevor mindlessly twirled her hair around his finger.

“I know you’re so satisfied with being able to say that,” Y/N rolled her eyes. She should have listened to Trevor. She was never going to admit that, but it was true. There were many red flags that she put blinders to, and in the end it bit her in the butt. It really hurt, but Y/N knew in a small place in her heart that Jordan wasn’t the one. He was fun, but he didn’t have everything that Y/N was looking for. The relationship was on the downhill stretch, so his cheating just sped things up a bit.

“I’m not satisfied. I wish he didn’t put you through this,” Trevor corrected his friend. He didn’t want to rub it in her face, but he wanted her to know that he cared. He cared before the relationship, he cared while they were dating, and he’s going to care when she can’t remember his name anymore.

“Is it terrible that him cheating gave me an excuse to break up with him? I wanted him to do something to end it. Like yeah, we had sex every now and then, but it just feels like after the wedding things started to fizzle out,” Y/N admitted as she picked her fingernails, a habit that she picked up at an early age to deal with conversations and feelings that were hard.

“If that’s how you feel, then no, it’s not terrible. You feel what you feel. You can’t help that,” Trevor reassured her.

“I just wish somebody would love me for me. I wish that somebody could match my energy, or maybe just not cheat? I don’t know, I feel like that’s not asking much,” She chuckled and wiggled around to get more comfortable.

Trevor grinned at his friend. “Y/N Y/L/N, why don’t you just ask me on a date,” he half joked, but a small part of him was serious. It didn’t matter, though, because Y/N let out a laugh at him, and her laughter was the most important thing right now.

“In your dreams, Z,” She flashed him a smile and focused her attention back on the tv in front of them.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, not expecting her to hear it.

“What?” Her head snapped at him as his eyes grew wide.

Was now his chance to finally admit his feelings? Should he give her a chance to get over her relationship she just got out of? He didn’t have much time to decide, so he let his mouth take over.

“Look, you’re dad already knows,” Trevor sighed as he began to admit his feelings.

“Already knows what, exactly?” The confusion was written all over Y/N’s face.

“I think I just need to wait to tell you this,” Trevor tried to drop the conversation, but Y/N wasn’t budging.

“No, you made the comment, so you have to explain it. I’m fine. I don’t need you to tip-toe around me,” Y/N explained as she gave the boy her full attention.

“Ok, well I’m going to lay these feelings out there, but please don’t freak out. I’m always going to be your best friend no matter what,” With those words, both of their hearts began to speed up.

“Just say it, Z,” Her patience was wearing thin with the boy.

“I love you. I’ve loved you since I stole your first kiss. The thought of another guy being with you makes me sick. Like physically makes me feel like I want to vomit. You say you want somebody to match your energy, but I’m the exact opposite of you and we’ve been inseparable since birth. You have this idea of what you want, and it sucks because never once did you consider me in that. Like is this hopeless? Could anything possibly come from this?” Trevor lost control of what he was saying. Every feeling that crossed his brain regarding his best friend was spoken. In a way it was relieving, but the fear of being rejected quickly took place.

“Z…” Y/N was speechless. Never in a million years did she expect her best friend since birth to admit he loved her. She truly didn’t know what to say.

“Well say something. I just told you I loved you, so I’m gonna need a little more elaboration than just ‘Z’,” Trevor was desperate for her to say something.

“You just laid it out there huh,” Y/N snickered.

“Right there on the floor, yep,” Trevor raised his eyebrows and bit the inside of his cheek. For the first time in his life, he wanted to crawl in a deep dark hole and die there. Die a recluse that didn’t admit to loving his best friend.

“Wow,” Y/N took a deep breath in. Things had never been awkward between the two in their whole life, but this was painfully awkward. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t love Trevor, she did. And truth be told, she had a slight crush on him growing up. However, she got over it. That wasn’t to say that she couldn’t open up to the idea of a relationship with Trevor, but it would have to take time to unfold.

“I’m leaving,” Trevor began to put his shoes on and stuffed his keys in his pocket when Y/N grabbed his arm.

“Just hold on. I know you’re feeling embarrassed telling me this, but think about me hearing it. That was the last thing I expected you to say today. I’m just shocked, that’s it,” She became aware of her hand wrapped around his forearm, pulling him back on the couch.

"I wish I never told you,” He ran his fingers through his hair, strands going in many different directions. He situated himself next to you once more, his leg bouncing at a rapid rate once he stilled.

“Trevor, I mean this with the utmost respect….shut the hell up.”

If your words didn’t catch his attention, then your side eye most definitely did.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He sighed, resting his head on the back of the couch. He steadied his breathing, waiting for your voice to pierce through the silence in the room.

“I love you, too.”

Trevor’s interest piqued, rotating his body so that he is completely facing you. He could tell you had more to say, so he let you.

“I’ve loved you for 22 years. I mean, not that I can remember much when we were younger, but I know you’ve always been my very best friend. I’ve gone through phases where I thought you were cute, I used to think any girl that you hung out with was a threat to our friendship. I remember our first middle school dance…I told your date your favorite color was neon green so she’d wear that awful dress,” You chuckled as you recalled that night. It definitely ended with his date telling her mom that Trevor was cheating on her with you. You were 12.

“You didn’t, Y/L…”

The corners of his mouth were curving upward as the memory played in his head.

“Oh, I did. I remember the first time I met Jack and Cole…you were jealous that me and Jack had hit it off so you told him about me throwing up the first time I had to give a presentation in speech. I was so mad at you, but you guys lost the game that night because you missed a goal. I promised myself that night that I would take the responsibility of being louder than your thoughts. You beat yourself up so bad for days after that, but all I could think about was that you saw a sunflower growing in a random field and decided to pull over and pick it for me that day. You are the most selfless person I know. You are the hardest on yourself, and you use your humor to deflect that. I know that you worry everyday if you’re truly good enough to be playing at the level you’re at,” You brought your thumb up to wipe away a tear that was puddling in the corner of his eye.

Trevor knew everything you were saying was true. He was jealous when you met Jack because he knew that Jack was capable of getting all of the girls. And he could have all of them, just not you. He also remembered that car ride home from practice when he was driving home from practice and there was a single sunflower in the middle of nowhere. That was your favorite flower. Maybe it was a sign?

“Trevor Zegras, I can’t promise that I can be in a relationship right away. But what I can promise is that I can learn to be a different role for you. Don’t you ever have regrets. I love you, you idiot,” You ruffled his hair and pulled his cheek to your lips.

Cheekily, at the last second he turned his head and smashed his lips on yours. You both smiled into the kiss, but when you pulled away you thumped his ear as hard as you could.

He winced, but flashed a cheeky grin, “That was for 15-year-old me…”

“I hate you,” the two of you laughed.

As the rain kept pouring and the candles scattered around the room flickered, you both were consumed in your own thoughts. Would this complicate things? Probably. But relationships were difficult anyway. Might as well figure it out together.

*

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*I would also like to say that I’m stuck between going ahead and posting the second part of Reasons to Stay and making it a tiny series or just writing a long ass piece. I have no creativity for anything else though. I also wrote the majority of this before Jaimie was traded and just didn’t want to go back and change that.*

[olivia091108]

How to be a jackass:part 1

Summary:meeting bam and Ryan in westchester

Word count:3306

So far filming for season two of jackass has probably been the best time I’ve ever had even though I’m getting injured or pranked every day.

All the guys are great and at first I thought it’s gonna be awkward not only being the new person but being the only girl.Thank god I was wrong for once I don’t think any of them actually cared as long as I actually did gnarly stunts.

The only people I haven’t met are the boys from westchester but Jeff says that we’re gonna film a group stunt with all of us soon.

I’ve done some mediocre stunts like pouting glitter in my eye which didn’t come out for a week and licking a mouse trap Owch. I also did one with wee man where he dressed as a baby and put in a pram and when people would ask to see ‘my baby’ they would be kinda disturbed.

Today I walk on to set and check the stunt list. Today I’m gonna get a pregnant belly strapped to me and walk around town drinking some beer.

——————————————————

Time skip

After getting a mean old lady shouting at me for ‘destroying my baby’ Jeff called all of us over and told us that at 5:30am to meet here because we’re driving to westchester tomorrow.Jeff actually banned us from going out after like we usually would do we finished for the day and I got the bus back to mine and my sisters apartment

Don’t get me wrong I’m excited but really 5:30 I’m sure there’s no harm in waking up later. I walk into the apartment and go to my room to pack since we will be staying there for 5 days.

I walk into my room and start packing stuff but I can’t find one of my favourite tops so I walk into Ella’s room to see if she’s taken it and I barge in without knocking to see her and Oliver mud sex scrambling to cover themselves with the sheet.

“Get out!”

“In a sec do you have my blue top the one with the buttons”

“Are you serio-“ I sigh and lean against the wall and she knows I won’t leave until she gives it to me. “It’s in my closet” I walk over and grab it off the hanger and scrunch it up in my hands

“Oh yeah by the way I’m gonna be gone for a few day”

“Leave!” She throws a pillow at me but I dick out the room before it can hit me

An hour later ella and Oliver knock on my door and wait for me to reply before walking in with very serious looks on both their faces.

Y/n we need to talk to you about something. You can��t just walk in without knocking we don’t have any privacy with you.

Alright I’ll knock next time

“It’s not just the knocking you always come home late and wreck the houses remember you broke olis computer at like 5:30 you never clean up after yourself and we just think that you should move back with mum and dad because we can’t keep living with you.”

“What your kicking me out I pay rent here”

“You don’t even pay a quarter y/n your’e basically living here for free.I rang dad he said it was fine you moving back soon”

“You know I can’t do that el”

“You could always get your’e own place I could help you have the money know”

“Fuck you. you know what I’ll leave right now.” I grab all my clothes in my wardrobe and try to shove it into my small suitcase and mange to mostly zip it and I grab a few personal thing and hold my piggy bank under my arm before leaving

It might’ve been a irrational idea because now I have nowhere to stay for the night and I can’t go to my parents not how I left there

It’s 1am I might as well go to set and wait till morning but with busses not running I have to walk 5 miles uptown.

Once I get there I only have to wait 2 and a half hours so I set my suitcase down and use it as a seat I dig around in my pocket for the taser I took from Johnny just in case.

I feel a hand grab me and by instinct Tase whoever it was. By the time my eyes have adjusted I realise I must’ve fallen asleep and everyone’s here to go to westchester.

While Jeff is complaining the taser Dave asks if I’ve been here all night. Nah I just thought I should get here early yknow only been here half hour.

We separate into 3 cars to get there and I’m in with Johnny Dave and wee man. I’m in the back with Dave and decide to use the 6 hour car drive as an opportunity for some sleep since I got 2 hours max last night.

—————————————————-

I wake up not being able to breathe and feeling plastic on my face I try and pry one of my friends hands off of me but it’s no use and I have to rip the plastic bag now being able to breathe properly

I hear Knoxville’s laugh and a Camrea is pointed in my face all that adrenaline woke me up quick but I’m still not wide awake and I just flip him off while sitting up and stretching being confined in a car really isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.

“Cmon y/n we’re here grab your bags.” I take my almost bursting suitcase and walk it into the large house we will be staying at. I hear taking and follow it to the living room seeing Johnny talking to the two boys I recognise from episodes but still haven’t met.

Jeff introduces them the one with the dark hair and blue eyes is bam and the blonde one with a beard is called Ryan. We all introduce ourselves and start chatting and getting to know eatch other. Another girl is here called Jenn she’s bams girlfriend she seems nice but I haven’t spoken to her much

I excuse myself to the bathroom and i see a blonde lady in the kitchen and ask her if she needs a hand. If you don’t mind that would be great

“I’m April bams mum it’s so nice to have you all hear but I am a bit worried honestly”

“Im y/n thanks for letting us stay and I promise I will try to protect you and your house.”

Me and April talk about all kinds of things and I soon meet her husband Phil who is such a sweetheart and it makes me feel even worse for him seeing how bam treats him.

I’m sorry your supposed to be getting to know eatchother and I’ve stolen you away thanks for your help with the dinner.

“Oh it’s no worries you seem wayy more interesting than them boys.”

Speaking of Chris has snuck up behind me and lifted me up and body slammed me onto one of the sofas it wouldn’t of hurt that bad if people weren’t sitting on it.

I sit up and move off of whoever I fell on and jsut laugh it off and I start talking to Ryan about some of his stunts and his life and what not. While telling me about cky videos and high school with his friends bam started to join in adding to the story.

After an hour of talking to the two of them we got along really well and had quite a few things in common with them. We got called for dinner and while I was eating I could feel myself drifting off even though I slept in the car for 6 hours.

I ended up face planting into the food which made everyone laugh and while I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe it off the topic of rooms came up.

Some people were gonna have to share because there’s not enough rooms Steve o and pontius are sharing as well as Dave and ehren. Johnny is with me and wee man and Preston are together.

We all go to our rooms and get unpacked and settled. “Yknow we’re only here for 5 days don’t you”.

“Can’t a girl have options” i didn’t want to tell Johnny about getting kicked out I just wanted to have fun here. While I get changed into my pjamas I get into bed and shut my eyes trying to fall asleep but either from the excitement of tomorrow or because I napped today I couldn’t.

I looked at the clock and it was 12:34 Knoxville was asleep by now I could tell by his heavy breathing. I decided to go downstairs and have some water so I snuck out of my room and when I got downstairs I see Jenn down their about to leave

“How come you aren’t staying?”

“Bams just being a bit of a dick right now but I’ll see you in a couple days bye”

I sit in the kitchen having some water and once I’ve finished I still don’t feel like sleeping so I decide to look around. As best as you can in the dark. I quietly open the front door and step into the garden it had a skate ramp and a swimming pool in it. I went to go back inside but the door is locked I’m not gonna ring the doorbell or id wake everyone up.

I walk round the back and I see a window open so I jump from the ramp to the roof and pull myself up I walk along to reach the window but I see something move next to me. It’s a squirrel. Shit I’m fucking terrified of them they’re Satan reincarnated.

“Oh my god oh my god stop”I try to move as quick as I can to the window and quickly climb in to the room and close the window quietly while repeating those words.

“Jenn I told you to go away”bam room shit. I don’t answer and attempt to just get out of the room but I step on something and it slips out from under me and I fall onto the bed.

“Shit sorry.” Bam leans over and turns his bedside lamp on and rub his eyes. “What are you doing”

“I got locked out of the house then I had to climb threw your’e window to get away from the squirrel like I said sorry and night.”

“Are you on something” bam asks not believing me. I pull a confused face not knowing why he would be confused. “ why were you running from a squirrel?”

“Cos they’re fucking scary haven’t you seen Charlie and the chocolate factory?” At my distress yknow way he does. Laugh.I soon join in and we’re just sat they’re laughing together in His room.

Once the laughing stops he breaks the silence. “How did you even get up here?”bam asks thinking back on my story “I jumped off your ramp.you any good at skating”

“Yeah pretty good you?”

“Stepped foot on one once and fell onto someone’s bed. It seems pretty cool other than that though”

“I could teach you sometime.”

“I’ll hold you to that bam” me and bam speak about anything and everything with me now sitting above his covers on his bed and we switched the lamp off.

He tells me all about his family and when he asks about mine something in the room shifts it’s awkward.

Well I actually left home when I was 16 because me and my mum never got along she always preferred my sister i always hung out with my dad but I didn’t have many friends but these girls invited me to hangout with them and I snuck out an we went to some abandoned school and we would go there smoke some weed and whatever and once we were spray painting and the police turned up my friends ran and a policeman got me and I kicked him in the balls and they took me to jail and when my mum got that call she went crazy she said she was so disappointed in what I’ve become and that she won’t bail me out because she didn’t actually want me to come home. My dad eventually came in and took me home but I got there and my room was all boxed up and she kicked me out and said she didn’t want to see me again so I moved in with my sister.

“I’m really sorry I didn’t know”

“Yeah well how could you I don’t tell anybody so I’m could u try not to mention that”

“Pinky promise”we interlock pinkies and I kiss my hand and he copies.the conversation moves on and soon enough we’re shushing the other to stop Laughing until I notice the clock and see that it’s 2:12 and I can tell bams tired and I am as well.

“Wait y/n it was cool talking to you and if you need to talk I’m always here.” I grab a pillow an throw it at hand face. Don’t get all sappy now bam I thought you were supposed to be a cool skater boy.

I leave and head back to my room and wriggle into bed having to shove Johnny over a bit and for a second I lay there thinking about bam and how much I trusted him I wonder what tomorrow will be like before I know it I’m out like a light.

This one was acc really long

Omg guys I’m so pissed I wrote this like a week ago but I didn’t press save and I LOST RVEYTHUNG the first one was way better

Requests always open

-liv

[froggy-demon]

Oh, Deer - Part Two

A/N: This is part two to my Alastor x OC slowburn story, I hope you enjoy <3

Chapter Summery: Lilly gets settled at the hotel and a stressful day of work leads her to getting a little closer to one particular staff member.

Part Three

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I woke up to my morning alarm blaring at me, shit I didn’t even think about how long it will take to get from here to work, fucking fantastic. And I have none of my clothes, also fantastic. I book it out the door and head to my old apartment. I grab a book bag I had laying around and stuff as much of my shit in it as I can fit, the less trips back and forth I can make while moving, the better. I change into an outfit for work, a pinstriped mini skirt and a turtleneck blouse with puffy sleeves with my trademark tights and kitten heel Maryjanes, throwing my backpack over my shoulder and getting to work as fast as possible. All in all, I was only 10 minutes late which is a fucking miracle if I’ve ever heard one. I busy myself by checking in with the other assistants and sorting out who is covering what assignments and shows today. Velvette slams open the studio door and is already looking pissed off, the day just started how can it already be going to shit? That question answered itself as behind her trailed in Valentino talking her ear off, switching between whining and yelling.

“Valentino it is time for at least one of us to actually do our jobs, fuck off already and find someone else to bitch to!” She yells at him and stomps off. This pushes him over the edge, he grabs a passing by assistant and snaps her in half, like it’s nothing. I duck my head down and find a way to be very busy and as unnoticeable as possible, hiding behind my clipboard as much as I can. 

“No you fuck off Velvette! Tell me what the fuck I can do one more fucking time! Try to run anything once I’m done with you precious shitty studio!” He threw the couch he had trapped that studio aid on just the other day against the wall and it smashed into a hundred pieces. He reached for a fleeing model and ripped her head off, damn and she wasn’t even an annoying model. He rampaged through the room and Velvette just ignored him and stomped my way. 

I straightened my back as she approached and tried to not seem bothered by the 10ft lunatic killing my coworkers and ripping apart anything else in his reach. “We are not getting off schedule, get my designers so we can keep our shit on the air! Get them here in the next five minutes while I get fucking Piss Baby out of here.” She Barked and I nodded

“Yes Ma’am.” She seemed pleased enough and walked off to order around anyone else still breathing. I used my ear piece to try to locate the desired designers, keeping my back to the scene behind me. 

“Designers, if most of your limbs are still attached, your presence is requited by Ms. Velvette immediately, bring what you have been working on for her and try not to be killed on your way.” I received 4 affirmatives and glanced back to see Velvette on her phone to presumably Vox. Thank Satan, this was definitely a big guns problem. I looked around at a few cowering workers near me and smoothed out my clothes. “C’mon, get this place straightened up. It’s a fucking mess in here, get a broom and a mop, now.” The three jumped up, though a bit reluctantly, and went in search for the cleaning supplies. I saw Velvette manage to force Valentino out the studio door and lock it behind him, hopefully keeping him out. I saw two of the designers come in and waved them over, having them stand up on a small platform that wasn’t totally wrecked and Velvette made her way over.

She was clearly still not happy, but at least wasn’t getting worse. Vox appeared next to her with a cheeky smile plastered onto his plasma face, contrasting her fiery attitude. I thought I saw him give me a small scowl, but I've never spoken to Vox, it couldn't be personal. He asked her where Valentino had gone and was back on his way. 

The day continued with far fewer bumps, minus the power outage caused by Vox's tantrum. Valentino stayed away so I guess Vox was able to calm him down well enough and Velvette stayed at a manageable level of pissed off until the outtage. 

“Fucking hell! Fine fuck him, everyone go the fuck home!” She screeched and no one was waiting to confirm that order. I grabbed my bag and booked it out of the building and back to the hotel. Alastor’s broadcast was all I could hear people talking about, though they kept it hushed so close to the Vs. Losing was not something they, especially Vox, liked. When I walked through the door I was surprised to find a new face in the parlor. He was a snake demon and Charlie was excitedly chatting with him while Vaggie stood to the side looking apprehensive. 

“Here she is!” Charlie exclaimed turning to me, smiling ear to ear. “Lilly! This is Sir. Pentious, he is our next guest at the hotel!” She motioned for us to shake hands, which I obliged. He seemed nervous, but still gave a small smile. 

“Ah, Lilly, it isss quite nice to meet another future redemption-ee!” He said and I tried to return his smile. 

“Lilly he blew up the hotel this morning.” Angel added dryly, I stopped smiling and looked at Charlie confused. Angel clearly wasn’t buying whatever the serpent was telling Charlie. 

“He said he is sorry! That’s what we’re all about, second chances!” She defended and really tried to sell it. I looked between her and Sir. Pentious, a little skeptical myself honestly. 

“If you are confident, I will trust your judgement.” I stated and turned to Angel, who filled me in on all of the details on the fight that had taken place that morning while Charlie taught Sir. Pentious how to apologize to Alastor. Geez, you go in for one shift and miss everything!

“Say, Dear, how did my little show go over at Vs HQ?” Alastor asked, appearing behind me and giving me a bit of a fright. He sounded particularly staticy. Angel rolled his eyes at his theatrics. I turned to face the demon and met his glowing eyes for a moment before looking back at Angel. 

“I couldn’t say for sure, but I’d say not well. Vox particularly was still glitching and zapping about when Velvette dismissed us after the power shut down. We couldn’t do anything with him fucking up all of the tech.” I said and he laughed, clearly pleased with himself and patted my head. Angel was deeply distracted by his phone, someone was texting him quite a lot, every few seconds his phone would buzz with a new notification. 

“Wonderful to hear! I’m glad I got my message across.” His eyes glowed a bit brighter, clearly there was some contempt held for Vox, and it went both ways. Seeing him like that sent a little zap of fear through me. I know what he’s done to those he doesn’t like to get what he wants, but he chooses to be so hands off with it this time? Maybe he just wanted to give a fair warning, I don’t know, but I do not want to get in the middle of it. “Speaking of your work,” He moved to stand between me and Angel now. “Why not find some new employment now that your housing is supplied? Something less television based maybe?” He eyed me, as though he suspected me of something. I tried to look past him to Angel again, but he blocked my vision, seemingly growing a little taller, a little more menacing. 

“Well, as much as I’d like to,” I said a tad nervous of the overlord in front of me “I can’t. Velvette owns me, my soul that is. As a day job it isn’t too bad at least.” I mumble the last sentence and Alastor raises an eyebrow at me. Angel is still preoccupied, but I see him throw a look my way when I mention my deal. 

“Deals aren’t usually Velvette’s style, she typically prefers to leave that work to the boys, how unfortunate for you then.” He says, returning to his normal chipper self and walks off. As he disappears I finally take stock of myself, I look like shit. There is dried blood on my shoes and spots of guts dotting my outfit for the Valentino’s carnage earlier, gross. 

“Angel, I’m going to take a shower and unpack a little you know where to find me if you need anything okay?” He doesn’t look up, clearly in a mood, sitting down on a nearby chair and crossing his legs over the arm and mumbles out an okay. I make my way upstairs, to my room, and then turn on the hot water for the shower attached to my room. After peeling off my clothes it felt good to let the hot water wash over me. The water pressure was better here too. A little refresh is really what I needed after today. Once I felt better I rummaged through my bag until I found my pjs, a pair of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt VTech gave out during some marketing campaign, it was at least comfortable. I started to unpack more and realized Niffty must have been here earlier because there was significantly less dust everywhere and my bed spread seemed freshly laundered. I will have to thank her the next time I see her. Just as I’m finishing up I hear some kind of commotion coming from somewhere in the hotel, what the fuck was that? I poke my head out and hear more noise, like someone is fighting, is that Angel Dust? I run down to the noise and meet Charlie and Vaggie walking up to the same disturbance.

Angel says that Sir. Pentious is working for the Vs, but I can smell the liquor on him from here, and the snake denies the accusation. Angel rolls his eyes and points out the video camera hidden between two books on the shelf, causing Sir. Pentious to panic. He screams into his watch to help him as Vaggie face palms and it's my turn to roll my eyes. Not only is he a spy, he’s an absolutely terrible one at that. I can hear Vox laughing at him though the watch, but Charlie has big doe eyes. He begs for a quick murder, but Charlie welcomes him in with open arms, despite protests from the three of us. After a set of profuse apologies, we head back to bed. 

Angel has his arms crossed, the whole walk. I want to say something, but he has been in a bad mood all day and I don’t want to accidentally make it worse. “Angel, y'know I-“ but he waves me off. 

“I don’t want to talk about it. Work shit, and we said work shit stays at fucking work.” He snaps, but sighs and I know he isn’t mad at me, just someone else. My guess, Val. I wonder if that’s what Valentino was raging about this morning, I hope for Angel’s sake it’s not. He slams the door to his room and I turn towards mine, just to be greeted by Alastor, he sure does have a knack for popping up. 

“Take off your shirt, Dear.” He glares at it, taking me back. This is a tone shift. 

“Excuse me?” I ask, taking a step back, not there there is really anywhere to go if you want to run from a shadow walking overlord at night. 

“Well, I’m going to burn it and I just figured you would want it off your body before I do that, but if you prefer,” Alaster smirked and lit a small fireball in his hand “you can keep it on!” He was very serious, I look back down at my shirt, I guess I set myself up for this one wearing a shirt with Vox’s face plastered on it, but hey it was a free shirt. I yanked it off and Alastor took two big steps towards me and took it from my hands, his eyes glowed devilishly as he set it on fire and watched Vox’s face burn away while he grinned ear to ear. “Much better! I appreciate your cooperation, however,” he bent down to my height and made me look him in the eyes. His voice grew more staticy as he said “I better not see anything else with his face on it here.” 

I nodded, it was all I could manage, I felt frozen in place and suddenly self-conscious as I realized I was in my bra and shorts in front of a murderous overlord, not exactly confidence inspiring for me. He stood back up straight and spun his cane, pleased with himself. “Very well, Goodnight!” He sang and I didn’t wait before quickly going into my room. Great, now I need a new sleep shirt, that will be a tomorrow night problem. I got into bed and curled up. I’m not doing amazing at staying off Alastor’s bad side, maybe tomorrow I will break that streak. 

The next morning I joined everyone else in the parlor downstairs, I had some time for once before I was needed at work. Charlie excitedly explained that we were doing some bonding activities as a group today, that it would help if we all trusted and got to know each other. I wanted to check in on Angel, but he was still hung up on his phone. Okay, so I’m going to have to make a second friend, it can’t be that hard can it? What do I have to work with? 

Niffty is a little… crazy… maybe not my first choice. Let’s see Sir. Pentious is eager, but do I have anything at all in common with him? Let’s see he likes building things? Nope. He likes being a leader, of his egg boys at least, uh in the right light sometimes you could kinda say I like bossing people around. I think that’s everything I’ve learned about him though, and I’m not really someone who goes out looking for a fight anymore, even if Cherri wants me to. Vaggie is a little too focused on Charlie I think to start worrying about anyone else, I can’t blame her, as sweet as Charlie is she is also a handful. I think Alastor is waiting for me to sneeze wrong to justify breaking my neck and is no where to be seen sooooo… my new friend is going to have to be Husk! The only hard part about that is he doesn’t really ever want to participate in our activities. I can work with that though. 

I take a seat next to Husk for activity time and give him a small smile. I haven’t really gotten what his deal is from Angel yet, maybe he just acts tough. “So, Husk, what brings you to the hotel? You don’t really seem like you’re here for redemption to me.” I ask trying to sound cheery. He just rolls his eyes at me though. 

“My job.” He huffs out, motioning over to the bar. Okay smartass. I fold my arms and lean forward towards him. 

“And out of all the bars in hell, why work at this one? Don’t tell me its for the dental insurance.” I quipped and he almost smiles. He leans back in his chair and looks across the room at nothing in particular. 

“Alastor, he tells me to go so I go.” He finally says. Ah, could Alastor really own his soul? I won’t press for now. Satisfied with the answer I sit back in my seat and he slumps down more in his, but then my phone rings. Velvette, why is Velvette calling me? I don’t hear from her that much seeing as I never have a day off anyway, not even extermination days. I hop up out of my seat so not to bother anyone and answer the phone. 

“Yes Ma’am?” I answer, stepping out of the room. She shouts that she needs me immediately, one of the models didn’t show up today and now she needs extra hands on deck and I better be there immediately. I try not to let her hear me sigh or sound disappointed. I guess I did get to sleep a couple extra hours which is more than enough to be grateful for. “Yes Ma’am.” I reply and she stresses I better hurry or I’ll be costuming for Valentino’s sets for the next year and she hangs up. I walked back in and the group looks up at me waiting for my explanation. “Okay guys, sorry to cut the team building short, but I’m needed at work sooner than expected, sorry Charlie.” Charlie looked disappointed. 

“Oh.. so when do you have a day you don’t work anyway?” She asks. “We’ll just catch you up then!” She beams at her great idea. Angel chuckles, Cherri probably has told him before if he knows my situation. 

“I don’t get any days off, sometimes I only work 10 hour days though!” I tried to make that sound like a good thing and gave her a thumbs up, but Charlie frowned again. 

“Well that’s not good, you’ll never have any time for our activities then!” She protested and started pacing. “Can’t you just say you need a day off for something important?” She looked at me with those big doe and and I shook my head, crossing my arms. 

“Some of us have jobs, dollface, contracts.” Angel points out dryly. He finally looks up from his phone to give Charlie a pointed look. It must be nice to be her. 

“There are no days off for me, if Velvette says come in I can’t say no. It’s just the way it is. Now she’s waiting for me, I have to get going.” I slip on my shoes and head for the door leaving a protesting princess behind.

I get there as quickly as possible and as soon as I walk through the door Velvette is tapping her foot waiting for me. She looks as pissed as usual, but it isn’t usually my direct fault that she’s pissed off. 

“Now, I happen to know that your apartment is all of five fucking minutes away so how the fuck did that take 25 minutes today?” She demands. Since when has she even known where I live? I straighten my back, I am not used to talking back to her, usually we even work pretty well together. “Well, spit out whatever pathetic excuse you have and get to begging for forgiveness! Some of us have important shit to be doing!” An assistant walked up to her and they quietly conversed while he showed her a different selection of blouses.

“I moved Ma’am.” I stated, adverting my eyes. She snapped her head away from her conversation to look at me again. 

“Well who the fuck told you to do something stupid like that? I need you near here for when I call you, fucking move back.” She said it like it doesn’t matter where I live or what I think if it doesn't serve her needs. She might own my soul, but that is not our deal. 

“Ma’am, with all the respect in hell, I cannot do that.” I stayed cool, that’s good. She walked over to me, until she was less than a foot away from my face. Her red eyes glowing and piercing into mine. 

“The fuck you will. As fucking kind as I am to you every fucking day, whose dick you’re riding just to crash in their shitty bed anyway?” She snapped at me, glaring at me while waiting for my answer. 

I took a deep breath. “Charlie Morningstar, Ma’am, well her hotel that is.” I added, looking down. Velvette was seething in front of me. She grabbed me and threw me to the ground. I hit my head hard on the stone floor, because exactly what I need is another head injury. 

“Don’t give me that kind of bullshit ever again. Remember who you are speaking to.” She spoke through gritted teeth. She materialized the link between us, the chain attaching me to her, our deal. I knew exactly what I signed, but she was right. I should have held my tongue. She used it to pull me to my feet in front of her. “Now get to fucking work.” She spat and let me go. I stayed on my feet and smoothed my outfit and hair, composing myself for the coming day. 

“Yes Ma’am.” I kept my eyes on the floor as she rolled her eyes. 

“Good, now get Kelly Killjoy’s suit options ready, it’s almost time for her to be on air, then come back to me.” And then she waved me away and I was happy to be able to walk away. I did as I was ordered, bringing the approved wardrobe to the news host's dressing room for her to pick from once ready. I raced back to the studio room to see what was next and Velvette sneared at me when she saw me. "Perfect, the seamstresses need a pin cushion, go be that until they are done with their projects.” And she turned away from me again. A pin cushion, this was going to be a long day. 

Twenty hours later I am still in the studio, but I have finished every task I’ve been given, skillfully I might add. Well, as skillfully as one can be a pin cushion, mannequin mover, and general studio bitch without a single moment to sit or even pee. I was back in front of Velvette awaiting her next order. She looked at me and shook her head. 

“Morning, cunt. Your outfit is hideous and you look more terrible than usual.” She said and zapped me into a new outfit, honestly the highlight of my day to have on something fresh, but really it was just a toned down version of her own outfit, but is all grey. Of course she would think her outfit was better. “Now perk the fuck up, I need you to set up the lights for the shoot we’re doing for my fabulous new clothing line today! And set up all the looks we created for it. Make sure those fucking models look right too, I can’t stand shitty sloppy work.” She said and I nodded, hoping it will be easy to learn how to set up studio lights. 

“Yes Ma’am.” 

After falling off a ladder more than once setting up the lights, organizing all of the set groups of items for the photo shoot, and labeling them, and then adjusting every single item on the models throughout the 10 hour shoot, I was ready to beg for Velvette’s forgiveness. I hadn’t had a drop of rest or caffeine in nearly two full days. 

Finally I was told to go home, but to be back tomorrow bright and early with a smile on my face. I don’t know what pissed Velvette off so badly in the first place that she felt the need to take it out on me, but maybe tomorrow will be different, unlikely, but maybe. I walked into the hotel and went straight to the bar, come to think of it that might be one of the best parts about living here. I slumped onto a stool putting my head down on the bar. Husk raised an eyebrow at me while he was organizing his bottles. 

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back when no one saw you last night, where ya been?” He asked, he didn’t sound concerned, but he did sound curious. I picked my head up and propped myself up on my elbows. 

“Work. I’ve been at work since I left. Someone pissed off Velvette and that became my personal problem.” I muttered. I took a deep breath, I don’t need to bitch about my shitty day though that won’t have made it any better. No, I wanted a boost, I should go out I want to feel good about myself. I don’t want Velvette to be able to dictate my mood like this. 

“My, my, someone looks a little worked over,” Alastor sang as he walked up. “Did someone mistake you for a pin cushion?” He asked lifting my arm to inspect the hundreds of tiny and sore pricks in my skin. I pulled my arm away from him, trying not to humor him. 

“Hello to you too, Sir.” I said, holding back my irritation. I look at husk and he poured me a drink, I give him the best smile I could muster when he placed it in front of me. Alastor took the seat next to me, crossing one leg over the other and giving me his signature smile. I took a sip and let the warm feeling wash over me.

“Tell me, is television work loosing its charm? Such superficial work after all, but maybe that’s how you prefer it, dear.” He laughed at his own joke and tapped his cane on the ground. I drank more of the mixed drink Husk had made me, but it didn’t cool me off as much as I needed it too. I gave him another look and he went to pour me another but I looked up at him and motioned to just give me the bottle. 

“Aye, take it easy kid.” He said, but still handed it over. I took three big gulps and set it down. 

“Alastor, I’m not in the mood for your insults and condescension, I think I’ve had more than enough of those today.” I said dryly and took another drink. He looked at his nails, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, enjoying getting a rise out of me. 

“Oh, but I’m positive they haven’t been as witty as mine will be! Humor me won’t you? It’s been so boring today.” He leaned towards me, it was another request that didn’t really sound like a request. I couldn’t push back against Velvette, but I could with Alastor, maybe. I finished the bottle for some confidence and got out of my seat.

"No." I told him flatly, that should have been enough to get him off my back, but not Alastor.

"come now, don't tell me the big bad overlords you've worked for for years just now broke your spirit! Where's your moxie dear?" the demon quipped, leaning an elbow on the bar. I could feel my misplaced anger building, but shit he didn't have to be such a prick when I clearly was in a bad mood. I can't have five fucking minutes of peace?

“I told you, fuck off!” And stomped out the door, throwing aside the now empty bottle. 

Fucking Radio Demon, fucking Velvette! I’m more than that, I’m not just someone to shove around. I don’t have to take that, not when I’m not at work. She might be able to give me as much shit as she wants, hell she could actually assign me to fuck ass Valentino’s porno costuming I wouldn’t even care, but I will not go home and have some other demon make me feel like shit too. I’m worth something!

I look up from the sidewalk that I’ve been so concentrated on and realize I don’t really have anywhere to go, I’m tired of bars and clubs, but hell maybe it'll make me feel like a person again anyway. Maybe someone will talk to me like I’m just a fucking person. So at the next neon sign I see advertising a drink I walk in and order and get just that. It doesn’t take long, it never does in hell, until someone starts talking me up, buying me a drink, then another, and another, and then says we should get out of here. He's good looking for a demon, tall and thin with blood red hair and long black horns twisting out of it like a ram's. I agree. I follow him outside and he starts taking me down an odd way, its quiet and dark here, but maybe he lives on a quiet street in hell, what do I know. Then he turns around, smiling, and holding a handgun. It takes a moment to register. He closes the distant between us.

“What are you doing?” I ask, he laughs and grabs my arm. I’m not stable enough to avoid it and he pushes me up against the alleyway wall and points the gun at my chest. 

“I’m robbing you, dipshit, cough up whatever you have on you. I know someone dressed as pretty as you has a couple of bucks to spare right?” He sneers and shifts the barrel to under my chin. The only problem was I really didn’t have anything else. I had maybe a single dollar on me after buying that first drink and I don’t think that’s what he wanted to hear. 

Then all the sudden he was off of me, I fell a little and caught my breath which I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. What the fuck was that? I looked around and saw a familiar pair of eyes walking out of the darkness, blazing red. Shadow tentacles were holding up the attempted robber as Alastor emerged from the darkness, how is Alastor here? He was taller than his normal stature, and had a sinister smile, antlers protruding from his hair. This is the demon I’d heard on the broadcast those years ago, he had bloodlust in his eyes. 

“I don’t think so.” His voice was thick and distorted cutting up the still night, I could feel the energy pouring off of him. I didn’t know if I should stay where I was or get the fuck away from there at this point, but my legs felt too heavy to run very far. I looked up at him with wide eyes, it was like a car accident I didn’t want to watch him rip this demon in half, but I also couldn’t look away. He laughed maniacally as the sinner he held begged for forgiveness and his life. The Radio Demon drew him closer “Is that anyway to treat a lady?” Static filled the air and there was ringing in my ears, it felt like it was pounding in my head to the point that it was difficult to keep looking up. Alastor met my eye for one brief moment and then, unexpectedly, threw the creature across the city rather than ripping him in half. His piercing eyes didn’t change as he began to return to his normal self as he walked toward me having eliminated the threat. The static softened and I felt a weight leave my chest. “Terribly sorry for the fright! Charlie sent me to make sure you came back to the hotel in one piece tonight, I didn’t expect to find you in so much trouble.” He put an arm around me for support, but I shook it off. As uneasy as I felt I’m not sure if he was the one I should take it from.

“I wasn’t expecting any help, especially from you.” It came out as a statement of near disbelief, but I was still angry. Recovering from the personality whiplash Alastor had given me I took a few steps away towards the entrance of the alley. How am I supposed to see that and then trust him? “I can handle myself.” My knees wobbled and I leaned my palm on the wall again for support.

“Clearly.” He said sarcastically and smoothed his hair back where his antlers had disrupted it. “You sure did seemed to have a handle on that one! Next time I’ll just let it run its course, how’s that sound?” He adjusted his tie and grinned. More of his bullshit. I took another step back, I was certainly afraid of the power I’d just witnessed, but looking at him now he was just another demon.

“Whatever, I don’t need to take this bullshit, you can’t just talk to me like that because you’re used to being scary, I get enough of this every other hour of my day. Maybe you can treat Husk however you want because you own his ass, or other people are just too scared to say shit, but I’m exhausted! I’m too tired to bite my tongue and,” I was running out of steam, and those burning red eyes were still bearing into mine “it seems I’ll never get out of that cycle.” I slid down the wall to my side and held my knees to my chest. “I just, I’m tired of filtering myself to fit the situation I’m in. Just to please someone who can’t even tell the difference anyway. Putting up the right front to help maintain her goddamn brand. I can't do it with you too.” I sighed. How disgusting. Here I am shouting at someone who would love to rip my head off my body, just because my boss is shitty and unappreciative, and now I’m pitying myself for it on the ground of a filthy alleyway. This might just be my rock bottom. 

Alastor quietly walked to my side and placed a hand on my shoulder, sending a jolt through me. “If it’s any help, I’m condescending to everyone!” It was so stupid, so fucking stupid I had to let out a laugh. Geez, at least it isn’t personal I guess. I ran a hand through my hair, looking at my shoes in the dim light. “What was Charlie’s first lesson? Apologies.” I looked at him funny, his red hair nearly looked all black in this lighting, did he want an apology from me? He’s as crazy as Niffty if he thinks that’s happening. I picked at the ground next to my shoe to occupy myself. “Charlie also wanted me to apologize, I didn’t really mean to offend you. While I do find joy in watching the misery of sinners around me, on the other hand I am here to help Charlie and I can’t do that if I’m sending one of her guests spiraling now can I?” He offered me a hand up and I just stared at it for a second. “I’m sorry, Lilly.” He sounded as sincere as I’d ever heard him, which granted was likely a front to save face anyway, but I pushed my pride aside and took his hand, standing back up. It felt good to get that rant out of my system and it maybe even felt a little good to get an apology. I brushed the grime off of my skirt as best as I could, looking back at Alastor. He looked happy with his pep talk, but he kind of always had that demeanor so it’s hard to say. 

“Thank you Alastor.” Was all I managed to say. Pleased, he hooked our arms and pointed us in the direction of the hotel. We were quiet for a minute, I knew it was my turn to say something more, but I couldn’t figure out what was right. I kept dwelling on how he looked back in the alley, how the energy he put off felt all the way down to my bones. Even now it made my skin crawl, I’m quite glad to have made it onto his team I suppose because I would not want to be on the receiving end of that fury. “Why do you want to help Charlie?” I said it as soon as I thought it, but it brought me back to earlier. Husk is here because Alastor is here, but why the hell is Alastor here?

“A good question! It’s really very simple, I think Charlie will succeed and I like to be on the winning team. Plus,” He looked at me with a wicked look in his eyes, “If I’m wrong I’m no worse off and I get to watch everyone else suffer!” And began laughing. Not very comforting, but does make sense. Still I have a feeling Alastor is a few steps ahead in whatever plan he is hatching than he is willing to share. I wonder what else he was working up in his head, he’s difficult to read that’s for sure. The only actual emotions I’m sure he experiences are joy and anger. “If we’re asking intrusive questions now, I must say it’s been plaguing my mind, what exactly do you get out of your deal with Velvette?” He smirked, “Don’t tell me it’s for the dental insurance.” He mocked me, is there anything that happens in that hotel he doesn’t know about? 

“You mean besides a boss who won’t fire or fuck me? Well,” I chewed my lip for a moment. I always felt ashamed of my deal, how ironic as I landed myself in hell for the vice of pride in life. “You know it’s not easy starting out down here, one day I met Velvette and she, well she made it look easy.” In life I was the secretary to a man who ran a fashion magazine, I was so enthralled by his work I thought every piece that crossed his desk was genius. I fantasized about what I would design if I was able to. “When Velvette told me what she was doing down here I wanted in, hell a bit of me wanted to be like her, she told me there was only one way I could be on her team, but her success would be my success too and really I didn’t see any other opportunities coming my way. I was naïve and she was happy to take advantage of that. Don’t they all kinda go like that though?” I laughed awkwardly, mentally preparing myself for whatever shitty jab Alastor would make at my expense. He let me stew in it for a minute, or maybe for once he just didn’t know what to say. The sound of my heels rang in my ears as I was aware of his lack of response, buzzing with the city noises happening around us. 

“How unfortunate!” He used my arm hooked with his to pull me closer and gave me a sideways smile. “I would have given you a much better deal than that!” And winked at me. I gave a small laugh, right like being his tailor for the rest of my afterlife, how fun. He glared at the window of a TV shop as we passed it, Vox was giving some interview, but it distorted more the longer he looked at it. Just as soon as we had passed it, the screens returned to normal. Another mystery to Alastor. “Don’t worry dear, you aren’t the only soul in hell who has made an unwise deal. I think half the inhabitants of our hotel are in that very same boat with you!” As dumb as it is, it kinda made me feel better that I’m not the only sucker that I know. 

We reached the steps of the hotel and he followed me up. 

“Well if you need any emergency alterations you know where to find me!” I smiled and opened the door. After all of that I do think Alastor made me feel better, and I still have the entire $1 to my name that I could have lost, or worse. 

“Well someone is in a better mood than she was before.” Husk snarked from the bar and I shrugged. 

“I didn’t die so I guess I can’t complain too much.” I threw a wink to him and he let out a small chuckle. Alastor cleared his throat to regain my attention, which I gave him, clasping my hands behind my back.

“As happy as I am to have been of service tonight, I must bid you adieu my dear, I have much to do!” He gave my head a pat and made his way up the grand staircase without waiting for a response. I watched him go and disappear down a hallway off to whatever chores awaited him. I let out a well earned yawn and looked back at Husk. Is he always behind the bar? Where does he sleep? When does he sleep? I shook the thoughts from my head and waved him goodnight.

 I made my way up to my room but as soon as I drifted off to sleep all that filled my dreams was the image of Alastor in his demon form in the alley, but this time I was his prey. I would focus on his eyes and the intense fear they filled me with, shadow arms raising me higher and higher into the air as he laughed at my pleads for help. His whole body expanded and grew more wicked and disturbingly sharp. One of his claws dragged across my cheek, drawing blood. I woke up in a cold sweat and panting to catch my breath. I went to my bathroom to splash some cool water on my face, but struggled to feel much calmer. It was just a dream, but it was based on real events, even if they didn’t happen quite like that. I decided to throw on a robe and knock on Angel’s door, it was late, but hopefully he would be awake. He opened the door, rubbing his eyes. 

“Lilly? What the hell are you doin’ up at this hour?” He asked, one set of arms hugged himself and the other attempted to straighten his hair. I realized how dumb the truth sounded. ‘Oh I had a bad dream and wanted to talk to you’ I couldn’t say that, he would close the door in my face. 

I glanced up and down the hallway, surely even Alastor is asleep at this time of night? “I need to tell you about my day, now.” I tried to look very serious, but I was also pretty tired. Angel stepped to the side and let me in, giving me the first proper look of his room. It was very nicely decorated, it looked just like him. Everything was pink and there were little string lights hanging from the wall giving off a soft purple twinkle. 

He sat on his bed and patted the spot next to him. “What can’t wait until the mornin’ doll?” I took the seat and crossed my legs in front of me, pulling my robe a little tighter for comfort. “Husk told me you walked out pissed, but nothing else.”

“I just needed to get out. After the last two days of nonstop I just wanted to feel like a person and I didn’t here. Listen, to make a long story short, Alastor showed up to get me out of some hot shit. Apparently Charlie had sent him, but I saw him attack this demon and I, I don’t know I just can’t stop seeing it now. I’ve seen some fucked up shit here, I literally saw my coworkers get torn limb by limb a few days ago, but I don’t know something about how he looked at that demon.” I shivered. “How he looked at me after. It just, it freaked me out a little.” I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. Angel rubbed my back to sooth me. 

“Ah don’t worry about him too much, you’ve got Charlie’s stamp of ‘Do-Not-Kill’ on yah so he won’t lay a hand on you!” He crossed one set of arms “even if you want him to.” Apparently still making no progress in his flirtations. “Plus, if it’s dreams you’re worried about, maybe you just wish his arms were around you in another way!” He joked and lightly elbowed me in the side. I rolled my eyes at him and smiled. 

“Angel if you can’t pull him I’ve got zero luck, plus I am not interested like that. He’s just such a mystery I can't keep him out of my head.” I said, thinking on it I know shockingly few things about him for the amount that he seems to pop up and know things about me. 

“Oh baby, the best dick is!”  We both giggled and I felt a lot better. I asked him how his day was and he lit up. “Me and Husk got to have some quality time, if you know what I mean!” And he gave a cheesy smile. “We shared a drink is what I actually mean though. I think I’m breaking him down!” He beamed and then told me about how Husk had once been an overlord, until he was too far in the hole with gambling and ended up making a deal with our very own Alastor, confirming what I thought. Once I was caught up on the hotel tea I noticed my eyelids feeling heavy and the idea of getting some more sleep sounded better and better. Angel laughed and pulled the blanket over me and before his head hit the pillow I was out. 

Part Three

[writingkitten]

Filthiest Molina characters? The ones who would just absolutely destroy u in bed

OH HELL YEAH MORE LISTS

Note: all of this is consensual and involves Risk Aware Consensual Kink (RACK), none of this is meant to be abusive or anything also ALWAYS PRACTICE AFTERCARE THESE SLUTS DO IT AND YOU SHOULD TOO

Ricardo: this is a huge “duh” but BRO. BRO. BRO HE GOES SO HARD BRO. Like fuuuuuuck okay he’s such a sweetheart but he’s gonna grab a fistful of your hair and make you choke on his cock, he LOVES spitting in your mouth because it’s like another way of claiming you, he makes you taste yourself after he makes you come on his fingers (and cock) fuck yeah Ricky is nasty in the best way possible

Robert: ok this guy is like super SUPER into dirty talk he won’t shut the fuck up when he’s fucking you, and he’ll make you say stuff, too, like “say it, babygirl, tell daddy how wet he makes your sweet little pussy” and if you don’t say it EXACTLY like that he edges you until you correct the mistake. When he’s in a bad mood, he can be a very mocking daddy (not being serious, though, and not taking it too far)

Doc Ock: Otto would’ve wrecked you in bed with sensuality, but Doc? Holy fuck he’s rabid. Like foaming at the mouth, no color in his eyes, choking you while he basically chews your neck, leaving dark bruises that will be there for days… and if he wants to go for round two, he’s going to shove his fingers inside your cum-filled pussy and make you clean them until you’re empty again so oops oh no he’s gotta fill you AGAIN

Hank: so this man has been popping up in my head while I’ve been writing the others because he’s just one of those guys who’s into making so much of a mess that you both HAVE to get a shower afterwards, probably does a lot of foreplay that’s like him watching tv while using you as a footstool or making you cockwarm him, loves to degrade you

Harding: the good doctor is obviously (at least a bit of) a sadist. Only for pleasure purposes, of course, never going past your limit, but oh boy he’s elegant with his destruction of you, playing more psychological games than usual if he really wants you to fall apart

Maxim: very similar to Harding, maybe less “sterile” (if that makes sense? like Harding has a sterile filth to him, while Maxim has more of a comfortable filth? I’m high idk if this makes sense) uses magic sex stuff on you, literally anything @chrism02 writes with him is canon

Chandler: BRO IS LITERALLY A LYCAN LIKE HE THE WEREWOLF BOYFRIEND YOU’VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF YOU’RE GONNA NEED TO CHANGE THE SHEETS

Manuel: I think it can get messy because he loves to use religion in his sessions and so that can involve ritualistic acts that then involve stuff like wine and wax and sweat and blood and cum, also has a wicked tongue when it comes to dirty talk because he’s all religious about it (hierophilia kink go brrrrrrrr)

Big Boss: oh friendo I know you’re reading this so I’ll go in special for Jed (his unofficial canon name). Jed is super handsy and grabby, and just wants you at any given moment. Friendo and I have an HC that he owns a ranch with a bunch of animals so like if you’re in the barn he’s gonna want to roll in the hay if ya know what I mean and you both will get covered in dirt, also filthy in his seduction (like, oh idk, eating a peach with juice running down his chin)

There are other molina boys that I think can be filthy, but these guys are the ones that are most commonly ✨gross✨

[teaxeee]

Look I know I said I was yoshi biased. AND I AM I SWEAR but my god has jihoon been driving me crazy lately.

I just need him to pin me to a wall and make fun of me because of how shy I'd be (pls I couldn't even look at him for 1 second without dying) also side note omfg his hands.. I am so weak

Yours truly 🍒-anon (aka everyone's favorite jihoon simp)

mhm sure, Yoshi biased my ass, ur getting bias wrecked by Jihoon a lot lately 🍒 anonnie~

He'll only do it when he sees you're not paying attention to him, perhaps if you're cleaning something he'd pin you against the wall and watch as you become surprised and also shy. You try to look away and you look at his hands instead. He smirks when he notices where you're staring at, as he puts his hand on your neck to tease you further. He watches you moan and struggle, since he knows how weak you get from his hands. Let's just say...he made you cum a few times and probably fucks you against the wall as he watches you fall apart