#and make their weird shit accessible and public

[wc-confessions]

Lmfaoo minkpools/angrysnakes blocked me when I called them out on their sagutoyas post. Bitch you don't get to complain about bad minor adult interactions in the fandom when you literally draw necro feral warriors porn and reblog zoo shit on your easily accessible twitter

i read the og post and its so dumb like..oh you join a kids fandom centered around books for kids and do/endorse gross things within said fandom, then get surprised that there are kids in the fandom and bad things happen to them. you are a full ass adult you need to do better have some fucking common sense stop blaming kids for being curious or falling into these situations. like its obvs whats the real issue but they want to make it look like kids are at fault

[candlecove-weaintdeadyet]

Much as I'm glad for signs of life in the fandom, the HeyKids Archive Wiki lowkey highkey annoys me lol

Like I like the found-family aspect of the "show" as much as the next trauma-riddled neurodivergent queer former weird kid, but the Archive leans into it a bit too much, I think? Like. Where's the unsuitable-for-its-audience nightmare fuel? Where's the writers/actors getting sex jokes and profanity past the censors????? Where's the cosmic horror undertones-you know, the thing that canonically ties Candle Cove to Local 58?! WHY DOES THE SKIN-TAKER GET A REDEMPTION ARC AND ENTER A HEALTHY LOVING RELATIONSHIP WITH HORACE?!

Like, I'm sorry, Candle Cove would NOT have been a progressive-for-its-time, wholesome kids' show that actually teaches the audience life skills and age-appropriate morals, that show would have been what would happen if The Marvelous Misadventures of Flapjack were made with a budget of $20 and a shoe string and Thurop Van Orman was being tormented by horrors beyond human comprehension and I think we as a fandom have forgotten that.

I know I'm swinging a bat at the proverbial hornet's nest by saying this, but I am very much a mid-2010's Candle Cove fanon truther. That shit should be horror-comedy at best and 'I can't believe they let this air' at worst. It should be dark it should have jokes that fly over the child audience's heads and it should be, dare I say it, problematic.

[astroninaaa]

wtf is going on with cellbit - by a brazilian law major student

hey besties ever since the day cellbit released that PDF i’ve been keeping up with his shit bc as a law student (only two years to go!!!!) in brazil it’s kinda really interesting to see how it goes, specially since i don’t think we’ve ever had this sort of judicial action taken by an internet celebrity, like, ever. so i’ve decided to kinda explain what’s going on. if anyone has any questions after this i’d be really up to talk about it i love talking about law 🫶 xoxo let’s start. also sorry if anything reads weird english is not my native language okay

for those who don’t know, very recently, a judicial action taken by cellbit has made public. in this action, he’s suing over 200 people for the crime of defamation.

the action was taken to court in january, but it was under what we call “secret of justice”, which means only cellbit himself and twitter’s lawyers had access to it. now that there have been decisions by the judge and everything, the process’s been made public.

basically, cellbit started an action against twitter (NOT THE PEOPLE WHO COMMITTED THE CRIME YET), citing a little over 200 tweets that accused him of crimes like SA, psychological abuse, pedophilia, and others. all of those are real crimes in brazil — and accusing someone of committing crimes (specially as awful crimes as those) without proof is a crime in itself (defamation). he claimed that the tweets were harmful to his honor, mental health, and reputation, besides categorizing as defamation, since there’s no investigation going on against him for all these infractions he’s being accused of.

with that, he asked twitter to delete all the tweets, and to provide him with the personal information of said twitter accounts so he can sue them directly for defamation. he did these requests through something called “tutela cautelar”, which means the judge gets to decide whether or not twitter has to do these things before proof production and proper investigation, since, if twitter doesn’t do those things, the damage to his honor and reputation will be ongoing + he won’t be able to sue the proper people in time.

the judge conceded to his requests, and twitter has already deleted all the tweets. the main discussion going right now is wtf do they do about the international accounts — does our law apply to them? what’s gonna happen? we don’t know yet. that’s being discussed in court for the moment and, considering brazilian courts, it might take quite a while.

so, yeah, all those people aren’t being sued YET. but they will, probably somewhat soon.

it’s also important to mention that this lawsuit is from january and was only now released to the public. there’s probably a lot more coming after the whole fiasco that led him to releasing his statement, including a lawsuit against his ex herself.

now, other topics — could he sue other twitter accounts for cyber bullying or death threats? probably, but my personal opinion is that suing for defamation and focusing on accounts that were accusing him of having committed crimes was a much better move because it’s a much stronger case.

there’s very little room for discussion when a person has outright said “cellbit committed this crime”. death threats have more room for discussion: “oh, but they’re hundreds of miles away, it wasn’t a serious threat”, “they didn’t mean it”, “it was a joke”. same thing goes for cyberbullying: it can get too subjective.

defamation isn’t subjective. you accuse someone of a crime they didn’t commit? boom, defamation, at least according to our laws. so, to me, personally, it makes a LOT of sense for his lawyers to focus on that: he’s a LOT more likely to win than if he was suing for cyberbullying, threatening, insult, or any of that. also, he’s a lot more likely to win FASTER.

when he gets to sue the actual people who committed the crime, that is. for now, he’s only requested twitter to give him the necessary information to get to these people, which i think they’ll very likely be obligated to do. there are digital data protection laws in brazil, but a crime is a crime. digital data protection isn’t gonna protect you from the court.

another thing: LGPD (brazil’s general law of personal data protection) forces all social media companies to keep records of all the content posted by their users for AT LEAST six months. many companies keep it for way longer. that’s a law created for judicial purposes, in case something published to twitter, facebook, or instagram needs to be analysed by a court. that’s why even tho twitter has deleted the tweets, they still have them, and why it doesn’t matter if the people responsible are deleting the tweets, the accounts, the fucking app itself. the records are still there, and they will be used judicially.

i think that’s the overall for the situation, but i’m willing to answer any questions and to discuss it if anyone wants to! i’m a big law enjoyer. also personally i think cellbit is so fucking right for this like YEAH people don’t get to commit fucking crimes on twitter and get away with it. really interested in how this is gonna go law-wise, but in general also really glad to see someone take action like this.

[endlessthxxghts]

You Better Jump... (part 2 of 2)

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈9k

Summary: Your neighbor fixed your lock for you. How can you ever repay him? [read part 1 here]

Warnings: Canon divergent (no outbreak) & mentions of Sarah but we don't see or interact with her (AU - she moved out, lives on her own). Partial physical description of reader (having a thick/curvy body, wears a dress/feminine). Reader is a polyglot but no explicit mentions of race/ethnicity. Feminine pet names (sweet girl, darlin’, etc.). Flirty/awkward interactions and heightened sexual tension. Reader’s unhinged bestie <3. Implied age gap, but no explicit mention as to how big. LATINO JOEL MILLER (😫). An oddly weird amount of sweetness for 2 people who just met LOL. SMUT 18+ MDNI: Joel gets turned on at reader being a polyglot LMAO. Overall dirty talk/vulgar language. Dom/sub undertones (not heavy or established but definitely present). Vaginal fingering, p in v unprotected (I’m not sorry), semi-public sexual activity, thigh riding, bit of exhibitionism kink, oral sex (f receiving), squirting (blink and you’ll miss it), spit kink, choking, hickeys/marking… please let me know if I’ve missed anything!!

A/N: HERE'S PART 2 (THE FINAL PART)! ENJOY, MY LOVES!!💚

MASTERLIST

You and Joel make out like that, with your front door wide open, until you hear a loud meow from what you immediately know to be the neighborhood cat who likes to visit you once in a while. You two break away from each other, breathless, startled from the feline just sitting at the foot of your door.

You look back up to Joel with a cheesy grin on your face, and he mirrors your expression, bringing one of his hands up to run along your red and swollen bottom lip. “Sorry,” he chuckles breathily, “got a little carried away.” 

You slowly lean forward into his touch and take his thumb into your mouth, swirling it around your tongue. “Don’t apologize,” you say. You pull your mouth off his thumb and leave a little kiss to the pad of it, “I liked it.”

He groans, his eyes completely black and the grip on your waist tightens, “Darlin’,” he warns, “I need to take you out properly first.”

You slowly back away an inch with a smile full of trouble and put your hands up in a surrendering motion.

His jaw clenches, “You’re trouble, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You shrug your shoulders in response, “Maybe.” You fall to your knees in front of him, slowly, and pick up the tools he dropped before your little makeout session. You stand on your knees, head in line with his hips, and look up at him. You reach around and tuck his tools in the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing onto his belt loops to pull yourself back on your feet, “Thank you for fixing my door for me, Joel.” 

Before you can break away from the close proximity, his arm snakes around your waist yet again and pulls you in, his other free hand going straight for the underside of your jaw. “Pick you up at seven tonight, hm? Wear somethin’ pretty,” he says, leaning in for a deep kiss that sucks all the air out of you, “Somethin’ that gives me easy access, yeah?” 

And with that, he walks out (the cat in tow), shutting the door in the process. 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

It’s 5 o'clock by the time Joel left you completely speechless at his last words, and it’s 6 by the time you call your best friend to get your ass over here right now and update her on everything that happened, including her stupid ass comment that made it right into Joel’s earshot. Of course, she laughs hysterically at that, slapping the shit out of your arm with every deep breath she takes at an attempt to calm herself. 

“Alright, bitch,” she says, wiping the edges of her eyes from any residue tears, “Let’s get ya dressed, so you can jump-”

“That’s enough,” you say, slapping your hand over her mouth.

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Holy fuck. 

All your life, you were never really confident in yourself. You were secure enough in your identity that you knew you weren’t that bad to the average eye, but you also very much knew that you weren’t jaw-droppingly sexy. That is, until Joel made you feel like the hottest person on the planet with how he couldn’t control himself with you. Mix in your best friend’s way of hyping you up, and fuck did you feel unstoppable. 

You’re not much of a dress person, but you did have a silk, dark green spaghetti strap dress that you bought on a whim a year back. You were slightly skinnier then, but the way it hugs you now accentuates all the right curves and you’ve never felt so fucking beautiful. The dress is also very flowy, having a long slit on both sides, stopping at your hip. Standing, sitting down, no matter what angle, anyone is bound to see a slip of your underwear. Which is totally the reason why you make the executive decision to not wear any, and not because of Joel’s words ringing in your ear since it left his mouth. 

You enter your living room once again, giving your best friend a bit of a show before you kick her ass out, and just as your laughs settle down, you hear a knock at your door. 

No fuckin’ way it’s been an hour already, you think to yourself. Your eyes go wide as you look at your best friend, her expression mirroring yours. You frantically look at the clock on your television stand, and, it has been an hour already, fuck. 

You tell your best friend to hide in your room for now because there is absolutely no way she’s meeting Joel yet. She frowns, but ultimately she listens and runs to your room while you run to grab the door. 

You’re already out of breath from the show you were giving your best friend, and the nerves that were building with Joel on the other side of the door you were about to open is not helping one bit. 

You planned on just side-stepping him and making it straight for his car, so he doesn’t come inside, but as soon as the door opens, your breath hitches. Joel is so fucking sexy, Jesus fucking Christ, you want to swallow him whole right fucking now. As your eyes give him a full sweep, you make it down to his sleek black shoes, and in your peripheral vision, you see that your feet are still bare. Shit, there goes your plan. 

“Well, aren’t you a pretty sight,” he says, also looking you up and down, matching your energy, wanting to devour you just as bad. You smirk up at him and muster up a bashful thank you, but you’re still in a trance from how good he looks. Finally, you feel the outside air tickle your feet, so you start stepping backwards into your apartment, beginning to kneel down to reach the heels you set aside earlier. 

He notices where you’re headed and stops you by gently grabbing you by the hip, “Here, may I?” And before you can even think to decline (which you never would), he’s already on his knees for you, for the second time today, and you can’t help the pooling arousal in your core. Your panty-less core, to be exact, which is now only inches away from him. 

He grabs your foot and situates it on his knee while he works to unclasp the strap. When he does, his rough hands are grabbing your ankle so contrastingly soft and situating your foot into the heel. He makes sure the strap wraps perfectly around your ankle, and seeing how big his hands are, you would think he would struggle with such a tiny buckle. But no, he clasps it faster than even you would, and he finishes off by leaving a sweet kiss just above where the strap lays on you. He hears your breath hitch at that, so, like the menace he is, he places three more soft kisses, making the journey higher up your leg. And before you can beg him to keep going, he’s already switching your feet around, and repeating the exact same process to your other foot. Including the three kisses up your leg. He looks up at you, a smug smile and a playful sparkle in his eye, “Ready, pretty girl?”

“Y-yeah, I-I’m ready,” you stutter out, eyes already glossed over. He stands at full height now, his hand falling to your lower back as he guides you to the front door. He pauses, though, and you look up at him slightly confused. “I reckon she won’t be here when we get back, but, uh, aren’t ya gonna introduce me to your little friend?” 

Your eyes go wide, “How-?” You begin to question, but his fingers are already at your chin, guiding you to look at the black Jeep, backed into a parking spot next to your car, with a bumper sticker of a half set of butterfly wings. It perfectly matches up to the sticker on your car, making a full butterfly. “Oh,” you say defeated but also impressed he picked up on such a little detail. It makes your heart warm a little. 

He lets you go from his grasp, and you turn your body in the general direction of your room and yell, “Bitch, get out he-” 

It’s as if she had her ear to the door the entire time, waiting for the moment she could dart out because she doesn’t even give you a moment to finish your statement. She’s already in front of you both within seconds. 

You give her the eyes that she immediately translates as please play it cool, but you both know she won’t. “Hi, Joel, right? I’ve heard lots about ya,” she spits out at the speed of lightning as she holds her hand out for him to take, and she quickly follows by introducing her name. Joel chuckles at her eagerness and his date’s obvious embarrassment. It’s endearing. Reminds him of his relationship with Tommy. It warms him to know you have a true ride or die in your life, it’s rare to come across these days. 

Eventually the introductions are over, your best friend is headed back to her home, and you and Joel are headed to some restaurant that he refuses to tell you the name or where it is, just that the “Drive is worth it, I promise.”

“A 40 minute drive?” you say jokingly just to rile him up, “This better be the best goddamn thing my mouth is ever gonna taste, then.”

His stare breaks from the road for a moment to look at you, then it’s back on the road. But he has a shit-eating grin on his face. “We might as well turn around then, huh? Because the best goddamn thing that mouth of yours is ever gonna taste is not available in any restaurant, no matter how far or fancy.”

It takes you a minute to register, but when it does, you can feel your cheeks and ears heat up, spreading down to your chest, and eventually his dirty implication forces the heat to settle in between your legs. “Christ,” you say under your breath as you shift your hips in his passenger seat, not wanting your already soaked pussy to get anywhere. 

Maybe you should’ve worn some panties after all. 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You guys are on the last stretch of your drive, about ten minutes left, and Joel’s hand has found his home on your thigh, thoughtlessly rubbing his fingers up and down. However, your mind is completely racing because fuck you just wish he’d move up a little higher to where you are absolutely begging for him the most. 

As if he hears your plea, his hand goes higher and higher, but then he stops. His hand goes rigid, grip gets a little tighter, and his breath gets a little heavier. His hand is high enough to where he should be feeling the hem of your underwear, or at least that’s what he was expecting to feel. 

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?” you say as innocently as possible.

“Are you not…?”

“No,” losing the innocence in a matter of seconds. 

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me, baby,” he grits out as his hand resumes his path to your wetness. The closer he gets, the more your hips try and angle upwards so he can reach you better, and as soon as his fingers are running through your folds, you’re fucking done for. 

“We’re not leavin’ this car ‘til you cum at least twice on my fingers,” he says, his voice completely dark now. “Ya hear me?” He questions as he applies pressure to your clit.

“Fuck! Yes- yes, please, Joel,” you whine out. You shift your body slightly towards his direction, and you open your legs as much as his truck allows you to. Immediately, his fingers slide from your clit and come down to your entrance, spreading your wetness all over you. 

He dips into your hole, just one finger in and slowly starts pumping in and out. You’re so turned on by him that just one finger is enough to make that wet squelching sound from going in and out of you. You let out a moan at the action, your one hand shooting to grip the handle of your door and the other gripping onto his bicep. “You make the sweetest sounds for me, darlin’,” he says to you, southern twang increasing in line with his own arousal. 

“Please, baby-” you mutter as your head falls back. His one finger speeds up at your words, “Oh, c’mon, use those words,” he teases a second finger at your entrance. 

He’s only using one finger right now, and you’re already fucked out, unable to speak or think. You so badly want more of him, though, so you will yourself to talk. “Oh, p-please, an- another finger, Joel, please.. n-need you so bad, please,” you beg. 

“That’s right, baby, usin’ your words for me,” he slides his second finger in, “Dámelo.” Give it to me.

“Oh my god,” you damn near scream out, his words spurring you on more than you’ve ever felt. More slick leaks out of you at his Spanish command. Of course he’s fucking sexy and has the filthiest mouth, in multiple languages, known to man. His two fingers are coming in and out of you at a delicious rate, the thickness and length of him hits that sweet spot in you without even trying. “Touch your clit, baby,” you barely hear him say with how blissed out your head feels. Slowly, you let go of the door handle beside you and bring your hand to your clit, rubbing messy circles on your center, coaxing your orgasm closer and closer to the edge. 

“Fuck, Joel, your fingers-” you say as he works you open. “My fingers, what? Go on, lemme hear you, trouble.” 

Your breathing speeds up to an erratic pace, hot and heavy, “t-too fuck-” your moan cuts you off as your orgasm approaches. He makes his fingers bend in a motion that hits you right where you need it, and- “Oh, fuck, I’m cumming, Joel.” 

“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, his movements slowing momentarily. 

In your foggy haze, you find yourself peaking at the time, and- It’s only been four fucking minutes? Never has a man ever been able to make you cum that fast. Your past girlfriends, absolutely, but the men you slept with? They’re not even worthy of the label boyfriend if you’re being completely honest. Whatever the case is, you just know Joel has you absolutely fucked. You knew this from the start, of course, but it’s finally setting in. When he’s knuckle-deep inside you while less than ten minutes out from your mystery date location. Chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?

You’re brought back from your slight distraction when you feel him pull out of you. You whimper at the loss, your hips raising for more. “I know, sugar, I know,” he comforts, “I just have to get a taste before I lose my fuckin’ mind.” His fingers disappear into his mouth, licking and sucking every last drop on him like you’re some lifesaving nectar he’s been searching all his life for. He lets out a pained groan, “I need to taste ya for real, fuck.” 

He gives you no time to react to his words because his fingers are back inside you in no time. This time he pumps into you with a steady pace but a deep pressure that has you unable to take a single breath in. Your eyes are rolled back, and it feels like you’re drowning. Like you’re being consumed in everything Joel, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sweat is dripping down your neck at this point as the heat spreads from the apples of your cheeks to the swell of your breasts all the way down to your core. The sounds flowing out of you are uncontrollable and pure filth, and it’s riling him up so much that he is in literal physical pain. His hand that’s on the wheel is gripping so hard that his knuckles are ghost white, and his entire face is flushed with the utmost amount of pained self control you’ve ever fucking seen. 

“C’mon, my filthy fuckin’ girl,” he grunts out, “almost there, baby, need one more from you,” his pace finally speeding up in the way that he knows, from your first climax, will end you. He tried keeping his pace slow on purpose, so he can draw out all your beautiful moans and gasps and drag you further into that floating state of mind, but you’re nearly at your destination now and he so desperately needs to get out of this car before he drops his gentlemen promise and pulls over to take you right here in his truck. Unbeknownst to you, he pulls into a parking space that is completely excluded from the general population, and he leans over to bring his hand on your jaw to make you meet his eyes. 

“You look at me when I make you cum, yeah, trouble?” he asks, though it’s not much of a question. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him and you try to answer him, but you’re feeling too good that as soon as you starts, “Anythinforyou, Jo-” your orgasm cuts you off and your mouth falls open with the most desperate and needy moans you’ve ever heard yourself make. 

He continues his movements as you let yourself fall deeper and deeper, and only until the overstimulation begins to hit you do you realize where you are. “W-when did we park..?” you groan out as he removes his finger from your spent pussy. He chuckles at your cluelessness, “Few minutes ago, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his fingers up to his mouth yet again to lap up your arousal. The action alone has your pussy clenching for something more. 

As if he can read your mind, “Later,” he smirks at you. “Let’s eat,” he adds as he gets himself out of the car and walks to your side, opening your door and guiding you out. “Thank you,” you say shyly, unable to look up at him and as you stand on your jello legs. 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The restaurant he takes you to is absolutely gorgeous and lively. It’s an Italian restaurant, small and homey, and it seems like a locally owned business. It’s extremely dim, and the main sources of light are purple and red, pointing in the direction of the live music. You two are sitting in a booth in a dark corner, intimate and excluded. 

“This place is really beautiful,” you tell him with a smile that makes the butterflies in his stomach flutter. “You eat here often?”

“Y-yeah,” he stutters. Why is he nervous now when he just had you coming apart on his finger merely moments ago? Human emotion is a peculiar thing. “Actually, sorry-” he blurts. You sense his nerves, but you don’t mention it. It warms you that he’s actually nervous. It shows you he’s actively wanting more than just your lust-filled endeavors. You rest your arm along the table, your hand resting palm up near his own, offering him comfort. Silently telling him you’re nervous, too, for whatever it’s worth. He takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers with one another. You can see him physically relax. “I don’t really eat here often, but my daughter has dragged me here once or twice. The food is really fuckin’ good.” 

“I’m excited,” you squeeze his hand to reflect your excitement. You’re usually the one making the pasta or any Italian dish you’ve been craving because cooking is what you were bred to do. Cooking is the way to the heart, your nonna always taught you. No matter how traditional the sentiment was, it was one you carry with you always. Naturally, you were a bit reluctant to indulge, but the entire atmosphere here screams authentic Italian culture, reminding you of your nonna and soothing your reluctances.

You both scour the menu for a moment, but you both settled on an option fairly quickly, your waiter comes right on queue. “Ciao! Can I start us off with anything to drink?”

Too enraptured by your food options, you forgot to decide your beverage. Before you can even begin to think, Joel is already on it. “Could we get two glasses of red, your house blend, please?”

“Right away, sir, I’ll be back with those in a moment and take your order, then,” he says as he steps away. Immediately then, another individual appears with two glasses and fills them up with water while you wait. 

Joel’s focus is on the water being poured, while you’re still devouring him with your eyes. You and him never had a chance yet to talk about your backgrounds or your interests, but so far he’s doing a damn good job at dissecting you: your favorite food being Italian and your drink of choice always being red wine, and he got that, all unprompted. 

Finally, his eyes meet yours and the sultry look you’re giving him makes him immediately heat up, his red flush making its appearance again. “What?” He gives you an amused grin.

“Oh, nothing,” you say as you lean back in your bench seat, “I just- you’re really impressing me. It’s quite the turn on.” 

His expression turns from amused to aroused in seconds. “Oh?” He leans forward. “Tell me more?”

Before you can indulge, your waiter is back, placing a wine glass in front of each of you and pouring your glass a little over a third way full before he sets it down to begin taking your order. 

“What can I get started for you guys?”

You signal for Joel to go first. The look on your face screams mischief, so he doesn’t question it. He orders the filet mignon gnocchi, tonight’s special. The waiter turns to you. 

“Buonasera! Vorrei la carbonara, per favore,” (Good evening! I would like the carbonara, please) you say as you beam up at the waiter. His expression brightens tenfold as he realizes what language you just spoke to him. “Perfetto, la carbonara,” (Perfect, the carbonara) the waiter writes down, then looks between the both of you, “I’ll get these in right away.”

“Grazie,” (Thank you) you say, and you hear a small thank you coming from Joel as the waiter walks away. You and Joel meet each other’s gaze. 

“You-” he breathes. He looks really shocked. And utterly turned on. “You speak Italian?” You don’t remember when, but his hold on your hand switched to running his finger up and down your forearm. Chills fall down your spine. “Mhm,” you respond with, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible while you reach for a sip of your wine, as if you don’t know how much you just completely rocked his world. 

“Fuckin’ trouble, I tell ya,” he says under his breath as he tries to casually adjust himself under the protection of the table and the dark lighting. 

After your meals come out, the next 45 minutes are spent in easy conversation. You ask him questions that prompt responses ranging from telling you about his daughter to him being a single father to his contractor business with his younger brother, Tommy. In return, he asks you questions about your family, your best friend, and the question that’s been burning him all night, “Where the hell did you learn Italian?” 

You chuckle at his eagerness. Who knew Joel Miller would have an auralism fetish? You wonder what else could spur him on. “I can ask you the same about your Spanish,” you say as you wipe your mouth from any pasta sauce. “Throwing your words at me while you have me wrapped around your fingers, literally.” You say it so casual yet bold that it does nothing but fire him up more. His self control slips more and more with every flirty and filthy word your mouth utters. 

He clears his throat and takes a deep breath to compose himself. “Grew up bilingual,” he offers. 

Southern drawl with a Spanish tongue? Yes, please, you think to yourself. You hum in agreement. He picks up on it. “Ah, I see.”

“Not bilingual, though,” you clarify with a smirk, mainly to test out just how turned on he’ll get at the prospect of your tongue being versed in a variety of ways. 

One hand of his tightens as if he’s trying to really hold onto the string that’s keeping his self control at bay. 

You sit and think for a minute. You grew up in a mixed ethnic household, so you have a few options you could choose to reveal right now, but there’s one in particular that you know will make him snap. 

The waiter hands the bill directly to Joel. He’s writing down the tip and total as he murmurs to you, “What else do you know?” The waiter comes back and offers you both pleasantries and bids you goodnight, in Italian to you and English to Joel.

You lift your napkin up off your lap and begin to stand. He starts, but freezes as soon as you begin to speak, “Bueno,” you breathe out. “Me encantó la comida, pero tenemos que ir a la casa, ¿qué piensas?” (Well, I loved the food, but we have to go home, what do you think?) You begin to walk in the direction of the exit, but you don’t feel his warmth radiating from you, so you turn back around. He’s sitting back down at the edge of the seat. You go back to him and put your hand on his shoulder. “Joel…you okay?”

“Yep,” he says strained, “Just, uh- need a minute.” Both his hands are situated on his knees and he’s leaning over a little. Your eyes drift to in between his thighs and god damn he’s hard. Painfully hard. His bulge is so big it has you holding back a whimper at the sight of it. 

You can’t help but make this situation worse for him, it’s in your nature. So you bring your mouth down to his ear and in a low whisper, “Faster we get into the car, the faster I can take care of that for you, big boy.” 

He stands at full height now, his body completely flush and towering over you. He takes one look at you and his hands are on your waist, spinning you around and guiding you to the car without a word. 

You can feel yourself walking faster than you’ve ever done in your life, and thank Heavens you do because as soon as you reach the car, he wastes no time in turning you around and pinning you between the driver’s side door and his body.

His lips meet yours in a frenzy, it’s a clash of hot breath and tongue, and you take all of him in fervently. His tongue passes over yours in a way that has your knees buckling. He clocks it immediately and before you know it, his thick thigh is slotted between yours, nudging your core. You moan into his mouth at the pressure, and he pulls away to grab your jaw, forcing your attention onto him. “Gonna give me another one, baby?”

“Joel-” you start, but he cuts you off. “You’re gonna give me another one, right here, right on my fuckin’ thigh,” he demands, his grip on your jaw tightening with his words, “Am I understood?”

You nod your head frantically as much as his grip allows you, followed by a “Fuck, fuck, yes, Joel, yes, I understand,” and your hips start moving on their own accord. “That’s it,” he chuckles, eyes blown out in his arousal for you. One hand wraps around your waist while the other bunches the front of your dress so he can see the mess you’re creating on him. 

If anyone were to walk by right now, they would get a full view of your sobbing cunt rubbing all over his dressed thigh. It’s lewd, it’s pornographic, and it would definitely get you arrested for indecent exposure and disorderly conduct. And even though those reasons should be enough for you to stop what you’re doing and tell Joel you want to just get home first (which he’d be more than willing to oblige to for your comfort), you don’t want to. The prospect of someone walking by to witness what this hunk of a man can reduce you down to is enough to push you to the edge that much faster. 

He slightly rocks his thigh back and forth in time with the grind of your hips, the now wet fabric catching enticingly on your clit. Joel’s grip on your waist tightens, encouraging more pressure into you. He lets go of your dress to slip his fingers in between your cunt and his thigh, adding more stimulation to the bundle of nerves as he pushes himself into you to meet you in another wet kiss. His lips leave your mouth and make its way down your jaw to just below your ear, and he bites. Hard. The searing sensation mixed with everything else makes your vision go white, and you’re literally creaming all over his black dress pants. He soothes that part of your neck with more sucking and licking as your hips come to a halt, his fingers still rubbing slowly, ever so often teasing them at your entrance. 

Your full weight is leaned against his truck, and the only reason you’re still standing right now is because of his hold on you. He knows this, so keeping his one arm around your waist, he slowly pulls away from you to bend down and bring his other arm under your knees. He picks you up and cradles you to the front seat of his truck. He sets you down gently, buckles you in, and before he steps away to the driver side, he uses his pointer and thumb to nudge your chin up to his level, and he kisses you so sweetly, the butterflies in both your bellies fluttering like crazy at the feeling. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers. 

“Then take me home, cowboy.” 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ironically enough, your car ride back to your apartment is filled with the sweetness of each other’s presence, your main conversation of getting to know each other from dinner picking back up. The first few minutes of pulling out of the parking lot and getting onto the main road was you bringing yourself back down from your orgasmic high. You wanted to take care of Joel, so that’s what you started to do as soon as you gained your consciousness again, but he stopped you. 

“Trust me, darlin’, I want you to so fuckin’ bad,” he says as he regretfully puts your hand back on the middle console and engulfs your hand in his. “But, at least, for tonight, I need to get you off before I do.” 

You look at him even though he can’t meet your gaze. The gesture is heartwarming, you’ve never had anyone like this before. And although pleasing your partner is equally as pleasing for you, you don’t argue—but you are confused. “You did get me off, though…three times already?” 

He smirks and meets your eyes for a moment before turning back. “That was just your appetizer, baby,” he lifts your hand up to his mouth and leaves a kiss to the back of it. 

Your eyes go wide, “Oh,” you squeak out. You can’t help the giggle that escapes you, “Okay then.” 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

As soon as he parks, he’s out of the car in an instant, opening your door and guiding you out again. You walk up to your door, fumbling for your keys to unlock it. He’s behind you, lips hungrily kissing up and down your neck and your shoulder. As soon as you get it open, you turn around to face him, your lips smashing into his and tugging him into the house as you walk backwards towards the direction of the nearest piece of furniture possible. He kicks your door shut and swiftly locks it, his one hand only leaving you for an unnoticeable second. 

You were trying to lead him to your living room, but somehow you ended up crashing into your dining table. He doesn’t care though because his hands are grabbing at your hips, hoisting you up. He breaks the contact with your lips and you whine at the loss, but immediately he’s kneeling. Third time today, you think to yourself, could definitely get used to this view. 

“Told ya, I needed to taste you for real, sweet girl,” he says as he runs his hands up your thighs. “Spread your legs, baby.” 

You gather the front of your dress and let it pool beside you, your bottom half completely bare to him. You spread your legs and bring your hips to the very edge, your core completely at his mercy. His eyes grow completely black at the view, your wetness dripping out of you. 

He secures his hands at your hips, borderline grasping at the globes of your asscheeks, and your thighs hooked on his shoulders. He leaves warm, open-mouth kisses up your thigh, alternating between both. Once he reaches your sex, you realize there is absolutely no stopping him until he’s had his fill. Your one hand stays behind on the dining table to hold you up while the other flies to the back of his head, gripping the curls at the base of his neck. 

You’ve never felt anything like this before. His plush lips kissing every place vulnerable to you with such a velvety sensation, his tongue pushing into you and nudging areas you didn’t know a tongue could reach, and his nose—My God, his fucking nose—providing life-altering sensation directly on your clit. 

The only noises in your apartment are the sounds of his slurping mixed with your high-pitched moans and occasional dirty praise, and you’re sure your neighbors can hear you, but you’re feeling way too fucking good to even care about that right now. 

“Just like that, fuck-” your hips start grinding into his face, “-shit, you feel so fucking good, Joel, yes!” You gasp out as his rhythm changes, forcing you to the edge for the fourth time tonight. 

He pulls you in impossibly closer and shoves his face impossibly deeper, and at that moment, your orgasm crashes into you. Your arm that was holding you up gives way and you fall back into the dining table, back arching while your thighs tighten around Joel’s head. The feeling of being completely consumed by you eggs him on so much that he can’t bring himself to stop. He continues devouring you like his life depends on it, his moans and whines vibrating you deep within. You don’t know if it’s another orgasm hitting you or an aftershock from the one you just had, but all you know is that your ass is completely off the dining table and he’s holding you into his face drinking every last drop.

You use all your strength to pull yourself back up, both your arms behind you to hold you up. You try and scoot your ass back onto the table, but Joel is still gripping onto you, spoiling the entire area with slow, deep kisses. He gives extra attention on your thighs, sucking bruises that’ll flourish through the night. Loving the sensation but not loving the way your ass is hitting against the table, you softly call his name with a smile full of adoration, “Let’s take this to my room, maybe?”

He stands to his full height while scooting you back to be able to sit properly again. His smile mirrors yours. He grabs your face with both his hands and pulls you in for a kiss. It’s soft at first, but tasting yourself on him is a taste you don’t think you’ll ever tire of. Your tongue caresses his bottom lip, and he opens, pulling you in, his tongue embracing yours in an all-consuming dance. 

Your hands begin to roam at his sides, making your way to the buttons of his dress shirt, and it’s then that he pulls away, remembering the question you asked. “Wait, wait,” he says. He opens your legs a little more so he can step in between. His hands are underneath you once again, and he nudges you forward, wordlessly telling you to wrap your legs around his waist. So you do, and he picks up, chuckling at the squeal you let out when your body reaches the air, and he leads you to your bedroom. 

He lets you plop onto the edge of the bed and get yourself situated in the center. He finishes what you started and starts undressing himself. His shirt is the first to go, unbuttoning, untucking, and letting it fall to a random place on your floor. Looking down at you ready for him, he takes a step closer, unbuckling his belt, pulling them out of the loops, letting it follow the same path as his shirt. 

He’s been catching the way you’ve been admiring all day, so he indulges in your fantasy a little in the way he undresses himself for you. With every article that gets removed, he watches your eyes grow hungrier, your breathing heavier. You’re too occupied at the sight of his body, you don’t make any move to pull your dress off, but that’s okay. Joel wants to be the one to unwrap his dessert. 

Joel removes his pants and boxers in one go, and you let out an involuntary gasp at the sight in front of you. He is fucking huge. His length isn’t overbearing, but it’s his fucking girth that’s throwing you in for a loop. Your anxiety starts to rise a little; you have never been with a man as well-endowed as Joel and no strap-on you’ve taken could ever resemble what you’re about to take right now. 

You fell into your overthinking, not realizing that Joel has made his way over you. He grounds you with a kiss, stealing all your worries. He grazes his finger over your forehead, pushing a hair away. The action makes you melt. Oh, there goes the butterflies, again. He guides your head to angle down to kiss your forehead, then your nose, and back to your lips once more. He makes sure your eyes are on each other before he says, “We do not have to do anything more if you are not ready, sweet girl.” 

He’s been pretty dominating all night, which you don’t mind at all, but this coming out of his mouth at the fire of your anxieties completely distinguishes them. You know you’re safe with him. Your eyes tear up and before you speak, you snake your hand to the back of his neck and yank him into you for another kiss. As he pulls away, a tear falls, but his thumb catches it. 

“I trust you, Joel, I need you,” you say as you lean into the warmth of his hand, “Please.” 

“Sit up for me real quick then, darlin’,” he says, sitting back on his haunches and pulling you up with him. His hands find the hem of your silky dress, and he slowly guides it up your thighs, up your torso, and you lift your arms off so he can guide it off completely. Now it’s his turn to admire. It’s as if his eyes don’t know where to look first: at your luscious thighs, your beautiful tummy, your full chest. “You’re so perfect,” he whispers, not meant for you to really hear, but it makes you flutter all the same. 

“Lay down for me, baby,” he says as he continues admiring you. You lay back down again, reaching your arm up to drag the pillow below your head. You spread your legs, inviting him in, letting him know you’re ready. But what he does next absolutely surprises you. He grabs your leg at the ankle and lays kisses everywhere. Up your calf, the bend of your knee, all around your thigh in the areas he marked earlier. He reaches your mound and makes no move to dive in. Instead, he lays kisses in the area, even a kiss is placed directly on your clit. You moan at the feeling. He mirrors his actions on your other leg. Then, he bends forward and begins kissing your tummy. Kisses in the general vicinity of your belly button, your ribs, making his way up your sternum. 

Granted, your body is buzzing in arousal right now, and you’re making a puddle in your sheets, but mentally, the way he is appreciating your body has you feeling utterly content. 

Your hand finds its home again in his neck just as Joel reaches your breasts. He continues his journey and kisses all around, his tongue swirling around your nipples. Your back arches at this, and you feel him smile against you as his hands wrap around your ribs, his thumbs caressing underneath your boobs. His mouth makes its way to your neck.

His mouth transitions to longer, wetter kisses, leaving trails of spit on the valley of your breasts and on your neck. The cooling of his spit coaxes a whimper out of you, wanting more of him. Wanting to drink him. His mouth finally meets yours and it’s slow but desperate, your hips lifting to meet his at an attempt for any kind of relief. His tongue massages yours and you can feel the spit build up; you eagerly try and lap it up. 

You pull him away for a moment, slightly bashful to ask, but you need it so bad. “C-can you…” your gaze slips from his. His hand on your rib comes up to rest on the lower part of your neck, his fingertips grazing your jaw but also softly guiding you to look at him again. His eyebrow quirks up at you. Go on, he’s telling you. “Can you, uh- I-” you completely fumble. “Words, trouble,” he smirks, the nickname eliciting a sense of comfort within you. 

“Canyouspitinmymouth, please?” You rush out with your eyes clamped shut, scared of what his reaction would be. He doesn’t say a thing, waiting for you to come to your senses and open your eyes. As soon as you do, he’s on you again, kissing you like before you pulled away to ask your question. Except this time, his fingertips secure themselves on the hinge of your jaw and nudge you open. Your lips but a whisper apart, his spit falling into your mouth, as your tongues’ tips dance around one another. 

The moans you let out for him are sounds he never wants to give up. He’ll let you drink him dry if this is what he hears in his last breaths. 

He pulls away, a spit string connecting you both. You lean forward, attaching to his bottom lip for a moment more before you let yourself pull away, then you swallow.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you breathily giggle. He smirks at your antics, leaning in for another kiss to distract you. He reaches for another pillow above your head, and as your kiss becomes more heated, you grind your hips up into him, giving him perfect timing to slot the pillow underneath your lower back. 

You pull back, “Wha-” you start to question, but he’s quick to respond. He sits back up for a sec, “It’ll help,” he says, and he brings both your legs into a bent position, like frog legs, in a way. Your confusion immediately fades as you physically feel your pelvic floor open up. Oh. 

“I thought you were a contractor, not a chiropractor?” you tease. 

“Watch it,” he warns. “You know, I could just,” his fingers graze your glistening entrance, “force it in,” he slips a finger in, slowly. You gasp, teasing demeanor gone in an instant. “No preppin’ this tight little thing,” he pulls his finger completely out, you whine in response. “How ‘bout that?” 

A barely audible please escapes your mouth, unsure of what it is you’re begging for, and you feel your pussy clench at his words. 

His eyes darken, “Oh, she likes that idea, huh?” He’s leaning over you now, kissing your jaw and neck as he grabs himself by the base and lines his tip up to your warmth. “Maybe next time. Right now, trouble, I’m takin’ my damn time with you.” 

He grabs himself by the base and guides himself to your entrance, his other hand at the side of your head. He lets his cock grind against your wet folds for a few moments, covering himself in your earlier climax, and then his tip catches at your entrance. You both let out a sharp gasp at the sensation, and he slowly starts pushing in. 

“Oh, fuck,” you let out.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he whimpers, “so fuckin’ good, fuck.”

Your pussy clenches at his tone of desperation, and his one arm moves to situate underneath the curve of your back, accentuating it. He’s halfway in you and the painful yet pleasing stretch of your pussy has you closing your eyes at the sensation. 

“Baby, eyes on me, need t’see you,” he says, reaching down to nip your bottom lip. Your eyes shoot open and your brows furrow, your pouty face doing nothing to ease his yearn of just pushing completely in you with no remorse. 

Finally he bottoms out, both your hips flush with one another, and being completely engulfed in you like this, he can’t hold out any longer. “Look, doll,” he rasps. His hand beside you snakes underneath your head and he’s lifting it for you to look down. “It’s like you’re made f’me, huh?” He says as he begins to pull out of you until only the tip is in. 

Your eyes are fixed on the sight below you. Your pussy absolutely stretched out, his dick completely covered in your juices. You don’t have the mental capacity to form anything coherent. Joel knows that, so giving you no time to acknowledge his filthy words, he pushes inside you again. This time much faster and much harder. 

He continues that rough and fast pace for a while, kissing and biting everywhere his mouth can reach, relishing in the constant moans and whimpers spewing from your mouth. 

“S-so big,” your voice quivers. 

“But you’re takin’ it so well, sweet girl,” he replies, voice husky and strained. He sits up a little to stand on his knees, his pace faltering momentarily. His arm from your waist moves down to the underside of the bend on your knee. He pushes your leg higher, opens you up more. The angle makes you flutter around his cock, and he can’t help but speed up. 

“Fuck,” he grits out, “not gonna last with that, sweetheart.”

His hand beside your head moves to rest at the base of your neck, his fingers splayed wide across you, giving him more leverage to rock in and out of you. You feel your body wanting to arch up into him, but the hold he has on you and the angle you’re in gives him complete control over you. The thought brings you higher, and you can’t help what spills from your mouth next. 

“‘S okay, Joel, p-please,” you moan, “Use me, use my pussy, daddy.” 

His hand trails a little higher and now he’s completely wrapped around your neck, his thrusts sloppy, but harder than you’ve ever felt before. “Say that again, sweetheart?” he rushes, hurtling towards his release. 

You let both your hands come up to grab ahold of the hand wrapped around your throat. You pulse your grip, hinting at him to squeeze. He gets it, and within seconds, his fingers are right on your pulse points, applying pressure and giving you a yummy dizziness. 

Your breath hitches and your voice picks up in pitch, “U-use me, daddy, I want your cum, please.” His other hand reaches for your clit. You gasp out. Immediately then, a lightbulb turns on in your mind, and a dazed smile forms across your face.

“Yeah, baby, that what you want?” he says as his ministrations on your clit picks up, his cock kissing that sweet spot inside of you, over and over again. “Wanna be pumped full of daddy’s cum?”

“Ay, dámelo, papi, dámelo.”

It’s as if you two were really standing on an edge of a cliff, and you pushed him off with just your words. He roars out an addictive moan, and his release coats your walls. The warmth flooding in you and the pulse of his cock mixed with his fingers still circling, and you’re getting pushed off the cliff with him. His fingers begin to slow, and he’s letting go of your throat. He leans back over you to meet your lips, and you take him in. Quite sloppily, though, you’re doing the best you can with the feeling of his hips still slowly rocking into you, the overstimulation milking both of you for all that you’re worth. 

You both stay like that for a few minutes longer, basking in the softness of him on your lips, inside you. 

But then immediately he pulls away — and pulls out. You both hiss at the feeling. 

“Shit! Fuck, I’m sorry-” he starts blabbering, but you cut him off with a finger on his lips. 

“Hey, hey, hey, breathe,” you say as you take a deep breath for him to mirror, “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath and repeats himself, calmer this time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask where you wanted-” he gestures to his cum beautifully dripping from your entrance, “I know how risky that was- and we didn’t even use protection, I-” his panic starting to rise again. 

You put your hand on his sternum and put a little pressure, figuring if your anxiety sits there, it’s worth a shot to see if that’s where his sits, too. It does. He looks down at your hand and back up at you, kind of shocked but not more than the situation at hand to question how you know that would help.

“A few things,” you say as you keep your hand on him. “One, I never stopped you, we both took the risks. Two, luckily enough for the both of us, I’m on the pill.” He smiles at that. “And three, even if I wasn’t on the pill” you continue, “I wouldn’t mind picking up a Plan B if it meant I got to feel you like that inside of me again…” your voice trails off and immediately he pulls your hand away from his front up to his mouth to press several kisses on your palm, bursting in lighthearted laughter, his anxiety fading away. 

✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You and Joel laid in bed, tangled up in each other, for a little while longer, but he could sense the mess started to make you a little uncomfortable. He pulled both you and him off your bed, guiding you with his hands on your hips but ultimately letting you take the lead to your bathroom. 

He guides you to your toilet and starts scouring your bathroom to find your washcloths. Once he does, he soaks it in warm water, and falls down to your level, so he can clean you. You reach out to grab the washcloth, thinking you’re gonna be the one doing it, but he’s quick to swat your hand away with a smile. He asks softly, “May I?” 

Your eyes meet his, and all you can see is a genuine softness and a genuine yearn to take care of you. It makes you breathless. “Yeah,” you return his softness.

Being the pretty kinky and adventurous person that you were, aftercare always existed for you. Albeit, some of your past partners were more tender than others, but none of them treated you in a way that made you feel like you two were endgame. There’s something about Joel and the way he can be so soft, warm, and appreciative. He’s so experienced and considerate that you know he’s probably had his fair share of lovers in his past, but the way he treats you makes you feel like everything back then was solely leading him to this very moment. Like he spent years searching, and now that he’s found you, he needs to make sure what’s his is truly being taken care of in the way it deserves. 

The thought and his actions should scare you, but they don’t. 

There are people who spend years dating each other, still trying to figure out if they’re meant to be. There are married couples filing for divorce because they learned that they weren’t for each other after all. 

There are others who get married after six months because they just know. Then, there’s you and Joel. Obviously you’re not going to marry him tomorrow but as you sit here, letting him care for you in such a way you’ve never felt before, you feel it. The rightness. The belonging. He’s gonna be in your life for a long, long time, and one of the most important people in your life at that. You don’t say any of this, though. You can’t. It’s too soon. 

So, for now, you’ll just let your actions speak louder than words, and show him just how much you need him in your life. 

“I’m cooking for us next time,” you say, pulling Joel from his own thoughts.

“Okay,” he says without a second thought. Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the exact same thing as you. 

He feels it, too, and just like you, for now, he’ll let his actions speak louder than his words. 

He reaches over and plops the washcloth into the sink, his eyes on you. 

“Only if we christen the dining table before dinner.”

Your eyes widen and your cheeks go hot. 

Yeah, you are absolutely fucked. And so is he. 

I hope you guys enjoyed!🥹 As always, feedback, comments, reblogs, etc. is extremely appreciated! Thank you to every single one of you for welcoming me with open, loving arms. I'm giving all of you forehead smooches right now. I love you all. So much.

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 24 - You'll Never Be Alone

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of character development paying off. Chapter Title from Ready For It...? by Taylor Swift

Word Count: 22.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Ben, and Butcher meet with Stan Edgar, and everyone adjusts to a new dynamic. Usual warnings, plus some extra smut.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, smut, fluff, light angst, established relationship

Read on A03!

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

“What the fuck are you doing in my garden?” 

Ben turned to find MM glaring at him—arms crossed and eyes narrowed—in the doorway of the room. First off, garden was a generous fucking exaggeration. They were in a sad little greenhouse with peppers, tomatoes, and a weird fucking green thing Ben didn’t recognize. There weren’t even flowers. Gardens should have fucking flowers. And this was a goddamn public space, not MM’s. Ben was fucking allowed to be here, and if he wasn’t, they shouldn’t make it so easily accessible.

“Test,” Ben grunted, scowling at MM and not moving from his place at the wall. “What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Like I said, this is my motherfucking garden. I’m here to check on the cucamelon,” MM pointed to the green thing, still glowering at Ben. “Whatever weird fucking test you’re doing, get the hell out so I can work.”

“No.”

“Soldier Boy, if you don’t get your ass out of my garden-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to fucking stomp on your cuckamelon-“

“Cucamelon-“

“And this isn’t your fucking garden. It’s the BFSI’s, so I’m allowed to be here.”

“It is my fucking garden,” MM sneered. “And until I see any of you assholes stepping up to take care of it, I get the whole monopoly over it. Out.”

Ben scowled, glaring around the plants. “If it’s only you, you’re doing a fucking dogshit job. This looks goddamn pathetic-“

“I’d like to see you do fucking better-“

“I am not a pussy who gardens,” Ben snapped. “I’m a fucking man, and I’ve got other shit to do beside whine about plants-“

“Like your secret test?” MM looked Ben up and down, taking in his rigid stance at the edge of the room. “What the fuck are you testing in here, if you’re too much of a masculine asshole to garden.”

“That’s none of your goddamn business-“

Ready?

Ben paused, keeping his eyes trained on MM as he answered Her in his head. Ready. Be fucking fast. And for the record, I still think this is stupid-

It is not stupid, it’s important. We need to know the limits of this, Ben, and it’s not like we can just google “what to expect when you’ve planted your brain in someone,” we have to figure it out ourselves-

I’m doing it, Sunshine. But it’s fucking stupid.

Cunt.

Brat. Hurry the fuck up, I’m stuck with-

Shut it, Pretty Boy, the whole point is you don’t give me any hints-

“What the hell is happening with your face.”

Ben blinked as MM cut through Her scolding. “My face looks the exact fucking same-“

“You got all puppy-eyed and just stopped talking.” MM scanned Ben’s face with a frown. “Where the hell is the only likable part of you, why’d she leave you unsupervised-“

“I am not a goddamn child, I’m allowed to walk around by my damn self-“

“But you don’t.” MM muttered. “She went to the bathroom at dinner last night, and you looked like you’d gotten goddamn lost. So I’ll ask one last fucking time, why are you in my garden-“

MM’s words were cut off as the door slammed into his back, and Her eyes widened as he stumbled forward.

“Shit, MM, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone would be in here except Ben-“

“What the hell is going on-“

“How the fuck did you do that so fast.” Ben grunted, ignoring MM’s glare. “Did you cheat-“

“I didn’t cheat, Benjamin.” She wrinkled Her nose at him. “And you fucking told me to go fast-“

“You barely took a minute, so unless you were running-“

“I was running,” She shrugged. “I wanted to win.”

MM blinked. “Win what-“

“You can’t fucking win this-“ 

“The fuck I can’t,” She grinned. “You took seven minutes, and I took barely forty-five seconds. I win.” 

“I went first, that’s not a even playing field-“ 

“I offered to go first, and you said,” Her voice dropped into that terrible fucking impression of Ben, a smug look still dancing in her pretty eyes. “No. I’m first, or I’m not doing this stupid fucking test. And I asked why, and you said because I’m not a fucking pussy. I’m first. And I told you that those two things have absolutely no correlation-“

“What the fuck are you two doing?” MM’s voice had risen to a shout, and She and Ben frowned at him. “And why does it have to happen in my garden?” 

“Test,” She muttered, looking around the room with a frown. “I didn’t know we had a garden.”

“You don’t-“

“Did you know there’s a fucking pool?” Ben gave MM a glare. “Why the fuck didn’t you pussies tell how huge this place it-“ 

“It’s not a resort.” MM snapped. “And if one of you doesn’t start answering my question right fucking now-“

“We’re trying to see if we’re like pigeons-“

Ben scowled. “I vetoed calling us pigeons-“

“Shut up. They have a homing instinct, this is a homing instinct. And pigeons are cool, Ben, they’re international and both the males and females produce milk-“

“I am not producing fucking milk-“

“Can you idiots stay on topic for just five goddamn minutes?” MM ran a hand over his face, giving Her a flat look. “Why the hell do you think you have a homing instinct?”

“The Ben Thing,” She tapped her chest, sighing when MM gave her a blank stare. “The part of me that’s in Ben. I have a theory that it’s like a beacon, because I can always tell when he’s near me and I think I used it to figure out how to get home after the whole tower thing-“

“And why,” MM grunted. “Does that mean you have to be in my garden.”

“We’re taking turns hiding, to see if we can just follow the instinct to find each other.” She crossed her arms with a shrug. “Ben found me in one of the empty apartments, and I found him here, I guess.” She gave Ben a grin. “In forty five fucking seconds.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben narrowed his eyes and reached out an arm to try and prompt Her over to his side. Her grin grew—spreading across her perfect face and lighting up her eyes—and she took his hand, letting Ben tug her forward and spin her to lean against his chest. “I didn’t know it was a goddamn race, I would’ve walked a whole lot faster-“

She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “Did you forget your cane, old man-“

Ben swallowed Her words with a kiss, squeezing her body in his hold and sitting in the comfortable, easy warmth that spread through him when she sighed into his mouth.

Brat.

Cunt. Old, grumpy, cunt.

You know better than fucking anyone that I am not old-

“Can you not mind-fuck each other in front of me?” MM cut through their conversation, and Ben glared up at him as Her face flushed.

“Sorry, MM-“

“Just get out of my garden,” MM sighed, gesturing to the door. “I’ll see you in a few hours for the meeting.”

She nodded, twisting out of Ben’s grip and pulling him to the hall—calling another string of apologies to MM over her shoulder as they left—and when the door closed behind them, Ben leaned down to mutter in Her ear.

“What fucking meeting do we have later.”

“Pre-Edgar, at 2.”

“I thought it was just us and Butcher-“

“It is,” She shrugged, falling a pace back to walk at Ben’s side. “But we’re doing a quick briefing about what to expect with everyone. We don’t know what Edgar wants yet, and if it’s something bad-“

“Doesn’t matter what he wants,” Ben grunted, glaring at the walls ahead of them. “I’ll fucking do it, and that will be the end of this shit.” 

She sighed. “What if he tells you to kill Singer, Ben? Or break him out of prison, or traffic something for him? Something illegal-“

“I don’t give a fuck-“

“And that,” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Is why we’re doing the meeting. So you don’t commit a crime.”

“I’ve committed a fuck ton more crimes being payed by the CIA, don’t know when it got taken over by a bunch of fucking spineless pussies who are all uptight and selective about doing their goddamn jobs-“

She snorted. “I don't think anyone has ever called the CIA uptight. They’re just more subtle about their crimes now. And allowing Soldier Boy to assassinate the president for a former corrupt CEO isn’t exactly going to go under the radar.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”

“Uh huh.” She paused her steps, frowning at him. “Ben.”

He grunted, watching Her examine his face, listening to her heart hum in her chest.

“Promise me you won’t just do whatever Edgar asks. I know you made a deal, but it could be dangerous-“

“I can handle some fucking danger-“

“I know you can,” She sighed. “I just, I don’t want to lose you because you’re such a weirdly honorable asshole. If Edgar’s demand is something unconstitutional or illegal or borderline impossible to do, please promise me you won’t do it.”

He couldn’t promise that. Ben had sworn on Her life, on her safety, that he’d come through when Edgar called. But he also wouldn’t lose Her. That option wasn’t even on the fucking table, because not matter what Edgar told him to do, Ben wasn’t going to let himself lose her over it. He’d take care of it, fast and quick and brutal, and find his way back to Her. That’s what this whole goddamn pigeon shit was about. Always fucking finding each other.

But Ben couldn’t lie to Her. It made him feel a little fucking sick, and She always knew he was lying, and that made him more sick. Like the part of Her inside him knew he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to, and pushing up his throat until he swallowed it with the truth.

So he settled on a truth.

Ben said Her name, holding her gaze. “You aren’t going to fucking lose me. Swear it on my goddamn life.”

“That’s not what I asked you.” Her eyes narrowed, the chew of her mouth turning her lips red, and Ben knew he hadn’t gotten out of this so easy. He wasn’t sure why he’d even fucking bothered. “I’m not fucking losing you to something so stupid, Benjamin, so promise me-“

“No.”

She shoved at his chest. “God fucking dammit, you asshole, just promise me-“

“I am not making you a promise I don’t intend on keeping,” he snapped, catching Her hands. “If Edgar asks me to kill Butcher, right fucking there, I’m doing it. But you will not lose me.”

Why? Her voice was strangled in his head, and Ben felt an ache around his skull. You don’t have to do what Edgar tells you, he’s can’t hurt you-

Ben's jaw clenched, and he forced himself to hold Her sad gaze. He can hurt you. I’m not going to fucking let him hurt you.

He won’t hurt me, Ben. She blinked at him, tilting Her head. He can’t hurt me.

He’ll try-

And he won’t succeed. She gave him a small smile. I’m okay. I’m not losing you either, Pretty Boy.

Ben scowled. It’s a fuck ton more complicated than that-

It’s not. You burn, I burn. She leaned up, kissing Ben’s cheek and pressing her brow to his. Please don’t be a fucking dummy and promise me you’ll draw a line with Edgar.

He scanned Her gentle face, and loved Her even fucking more. Ben got to draw the line. She never misused words—everything she said was carefully calculated and designed, every word stupid deliberate and impossibly weighted—and she was making sure Ben knew she trusted his judgment. That no matter what the team told them, it would be Ben’s call what to do, and She’d stand with him. It was insufferable, how understanding and kind She was, even as she was being a pain in his goddamn ass.

I’ll draw a line. He kissed the top of Her head, and her heartbeat slowed. Swear it.

Thank you. She sighed. I love you, you huge fucking dumb dumb.

I love you too, brat.

She pulled back, giving Ben a smile that was so fucking happy and comfortable it made the whole goddamn world a little easier. It was a little insane, how Her loving him and smiling at him and linking their arms together—dragging him back to their apartment—made Ben’s whole fucking life better. How over the past four days—biding time until Singer got off his fucking ass to give them some V or Mallory got the meeting with Edgar set up—Ben had never been fucking happier. He didn’t know it was possible to be this happy. This was the type of fucking high he’d been chasing his whole goddamn life, and now it was in him.

He could feel it now. She’d insisted on running test after fucking test of their own, telling Ben—with sharp, pretty eyes and a pout that made him want to eat Her—that they needed to figure out how to use this properly. He’d argued that they’d just fucking work it out through trial and error, because it wasn’t like this was a goddamn emergency. They were immortal, they had all the time in the fucking world to work out how this brain bond shit worked. She’d told him that was fucking dumb, but if he need an incentive, She’d let Ben fuck her right after they finished every test as a reward for good behavior.

She’d have let him do that anyway, and they both fucking knew it. Between how She’d been squirming under him in the mornings, climbing on top of him every night, and had almost tackled him to the floor after he’d finished training with Ryan, Ben was starting to think she was hornier than he was. It was fucking impressive, how She didn’t ever seem satiated. She was satisfied, always smiling at him after with glazed, fucked-out eyes that made Ben almost goddamn explode with pride—he’d done that, she was so beautiful and content and blissful under Ben because Her loved her, so he’d worshipped her and touched her right—but she was never satiated. She watched Ben at the dinner table like she’d been wandering the desert for a thousand fucking year and he was oasis, before dragging him into one of the goddamn dining hall bathrooms, dropping to Her knees, and moaning as she wrapped her lips around his cock.

He fucking loved Her. And he’d never be sure how he’d gotten so goddamn lucky, that She loved him. So Ben had agreed to Her terms, and used them to his best fucking advantage. She’d made them stand on opposite ends of the compound to test if there was a distance limit—there wasn’t—and Ben had fucked Her against the door of their apartment. She’d made them sit across from each other and practice selection of what thoughts they shared—it was purposeful, and Ben wasn’t sure how, but he was able to share and withhold thoughts like lowering or raising his voice—and he’d fucked Her on the table.

And, though he’d never fucking admit it to Her, but the more they tested the connection, the more Ben could feel it. More than just a pure instinct of Her, Her, Her, pounding in his chest and guiding his heartbeat, but something fucking tangible. When they’d started the pigeon test—she also could never fucking know Ben had called it that—there had been a strange feeling of go. Something good is calling you forward, so follow it, in Ben, so he’d done just that. It hadn’t wavered or faded in and out, only grown stronger and stronger the closer he’d gotten, and it had felt like home. It had been a magnet, carving out a path he couldn’t see but still understood, singing a bright, powerful song in his head that had been reduced to a hum when he’d found Her. A natural, steady hum that was in key with Her heart, and ran through Ben’s mind whenever he was awake.

There wasn’t any other fucking way to put it. It was Her, it felt sharp and infinite and alight and Her. It blossomed whenever She touched Ben, and left something sweet that lingered on his tongue all the time.

And there hadn’t been a fucking chance he was going to describe it to the team like that.

She’d explained the connection a few nights over dinner, looking to Frenchie for confirmation on the science shit and letting Ben sit—rigid with Her tucked perfectly against him—in silence while she handled questions.

“What the fuck you mean you planted yourself in Soldier Boy?” MM had snapped, shaking his head like they hadn’t all seen much weirder fucking shit over their lives. “Did you put a parasite in him-“

“She’s not a fucking parasite,” Ben had grunted, and shot MM a glare. “It’s just her brain in me, you dumb cock-head-“

“The fuck did you just call me-“

“Ladies,” Butcher had drawled, looking between MM and Ben with narrowed eyes. “You’re both real fuckin pretty, and your balls are massive, but can we answer some real fuckin questions? Like if we,” he’d gestured around the rest of the table. “Are all in danger of gettin a fuckin Anomaly brain infection. No offense, Love, but I’ll shoot my skull in before I feel you all the bleedin time-“

She’d given Butcher a flat look. “There’s literally no way for me to not take offense to that, but no. You don’t have to worry about that. Frenchie said it was surprising it even happened once.”

“It is fucking bananas,” Frenchie had nodded in agreement. “I would even call it batshit crazy-“

“We get it, Mate, don’t need to worry-“

“I have a question.” Hughie had blurted over Butcher, face red as he made an apologetic flinch. “What does, um, feeling each other mean? Like, is it in your head, or physical-“

“It’s both,” She’d shrugged. “It’s sort of an additional sense, I guess. Like I can hear and taste and smell and Ben. It just is. Sorry, I know that’s not helpful, but-“ 

“And pathetically fuckin sappy-“ 

“Shut it, Butcher.” She’d shot the man a glare, before turning back to Hughie with a shrug. “It’s all I can offer. I mean,” She’d paused, voice resuming in Ben’s head. Do you want to try to describe it?

Fuck no.

Ben had seen Her lips twitch with a laugh, and counted it as a triumph as she’d resumed. “Sorry, yeah. That's all I’ve got.”

There had been other questions. A truly stupid amount of them, for a bunch of people who were in no way actually fucking part of this. It was for Her and Ben, this connection, and not a single other pussy fucker on the planet. This was about how She curled on his lap every night when they watched TV, making mumbled comments and jokes as Ben traced patterns on her skin, resting his chin on the top of her head. It was about how she kept smiling at him, all fucking day, and Ben got to dance her around their kitchen until she was all pretty and flushed in his arms. How they were still showering together, but now it ended with Ben pushing her against the tile, kissing her neck as he seated himself deep in her pretty cunt and her moans mixed with the steam. How there were still tears and screams in the dead of night that woke Ben up, the scorching heat twisting his skin, but She came down quickly and never tried to tell him that it didn’t matter, or made any attempts to fucking apologize to him.

This was about how Ben could feel Her pain as she sobbed in his arms, and it was grueling and fucking horrible—freezing his blood and lungs and mind to a white-hot fever, running through some deep part of Ben’s head and making something snap around in his gut—but when it faded Ben could hear the steady sound of Her heart and kiss the top of Her head, let her fall asleep with a soft sigh. Her perfect face peace, buried against his chest, and her body relaxed into his. It was about how—for all that fucking torture as the cracks he could feel in Her closed—he also got to feel the best parts of Her. Ben got to watch Her grow wrecked under his touch, feel her nails dig into his skin and listen to her pleas and moans and whine, and feel it. Feel the way She loved him, how he was fucking everything to her. Her love made Ben feel eternal and strong and so fucking alive. It made something in him light up, how this was all them. It was all just Her, scratching his back and moaning his name and looking at Ben like he was good.

It was about how Ben fucking believed it. How, when she smiled at him and teased him and loved him, Ben thought he might be good. That he wasn’t just not Homelander, not Butcher, not a complete fucking waste and failure, but good.

“Do you think we have a movie theater as well?” She was looking up at Ben as they walked, and he frowned.

“We fucking might, at the rate these damn things are popping up. Christ, what the fuck do we need a garden for, they feed us.”

“Seems to make MM happy,” She shrugged. “And gardening can just be to like, relax. I wouldn’t have thought gardening would relax MM-“

“Because he’s a fucking man-“

“Because he’s OCD, dumbass.” She slapped his arm, and Ben scowled. “Gardens are mostly dirt, and dirt is full of, well, dirt. It’s not exactly hygienic. And men can garden, Pretty Boy. You can grow some very masculine potatoes.”

“If you’re about to try and talk me into fucking gardening with you-“

“Not a chance in hell,” She wrinkled her nose at the air. “My mom used to try and make me garden, it was awful. You get all sweaty and dirty, and then you have to wait for months just to pull a sad little carrot out of the ground. Pass.”

“Maybe we should try gardening,” Ben winked at Her, tugging her closer into his side. “I like you all sweaty and dirty, and my carrot isn’t sad or little. It’s huge, and all fucking yours.”

“Shut the fuck up,” She mumbled, trying to hide her perfect flush in Ben’s chest, letting him guide their steps. “Horny cunt.”

Ben leaned down to whisper in Her ear, smirking at the shiver of her spine under his hand. “I think you’ve got the horny cunt, Sunshine. I think you’re already fucking hot and wet, just thinking about how I’m going to fuck you when we get home. Want me to tell you what we’re doing, or you want it to be a surprise?”

She made a small sound, muffled against Ben’s body. Highlights, please.

Of course, my love. That got a high whine, and Ben grinned. Every single fucking time he called her that, the reaction got better. A part of him wanted to see if he could say that in the right tone, at the right moment, and make Her cum on the spot. I’m thinking I fuck you fast. Rough and hard, until we break the fucking bed. I’ll eat you out first, have to take care of you, see if we can finally get you to fucking squirt all over my face, but then I’m going to fucking split you open on my cock. Make your pretty eyes roll back in your damn head, see if I can get you so fucked out you forget your own goddamn name.

She swallowed, leaning further into his body. That it?

He snorted. You want more? So desperate for me that my tongue and cock aren’t enough? Need my fucking hands as well?

Yes.

Who’s fucking horny now-

Shut up, you have nice hands.

Ben grinned. What about my hands do you like, Sunshine?

Fuck you.

Tell me about my hands, and I’ll fuck you till you can’t damn walk.

She sighed against him. They’re big. And rough. And strong. And, fuck- Ben had started to trace his finger over Her collarbone, and smirked as she moaned into him. You’re such a fucking asshole-

Finish telling me about my hands, beautiful. You imagining them inside your pussy? In your mouth? Rubbing on your clit until you make that perfect fucking whine when you cum-

Ben-

Want me to make you all sweaty and dirty with just my fucking fingers? Want them to fuck you until you’re squeezing around me-

Fuck, Ben, you dick-

You are inpatient, Ben chuckled as she started to tug at his shirt. Of course you hate fucking gardening, you love me and you’re calling me a cunt for just damn teasing you. Can’t imagine what you’d do to something you hate, like a slow fucking plant that won’t grow- 

I don’t hate plants, Her voice was breathless in Ben’s head, and her heartbeat was so fast it might burst right out of her chest. I like flowers.

Ben made a note—filed in the part of his mind that was completely designated for Her, caring about her and tending to her and loving her—to ask MM to start planting flowers in his pathetic little garden. If MM said no, Ben added some ideas for graphic threats that he—probably—wouldn’t actually follow through on. He’d have to do it later though, because right now She was half slumped against his body, breath heavy and hot on his skin, and they were right in front of their apartment door.

She fumbled with the keycard, and Ben pulled her through the door before it was even half fucking open. She gave a squeal as he hauled her up in his arms, and they were upstairs before the door was even fucking closed behind them.

He’d seen the clock on the stove. They now had an hour until the meeting, and Ben was going to make the fucking most of it. He’d been planning on having them do some training—practicing some punches and working on Her fire until she made a smart fucking comment and he’d pin her under him and fuck her until she was drooling��but now he had to prioritize. They’d been training every goddamn day, and Ben had made himself hard from teasing her, so he made the call that fucking Her was a whole lot more important.

They didn’t make it to the bed. The door slammed behind them, She started squirming in Ben’s arms, and he turned them around to push Her against the wall.

Ben dropped his head to the crook of Her neck, biting and sucking at that spot on her neck, blinding grabbing at her jeans to rip them away.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first?” Ben said Her name, grinning against her as she moaned, starting to grind on his torso. “Use my hands like you’ve fucking fantasized about? Fill you up-”

“I have not fucking fantasized-“

Ben shoved his hand between Her legs, running two fingers over her pussy as he kissed along her collarbone. Liar.

Fuck you-

Tell me all the things you’ve wanted me to do with my hands, beautiful. Tell me how to fuck you.

I, fuck, She took a ragged breath, and Ben’s hand stilled over her, pressing against her warm cunt with no friction. Want you to tease me.

Ben smirked, and resumed his movements. Careful strokes over the wet spot on her underwear, light touches up and down until she was soaked through the fabric. Keep going, Sunshine. I’ve got you.

Ben-

Tell me what you want.

Please-

He stopped moving again. Words, my love.

She whined, throwing her head back as Ben nipped at a pulse point. I, God, I want you to play with my clit until I’m close, then finger fuck me until I scream.

He hummed, gliding his hand over Her clit, flicking it once, then resting his hand at the hem of her panties. That it?

You fucking asshole-

Ben grunted Her name, aloud against her skin, and she moaned.

Fuck, I, good. Call me good, please, Ben, fuck-

He didn’t waste another goddamn second. Ben pushed his hand under Her underwear and pressed two fingers against her clit, rubbing slow, large circles. Was that so fucking hard?

You dick, fuck, Ben-

My dick is hard as well, Ben angled his hips up, pressing his erection against Her core and smirking at the whimper that escaped her throat. But you just look so fucking good, all wrecked on my hand. Gets me fucking going, when you say my name-

Ben-

He groaned on her skin, and tore off her panties, slapping her dripping pussy once before running his thumb over her clit, dropping it to trace between her folds, over her slit. Good, beautiful, just like that.

She made a loud, strangled sound and Ben chuckled, rubbing his palm against her, faster and faster until she was panting, clawing at his neck.

So fucking good. Love how fucking wet you get, love how you sound, Christ, I fucking love you-

Please, close-

Ben pushed two fingers in Her at once, and started to pump as fast as he fucking could. Her pussy was contracting around him already, her arms around his neck loose, and when Ben pulled his head up to meet her eyes, She looked fucking ruined. Eyes unfocused and fluttering, pretty lips parted with tiny moans, whole face slack with pleasure. She was so fucking perfect, so fucking beautiful, a goddamn work of art-

Benjamin, Her head dropped forward, nose bumping with his as her lips brushed across his beard. You, need you, need to cum-

Scream, beautiful. You’ll have to fucking scream-

Ben almost came in his fucking pants when—just as his fingers hit the deepest part of Her—She let out a deafening, high and needy scream of his name.

“Good girl,” his voice was hoarse, and Her hands were tugging at his head, trying to move his mouth to hers. “Want to cum?”

“Please-“ Ben slammed Her head back to the wall with a bruising kiss, and she moaned down his throat. God, yes, Ben-

He scissored his fingers in Her pussy, pressing on that button inside her, and groaned as she dribbled down his palm, the most sinfully wet sounds echoing in his head as he fucked her through her release, only drawing away when she gave an airy, happy sigh.

Ben looked down, between their bodies, and examined his hand. “Closer.” 

“That one wasn’t even that small-”

“You can do more,” he grunted, reaching up to press his thumb against Her lips, smirking at soft whine that escaped her. “Taste.”

She opened for him, and Ben felt his jaw clench when her tongue ran over him, sucking long and hard, humming around his fingers in her mouth.

“Fucking Christ,” he shook his head as she pulled off of him with a pop. “You’re perfect. Fucking love you-“

Ben groaned as she leaned forwards, hands curling on his head as she kissed him. Long and rough, and he could fucking taste Her in her own mouth. Proper fucking pussy, the best thing in the goddamn world, all Her, and what Ben fucking did to her.

They pulled apart with quick, uneven breaths, and Ben felt something soft and bright swell through his chest at She smiled at him. “Hi.”

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“That was,” she took a deep, slightly ragged breath, and Ben could hear Her heart, still running in her chest. “Fuck.”

He snorted. “I know. You like me calling you good girl, huh.” Ben winked at Her. “That do it for you more than brat?”

She whacked his arm. “Shut up, Mr. Say My Name and Beg.”

“You like fucking begging-“

“And you like calling me a good girl. And brat.” She ground against him, and Ben hissed as she rubbed right over his cock, straining through his pants. “Want some help with that, Pretty Boy?”

Ben didn’t need to be asked twice. He didn’t really fucking care for these pants anyways, and certainly wasn’t going to mourn them after he ripped them off his body—boxers gone in the same movement—and angled himself against Her.

She gasped—nails digging into his skin and eyes wide—as Ben ran his cock between her still dripping pussy, holding Her gaze. “Want me to fuck you, beautiful? Want to get my dick all fucking wet in your pretty cunt? Make you fucking scream again?”

Yes, please, fuck yes-

He bite Her lip as he pushed into her, eating her moan and squeezing her perfect fucking ass until she was melted against him. Until Her body was fucking falling forward, letting Ben support her carefully against the wall as he bottomed out. He couldn’t move yet. She kept goddamn squeezing him, and all her moans were rolling down his throat, so if Ben started moving now he wouldn’t fucking last.

Relax, he grunted Her name in his head, and she whimpered. Need you to fucking relax, my love-

She squirmed around him, and Ben groaned, pushing her further against the wall.

Christ, Sunshine, you’re going to fucking kill me-

Ben, please, just move-

He took a long breath, pulling Her tongue between his teeth and smirking at her moan. Not until you fucking behave and stop moving, brat. Be fucking good for me-

It was amazing how fast She listened. Every bit of tension left her body as she relaxed against him, her heart running out of Her chest, and when all her love pushed into Ben’s body it was like he’d been fucking shot. Everything in his body became boundless, and the world felt sharp and safe and warm. Everything was Her, wrapped around him and fucking perfect.

Please, Her voice in Ben's head came in time with a soft, small, needy sound that fell from her lips. Fuck me.

He swallowed, kissing her once, gentle and careful to ground himself in Her body. Want it fast, beautiful? Want to me to fucking break you, make your knees fucking weak, make you fucking dizzy-

God, yes-

Ben couldn’t deny Her if he tried. Not when She was molded against him like she belonged there—which she fucking did—or when she was so fucking beautiful. Not when She loved him like this, and he got to fucking feel it. So he braced an arm against the wall, pushing her further up his body, and started ramming himself into her with a fucking purpose.

He’d known he could die like this for a while. Go fucking insane from how beautiful she was, how She touched him and moaned Benjamin in his ear. He’d been real fucking certain that She’d be the end of him, of his fucking sanity, and that he was more than goddamn okay with it.

He still hadn’t fully anticipated just how correct he’d been. How, when she threw Her head back and whined, when she started to roll Her hips around Ben’s cock and a hazy, golden smoke started to fill the room around them, he felt like he’d found fucking heaven.

“Like that?” He grunted Her name in her ear, emphasizing every word with another rough thrust of his hips into her. “Tell me how it feels, how much you fucking love my cock wrecking your perfect fucking pussy-“

Ben, fuck-

“Aloud,” he sucked on Her low lip, drawing one of those perfect fucking whines from her throat. “Use all your smart fucking words, beautiful, talk to me-“

“Feels good,” Her words were choked, breathed into Ben’s mouth. “Feels so good, you’re so fucking big, feel so full-“

“Like being full of me?” He muttered, giving her ass a gentle slap, and she nodded frantically against him. “Think you can be real fucking good for me, fucking drench my cock, fucking squeeze me-“

She moaned, cunt tightening around him, and Ben almost fucking lost it.

“Good girl,” he growled Her name, smirking at Her whimper. “You’re real fucking closer, aren’t you. Ready to fucking cum, darling?”

“Fuck,” She gasped, and Ben leaned back to see her fucking glowing. Burning and burning without flame, Her love coiling tight in his gut as she watched him with pretty, glossy eyes. “Close, Ben, I’m close, need more-“

“I know, can fucking feel it.” Ben grunted, dropping his head to Her shoulder as he started to lose control, but fuck she was perfect, felt like fucking paradise around him, moaning his name all desperate and fucking loving him, and fuck-

“Please, Ben-“

He groaned, tracing his tongue over her teeth, and felt release slam into him like a goddamn train. She screamed again—fucking screamed, loud and desperate and perfect—and Ben almost fell over as Her own orgasm pushed his further. Everything was blinding, his vision growing blurred as he twitched inside of her, holding her carefully until they both came down.

She hummed softly in his ear. “Darling?”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.” Ben pulled back to glower at Her, and found her pouting at him, light dancing in her eyes. “I liked it.”

He nodded slowly—adding darling to growing list of things he, and not a single other fucking person, got to call Her—and looked to where he was still sheathed inside Her. “You didn’t squirt.”

She shrugged. “I don’t always squirt, and it usually requires some clit stimu- Fuck-“

Ben had pressed his thumb over Her, rubbing small circles and examining her perfect features. “That better?”

“We,” Her breath hitched as Ben moved faster, and he chuckled at her glare. “Benjamin, we’ve got the, fuck, we’ve got the meeting-“

“They can wait-“

The door slammed downstairs, and Ben’s body moved faster than his brain. Pulling himself out Her, tossing her—carefully, but quickly—onto the bed, and ducking down to grab his gun from under the mattress.

“Ben, slow down-“

“Stay there,” he snapped, shooting Her a glare as she started to scoot off the bed. “Don’t move until I come back.”

“You are not my boss, you cunt-“

He didn’t have the fucking time to argue. Whoever was in their apartment—heavy steps, even, almost lazy heartbeat—had climbed upstairs, moving closer to their room. Ben drew up, pointed a finger at her, fucking stay, and raised his gun.

Benjamin, you paranoid asshole-

He yanked the door open, clicking the safety off, and slammed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall.

“Bloody Christ, Gov, where the fuckin hell are you trousers?!”

Ben looked Butcher up and down, and lowered his gun with a scowl. “Why are you in my house.”

Not a house, Pretty Boy. And I fucking told you-

Shut the fuck up. He paused, hearing Her shuffle around in the bedroom. What are you doing.

Getting dressed.

I told you to fucking stay-

It’s just Butcher-

And we don’t know why the hell he’s here-

“Oi,” Butcher gave Ben a sarcastic wave. “I can see your fuckin semi, mate, stop sending each other nudes and bloody pay attention-“

The door opened behind Ben, and She stopped at Ben’s side with her arms crossed, frowning between him and Butcher. “We weren’t sending each other nudes, Butcher. Answer Ben’s question, why are you here.”

Butcher looked Her up and down—her lips still slightly swollen, face still flushed, and her shirt, Ben’s shirt, inside out—and smirked. “I’m sorry Love, was I fuckin interrupting somethin-“

“Yes-“

She stomped on Ben’s foot, Shut up, and glared at Butcher. “Not your business-“

“It’s my business if Soldier Boy’s flashin me his half-hard dick-“

She sighed, side-stepping in front of Ben, blocking him from Buchter’s view. “Tell us what the fuck you’re doing here.” 

Butcher scowled. “We’re takin off now. Need you twats at the elevator in five.”

She blinked. “What about the briefing-“

“Mallory fucked up. Got the wrong time for Edgar’s transport. He’s gettin there at 2, not leavin from the fuckin penitentiary.”

“Oh, shit,” She swallowed, and Ben heard the tapping begin. “We’re supposed to be there before him-“

“So we’re leavin now. Get some bloody pants on your fuckin idiot, and meet me at the elevator.”

She nodded, not bothering to say goodbye to Butcher as she grabbed Ben’s arm and tugged him back into the bedroom.

When the door closed behind them, She marched over to the dresser and fucking chucked Ben’s supe suit at his face.

“What’s wrong with you-“

“Nothing.”

Ben scowled. “You’re lying,” he grunted Her name, watching her take off his shirt and flip it to the right side. “Your going to fucking bite through your mouth, and won’t goddamn look at me-“

“That’s because you’re being an asshole.” She snapped. “You are not my boss, Benjamin, and I am not a child-“

“What the fuck are you talking about-“

She turned to him with a look that almost made Ben flinch. “I love you, and I trust you with my life, but you are not allowed to tell me what and what not to do. I’m fucking serious, Ben, I can take care of myself-”

“But you don’t,” he held Her glare, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t fucking take care of yourself, and I’m not losing you again-“

“I keep telling you’re not going to lose me.” She sighed, and a flash of something sore and sour and rotten ran through Ben’s body. “I just, can you please fucking trust me? I’ve got a handle on my fire, and Homelander doesn’t even know where I am. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

Ben’s fists curled at his sides, and he scanned over Her face. Her gaze was sharp, edged with something hot and pained, but her heart was even. And he didn’t feel sick. He felt a little fucking bitter, that rotten feeling growing, but Ben didn’t feel like something was wrong. Fundamentally wrong. She was fine.

“Fine.” He grunted, picking up his shield from the door and extending his hand for Her to hold. A silent gesture of peace that, fuck him, he goddamn needed Her to take. If she didn’t, he’d probably spend the whole stupid fucking meeting with Edgar trying to figure out how to make this shit up to her.

She tilted Her head at him, examining Ben for the longest fucking minute of his life. I do love you, Benjamin. You’re just an overprotective dick sometimes.

I know. He gave a small nod, and flexed his outstretched hand. I love you too.

Her smile was soft, and something loosened around Ben’s lungs when her fingers folded through his. She was wearing the sunglasses on her brow, so Ben had lean over her slightly to kiss the top of her head and coax a small, easy sigh from her pretty mouth.

Ready? She let Ben loop his arm over her shoulders, and he pulled her—safe and content and perfect—into his side.

I was damn born it. He winked down at Her, and everything got a little better when she grinned back. Let’s feed Edgar his own fucking balls.

Gross, Ben. Her nose wrinkled at him, but a small giggle escaped her throat, and she was letting Ben guide her downstairs, out the door.

His body was relaxed, eased by Her presence at his side, but Ben still felt fucking sore. As She and Butcher exchanged short words about the drive and plan before they stepped into an incredibly fucking awkward elevator ride, Ben’s head was circling around Her words.

You’re not going to lose me.

He wouldn’t fucking lose Her. That wasn’t even in the goddamn cards. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because of his sheer fucking dedication. Because if Homelander came for her again, Ben would beat his fucking face bloody and raw, make him beg for mercy and offer none. He did trust Her, but that wasn’t the issue here. No matter what She said about the tower or the Believe Expo, Ben had still lost Her. Left Her alone. She’d been put in danger because he’d failed, and stayed in danger because nobody was willing to step the fuck up and protect Her.

She’d never be in that godawful fucking position again. Ever. Ben would never let Her break and crack under Homelander’s hands, never make her fight on the front fucking lines alone. Ben wouldn’t lose Her because he’d resolved not to. And now he had to figure out where the line was between protecting Her, caring for Her, never, ever fucking hurting Her and respecting that She was, and always fucking would be, a piece of work.

He loved that She was a piece of work. She was a shattered, marred, clever fucking menace and threat to Ben’s sanity, and every part of Her fit perfectly in with him. He wouldn’t want to love someone who was boring. Who didn’t smack him and yell at him and match his every step without even breaking pace or falling behind. Fuck, sometimes Ben couldn’t keep up with Her. He had the time of his goddamn trying to, and loved Her at every bullet the world shot at them, every hurdle they had to burn through, together.

But Ben wouldn’t let Her stubborn, perfect fucking ass take her away from him. If She walked away, left Ben a million steps behind and took off to where he couldn’t follow, he’d find a way to keep living. He had to keep telling himself that, because he’d technically fucking lived before Her. A hundred goddamn years.

He didn’t want to live without Her, though. Not when he could feel Her like a crown on his head. Something beautiful and perfect that had chosen to stay within him, that he had to keep safe. Wrapped around him, resting within him, curled into his side in the backseat of Butcher’s car as they violated several traffic laws. She was relaxed and warm and happy in his arms, leaning Her head on his chest and turning his fingers over in her hands, and Ben didn’t ever want to live without this again. Ben couldn’t ever really breathe again—not in a way that fucking mattered—if he lost Her because he’d made the part of her that lived in him wither and die. He’d live, but he wouldn’t breathe. 

And if he lost Her because of another fucking failure, the world wouldn’t survive his wrath. Ben wouldn’t survive it.

So he had to find the fucking line. 

The safe house looked the same. Ben wasn’t exactly sure what the fuck he’d been expecting—it wasn’t like the CIA was going to budget a new paint job—but it was still deceptively suburban, generic, and easily ignorable.

“Huh,” She mumbled, looking around the street with a frown as Ben helped her out of the car. “This is weird.”

Ben grunted an agreement, half draping his body over hers. If it’s too weird, we can just fucking go home-

She gave him a flat look. We’re already here, Benjamin. And Butcher won’t let us get away that easily.

I’ll hot wire his stupid fucking car, all you’ll have to do is stand guard and punch him if he gets to close- 

I am not punching Butcher. She stuck her tongue out at him. Head in the game, Pretty Boy. We’ve got an old man to wine and dine.

He snorted, and let Her pull him to the door, where Butcher was waiting with a scowl.

“Takin our sweet fuckin time, ain’t we-“

“Shut up and open the door, Butcher.” She snapped, ignoring Ben’s pointed smirk and not punching Butcher. “We can’t be outside for too long.”

Butcher rolled his eyes, but entered the code—same one as before, which was probably some sort of security risk that Ben couldn’t be fucked to point out—and pushed the door open.

Neuman was waiting for them in the hall with crossed arms and a glare. “You’re late.”

“Blame Mallory, Vicky-“

“Don’t call me that.” Neuman cut Butcher’s sneer off with sharp words, attention turning to Her and Ben. Ben got a short nod and mutter of, “Soldier Boy,” and She got a tight smile, and less venomous greeting of Her name. “I suppose you two are to blame for Zoe and I not having a dining room?”

She flushed. “Sorry. We used to use it for training-“

“And not the living room?”

“Not enough space,” She mumbled with a shrug. “And we’d already broken most of the chairs. It felt like a good idea at the time-“

“It was a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped, shooting Neuman a glare. “She’s a fuck ton stronger now, and it’s not like the CIA pussies can’t just buy more goddamn chairs-“

“Can we try to keep you asshole’s trademark swearing to a minimum?” Neuman snapped. “Zoe’s upstairs-“

Butcher scoffed. “You ain’t able to ask us to stop swearing and call us assholes in the same bloody sentence, and then expect us to listen-“

“Just,” Neuman sighed, shaking her head. “Tone it down. No pussies or cunts or bitches-“

She raised Her hand. “Is shit still on the table?”

“Does it have to be-“

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.“ 

Neuman frowned, looking their group over, and gave a curt nod. “Fine. Shit is allowed, along with minimal assholes and fucks. I would say use your best judgment, but you’re all idiots.”

Butcher frowned. “Oi-“

“Actually, I amend that.” Neuman pointed at Her, still pressed into Ben’s side. “She’s smart. You two,” She glared between Ben and Butcher. “Are dumbasses.”

She leaned back, grinning up at Ben. Take that, Pretty Boy. I’m the smart one.

I could’ve fucking told you that-

“Are we just gonna be fuckin standin here until Edgar comes knockin, or are you gonna let us out of the hall?”

Nueman rolled her eyes—with a mutter under her breath of asshole that only Ben heard—but nodded. “Follow me, I turned the spare bedroom into an office. It has chairs,” Ben and Her received sharp glares, and Ben sent one right fucking back. “So we’ll be meeting Stan there.”

Apparently, Neuman’s spare bedroom wasn’t the same as Her and Ben’s spare bedroom. Their spare bedroom was currently Zoe’s, and Neuman had taken Her room—it had become Ben’s as well, but that wasn’t really important to point out right now—which meant that the office was Ben’s old room.

It looked clean, and he couldn’t smell any lingering cum, so Ben figured he was in the clear as they settled around a small table. Ben squished himself at Her side, Butcher took the head, and Nueman dropped across from them with a frown.

“So.” Neuman watched them carefully, voice clipped. “Is anyone going to tell what’s going on outside of Mallory’s very helpful you’re hosting Stan Edgar for the Boys, non-negotiable?”

She sighed, finger’s tapping against Ben’s knee as she spoke. “We made a deal with Edgar for evidence of what Homelander did to me-“

“I remember,” Neuman’s voice was dry, expression flat. “I thought blasting Zoe and I was the deal with Edgar. What, are you here to finish the job with all three of us?”

“No,” She mumbled, and Ben pulled her a little closer against him. Neuman noticed—eyes flicking with a frown to his arm over Her shoulder—and he felt his jaw clench. “I’m sorry about that, really, but we were backed into a corner-“

Neuman shook her head, gaze moving back to Her. “I know. I’m mostly just being a bitch about it, but I think I’ve earned that.”

“I thought bitch ain’t allowed in the kiddie zone-“

“I can say whatever the fuck I want, Butcher.” Neuman snapped. “You’re a guest in my house, and, from what I understand, you don’t have to be here for the meeting. Be quiet, or wait in the car.”

“You ain’t gonna want to do that, head-popper.” Butcher drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Those two cunts will start fuckin on the table if I ain’t here to stop ‘em.”

“Stop calling me head-popper, I’m not-“ Neuman paused, head snapping the Her and Ben. “What does he mean you two will fuck on the table.”

“We won’t fuck on the table,” She shot Butcher a glare, and the pussy winked back. “We have self-control Butcher, I think we can keep from jumping on each other for a few hours-“

“Tell that to Soldier Boy’s fuckin boner in my face-“

“You were in our apartment, that’s where sex happens-“

“Holy shit,” Neuman shook her head, voice filled with a disbelief that Ben did not fucking appreciate. “Are you two dating?”

“Um, we haven’t-“

“Yes.” Ben snapped, and felt a warm, strong feeling explode across his ribs as She swallowed, but didn’t correct him. “You’ve got a fucking problem with that?”

“I mean,” Neuman gave a sarcastic, incredulous laugh. “Yes? Even if you ignore the whole age thing, you’re Homelander’s dad-“ She paused, looking at Butcher. “How did you let this happen?”

Butcher shrugged. “Ain’t a night gone by where I don’t ask myself that, but you adjust. Better than when they were by their bloody fuckin selves, and once you get over how gross they get, fuckin in the bathroom and makin heart eyes-”

“Can you stop talking about us like we’re not here?” She snapped, leaning out of Ben’s hold just enough to glare between Neuman and Butcher. She looked murderous. Ben loved Her so fucking much. “I am aware, Neuman, of how fucked up it is. But I’m also about to meet with the adoptive father of the woman I blasted with my,” She paused, and Ben caught the split second frown that crossed Her perfect face, before vanishing as she continued. “Ben’s bomb, which was put in him by Russian scientists after he was sold to them by the same man we’re about to have lunch with. Over lunch, we’re going to talk about the favor we owe Edgar for providing evidence of my rape and torture to prove to Ben’s grandson that his dad is a piece of shit. Also, that asshole,” She jerked her head at Butcher, and he shrugged. “Is the step-father of Ben’s grandson. Side-note, Ben did try to kill his grandson once, but everyone is kind of over it. We’ve all tried to kill each other at least once, it keeps life exciting.” She took a heavy breath, holding Nueman’s gaze. “So, with that in perspective, being in love with a hundred year old grump, who loves me back and treats me well, isn’t really that big a deal, right?”

She loved Ben. That warmth spread through his whole body—growing bloody and hot from how he did fucking love Her, he did fucking treat her well—as he gave Neuman a smug grin. She loved him. He’d never get tired of hearing it, but every time She said it again it was like someone was shooting ecstasy right into his fucking body. He wanted to fuck Her. Butcher could suck Ben’s dick, because he loved Her and he needed to fucking prove it, to whisper adoring praise in her ears and hear her whine as he showed her how good she was. How fucking perfect and beautiful, how she was a goddamn force of nature and Ben would always fucking love Her. How, with Her face flushed—twisted in anger and sneering at Nueman—and her hands on his leg were starting to smoke, she was a fucking miracle and deserved the goddamn world-

Someone was knocking downstairs. It was terrible timing for Ben—who had been seconds away from finally fulfilling a handful of fantasies about fucking Her on the wall behind them, or on the bed Neuman had somehow turned into a damn couch—and amazing timing for Neuman, who was still gaping at Her with a dumb fucking look of surprise.

Neuman shot to her feet, giving Her a weary glance and walking in wide steps around Her and Ben’s chairs, muttering something about greeting Edgar, and checking on Zoe.

Butcher coughed. “I ain’t ever seen Neuman speechless before. Bloody good work, Love.”

“Shut the fuck up, Butcher,” She muttered, face falling to a look that Ben knew meant guilt.

He’d be fucked backwards if he was going to let her sit in it. No apologizing to Neuman, Sunshine. She doesn’t fucking deserve it.

I wasn’t going to. She looked up at Ben with pretty, gentle eyes and a soft smile. I meant everything I said, and I’d probably say it again. I just, I’m tired.

He frowned. If you need to go home, we can take Butcher’s car. I’ll knock him out and we’ll just go-

No. We’ve got to do this. I’ll be okay.

Ben grunted Her name in his head, scanning her features for some sort of fucking clue for how he could fix this. I’m fucking serious-

I know you are. She sighed, leaning back into Ben’s arms. So am I. I’ll be okay, promise.

He didn’t get to push it. She was okay—her heart was steady and Ben didn’t feel that sense of wrong that wracked his body when she was in pain—but Ben needed to know why she was tired. He needed to ask what she needed, why she was being so goddamn vague about it, maybe just remind Her that he loved her and would stay right fucking here until she needed him. He didn’t get the chance to do any of that, though, because footsteps sounded up the stairs, and Ben barely had time to tuck her further against him before Neuman was pushing the door open, and Edgar was following her into the room.

“Victoria,” Egdar hummed, surveying Ben, Her, and Butcher as he sat down. “I thought I was attending lunch with friends, not sitting at a table with William Butcher.”

“I’m part of the fuckin decor,” Butcher leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “Pretend I ain’t even here.”

“Or, you could simply not be here. I am sure Zoe would be absolutely entranced by your adventures-“

“Do not go near my daughter,” Neuman snapped at Butcher, before turning to give Edgar an exasperated look. “Please just make this easy for me, Stan. I’m not exactly thrilled by it either.”

“I can promise I will not be the issue here. As for our company,” Edgar turned to give a snake-like smile to Her and Ben. “I hope we can all remain civil, but they are not known for their manners.”

“You can eat my civil fucking asshole-“

Ben cut himself off with a grunt as Her elbow slammed into his gut, and she shot him a glare before turning to Edgar. “We’ll be civil. Are you going to be a cryptic fucking James Bond villain?”

Edgar made a small huff of amusement. “I will do my best to make my intentions clear, but forgive me if there are gaps you’ll have to fill in for yourself.”

“Awesome,” She mumbled, heartbeat stuttering, and Ben pressed his thigh into hers, keeping his glare trained on Edgar. She took a slow, steady breath, and tilted her head at Edgar, voice bored and even. “So, Edgar, how was your day? Anything fun happen?”

She was playing the game. Ben glanced down at Her—sharp eyes, narrowed on Edgar and paired with a too sweet smile—and knew whatever the fuck She and Edgar were about to do was Her battlefield. If Homelander crashed through the roof, or the Deep crawled out from under the fucking bed somehow, Ben could take care of it. His shield was exactly a half step away, and he could call the drums in three seconds if he needed to. But right now, Edgar’s cold, skin crawling smile was spreading across his face—Neuman and Butcher silent in their seats—and this was Her place to tear Edgar’s still-beating heart out of his evil fucking chest.

Metaphorically. Ben was pretty damn sure it would be metaphorically.

“Well,” Edgar hummed, holding Her gaze. “I did get up earlier than I would have preferred, but there is only so much one can do in prison. However, I was able to get a fairly decent nap on the drive, even with the two brutes Grace sent watching my every move. And you? Any exciting news from the Merry Band of Savage Imbeciles?”

“Nothing I’d write home about, or share with you.” She shrugged. “MM has a garden, he’s growing cucamelons. I made twenty dollars on a bet with Frenchie that he couldn’t get Hughie to say a bad word about Billy Joel, and thirty dollars on a separate bet with Annie that I could switch my food with Frenchie’s while he was focused on Hughie, and nobody would notice. I’m going to buy some new underwear, all of my old ones,” She kicked Ben under the table. “Keep disappearing under suspicious circumstances.”

Ben coughed. I don’t see you fucking complaining-

I’m not. But don’t expect fancy wrapping paper when you’re just going to tear it off.

“And how are things between you and our beloved Benjamin? I called you quite early last week, and despite what he may think,” Edgar nodded at Ben. “I was able to hear your riveting argument and pillow talk.”

Ben was going to break Edgar’s fucking face. Slam it on the table, rip his heart in a way that wasn’t at all a damn metaphor-

“We’re good.” She gave Ben a smile of don’t kill him, it’ll be gross, and said, “He’s an idiot sometimes, but I love him.” She turned back to Edgar with narrowed eyes. “But something tells me you knew that.”

Edgar didn’t spare Ben a glance, giving Her an innocent shrug. “I had suspected for quiet a while that your relationship was no longer just business. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect better from you, though-“

“You shouldn’t,” She shrugged. “I’m only a woman, Edgar. Look at his face, you’d have come around on him as well.”

Ben scowled as Edgar gave him an overdramatic once over. I am not a piece of fucking meat-

Yes, you are. You’re a very handsome, grumpy piece of meat whom I love very much.

I’m hot as fuck, Sunshine, but I did not come here to be talked about like a common fucking whore-

She kept her eyes on Edgar, but Ben could see her lips twitch up. Objectified, Benjamin. The word you're looking for is objectified.

I don’t give a fuck what word-

“And is it his sparkling, warm personality that makes you share his bed outside of disappearing underwear?”

Her face didn’t lose its amused, casual expression, but Her voice became venomous. “It really is. I have a lot of nightmares, Edgar, and he’s like a Teddy Bear.”

“It may only be the way he’s glaring at me,” Edgar’s voice was fucking bored, and Ben glared harder. More fucking violent, more furious, and maybe Edgar might just explode. “But I would have called him just a regular bear. Although I will acknowledge my bias, we have not been on the best of terms since his return from Russia.”

“Yeah, well.” She narrowed her eyes. “I wouldn’t call either of us your biggest fans. Forty years off his life, three off mine, overall we’re looking at about a combined 50% decrease in years of our lives where we weren’t being tortured. I’d glare as well, but Ben’s better at it.”

Edgar didn’t even goddamn flinch, just offering them a fake fucking simper. “He was unstable, a liability. I would make the same call again in a heartbeat, and not have a single regret. You, however,” Edgar looked Her over, and Ben heard the table crack under his fist. “I must offer my most sincere apologies. If I could’ve stepped in, I would have, but controlling Homelander is a delicate surgery, and sacrifices must be made. What happened to you was, is, tragic, but, as I have told you before, you are the greatest weapon I have ever seen. And I’d would like to strongly encourage you to take advantage of your gifts, so we can all be out of this circus before the fourth of July.”

Ben could feel the cracks in Her along his skull and twisting in his gut as She swallowed. I can just fucking kill him, and we’ll go home-

I’ve got this. Her voice was measured and smooth in his head, but Ben still felt fucking sick. She was leaning across the table, tilting Her head at Edgar with a glint in her eyes that would’ve made Ben fucking flinch, and her voice was syrupy. Slow, calculated, and fucking furious. “Do you know why I was at that Vought party, Edgar?”

“I am afraid not-“

“I was celebrating. I’d just gotten my PhD, that day, and I’d finished it in record time. I paid for it all myself, and it had been so much work, but I’d done it. I was officially a doctor. I already had offers from Columbia and Sanford, but I’d still scheduled a meeting with a rep from the UN on Monday. I’d been recommended to him by one of my favorite professors, so I was a shoe-in for the job, and I wanted it so bad. I’d get to travel the world and help people. Maybe I’d meet someone, and we’d settle down somewhere peaceful to have a family. My friends were proud of me, and one of them worked for your analytics team. She had an invite, to this real fucking fancy Vought party, and brought me as a plus one. She paid for my dress, and drove me home after I got drunk. She said, even though I’d started flirting with the bartender to try and get extra drinks when I got cut off, that I’d still managed to sing Moon River perfectly. Said I hit every note, and even Homelander looked impressed. I woke up in a cell the next day. Missed the meeting with the UN rep. Missed three years of my life, being locked up in the name of controlling Homelander. So I don’t want your apology, unless it’s that time back. Unless you can make Homelander un-kidnap me, fucking save it.”

The room was silent—even fucking Butcher had gone pale—and something was ringing in Ben’s ears and eating at his lungs. He hadn’t know that. He hadn’t know half that she’d been celebrating, or that she’d literally just gotten the fuckin degree. And it was rattling around inside him like a fucking bomb. This wasn’t Ben’s bomb, driven by drums and wrath and fury. This was Her, screaming in his head with a voice that was starting to grow raw and cracked.

Edgar looked surprised. Like She’d just shot him, but he’d manage to recover without thought. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his cold eyes, but there should be. He should be fucking shaking, because She was forgiving. The part of Her in Ben was wailing and twisting in pain, but she’d kept controlling every breath as her eyes glazed over, and the fabric of Ben’s suit under her hand started to blacken. She was angry, but clever and kind, so she wouldn’t kill Edgar.

Ben would. He’d do it for Her, because there wasn’t a single thing in the world worse than this fucking pain that Homelander had festered inside Her, planting fear in her like a goddamn parasite, and all Edgar had done was stand by and watch.

Now wasn’t the time to kill Edgar. His gaze was still locked with Hers, Ben merely an observer, but the moment the chance was offered he’d take it. Bash Edgar’s brains in on his shield, make him fucking hurt in repentance, then never let a single fucking pussy hurt Her again. All She’d be was loved, and Ben would hold Her against his body until all that fucking pain faded into something that ached, but didn’t burn.

Later. Now, Ben just had to squeeze Her hand, remind her that he’d never fucking lose her again, and stay at her side.

“May I ask,” Edgar’s voice was slow, like she’d exploded if he treated her like anything less than a feral fucking animal. “How you plan to make up for those three years in the infinite amount of time now available to you? I cannot offer the time you’ve lost back, but I imagine immortality will have its perks in the years to come.”

“Save the riddles, Edgar.” She snapped. “Tell me what you want.”

“I simply wish to know your plans for when this is over, should you emerge victorious. If Singer hands over the V, and you can outmaneuver Sister Sage and her gas, will you have a family with Soldier Boy? Travel the world? Perhaps both, or contract with the UN, maybe get a book deal? I’d like to hope peace for you, as a world without Homelander is an exciting prospect, but I don’t doubt there will be quite a mess to clean up after him. Will you be picking up a shovel, or leaving it to people such as myself?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yourself.”

“Indeed. I am well versed in handling the many insecurities and reckless behaviors of the super-abled. If my services to the clean up effort, when it comes, were needed-“

“Is this the favor?” She cut Edgar off with a glare, and Edgar chuckled.

“It is only an offer. I’ve found it is never too early to throw one’s hat in the ring.”

“Keep your hat,” She leaned back against Ben, and her breathing relaxed into a more easy, natural state. “We’ll pass.”

Edgar shrugged. “My hat will remain on the table indefinitely, and it will be there when you realize you need it. I suppose all that remains is business, though I was hoping to discuss official matters over lunch, Victoria.”

Neuman rolled her eyes. “The kitchen is downstairs, Stan. You’re not so old I have to walk with you.”

“When I do reach that age, I expect a nice retirement home.” Edgar gave Neuman a smile, and it might be the only genuine one Ben had ever seen on the man’s callous face. “Nothing with golf, I am afraid I never quite got the appeal.”

“I think prison will do that shit for her, Stanny.” Butcher grinned from across the table. “Government funded retirement. Comin right out of Neuman’s bloody paycheck either way.”

“It’s tax funded, asshat.” Neuman shot Butcher a glare. “And I’m not the Vice President anymore-“

“I ain’t an American, popper, not my fuckin problem-“

“I know you’re a dual citizen, you dick-“

Ben coughed—as loud as he fucking could—and all eyes turned to him. “The fuck do you want from us, Edgar. Now.”

“Well, Benjamin, I never pegged you as someone to be driven by urgency-“

“You ain’t ever pegged ‘im at all, he’d be a lot less fuckin uptight- Fuck!” Butcher’s mocking was cut off by a lick of flame, flying past his ear. “Bloody hell, Love, coulda takin my fuckin head off-“

“But I didn’t.” She shrugged. “Shut up and listen, or I won’t miss next time.”

Edgar sighed, giving Ben an exasperated look like they were fucking buddies. “As I was saying, I understand your urgency. Anticipation can be tantalizing. But I promise, this is nothing that will cause you any grief.”

“Christ, you pussy, just spit it fuck out-“

“There is something I need collected,” Edgar said, attention entirely on Ben. “Some possessions I left in the care of someone I trusted, who will have them should you ask. I would like you to retrieve them.”

Ben frowned. “That's it.”

“It is. Straightforward, and relatively simple. Despite what you think, I am not a total monster-“

“Where are they.” She interrupted Edgar with a glare, her body tensing under Ben’s arms. “The possessions. Where are we going.”

Edgar hummed, giving Her an amused look. “I have said it before-“

“Yeah, nothing gets past me, I know. Where.”

“Red River.”

Neuman’s mouth fell open. “What? Stan, why the fuck are you keeping something at Red River-“

“It is an impressively safe storage space. It is kept almost entirely off the record, most of those at Vought are not made privy to it, and those who are have almost no interest in sparing it a thought. I have always thought that to be a waste, but I would not let my opinion get in the way of an opportunity.”

“What the fuckin hell would you need to be hidin at Red River,” Butcher snapped, leaning forward with a glower. “That you ain’t able to just hide in a villa in the bloody Caribbean.”

“The CIA raided almost all my villas, Butcher.” Edgar’s voice was dry, and his gaze turned back to Ben. “All you’ll need to do is pay Red River a visit, ask for Vanessa, and tell her you are collecting the Cornucopia. She will provide my property, you will return it to me, and our transaction will be complete.” 

She blinked. “Is it a weapon?”

“I’m afraid,” Edgar said Her name with a small, cold smile. “You will have to find that out for yourself.”

“Stan, it’s not a weapon, right?” Neuman’s heart was fast—Ben had never heard her heart move fast, it was a little fucking weird—and her eyes were wide as she watched Edgar. “It can’t be a weapon-“

Edgar patted Neuman on the arm, his smile a little less snake-like than usual. “It is not dangerous to Red River, Victoria, nor its occupants.”

“But everything is dangerous at Red River-“

Ben nudged Her shoulder, keeping a careful eye on Neuman and Edgar. Is anyone going to tell me what the fuck Red River is.

It’s like a supe orphanage. She blinked. Actually, it is a supe orphanage. It’s literally a supe orphanage. Neuman was there, it’s where Edgar adopted her from.

Is that why she looks like she’s about to explode?

Probably.

The fuck happened to her parents.

She killed them. You and I became supes in adulthood, Pretty Boy. We had the luxury of motor control and a developed prefrontal cortex to learn how to control ourselves. She didn’t.

Ben frowned, but didn’t have time to dwell on the image of tiny versions of himself and Her—exploding and burning down buildings before fucking nap time—because She was talking to Edgar again.

“Is there a time limit on this? If we don’t get your shit by the end of the week are you going to explode New York?” 

Edgar chuckled. “New York will remain intact. I would prefer that the package be returned to me as soon as possible, but I also recognize that our lives are quite hectic. Let’s say, before June ends.” 

“Hm,” She examined Edgar, crossing her arms over her chest. “And what about that generosity you mentioned. For our time.”

“That is also something you will have to wait for, I’m afraid. But, this has been a lovely trip, so I give you my word that it will arrive. And be fruitful.” 

Her nose wrinkled. “Gross. Is that it?”

Edgar sighed. “I am afraid so.” He turned to Butcher with a frown. “Though, I was promised the afternoon with my family, for good behavior-“

“That ain’t my fuckin problem,” Butcher snapped, rising to his feet. “Call Mallory. You two,” he pointed a finger at Her and Ben. “Let’s hit the bloody road. I want to be home for dinner, and bein here makes me fuckin itch.”

She hummed in agreement and stood, pulling Ben with her as they followed Butcher out of the room.

Butcher was—thought Ben would never fucking tell him—not entirely wrong about the safe house. It was goddamn weird to be here, to see most of the same furniture they had used, but rearranged or in no danger of being accidentally set on fire. There was still a scorch mark on the wall downstairs, from when she’d almost taken off Butcher’s head, and the kitchen had been clean when they’d passed it, but that felt wrong. Ben had almost never seen that kitchen spotless, and it made him feel all fucking bitter and soft. He didn’t want to come back here—not in a single goddamn universe—but he’d be lying if he didn’t look at the couch and feel something stab at him. He’d kissed Her on that couch for the first time. She’d punched him a lot in that dining room, and it had been fucking hot. She’d cried in almost every single fucking room, and Ben had held her. 

He’d kiss Her on other couches, though. And She’d probably punch him in a lot of different locations. She’d keep crying, and Ben would always fucking hold Her. The house didn’t matter that much, Ben decided, because She was the only reason he was being a pathetic fucking pussy about it. And he still fucking had Her. She was right at his goddamn side, leading him down the stairs, and giving him a small smile over her shoulder as they exited the safe house.

Ben opened the car door for Her—he loved Her, and no matter what she said, he was a goddamn gentleman—and had barely sat down himself when She grabbed his face between her hands.

“What the fuck-“

I need to tell you a secret, Ben.

He blinked. The hell do you mean, a secret.

I mean you can’t tell anyone. Not Butcher, not MM, not Mallory or Annie.

I don’t tell those pussies shit. I love you, not them-

You don’t have to love someone to tell them things-

Good thing you’re also my best fucking friend, and they’re not. He winked at Her, and she relaxed slightly. What’s wrong.

Edgar is playing both sides.

What.

He’s hedging his bets. He’s working with us and Sage.

How do you-

He said Sage has gas. Did you, Annie, or Hughie tell Mallory about the gas?

Ben frowned. They hadn’t. They’d lost Her, and in the chaos nobody had thought to bring it up. It hadn’t seemed that fucking important, when She was in danger. No.

Sage, Homelander, and I are the only other people that know about it. And Edgar didn’t just say gas. He said Sage and her gas. So he defiantly knows about it, and I sure didn’t fucking tell him.

So he’s a cowardly fucking pussy backstabber-

No, he’s a cowardly fucking pussy liar. He said if Singer hands over the V. Nobody knows we’ve asked for that but Singer, his cabinet, Mallory, and the rest of the team. No one in the Boys would trust him enough to tell him, so Singer or Mallory must have. Her eyes narrowed, and her fingers began to tap along Ben’s jaw and beard. She was thinking, her brow drawn in that pretty fucking glare at nothing, and Ben had still his body and wait for her to finish.

Her eyes widened, and Ben frowned. Sunshine-

Or, Her eyes focused on Ben’s. There’s a leak. And someone told Sage. And Sage told Edgar.

Ben glanced at Butcher in the driver's seat, and looked back at Her with a frown. You think one of us-

No. She shook her head, teeth peaking over her lips. Not one of us. We’ve been on lockdown, in close confines, with CIA monitored phones. It would have to be a leak in the CIA. Or within Singer’s cabinet.

Fuck. 

She sighed, slumping on Ben’s chest. Fuck.

—————————

You were starting to equate your life to a hydra. Whenever you solved one horrible problem, two even worse ones would pop up to replace it. 

Ben found a way to knock Homelander down, but now you have to actually get the V, and figure out to bide time and keep the world from erupting as you search. And once you manage to find some V, you’ll have to figure out how to physically get it into Homelander, and how to outmaneuver Sage so the whatever plan you make goes right.

You got Ryan out, but now you have to keep him out. You have to never let Homelander near him again, and come to terms with the fact that Butcher’s probably going to be in your life forever now. You’ll get over it—and it will make for several entertaining thanksgivings—but it’s still weird.

You told Ben you love him, and he loves you, and that’s that. He’s a protective asshole, but he’s trying. Ben’s trying, he’s always trying, and you can feel how all his resolve and rough adoration stems from his love. The hydra isn’t Ben’s love—that within itself is a haven, an oasis within the sandstorm of the world—but how you have to love Ben and keep your head on your shoulders. Have to deal with the fact that, when it really comes down to it, you will burn the world and blow the mission for him, and he’ll do the same for you. And, second head, the fact that you now have to justify your love to everyone. You have to keep yourself together when Nueman or Edgar sneer about your poor decision making, like you’re not a full grown woman who’s well aware of her actions. You’d meant what you told Neuman, every last word of it. It was fucked up to be in love with the biological father of your abuser, who was old enough to be your great-grandfather, didn’t know how emails really worked, and had definitely killed a lot of people. But you’d come to terms with that a long time ago, and in the grand scheme of things it was just another Tuesday. A really fucked up Tuesday, that you loved so much it made you feel high, and that gave you the best orgasms physically possible.

You’d escaped Vought, gotten back to Ben, and now you have to try to fix the parts of you that had broken and deal with all the fallout of your actions. You’re working on the former—it’s slow, but you’re only cold in the dead of night now, and it’s easier to mend the cracks when you’re surrounded by Ben’s warmth, when you can feel safe and loved as the pain starts to leak out of your body—but the latter might take a long time. Edgar had been right about that. Even when you kill Homelander, the world won’t heal. He’s not just a symptom, but he’s also not the virus. You’ll have to burn that bridge when you get to it, though, because right now there are other heads to fight

Like how you’d finally managed to get rid of Neuman as a danger, but Ben had still owed Edgar and there’s a very dangerous vacancy in Singer’s cabinet. Edgar’s called in his favor, and now you have to figure out if it’s just as simple and easy as it sounds—it’s probably not—and keep an eye out for a federal leak.

You and Ben had agreed in the car not to tell Mallory, and to keep it from the rest of the team until there was some more solid evidence. That was another Hydra head. You’d managed to get everyone to trust you, but now you had to figure out how and when to share game-changing news with them and feel the guilt of withholding it.

This had become a pattern, and it was fucking exhausting.

Butcher had barely spoken on the ride home, only grunting that you’d be going straight to a debrief, and that Mallory was finally back from wherever she’d gone off to.

Ten bucks that she was at a fucking orgy.

You blink at Ben as you both follow Butcher into the elevator. There’s literally no way that’s where she was.

Fine. Thirty bucks.

You don’t have thirty dollars, Benjamin.

He scowls. You don’t fucking know that-

Okay. You shrug, leaning against his chest and tugging his arms to rest across your stomach. Where did you get these thirty dollars from? Are you running a side hustle I don’t know about?

What the fuck is a side hustle.

A smaller job to make some extra money. It’s a byproduct of the gig economy-

I don’t need an extra fucking job, this one is already too goddamn complicated-

Well, as you’ve bitched and whined about many times, we don’t get paid. So unless you’re selling feet pics on the internet-

The fuck are-

Pictures of your feet. For masturbation, I assume.

Nobody is jerking it to pictures of my feet, that’s fucking disgusting-

Then where are you getting thirty dollars from?

When you tilt your head back to grin at him, you catch the tail end of his eye roll. Shut the fuck up.

You giggle, leaning up to press a small kiss under his jaw. Grumpy.

Ben’s hand shoots up, angling your chin further back, and begins to leave light kisses everywhere but your mouth. You’re real fucking lucky I love you, Sunshine.

Not luck, you smile at him, and he pulls back to meet your eyes. It’s just my magnetic and irresistible personality. 

He snorts, and you were being sarcastic, but when Ben brings his lips to yours the kiss is tender and sweet. Soft, long, making your knees start to shake as all of Ben’s love slams into your body and he holds you upright, smirking against your mouth as you start to squirm. Not just that, darling. I love your smart fucking mouth, and all those pretty sounds you make, and that adorable little pout you do when you’re being a fucking brat.

Darling. That’s good. You like darling, and maybe a little more than my love. It sounds so right, rumbling around your head in Ben’s deep voice, and it makes something gooey and molten spread through your stomach. Molds you like putty in his hands, clears your head to a breathless song that isn’t just Ben. Ben, I love you, but something deeper. It’s in a harmony with his love, with the fact it’s such an overly-sweet pet name that Ben probably would have scoffed at before—or called a stripper in a condescending tone, if you’re being truly honest with yourself about the man you’ve chosen to love—but he’s using it for you so genuinely. He says darling in such a low, hungry and fond voice, and it makes you want to do something domestic and stupid and easy with him. To forgo the meeting, completely ignore Butcher’s glowers and muttering about no bloody respect for his refined fuckin sensibilities, horny fucking cunts, and drag Ben back to your apartment so he can spin you around until you’re dizzy and you can sing to him while you make dinner together. Then you’ll let him carry you upstairs, and you’ll finally convince him to let you wash his hair in the shower—you’re pretty certain you’ll be able to sneak conditioner in there, and the results might give you a heart attack in the best way possible—and when he carries you to bed you’ll let him fuck you until you’re so blissfully wrung out from pleasure you pass out in his big, warm arms.

You can’t do that. But you will. Right now you’ll wiggle out of Ben’s hold as the elevator doors open, looping your arm through his and following Butcher to the dining room to deal with the many, many problems life has presented for you to fix. And after, when Homelander is buried deep underground in an unmarked grave—a small bullet hole is his horrible fucking brain and his body rotting into a flower that will bloom on the grass and never cause anyone pain—you’ll dance and laugh with Ben, and he’ll call you darling, and it will be everything.

After. You make a promise to yourself, that after this is over, you’ll entertain a world where you’re just happy, and make up for all those lost years. Until then, you have a lot of work to do.

Everyone is waiting for you when you enter the dining hall. There’s no A-Train—he rarely attends these meetings unless Annie or MM make him—but Ryan is here, looking up from a book with wide, hopeful eyes.

“You’re late, William-“

“You’re back!” Ryan’s smile makes your heart ache a little. It’s so weightless and bright, purely the kid he’s supposed to be. Even Mallory doesn’t push her scolding, just sighing and shooting you, Ben, and Butcher a sharp look as you reach the table.

“Keep your head on, lad.” Butcher stops behind Ryan, giving him an impressively awkward shoulder pat as he returns Mallory’s glare. “And Jersey traffic delays ain’t my fuckin fault, Grace. We’re all in one bleedin piece, and we got news.”

Mallory starts to chide Butcher about proper planning, and something wired and shy shoots through your body, causing you to jolt and blink. 

Ryan’s tapping your arms—resting on the table as you lean forward to see past Ben, hale-hunched over you and blocking your view of half the table—and mumbling your name.

You’ve tried to tell him not to touch you, explaining your empathy in the most layman’s terms you could manage—emphasizing how you can’t control it, and aren’t quite sure what it’s fully capable of—and Ryan had told you he didn’t care. He’d looked eerily like Ben in that moment, frowning at you in an almost frustrated confusion and telling you—in a manner much nicer than Ben had—that he didn’t really care what you felt from him. That he wasn’t afraid you’d feel anything you shouldn’t, that as long as you were comfortable with it, he was as well.

You’d put an end to it there. Ryan was allowed to tap your arm, and hug you, and he should never have to deal with feeling unwanted again. So you smile at him, and he gives you a nervous grin in return.

“What’s up?”

Ryan matches your whisper, shooting Butcher and Mallory a weary look as their argument continues. “I finished Frankenstein.”

“Did you like it?”

“I think so,” Ryan frowns. “I, um, I want to talk about it. If you want to, MM says the meeting is important-“

“I’ll still be here after the meeting, we can talk then.” You glance down at the book, turned over on the table. “What’s next?”

“Catcher in the Rye, Aunt Grace says it’s classic-“ Ryan pauses, and you realize you’d started to involuntarily scowl at the book. “Do you not like it?”

You sigh. “I’m not a catchall for literature opinions, but no, I don’t.”

“Why not?”

You glance down to the end of the table—MM and Frenchie have joined the argument, and you’re not even sure what it’s about anymore—before you continue. “It’s a very,” you paused, choosing your words carefully. “Pointless book. It says things that many other works say, loss of childhood is frightening and society is fake, but it offers the reader to believe that it’s okay to be an asshole, because you have issues and nobody cares. Salinger might have intended the book to be a critique of that idea, but it's still a common interpretation, and I think that within art, the artist’s intention becomes irrelevant once it’s in the hands of the public.”

Ryan nods slowly. “Okay, I just, um,” he glances down at the book on the table, then sheepishly back at you. “I don’t have any other books to read. I’ve finished everything in Butcher’s apartment.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, I’ve been bored-“

“Oi, Ryan.” Butcher snaps, and you realize the fight has concluded. “She’ll be here for fuckin dinner, you can talk all you bloody want then. We got a meetin. ”

Ryan nods, scrambling out of his seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“I ain’t mad, kid.” Butcher sighs, shaking his head. “Just the sooner we finish, the sooner you two can chat about,” he glances at you with a frown. “Whatever the bloody hell you chat about. I’ll drop out and get you when we’ve got all our ducks in a neat fuckin line.”

As Ryan leaves and Butcher takes his vacant seat, you decide you’re going to get Ryan some more books. A few off Mallory’s CIA-approved middle school reading list, some that are just good books that you think he should read, and some that are just entertaining. Ryan should be allowed to read the Hunger Games, a few comics that aren’t about his family members, and Twilight. You could even try and rope Ben into that last one, just for your own entertainment-

You’re a fucking marvel, Sunshine.

You blink, frowning up at Ben. I didn’t do anything-

I was listening to you. You’re real fucking hot when you talk all smart.

That’s how I always talk-

And you’re always fucking hot.

You roll your eyes. Kiss ass.

If you’ll let me. He winks, and you stick your tongue out at him.

Horny cunt.

Smart fucking brat.

Grumpy old man-

You’re into it. He shrugs, pulling you closer to his side. If I get turned on by how goddamn brilliant you are, you get turned on by how fucking grumpy I am.

You don’t manage to suppress the flush of your face. Fuck you.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you, his voice mutters your name in your head, and everything is suddenly very warm. You love it when I fucking toss you over my shoulder and-

“If you two motherfuckers want to come back down to Earth and contribute to the fucking conversation, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

You give MM a mumbled apology, cover Ben’s mouth with a hand to stop any sneers of pussy or suck my hairy fucking balls, and turn to watch Mallory at the head of table.

“Now that we’re all paying attention,” Mallory shoots you a thin-lipped glare, and at this point they’re just starting to bounce right off of you. “The only thing currently on the table is the meeting with Edgar. Soldier Boy, I’d like to speak to you after this, alone, about your jurisdiction and reckless-“

In an act of mercy to Mallory—you can hear the grinding of Ben’s teeth as his jaw clenches, see his fists start to curl on your shoulder—Butcher interrupts. “You ain’t got nothin for us about the V? Been almost a fuckin week-“

“The President,” Mallory’s words are clipped, glower redirecting to Butcher. “Is busy, and still working on our request-“

“He can just take it, non?” Frenchie frowns, looking around the table for affirmation. “There is no need for him to ask for permission, nor forgiveness, he holds the highest office-“

“Not that simple, Frenchie.” MM sighs, shaking his head. “We’re asking for something that’s probably buried in classified documents and locked behind a titanium door. Singer can’t just walk in and take it, and I doubt his Defense Secretary loves the idea of contracting some V out to us, of all fucking people.”

Butcher scowls. “Fuck that cunt then, we’re a bloody delight-“

“You,” Mallory glares around the table. “Are not known within the government for cleaning messes up. You're known primarily for causing them, and costing us millions.”

“That’s not fair, we try really hard.” Hughie frowns. “And it’s not like Vought-“

“Vought lines half of congress’ pockets. Pays for their kids to go to college. All you do is raise their blood pressure, and make them take an early retirement.” Mallory sighs, and her voice becomes the closest thing to sympathetic you’ve heard. “I don’t like it either, but there’s nothing I can do. I’ve backed you up to Singer, but if Muller keeps pushing-“

You blink. “Muller?”

“Singer’s defense secretary,“ Mallory’s voice is almost toxic, and you have a sickening feeling you know why. “He’s an eel of a man, no military experience, but he managed to charm his way into the position. And he doesn’t trust your intentions-“

“Todd Muller? Governor Todd Muller?”

“Secretary Todd Muller, he resigned the governor position in favor of Singer’s cabinet.” Mallory narrows her eyes at your gaping expression. “Why.”

“I, um,” you swallow, searching through your pockets with frantic movements. “Fuck, where’s my phone-“

Ben nudges you. You gave it to me in the car, said your pockets were too small. What the fuck-

I’m fine. You reach into Ben’s pants, grab out your phone, and ignore the traded looks of concern over your head as you type.

Annie says your name slowly, and you barely hear it. “Are you okay-“

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You mutter, scanning over the article on your screen before looking up to meet the concerned eyes of your team. “That’s my step-dad.”

The table is dead silent, and if you weren’t about to start crying or breaking things, you’d be proud of yourself. It’s not easy to shut everyone up, let alone for ten, long, painful seconds.

MM breaks the silence. “Your fucking step-dad is Singer’s defense secretary.”

“Evidently, yeah.” You snap, turning the phone around for everyone to see. “Spouse, Monica Muller. That’s my mom.”

Ben’s arm tenses over your shoulders. The bitch?

The bitch.

Hughie coughs, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you, um, are you sure? I mean, I believe you, but the chances are a kind of fucking crazy that-“

“It’s him. Positive.” You mutter, leaning back into Ben and frowning around the table. “Has Muller been briefed on, uh, me? I mean, I bet he watches the news, but does he know I’m here?”

“Do you believe it would matter if he had?” Mallory asks, words tight and cautious. “If you’re implying a bias-“

You sigh. “Not implying it. I’m outright suggesting it. If Muller knows I’m on the team, that the V is my plan, our chances are lower and we’re going to need to adapt.” 

“If he is a professional-“

“He’s not.” Mallory blinks as you cut her off, and you realize you’re half-shouting. “He’s just,” you take a long breath, and feel Ben’s foot press against yours. The world grows sharper, you become a little warmer, and your voice returns to normal. “Muller’s not my biggest fan, and he’s an asshole. I wouldn’t put it past him to block us just because of me.”

MM frowns. “Not your biggest fan how.”

“We haven’t spoken in thirteen years.” You mutter. “And last time we did speak he called me a leech, and told me he was changing all the locks on the house. So, when I realized that independence wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be, I couldn’t come crawling back.”

“Holy shit,” Hughie mutters, giving you a sympathetic frown. “Sorry, none of us knew-“

You shrug. “I didn’t tell you. I was dead to him and my mom for ten years before Homelander. We don’t have the same last name, I’m not in the will, and they didn’t even release a statement when I ‘died’. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to tell. It didn’t matter.”

Ben frowns at your side, but any grunts of didn’t fucking matter, my ass, are stopped by Mallory’s clipped words.

“But you would say it matters now.”

“If Muller knows that I’m involved in this,” You swallow. “Yeah. It does.”

“And you were completely unaware of his position in Singer’s cabinet.”

Your skin starts to itch—smoke rising under your fingers on Ben’s leg—and you give Mallory a sharp glare. “Fucking obviously.”

“How.”

“What do you mean, how. I just didn’t know.”

“You have been out of Homelander’s captivity for over a year,” Mallory holds your glower. “But you have never managed to notice-“

“This is a new cabinet! I’ve had bigger things to worry about since January, sorry I wasn’t googling Robert Singer Defense Secretary pick while I was being fucking kidnapped-“

“Grace,” Butcher grunts, shooting Mallory a glare. “Lay of her. Just a shit fuckin coincidence.”

“William, you of all people know that we don’t deal in coincidences-“

Butcher shrugs. “Once in a blue moon. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the cunt from screwing us and the rest of America over cause of a bloody little family spat.”

Mallory relents with a long, pained sigh, but her eyes on you don’t soften. There are no apologies, or offerings of peace.

She still doesn’t trust you. Mallory is glaring at you, and you know that you’ll never be able to fully prove yourself to her. You can make sacrifice after sacrifice, throw yourself in front of every train and under every tower, but you’ll always be an unstable liability. You’re not weak to her, but you are dangerous. Still a weapon, still barely within her control, now with compromised judgment. You hadn’t missed Mallory’s scowl at Ben—at his arm over your shoulders and the way you’re resting your head back on his chest—or how her lips had curled in disgust.

The feeling is mutual. You don’t trust her. And you think, to a degree, that Butcher doesn’t either. If he did, he’d have told her about the V. Told Malloy you’d lied, the V hadn’t broken, and that you’d given it to him for use.

But he hadn’t. And when you meet his eyes briefly, he gives you a small nod. You don’t know what it means, but you know it’s for you. Butcher’s backing you up. Siding with you over Mallory.

And, strangely, it doesn’t shock you.

“I can speak to Robert about a possible,” Mallory swallows, lip twitching. “Issue with Muller’s judgment. Until then, our hands remain tied. Now,” she looks between you, Butcher, and Ben, crossing her arms. “What did Edgar want.”

You sigh. “Surprisingly little. We need to get a package for him, and that’s all.”

“A package.” Mallory repeats, doubt dripping from her voice. “From what I understand, Soldier Boy’s incredibly ill-conceived deal was that Edgar could request anything, but all he wants is a package.”

Butcher snorts. “That ain’t it. Tell ‘er where the package is, Love.”

You shoot Butcher a glare, before muttering, “Red River.”

“Red,” Hughie swallows. “Red River? What could Edgar need from Red River?”

“Wish I could tell you, Lad, but Old Stan was bein a real fuckin mysterious asstwat. Wouldn’t say anythin but Red River and pick up the package.”

Now you know Butcher doesn’t fully trust Mallory. It’s not just a package, it’s Edgar’s property. Purposefully hidden, away from federal and corporate eyes. You’d said it passively, without thinking, but Butcher’s words were purposeful. You’re picking it up. It’s not there now.

You won’t be correcting him. Mallory might override the favor, raid Red River and just take what Edgar wants. Ben would still owe him, and you don’t think losing whatever the fuck the Cornucopia is will do Edgar’s generosity any favors.

“He said it was being delivered there in a few days, and we just needed to pick it up and bring it to him.” You double down, holding Mallory’s gaze. “That’s it.”

That’s not what he fucking said, Ben grunts in your head, and you can feel his glare peeling you apart. The hell are you up to.

Can’t trust Mallory.

Butcher-

Doesn’t either. Trust me-

“I assume,” Mallory’s glower turns to Ben. “Soldier Boy will have to deliver it himself.”

“Would seem like it,” Ben drawls, giving your shoulder a small squeeze. He’s in. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know why or what he’s in, but he trusts you, so he’s in. “Be a little fucking pointless if I didn’t.”

“Did he say anything else?” Annie cuts in with a frown. “Edgar could just have the package delivered to the prison, why Red River? What if it’s a weapon-“

“Ain’t a weapon, Starlight.” Butcher grunts. “Like I said, we ain’t got a clue about anythin but our instructions.”

Mallory shakes her head at nothing. “And yet you intend to go through with this, William. Despite our lack of intel.”

Butcher shrugs. “What’s the worst that could bloody happen.”

“It could be a large bomb-“

“It ain’t gonna be a bomb, Frenchie, how the fuckin hell would that even work-“

“He’s got a point Butcher, it could easily be a fucking trap-“

“MM, if it’s a trap, it’s a real bloody stupid one-“

“Traps don’t have to be smart, they just have to work-“

“It, uh, it could be a set up? No Homelander, but Edgar’s trying to frame us for something-“

“Petite Hughie, we are already very much criminals, Edgar would not need to frame us-“

“We aren’t all criminals-“

“Oui, just half of us. Myself, Butcher, Kimiko, and Soldier Boy-“

“I am not a fucking criminal you pussy-” 

“You might be the most criminal motherfucker here-“

Even if we ignore all the outright war crimes and murders, I’ve seen you steal a car, Ben. You nudge his shoulder, pulling his attention from MM. That’s not exactly law abiding citizen behavior.

I’ve been fucking pardoned for everything-

Mallory slams a fist on the table, and the arguments die off. “This is not,” she snaps, glaring around at your team. “Winning you any points to make me approve this. Give me one good reason that I shouldn’t just let Soldier Boy deal with the consequences of his horrible, stupid actions.”

“Because we ain’t got another option.” Butcher leans back, hands in his pockets. “I’m not the biggest fuckin fan of this shit either, but we’re in a corner Grace. And we don’t got much else to do, what’s the worst a little bloody field trip could do. Get us some fresh air-“

“This would not be a field trip, William-“

“He’s right, though.” MM mutters. “We’ve got to back each other up on this, and Edgar’s a conniving dickhead, but he’s also not reckless. I don’t think he’s a sick enough motherfucker to put a bunch of kids in danger by sending us there.”

“And he adopted Vicky from there,” Hughie looks around the table with wide eyes. “I mean, they have a super fucked up relationship, but he does care about her. I don’t think she’d forgive him if he put kids like her in danger.” 

Frenchie shakes his head. “It may not be a trap for the Red River, mon amie. Edgar plays a long game, we may think we are out of the woods, and then,” he smacks his hand on the table, and you flinch slightly. “Bomb in our ass.”

Hughie frowns. “How would the bomb have gotten in our ass?”

“I do not know, but Edgar has ways-“ 

“Of putting a bomb in our ass?”

“It is a metaphor-“

Kimiko whacks Frenchie’s arm. We can’t live our lives in the service of metaphorical ass-bomb.

Frenchie shakes his head. Mon Coeur, I am not in service of the ass-bomb, I am working to avoid it so I may continue to live. 

There are ass-bombs everywhere, Kimiko shrugs, turning to you. Do you think it’s a good idea?

I do. You sigh, signing slowly. But I’m probably bias, I just want to help Ben-

But you want to do it?

You nod. I don’t think it’s a trap. I think there might be an ulterior motive, but we’re not marching to the gallows if we go.

“Oi,” Butcher snaps, glaring at you and Kimiko. “We ain’t all fluent in fuckin crazy sign language. Someone translate.”

You glance at Kimiko, and she gives you a small smile, signing, I am on your side. Frenchie too.

Frenchie sighs, but nods, and you turn to Mallory.

“I’ve got five votes pro-Red River-“

Mallory scowls. “I don’t see five-“

“Ben and Myself are givens,” you shrug, and glance up to see Ben’s gaze locked on Mallory with a murderous glare. You okay?

I’ve got your back. Keep talking, Sunshine.

You take a long breath, and return your attention to Mallory. “And Butcher’s already said he’s with us. Frenchie and Kimiko make five.”

“I’m in,” Annie says, shaking her head at nothing. “I don’t trust Edgar, but this could’ve been a lot worse. We should take advantage of the fact that he’s just being suspicious, and not an outright psychopath.”

Hughie nods. “I’m in too. That’s seven-“

“Eight,” MM grunts, and Mallory blinks at him.

“Marvin, you can’t be serious-“

“You’re outvoted, Grace.” MM sighs, saying your names as he frowns at you and Ben. “You’re sure about this?”

You don’t hesitate. “Positive. It’s our best move. If Edgar wants that package, he’ll get it. We might as well let him cash in the favor.”

MM nods. “Then I’m all in. We’ll need a few days to make sure we can go to Red River without Vought noticing, but-“ 

“I still haven’t approved this.” Mallory snaps. “It could still be a trap, and I don’t see any benefit to complying with whatever Edgar really wants.”

“I don’t like it either, but I’d rather we do it with those two idiots,” MM gestures to you and Ben, and when Ben goes rigid, you feel something heavy wrapping around his lungs. “Then let them turn around and do it alone.”

Mallory’s eyes turn to you. “What would you do,” she says your name in a cold voice, and your eyes narrow. “If I vetoed this.”

“You won’t.” You make your voice flat and bored, even as your blood starts to feel cold, moving faster in time with the scratch of flame under your skin. “If it was MM, or Annie, you wouldn’t fucking hesitate, on this. But we’re still a part of this team, whether you like it or not, and Ben being in debt to Edgar isn’t doing anyone any favors.” You raise your chin, holding Mallory’s glare with a sneer. “You are outvoted. Unanimously. We’re doing this.”

“Understand that you’ll be taking the fall, if this blows up in our face-“

Your blood is white hot, pushing around your lungs and wrapping over your heart. “I always do.”

Mallory’s face twitches. “You don’t get the whole team-“

“Don’t need the whole team. It can be Ben, me, and Kimiko.”

“Please,” Mallory scoffs. “I’m not sending you with just Kimiko-“

Hughie raises his hand. “I can, uh, I can go too. I’ve been there before, and I’m kind of responsible. Not that you and Kimiko aren’t responsible,” he gives you an apologetic grimace. “But I think I’ve killed the least people here, besides Annie, and she can’t go because of security-“

“I get it, Hughie,” you offer him a small smile, and he nods as you turn back to Mallory. “I’ll take Hughie as well.”

You feel something jerk in your chest, and look up to find Ben scowling at you. You’re not fucking going.

Ben-

No. You can’t go out in public, Homelander-

Homelander won’t be looking for me at Red River.

You don’t fucking know that-

Benjamin, I’m going. That’s the end of it.

The hell it is-

I’m so fucking serious. Your glare at him, and that broken part of you twisting and curling inside your gut. You are not doing this shit alone.

I can handle my goddamn self-

I fucking can as well! You’re half screaming in silence, the fire mixing with your blood and clawing out of your hands and tongue. I’m going with you! Stop trying to bench me-

Ben grunts your name, and you can’t tell if it’s in your head or not.

I’m not delicate! Why don’t you fucking trust me-

I do trust you, but I’m not putting you in fucking danger for this-

For what?! To help you like you’d help me! Can you honestly fucking tell me, Ben, that if I was in debt you wouldn’t do whatever it fucking took to help me pay it?!

That’s not the same goddamn thing-

It is! It’s the exact same fucking thing. Your eyes are stinging, your whole body is stinging. Aching and stabbing at that flailing piece of you, slamming on the cracks inside of you and splitting them further, aching and stabbing at everything. Everywhere. I want to help you, I need to help you, just let me fucking help, you fucking asshole-

Big, warm hands are cupping your face, and Ben starts to drag everything in you back together. Your fury at him doesn’t lessen, but falls back into your blood. Only your blood, twining with the familiar feeling of Ben. Still a part of you, still loving you, and full of a weighted, almost painful force. Sheer, grounded will, covering over something bitter, taut, and rabid that lived everywhere in his body. Breathe.

You swallow, everything coming back into focus. I’m still fucking mad at you-

I know. He’s watching you. The world is clear, and Ben’s eyes on yours are tearing you open, the sore, bitter thing eating him alive. But you still need to fucking breathe.

It’s quiet, you realize. Dead quiet.

When MM speaks, his voice is hoarse. “What the fuck just happened.”

Your tongue still feels a little numb, but you can’t punch and scream at Ben, or fall forwards into his chest and cry. Your voice is a little too flat when you speak, but you let the words push themselves out. “Sorry, it was, um.” You take a shaky breath. “It was the empathy. I think it’s getting stronger, and I still can’t really control when that happens. I’m working on it, I’m really sorry.”

An apology doesn’t feel like enough. As you scan the faces of your team, everyone is bloodless and frozen, and you know they felt you. Felt the cracks, felt the sting, felt all of that cold, burning fear and anger and pain that always sits somewhere inside you like a sickness.

“What happened to the suppressant.” Mallory hisses, and you flinch. “To avoid this very problem affecting us.” 

“I’m not taking it anymore,” you mumble, staring at the table. “It felt, it felt wrong. I couldn’t do it-“

“This is not about you.” Mallory snaps. “It’s a precaution for everyone’s safety-“

“Mallory,” Ben grunts. “Shove it up your fucking ass and eat my dick. She’s not taking it.”

He’s pulled you a little closer against him and, as furious at him as you are, some instinct in you still goes Ben. Safe. You think it’s because you can still feel that weight on his chest, and how it’s been dropped there by his love. Because you know that none of that fear was fear of Ben. That you’re going to have time to shove his chest and yell at him later, but right now you’re just tired again. You’re cold again—unable to look your team in the eyes, unable to control yourself, weak—and right now Ben is warm. And he’s got your back.

“You do not speak for her, or control her actions-“

“I am well fucking aware of that.” Ben drawls. “But she already said her damn self that we’re working on it. You’re fine, you bitch, so fucking shove it.”

Mallory says your name, and that rabid ache in Ben flares. “I do not care what Soldier Boy has told you, this is a security measure. Do not compromise yourself for whatever this is.”

That makes your head snap up, gaze landing on Mallory as your exhaustion morphs back into fury. When you speak, your voice is careful, venomous. “Whatever what is.”

If Mallory senses the danger in your voice, it doesn’t show on her face. “I recognize that you and he,” she gives a dismissive gesture to Ben, and you see Butcher wince in the corner of your eyes. You have a feeling everyone but Mallory knows where this is headed, and none of them are stepping in to stop it. “Have developed an odd kinship. But you are a smart woman, do not lose sight of the mission or your team for it.”

“This had nothing to do with the mission.” You’re not in danger of losing control again. This isn’t prodding at something broken or cracked in your body, it’s only measured anger. “The suppressants were detrimental to my health-“

“Did he tell you that?” Mallory snaps, giving Ben another jerk of her head. He’s still silent, still there, still letting you handle this. “Did Soldier Boy tell you they were detrimental-”

You’re not entertaining this. “He did. Because we live together, and sleep in the same bed. He was bound to notice that I wasn’t exactly doing well, what with all the nightly mental breakdowns.”

“And you trust his judgment-“

“Always.” You hold Mallory’s glare, leaning across the table. “I always trust him.”

It might not be entirely true, but this isn’t about the truth. Ben is an asshole—a loud, abrasive, infuriating piece of shit—but you’re still going to defend him to the end of the earth. You’ll stand by his side always, even when you’re angry at him. You’ve earned being angry at him. And Ben might not be allowed to tell you what to do, but he’s also earned his own lenience. He still grounds you when you’re spiraling, and loves you all the time. Mallory isn’t a part of your fight with Ben. Mallory isn’t a part of any of this.

“You are not as intelligent as I thought,” Mallory hisses. “If you are willing to forsake everything for Soldier Boy. It would recommend you re-evaluate, if you truly believe that he is worth risking your lack of control.”

Your vision is red. Not your vision. Ben’s vision.

Can I fucking kill her-

No. “Is that it? I should call things off with the only person in my life who loves me, and take the experimental drug?” 

Mallory scoffs. “He does not love you, girl. He may be infatuated, but-“

“He does.” You’re done with dancing around it. It’s been a long day of playing the game, so this has to be plain and brutal. This has to be the last time Mallory questions your judgment, the last time she pretends that she’s in charge of you. That she has any idea what you’ve gone through—from Homelander, from Vought, from her—or any authority over your choices. She doesn’t even fucking pay you. “Ben does love me. You’ve even used it to your advantage, with that fucking stay in line and you’ll put me in danger shit. I also love him, and if you actually viewed us as people, you probably would’ve noticed it. Everyone else certainly did. I am not a child, Mallory, with a school girl crush. I am an adult, who is allowed to make my own medical decisions, and fuck and love whomever I chose. And I chose Ben.”

“I would not endorse that choice-“

“I don’t fucking care. And it is truly insane to me,” you drawl. “How everyone is so incredibly comfortable telling me what to do with my life. I’m getting a little fucking tired of it, but I’m getting tired of a lot of this. Maybe I’ll let Ben steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll just leave. Maybe we’ll go to Canada. Maybe Mexico. But no matter what, we’re going together. And I don’t think you want to lose your two most valuable weapons at the finish line, Mallory. So watch it when you try to tell me how to think, or what to do outside of the mission.”

You don’t wait for her response, standing to your feet, taking Ben up with you, pausing only to glance at MM.

He speaks before you can ask the question. “Three days.”

You nod slowly. “That’s it?”

“Should be. I’ll have a more concrete number by breakfast tomorrow, I’ll tell you then.”

You hear the implication. You’ll be welcome at breakfast. You’d exploded—at Mallory, by pushing your blood into everyone else—but you’re still part of the team. They might be afraid of you, and you understand that, but they don’t hate you. They still trust you, and if you want to come to breakfast tomorrow, you can.

“Thank you,” you give MM a weak smile that’s mostly just a grimace, and when he returns it with a small, curt nod, you leave. Pull Ben behind you—both of you silent, his sore, bitter, rabid weight still in your chest and lungs and gut—not looking back. Your team, somehow, isn’t trading you for Mallory. And you have an odd feeling that after you leave, they’ll back you up. Ben does love you, your judgment isn’t compromised, and they trust you.

When Mallory leaves, you’ll have to share the Edgar news with them. They won’t turn around and tell Mallory—you’re sure of it—and they should know. Maybe this hydra head won’t grow back.

You have a different one to deal with now, anyways. Ben does love you. If you know anything, you know Ben loves you. You’d cut off the head of judgement, and now you have to deal with the fact that you’re going to fucking kill him, and that—in the end—you don’t want to. You don’t want to fight with Ben, you want to fall apart just a little in his arms, but you can’t. You have to fight with him now, so you can crumble into him later and only think about how warm he is. About how much, even in the wrath eating at your muscle and heart, you love him.

You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t. You’d just stomp upstairs when the apartment door closed behind you. Instead, you whirl around, and slam your fists into his chest.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Ben doesn’t stumble, glowering down at you. “What the fuck is wrong with you,” he hisses, the words pushed through his teeth. “If you seriously fucking think I’m going to put you in any goddamn danger for something so fucking stupid?”

You scoff. “You’re not putting me in danger, I’m telling you that I’m going, and there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.”

“The fuck there isn’t. Christ,” Ben growls your name, holding your glare. “What if it is a goddamn trap? What if Homelander’s waiting for you?”

“I know the risks, Benjamin, and that’s why I’m going. I’m not letting you do this alone-“

“I can fucking take care of myself for an afternoon, you’re not going-“

“You would never let me do this alone-”

“I told you, that’s different-“

“It’s not!” You scream, shoving at his chest again. It’s futile, he’s built like a fucking mountain, and when he catches your hands you almost sob. You don’t want to fight, and you can feel that rabid ache in him, making everything so focused and loud, making something blister in your chest. “Why are you being such a dick about this?!”

“Because I can’t fucking lose you again!” Ben’s roar cuts through your ribs, and suddenly the sore feeling is unbearable. It’s not just eating him, it's spreading through him and taking root like a mold. “It fucking killed me, I failed you and it fucking broke you. I’m never fucking failing you again-“

“You didn’t lose me-“

He doesn’t hear the softening of your voice, and you’ve only felt him like this once. With everything in him wrathful, but inverted to tear apart his guts and nerves. Beating him until everything is his body is in a horrible, sunken agony. His face looks just like it had the first time as well—clouded and heavy, every feature looking like it’s uncertain of how to express the pain you can feel within him—but you can’t lean forwards and take his face in your hands like you had at the Believe Expo. You can only let Ben’s hands hold yours, grip tight but his strength controlled, his thumb running over your knuckles in a way that you’re not sure he’s fully aware of. Like it’s an instinct for him, pushing through the haze of his wrath.

“I did fucking lose you! It doesn’t matter how forgiving you are, I didn’t fucking protect you and you got hurt! Homelander fucking hurt you, because I failed you, and I’m never letting that happen again!”

“Ben-“

“I’ll never lock you up, I’ll fucking throwing myself in front of a goddamn bomb before I do that shit to you, but you’re not allowed to be in danger. And this is fucking dangerous-“

“Ben-“

“I’m never losing you again, I’m never failing you again, and there’s not a goddamn chance in hell I’m letting you get hurt again-“

“Benjamin!” You raise your voice, and heat your hands just enough to make his skin raw, to get his attention. “I’m okay, I’m really okay. Homelander wasn’t your fault-“

“It was,” he’s not shouting anymore. It’s worse, to hear the hopelessness in his voice, and the mold is spreading further and further, over his bones and into his muscles. “I fucking failed you-“

“You didn’t fail me,” you whisper. “You couldn’t fail me. You won’t always be able to protect me-“

“Not if I have a goddamn say-“

“You don’t.” You give him a sad smile, slowly moving your hands out of his grip, up to cup his face. “Our lives are really dangerous, and that’s just the way it is right now. And you won’t always be there to protect me, because there will be things we can’t handle together. But we can do this one together, and if it goes south, I’ll come back. I’ll burn the whole fucking world to get back to you, if I need to.” You run a hand over his beard, feeling the wrath fade, leaving only the ache. “And you’ll be waiting.”

“Of course I’ll fucking wait.” His voice is low, hoarse, and sad. It’s so sad, rotting inside of him and making your heart turn in your chest. “I’ll always wait, I fucking love you-“

“And that’s enough,” you tug him a little closer, keeping his eyes on yours. “It’s more than enough that you love me, and that you’ll wait. I literally live in you, Ben. You’re the safest place in the world to me, and I’ll always come back. But I need you to let me do this with you. To trust that I can take care of myself.”

“I trust you,” he mutters, hands moving up to hold your wrists. “But I can’t fucking help you. I need to fucking help you, to make sure you’re safe-“

You tug his head down, pressing your foreheads together. “I’m safe. If you’re staying here, I’m safe.”

He lets out a ragged breath, but doesn’t keep pushing.

“You’re hurting yourself.” You say, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. Narrowed on yours, so fucking sad. “You’re really hurting yourself, Ben.”

“I’m fine, I’m not a fucking pussy, this shit isn’t about me-“

“You’re not a pussy,” you trace a hand over his cheekbones, down to the line of his jaw, and he stills. Watching you with wide, reverent eyes as the mold starts to melt, burning away as a pious warmth blooms from his skull, down his spine. “But you’re still allowed to be in pain.”

“I’m fucking invulnerable-“

“Emotional pain, Ben.”

“I’m fine-“

You give him a flat look, and he rolls his eyes, voice still heavy and tired.

“It’s not the fucking same.”

“Because I’m a woman.” You raise your brows at him, and he scowls. 

“No, because you have an actual goddamn reason to be in pain. You-“ 

“I know what happened to me,” you sigh. “And I know you, Ben. You didn’t fail me, but no matter how much I tell you that you’re never going to not blame yourself for what happened.”

“Who fucking cares, I’m more than goddamn capable of feeling a little fucking sad and pushing through it-“

“It’s killing you. I can feel it. Right,” You point to his chest, where the mold has almost overtaken his lungs and heart in a suffocating, lead-like feeling. “There. And I care. I love you, and I hate that you’re doing this to yourself. It’s hurting me.” You swallow the lump in your throat, running your hands through Ben’s hair as the warmth starts to ache as well. It’s a better ache, like rain or sparks landing on bare skin, but it’s being pushed around inside him, as if his body doesn’t know what to do with it. Like it’s been thawed out and is unsure what it’s supposed to do within him. “Even when you’re being an ass, I still love you. And I don’t want you to kill yourself to protect me, Ben. I just want you.” 

His head falls to your shoulder, arms wrapping around your body and pulling you half off of the ground, and the ache washes over your body like a wave.

Ben’s first sob is choked, against your skin and strained. His whole body tenses, the ache tightening around your lungs, and you think he expects you to push him away. 

It’s okay, you hold him against you carefully, gently, and start to hum. You’re not sure it will help Ben, but he always does it for you, so you hum and run your fingers through his hair, letting a hazy, rainbow light fill the room, a warm breeze drifting around the apartment. Everything smells like flowers and honey and chocolate, and Ben’s relaxing against you, so you keep going. It’s okay, Ben. We’re okay.

It’s the same sound again. Pushing itself out of him, muffled in your neck as he tugs you closer, and you let him. You keep humming, let Ben hold you as tight as he needs to, and stay.

You’re not leaving. Nothing can take you away, and you know Ben realizes that when the wave turns into a storm. Crashing from Ben into you, all that aching, caring warmth. He almost falls forward, and his sobs are desperate as he shakes against your body. There’s an occasional, strangled roar, but it’s mostly just tears. Wet against your skin as Ben folds further down over you, like maybe he can pull you into him and keep you safe like that. 

It takes slow, careful steps, but you guide him across the room and onto the couch without ever disturbing him. When you lower your bodies down—Ben’s head now buried in your sternum, half slumping onto and half on his knees—his arms drop to your waist, and he screams. It’s loud, echoing through the room and racking his whole body as he chokes on his tears.

I can’t fucking lose you. He’s still crying, his voice barely a croak in your head. Not again. Not when I could’ve fucking done something to stop it-

You couldn’t have done anything- 

I’m supposed to fucking protect you. Ben’s hold on your body is almost bruising, but you don’t flinch. Nothing he does will ever hurt you, not really. Not permanently. I promised you I’d fucking protect you- 

I don’t need you to protect me, Ben. You sigh, half-petting his head as the tears start to slow, and the storm begins to pass. I just need you. 

You fucking trusted me. You shouldn’t fucking trust me, you shouldn’t keep forgiving me, you shouldn’t love me, I goddamn failed you- 

You didn’t fail me. And I don’t love you because you protect me. 

Ben looks up, and your humming falters. His eyes are red, and his expression is slack, and tired, and sad. Just so, so fucking sad, even as the warmth starts to spread once more. Why. 

You understand what he wants. His love for you is almost cowering in your chest, and for once you know exactly how to feed it. I love you because you’re safe, Ben. Not because you keep me safe, but because you’re safe. I trust you because you don’t lie to me, and you don’t treat me like I’m a problem, and you stay. I’m not easy either, but you stay. You put up with how intense and reckless I can be with myself, and you never stop pushing against my worst decisions with my own life, and you make me feel important. You make me feel valued and heard and cared for in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Even when I didn’t think you loved me, I knew you cared. You always care, and you always stay, and I love you. I’ll alway crawl back to you because I know you’ll pick me up and take care of me, and I won’t be afraid because you’re there. And everything is better when you’re there.

The tears are gone, and his voice is hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, brushing hair away from his brow. “I love you, Benjamin. And I’m not mad.”

He huffs a dry laugh, resting his head onto your stomach as the tension starts to leave his body. “Of course you fucking aren’t,” he mumbles into you. “You should be.”

You smile down at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

Ben chuckles, and even though it’s still low and gruff, it’s warm. “Couldn’t if I damn tried. You’re a piece of fucking work, Sunshine,” one of his hands find its way to yours, squeezing it once. “You’re fucking perfect.”

I love you.

Ben smiles against you, and all his care and affection hums in your body. I love you too, darling.

Your heart flutters a little bit, and you decide that, as long as Ben wants to stay molded against you—his chest rising and falling with ease, every part of him only love—you’re going to let him. He’d been right, you probably should be mad at him, but you’re not. He’d apologized. He wouldn’t do that if he hadn’t understood, because Ben didn’t do things he didn’t mean. And he was trying. He was always trying. And you can’t blame him for the fight, because you'd be lying if you said you’d be any better—if Ben went back to sleep, you hadn’t been there to stop it, and all you could do was wait for him to wake up—and it wasn’t like either of you were winning any emotionally stable and well-adjusted awards. All that really matters is he’s here, and he’s trying. You’re both always trying. Loving each other and losing your mind and burning together and trying.

Ben’s love is alive and content in your chest, easy and warm as you hold him, and it’s still so holy. It feels inevitable, loving each other. Not like soulmates, but something bigger. Something that’s made of more teeth and blood, and had been feral and lonely for so long, wanting for something it didn’t know was missing. A deep craving that had been there so long it felt natural, and you'd both learned how to live with it stuck in your bodies, and didn’t really want or need it to be satisfied. 

You’re satisfied now. Both you and Ben have melded yourselves together, against every single odd and force trying to pull you away. And you did it. Nothing made this happen, you love Ben because of him, because of you, and because you don’t want to ever be wanting again.

And when you look at Ben, his face still buried in your stomach, chest rising and falling in a steady pattern, big hands rubbing circles on your skin, you know you won’t be.

Ben is here. He’s safe, he’s everything, and you love him, and you’re never going to be craving for anything again.

End Note: I know it’s far too late to turn back now, but I hope all the OCs and reader lore doesn’t throw you guys off. It’s hard not to do, just for this story, but let me know if it’s hard to track and/or read.

Thank you for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[implausiblyjosh]

RIP Cohost

Cohost is shutting down because... well, of course it is. Cohost shutting down is the most "writing on the wall" shit for the last several months. The wealthy friend/funder ghosted them at one point in the last 12 months. Despite Anti-Software Software Club saying they were a "not-for-profit software company", they were just a regular LLC paying themselves near 100k/yr for their four FTEs. When they got new funding, after being ghosted, a stipulation of that funding was for them to be consistent in posting public financial updates, which they missed almost immediately. I cannot believe it lasted this long.

That they're still saying that "eggbux", the tipping and support features, fell through because of Stripe policy changes, something that seemingly did not happen, is wild. Can't even be honest at the end. Like... Cohost's early ideas started as a Patreon alternative. They've been working on "eggbux" as a concept basically since inception of Cohost. But up until the last year they were still working on this idea of being this Patreon/Ko-fi alternative without understanding the policy of Stripe and how that would work. I don't think it can be stressed enough how weird cohost's framing of the Stripe Policy Issue is. Nothing meaningfully changed about Stripe policy, ASSC just thought they could be Patreon/Ko-fi on a whim and then realized that's not how it works and had to stop dev on that.

Also, there was always this undercurrent of "Uber reinvents cabs and busses" to the whole thing. The Artist's Alley thing was just Project Wonderful, but was being pushed as a wild new thing for user-supported ads. And, like Uber, it was a pretty rough implementation of a thing that already exists because you had to click to a specific area that was just ads!

As much as I had enjoyable moments on cohost, I think it's silly to paint the site as anything it wasn't. I mean, one of the last big culture issues on the site was staff refusing to delete racist comments on a staff post until publicly shamed for their cowardice! Cohost was clearly not good for everyone who posted there. Someone got ran off the site for linking to cohost's official feature requests forum too often to ask for accessibility features, and popular people on cohost waxed poetic about how deserved it was that the person got ran off the site for being annoying. There were near-constant issues with racism not being handled well at all from a culture perspective, especially when people would criticize how white the culture of the site was. Hell, I saw someone be extremely bigoted on bluesky, then run to cohost for sympathy and get it. Even when people pointed out how bigoted they were on bluesky, with screenshots and everything, they justified it and had loads of defenders helping justify the bigotry!

I think teeing cohost up as some sort of "good sites can never exist unless it's corporate sludge" point also doesn't make sense since the site never had a plan for profitability. You can't be funded by a wealthy friend forever. There never seemed to be a plan, which is fine for a hobby but not fine when you're begging for cohost plus subs every month or so to fund your near-100k salaries. It never made sense in the long term, their own reports said so, and people were shouted down for pointing these things out.

No webbed site is perfect, and that includes cohost. It had issues up until the very end. It does no one any good to ignore the bad or pretend it was perfect, regardless of how much the site was good for you personally.

Sucks that a lot of cool people put their eggs in that posting basket, and I hope they find a different place that scratches similar itches.

[ot3]

A while back there was a post going around about how you shouldn’t rate or leave negative comments in your bookmark tags on ao3 because the author could see it. But it kinda shows a weird discrepancy where the diehard fanfic folk want fanfic to be seen as a legitimate art form but also can’t handle criticism of it because “it’s for fun.” Anyway there’s fanfic I like but don’t think is particularly well done and I don’t think I can ever comment that without getting eaten alive on ao3

To add onto my last ask about criticism on fanfic. I think ultimately any piece of art you put out to the world is going to be criticized no matter what. And as any artist or writer you should probably prepare for that

i definitely agree that anything public is subject to criticism but i dont think that necessarily means it's a free for all. my stance in the case of hobbyist works is that you're allowed to be as critical as you like in your own spaces but if you're somehere where the creator is almost guarantee to see it, that's just kind of a dick move more than anything else. i dont think fanfiction is beyond criticism at all and am in fact constantly bitching about how i also think its almost all bad. but i also don't think its really productive or cathartic in any way to say this to peoples 'faces' so to speak.

i'm not super familiar with the ao3 bookmark system so i don't really know what the etiquette there but maybe its kind of analogous to tumblr tags, in the effect that it's supposed to be Your commentary and Your organization system but also op also has immediate access to it. i definitely don't think you should go around tagging people's art just to rag on it, so i dont think i'm super in favor for doing that in bookmarks either.

its lke if you were someone who doesnt exercise a lot and you got into jogging would you want some sort of Running Expert filming a tiktok directly next to you about how your form could be improved? i don't really think it would matter how constructive or well intentioned they were it would still probably kinda feel like shit. but then on the flipside i think they have a right to go home and post to their #RunningTok or whatever the fuck about how they hate these annoying mistakes beginners always make.

i agree that 'any artist or writer' should be prepared to deal with a level of negative feedback for their work. and the people who turn around and write a post about how fanfiction is important and transformative queer art one moment then follow it up with a post about how if you ever have anything bad to say it you're just being a nasty little hater and need to shut up are ridiculous. The 'let people enjoy things' crowd are easily one of the worst demographics on this website. But i think the level of negative feedback an artist or writer should be prepared to deal with is vastly different in the case of people who are Creating as their profession vs people who are doing it as hobbyists.

the amount of people who think they fanfiction theyre producing is Groundbreaking Literature and deserves to be lauded as such while also demanding no critique are a small but vocal minority. one that pretty much 1:1 overlaps with people who view Fandom as an identity rather than an activity. the rest are like... teens just starting to dabble with narrative writing or people with day jobs who think its fun to do every now and then.

[fasolabean]

warninggg this is a long one ,,,

(Okay so I started writing this uhhh vent before more posts on the n//fts appeared later so plz keep that in mind hah)

So I haven’t been too active on here for the past month – a bit personal start, but I’ve moved to a different country whooo!!!! (its terrifying) (my brains been involved in fandom stuff as usual but physically I wasn’t lmao).

But I wanted to talk ab the n//ft (censoring bc idk ab bots here) thing bc while some people on here provided some great context and threads, most of the talk has happened on twitter. So like. Since it was first confirmed what the raffle thing was I was veryyyy disappointed, especially bc K has made fun of this very thing on stage previously. And like yea, the nature of what hes doing is different than the n//ft crypt0 scams, since the cost of the paywalled content is set and not fluid and the raffle thing was free to enter, and I know there have been threads about the website not being the worst on twitter (link) (edit: now here on tumblr too). But still man. Both of these could’ve been done on either an independent website or through stuff like youtube members or patreon. Or hell, even just on the merch store? Like buy a promo code that buys you access to the material?

Also like I get that this was probably a contract that would be rly hard if not impossible to terminate. STILL though, I wish we just got an even short thing like “hi sorry I wasn’t aware this is gonna be a one time thing we’re not doing it again”. I don’t mind extra content being paywalled personally, I know some people do, but I just really wish it wasn’t don’t with that technology. And yes, I also now know it’s a safer way to handle shit like that but I just cant see this excuse being used for commercial use? Like maybe I can see why I could be made to use it for like idk an important document, but a raffle ticket? Nah

I also, ugh. Felt weird about mikke in the team since the winter. This whole thing seems to be – at least to a large extent – either done or influenced by him, judging by even the fact that the europass thingy webpage has oy photomikke marked (no im not buying it but i did look around curiosity was stronger). Also the previous thing that had made me go hmmm about käärijä as a brand was the bnb, which now seems to be ran entirely by mikke and his wife. Like stick to your photos man? That being said tho, Jere IS an adult and he IS the face of this brand. If he doesn’t think hes qualified to make business decisions all by himself (which I get, this shit is hard), nothing is stopping him really from getting a professional to help him with those things. And if there IS something stopping him then hey man I think you should go to the press with that lol. From any interviews ive seen or read, you can feel he feels this responsibility to keep his friends and family that initially helped him afloat. But I wish he understood that not letting people who in the end are not professional about business and PR and having them stick to their own thing does not have to mean cutting them off.

But now I just wanna share a thought that to some might seem like me defending him – which, in case you didn’t get I am very much not lmao. The thing is, im really glad the fandom is able to call him out on a shitty thing – like a bad baaad business decision. You can like somebody’s art, hell you can even like the public person they are, while not agreeing with everything what they do. What annoys me though, is that apart of the kä fandom, he is also often talked about (usually negatively) in the wider esc fandom. Over the past week I’ve seen multiple threads on twitter from people that rarely ever mention him about this. That would’ve been like, not that much of a deal (though sometimes it really got… engagement bait-y) but the amount of bodyshaming and shaming of his fans that comes up with every valid criticism is making me wanna pull my hair out.

Especially cause he’s neither the first finnish esc-related artist to do that (Robin and Cyan Kicks are mentioned on the kollekt website) nor is he the first esc artist of his influence to do it either. Last year Loreen and Alessandra have released n//fts last year, and Loreen did a very similar raffle a couple months ago. Now I wanna be very clear: I don’t want this to be like. Cancelling these people, that would be so hypocritical of me. I also don’t want this to be like a fandom war like oh youre mad he did xyz?? Well THIS and THIS person did THAT!!1! I’m just merely annoyed that these people doing essentially the same thing went with no echo at all, but now I’ve seen us (the fandom) be literally called the r slur and the most vile things being said about jere and, for some reason, his appearance???

Idk man. I really try to  make it clear im not trying to excuse his decisions and I think being angry and/or disappointed at him is absolutely understandable. Im just angry that every single time he fucks up, every single time he makes a mistake, my timeline is filled with a wave of people rejoicing in it. I know he’s a controversial figure, he’s been one since day one, but I just wish he’s gotten the same amount of shit his peers do for the same actions? And this happens every time, and each time im like “well ig I can see why hes so bad when it comes to criticism”. Because imagine doing a thing that your peers have done with no/minimal criticism and then the moment you try it out you get people calling your fans slurs and commenting how stupid you are. Like ngl id also think any criticism was hate lmao.

Again I wanna be very VERY clear im very critical ab what he chose to do. I wish he took some responsibility – and hope he maybe does, at some point in the future. This year has been a whole lot of bad business decisions for the käärijä brand in my eyes, and I hope he can actually see where its gone wrong and do something about it, both for his and our sake. I am also happy to see fellow fans who are able to call out their fave. But man I am TIRED of him just getting all the shit (from people who very visibly fans are not)?? And now I have the proof that it is comparably more than other people and not just my bias towards him because wdym there’s been at least 4 esc artists, 2 of which more famous than him, and 2 umk artists doing exactly the same thing with almost no echo??

TLDR (thishasover1kwordsfuckshit); I wish he did better, simply. I kinda cling to some hope that maybe hey finally this time he will see that criticism can be constructive. I think this is still a level of fucking up that you can like, come back from. Pity it’s connected to the eurotour since kinda souring my excitement ab my first concert in a new country a bit :(

[sunarc]

All Mine

Synopsis: Atsumu knows the two of you are just friends with benefits but he is a jealous man and seeing Suna touch what’s his sends rage through his body. The next best thing to do is fuck you until his name is the only thing you know how to say.

Cw: smut, frat au, alcohol, cussing, breeding kink, easy access reader wearing skirt with no panties hehe, biting, dirty talk, fingering, jealous Atsumu, public sex technically (your in a bathroom) Atsumu is a cocky little shit at the end, afab reader, a little spanking, mentions of people listening in, unprotected sex, he calls the reader pretty, weird alcohol concoction 

wc:2K

Atsumu can’t stand it. The way your eyes twinkle looking at him makes him feel physically sick. You’re smiling way too hard at him. Suna isn’t even that funny so what could he have possibly said to make you laugh so hard. He watched in disgust as your hand pushed against his shoulder in a playful manner. 

“He’s not even that funny” he voiced to Hinata over the loud music.

“Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better.” 

Hinata held out a cup filled with brown juice. He gave Atsumu a drunk yet eager smile waiting for him to try the concoction. 

“What is this?” Atsumu unwillingly tore his eyes away from you and Suna to look at Hinata. 

“I call it The Wicked Queef” Hinata nodded his head proud with the title. “Bokuto and I made it in the kitchen with something special.” 

“I’d rather not drink something named after a pussy fart” Atsumu turned away to look back at the pair that previously held his attention only to see the two long gone. 

“Shit” he walked off into a random direction in search of you with Hinata following closely behind.

“What is it? Did you want your own cup of Wicked Queef?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. You were somewhere lost in the party, probably sucking faces with Suna. Atsumu felt his stomach churn and it wasn’t from the smell of Hinata and Bokuto’s weird mixture. 

“No, it’s Y/N she’s with that assface and I need to find them” his words were rushed as he pushed through the crowd. He opened the door to a backyard patio to see stragglers smoking and chatting. The area was big with a firepit and empty seats surrounding it. Atsumu sat in a chair by the slowly dying fire with a frustrated sigh.

“You guys aren’t even dating so why do you care?” Hinata slurred the words. He stood in front of Atsumu, two stepping off beat to the music from inside.

Atsumu let out a frustrated groan. Of course he knew that the two of you weren’t officially a thing but that didn’t change how he felt. You were his and seeing you flirt with Suna of all people sent fury racing through his blood. He knew what he was doing the moment he made you ride him in the backseat of his car. You had him in a deep trance. Your perfect moans and the way you whimpered his name, Atsumu didn’t want you to ever moan the name of another person again. He leaned his head back groaning at the words. 

“Does that really even matter?” he knew it mattered. You weren’t his to claim, so why was he so dead set on making that claim.

“Well yeah” Hinata stared at Atsumu with a blank stare. “It does matter because now your sitting out here jealous and grumpy”

“I’m not-” his words were cut off by the sliding door opening by none other than you. 

There you stood smiling so brightly. How could a person be so pretty? Atsumu’s heart pattered in his chest. A small smile began to form on his face until a tall figure appeared close behind you following like a lap dog. He rolled his eyes and folded his arms in a childish pout. 

“Why so grumpy?” you chuckled at him.

He looked up meeting your eyes. For a second all else disappeared. The tunes of an overplayed song faded away. The banter between Hinata and Suna about his weird juice disappeared and all that was left was you. 

“Ya look really- oh” his eyes trailed your body to see the fingers wrapping around your shoulder.

A scowl formed on his face. Fucking Suna. He sat back in his chair watching the two of you laugh and banter. Atsumu’s eyes were almost hurting from rolling them so hard. After what seemed like hours you stood up declaring you were going to the bathroom. Atsumu’s eyes followed your figure before getting up and following you leaving Suna behind with Hinata.

“It’s called Wicked Queef you should try it” Hinata slurred to Suna

“It smells like shit”

Atsumu squeezed past the crowd, eyes never leaving you. You reached the bathroom up stairs but before you could close the door Atsumu’s hand pushed it wider following you inside. You smiled watching him close the door behind himself. 

“I knew you were following me you creep” 

Atsumu ignored your comment, instead pushing you up against the sink. His hand grabbed your jaw and directed your face towards his own. His breath fanned against your lips.

“So Suna?” his voice was deep and if you weren’t so close to him you probably wouldn’t have heard him. 

You smirked at the rage in his eyes. 

“Is someone jealous?” you didn’t need him to say it out loud. From the way he gripped your jaw to the way he pressed his lower half against you exposed everything you need to know.

Atsumu chuckled at your words.

“You must’ve forgotten” his words were paired with his free hand sliding up the skirt you were wearing to your core. “Let me help you remember” His fingers massaged a circle against your clit.

“No panties?” A shocked look flashed across his face.

His lips attached to your neck sucking recklessly. 

You let out a vibrant moan as he shoved two thick fingers into your already leaking hole. His fingers rocked back and forth at an achingly slow pace. You pulled his body impossibly closer as moans fell past your lips. 

“Please Sumu, faster” you pleaded. 

Atsumu ignored your words humming at the desperation in your voice. His fingers danced against your gummy walls leaving you a shaking mess. You moved your hips against his hand matching his movements. You leaned your head back against the mirror behind you. Whimpers flowed past your lips. You felt yourself growing closer to a release. 

“Go ahead, cum on my fingers , I can feel you getting close.”

His words were like music to your ears. You were a stuttering mess feeling his fingers fuck you through your orgasm. Atsumu pulled his fingers from you and brought them to his lips. His eyes met yours as he sucked his fingers, licking the mess you had left behind. His fingers left his plump lips with a line of drool following. His rough hands pulled your shirt up revealing your chest and tossed it behind him. You would have yelled at him for throwing your shirt on a frat party floor but before you could speak he turned you around and bent you over the sink. He pulled your skirt down leaving it to pool at your ankles.You whined at the roughness but your whines were met with a harsh smack to your ass. Atsumu’s hands massaged the fat of your ass, spreading them and smacking your cheeks. He unzipped his pants to pull his cock free. He liked this feeling of power, having you completely naked for him, your cunt drooling for his cock.

“This what you wanted hm?” he questioned as he rubbed his cock between your folds. “Wanted me to fuck this pretty pussy huh?”

You whined at his words. 

“You know what I want” His cock prodded at your hole. He slowly dipped the tip of his cock into you. 

“I want you to scream my name while I fuck this sloppy hole” with that he pushed himself into you without warning. 

His cock plunged in and out of your hole mercilessly. You moaned his name voice barely above a whisper.Atsumu loved a good challenge, he was determined to hear you scream.

 He groaned at the feeling of you sucking him in. Your wet walls seemed to clench around him each time he pushed himself into you. Your hands grabbed at the sink as an attempt to hold yourself up. Atsumu’s hips slammed against you at a quick pace. You pushed your body up from the sink. 

“Fuck ‘tsumu feels so good”

He pushed you back down against the sink. His hand came up to your hair gripping it just enough for you to lift your head. His other hand was pressed against your back deepening your arch. 

“Yea?” he chuckled

“Scream my name” his voice was rough as he fucked you. “Let them know who’s making you feel this good.

He felt himself becoming more and more territorial as his name echoed from your mouth like a chorus. He leaned his head back, pleased from the sex and your voice . A smile spread across his face as he thought of all the possible ears pressed against the door listening to him take his claim over you. 

“Tell them” he growled “Tell them who this pussy belongs to” 

He bullied his cock so deep into you your eyes were rolling back and you began to slur his name. It was as if it was the only thing left in your vocabulary. The stretch felt so good you felt your legs growing weak. Atsumu’s hands moved down to your hips pulling you down onto his cock. 

“That’s it” his eyes watched the way your ass recoiled from the rough thrust. “Take this cock baby” he groaned.

He clawed at your skin leaving his own personal print on you. 

“ ‘Tsumu I-I’m gonna”

“Go ahead cum on my cock baby, make a fucking mess”

Your legs trembled as you reached your release. You moaned and pushed yourself back onto his cock. His grip on your hips tightened . He rocked his hips back and forth and quickened his pace. His eyes were trained on where the two of you met. He was so focused his mouth hung open with drool dripping down the side of his mouth. Your cunt felt so delicious pulling him in. 

“Mine” he growled. His thrust grew sloppier yet rougher 

“Mine” he chanted the word with each thrust.

He leaned down, biting your shoulder as his orgasm neared. 

“You’re mine” he groaned the words into your ear “Don't ever forget that”

His stilled his movements moaning your name, allowing his cum to spill inside you. Atsumu pressed his lips to your shoulder and pulled himself from you with a satisfied sigh. He watched you trying to catch your breath still leaning against the bathroom sink. You looked so pretty with his cum dripping down your thigh. Atsumu fixed his pants and pulled your skirt back up before grabbing your shirt that laid tossed on the floor. He handed you the shirt with a soft smile. You reached for it only for him to pull it back with a smirk. 

“You can go back to Suna if you want” he placed the shirt in your hand smiling at your shocked face “But don’t you dare forget whose cum is dripping down those pretty thighs of yours”

He pressed his lips against yours giving you a passionate kiss. He stood up and walked towards the door and turned around with a devilish smirk.

“And don’t try to clean up my little mess, keep it wet for me okay?” he gave you a small wave with an innocent smile “ Enjoy the party pretty”

[thatbitchery]

So yesterday I said it's not the principle of the thing that matters but how much privilege you have to balance it that does and had everyone and their mom needing me to learn feminism and equality 101, as expected. Understandable. I understand not knowing better because you haven't learned better and that is exactly why I'm here. To teach you better.

Let's start with the lie that's egalitarianism and equality. What we call the American mindset. Everyone is equal and has an opinion and should be able to do whatever they want mentality. Reason you have little boys and girls that have never walked a fashion show or even at the very least being invited to one making videos comment on couture shows and how ugly and impractical it is. Why you have little college girls and boys running every word they know past things that they have never even had access to. The I have a right to opinion and I will give it. That mindset, we call it the American mindset because it's mostly where you'd see it. See that mindset? If you want to level up, forget it. You do not have a right to your opinion the right is given to you. You do not have the right to wear what you want that right is earned. You do not have the right to go to that party even if you were invited you earn the right to be there. You don't have a seat in every table you want , it's given to you.

It's girls out there getting in trouble over this mentality. I told y'all once a story (probably deleted it haha) of how in high school the rich kids threw a party and invited the poorer kids around town just to do drugs together and 🍇 grape the girls and only the poor girls were graped 🍇 and never got justice because what judge is convicting the Prime Minister's son? And only the poor boys went to jail and took a fall for the drugs?? Whyyyy??? Because they thought people are equal and so they, middle class working in the gas station for pocket money, should just easily be invited to an elite party. No I didn't go. Why? Because the deal was too good. Why would the rich kids that barely talk to me in school suddenly want me to party with them? This isn't a table that I've earned a seat in so why would I go sit in it?? Doing crimes under peer pressure with people that have a team of lawyers is something people with that dumb everyone is equal mindset shit does. If I told those kids not to go they'd think I'm gatekeeping my useless academically dumb rich friends,no. I had a girl ask me why I'm looking down on her because I told her it makes no sense for boys with a bunch of Aston Martins and Bentleys and access to world class professional escorts and dating the children of presidents to date them . I had a girl tell me I'm not a girls girl and an anti feminist because I told her that boy is dating her for the giggles and will show her a hell she has never seen before and get away with it. Do I not think she's worth it? Lovable? People are equal!!! But they're not are they?? Boys like that don't date little girls from public school do they?? And no buying you Versace isn't special that's his pocket change. And every single Chanel bag you get you will pay for ,dearly. But people are equal mentality girlie probably needs a lifetime of therapy, for everyone's mental health and sanity just in case you slip into the misandry dark hole I won't say what happened. There were videos it's all I'll say. Of Dubai camel type stuff. If you get it you get it. If you don't may our good Lord protect your innocence for as long as He can. The world is a dark place in general but 50× darker for women, 1000× darker for women that don't fit the standards and 1000000× darker for broke girls and then there's women of✨ color ✨.

There's a social hierarchy. Know your place in it, act like it and level up in the background.

Different people have different rules. Just because Bella Hadid can wear weird looking outfits doesn't mean you can??? Are you Bella Hadid?? First rise to Bella Hadid status then you can have Bella Hadid privileges. Society rules are not the same for everyone. Do you think anyone cares what Bill Gates daughter is wearing to the office?? Do you think that applies to you?? I almost had my Captainship almost taken from me in high school because I wore a bracelet and that wasn't appropriate while my classmates ran around with chanel pins and pearl necklaces and hairpins with bows and glitter. Why? Is my dad's name on a building?? Did my dad donate millions to the school? Am I the next CEO of a multimillion dollar enterprise?? Then why would I have the same privileges?? The rules say no accessories so no accessories. Little white girls wear 15979 kgs of make up with tattoos and piercings nd drive everywhere but if I had one, one nose ring I'll get pulled over in traffic and possibly have my visa revoked. I wore red lipstick once and my boss said I'm looking at them aggressively. This one time I let my natural hair down during church and someone's grandma in pearls just diDnT KnoW wHat WaS OfF aBouT mE tHaT dAy but anyway she loved me so much so she'd send me to her hairstylist for free because she cares about me :))) while her grandkid had braids with a purple streak 👍.Different rules for different people. Yesterday I said I have to compensate for my lack of privileges and someones very well meaning daughter with what has to be a clean heart wrote me an essay on how I don't have to change myself to fit in. Oh darling. My sweet sweet thing .

Its little girls out dressing the host in a party that was thrown for the host to show off because tHeY dOnT hAvE tO dReSs dOwN tO aCcOmodAte OtHeRs and making an enemy and never getting invited again out here. It's girls that argue with their bosses on something as stupid as social politics that will never be promoted ever and have their work picked apart like a terrorism investigation while their bubblehead yes girl counterparts are promoted left right center. It's girls arguing with their mothers knowing full well they're dependent on them because It wAs ThEiR cHoiCe TO haVe Me BLA BLA BLA bs. It's girls out there having a full on feminist debate with the pedo misogynistic CEO in the event that was created to appease said CEO like is he a feminist now?? Did you change his mind?? Is he a better man or did you just burn your network with every single person in that room? If you don't have the privilege to do it don't. Rights are backed by privileges.

Once upon a time in a far far away land I told a tumblrina she wasn't pretty enough to have the boundaries she wanted to have and that having boundaries is a privilege and she should first level up her looks then she can have that boundary and woke up to a 5996909800 word essay on how I'm an anti feminist and judgy and whatever else. Sighs .ladies won't you ever learn. Yes even boundaries require a certain privilege.

When I say it's an American mindset and my US girls feel attacked I get it because thats exactly what I'm doing, attacking you. If I tell African and Asian girls they need to appease their toxic moms they don't argue because we know. If mom says that dress makes you look like a slut I don't say mom omg that's not very girls girl of you you're being toxic I take it off and say you think so? There was something about it I didn't like haha and wear something she approves of. Why because she holds the power. As long as I live in her house I have to submit to her. It's just a dress. We placate and validate our moms and dads and elders knowing theyre toxic af simply because we know we won't win. They won't suddenly realize they were wrong they will just make our lives harder and we can't fight back we just talk crap about them in school and laugh and when we leave for uni wear whatever. Because if we fight back they'll never let us go for uni away from home and we depend on them for survival. We understand ✨ hierarchy ✨. It's Megan Markle and her American Mindset of I have rights I have opinions I should be treated well thinking she can challenge an institution that has been in power for centuries and has made a country as geographically small and pitiful as Britan a world power over larger ones, and for centuries. Princess Katherine was being torn apart by tabloids for a decade plus and held it together and is now set to be the next queen of England with her daughter being the richest kid alive. Lady Emma McQinston, a Nigerian among the British upper class- I won't even bother telling you how those ones get treated - held it for her whole life and is now the first dark skinned black African Baroness (is it baroness?? Not sure). Megan and her American values folded in what, months?? Did they tear her apart as viciously as they did Kate?? Nope. Fumbled that bag because she couldn't understand privilege, hierarchy and power.

Don't be a Megan. Don't. Get with the program. To get the power, you must first understand the power.

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for snapping and scaring a kid?

Okay first, some background, I (F20) am a sorta bnf in a fandom I write and draw for and I am a group of roughly 10 other kinda bnfs who do the same and are all 20+.

We all reblog from each other and support each other, and one unique thing we also do is block minors who are open about being minors that we see anywhere and/or that interact with us.

We DM each other their usernames to weed them out of circle even though all of accounts are PG and do not have and dnis or warnings that minors will be blocked. We don't let anyone know we do this, make no posts about it, no warnings, they just get blocked without any exchange.

There's a few reasons why we do this:

to encourage kids to not let their age be publicly know.

to make sure kids are not getting normalized to interacting with strange adults online

kids, to put it kindly, are fucking lame once you become a certain age through no fault of their own. There's nothing in common after a while. They don't understand adult life and can't relate in the same way another adult can, and this is just no good reason for an unrelated strange adult online to let a kid interact with them that's sketchy and weird as shit

I grew up lurking and with strict internet safety lessons. Nowadays, kids seem to not know how to lurk and basic internet safety anymore. I've tried to make post upon post warning them of the dangers of putting personal information, especially their age, online, but it's done nothing to make the minors interacting to act more safely.

But me and my friend group have found that the only way to get kids to lurk and not put their age online like they should is if they get loose access the things they want because of their age is public.

So many of the kids who follow me have been blocked and they realized why they're getting blocked and came back on a much safer lurker account. I know I'm not the asshole for doing this and encouraging others to do this because ultimately it keeps the kid safer.

What I do think I may be the asshole is when one kid in particular, I'll call him X, spent months testing me to figure out and confirm that I was blocking minors who are open about their age and then spent weeks after that threatening to call me out and accused me of being agist, a pedophile because why am I so scared to interact with kids, and lying about being cis-queer because queers wouldn't discriminate like this.

At first he was was just the usual kiddo with his age in his bio, so I blocked him, and while I didn't notice it at first, he kept making more accounts with his age in the bio and following me. I caught on when I was curious about why do many 14 years olds were following me in a row because normally is varied from around 10 to 17, and I noticed similarities across the account and realized it was one kid desperately trying to following me.

I figured I just keep blocking until he figured out how to keep his age offline, and it seemed to work when I got followed by an identical account with the age missing from any posts and the bio. I let him keep following, not interacting because he's 14 and that'd be fucking weird, but then a week into following me on this new ageless account I got a DM.

It was full of screenshots of me blocking him on he openly a minor accounts and then him just accusing of what I said above. I blocked, not caring to respond to a 14 year old, but he keep making burners to DM more and more accusation.

I just kept blocking without responding, not wanting to waste my time, but then he treatened to call me out for being all those things. I've seen first hand how life ruining those accusation and false callouts can be, how people see those accusations and do no research and let their instinctual disgust and fear of those people drive the accused to going offline or even committing suicide.

I did not want this, and the fact that this may become a possibility due to a kid who just couldn't accept not everyone wants known minors following them, made me super pissed off.

And so to "scare him straight" and to prevent him from making this callout post, I photoshopped screenshots of both a police and cyperbulling report being submitted and police thanking me for reporting this and how they'll check it out.

At the time, still being super angry, it was very satisfying to see him come apologizing, saying he'll stop stalking me, and asking for me to tell the police and cyberbulling that it was a fake report and that it's been handled.

I didn't bother responding and just blocked him, and this time, he didn't make another burner. In fact, he deleted all his accounts.

A few months have past, and now that my anger has melted into annoyance, and that annoyance into realization I may have went too far.

X, while annoying, and could have really hurt me with a fake callout, is at the end of the day, 14, still a little kid.

X probably just didn't know better and I could have just tried to talk to him and reason rather then scaring him. I feel especially bad because if he was a POC and/or an abuse victim still living with his abusers he may have and possibility still be fearing for his life. Also it made me look like a bootlicker and I would kill myself before I ever support a cop

So I'm wondering now if I may have been the asshole here for snapping and scaring a kid

What are these acronyms?

[monstersandmaw]

I love the Yautja inspired fic over on patreon! I can't comment there but I wanted to tell you. I love how unique they all are and I can't wait for Stark to come around to reader.

I was also wondering if Stark was not only a "I hate humans"-situation but a "While I nearly killed the reader I smelled them and shit am I turned on right now? Better hate them even more for it"-situation as well.

I adore Buddy too he is so cute and yet badass. Also Elder has this very calm and wise vibe. He seems like he's "fond of everyone" (in his team and reader at least) because he's so old and somehow finds everyone amusing and cute who doesn't have the experience he has. I love that. Also Alchemist is such a little freak (fondly speaking).

I'm also curious how Cannon behaves. I am super duper excited and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, thank you!

Can't wait for them to slowly integrate reader into their relationship.

I hope this isn't annoying. Sending lots of love and support!

*flailing* thank you so much!!

(EDIT: think I fixed this now so that anyone can comment on public posts????? I wonder, are you unable to comment because of a Patreon error or because it only allows certain tiers to comment? I didn't deliberately set that up, so if it's the latter, I can look into sorting it!!)

Anyway, back to the boys!

Stark doesn't hate humans, per se, but he does really hate change. It unsettles him and makes him feel like he's losing control. And he really likes to be in control... 😉. And having an alien species (the human reader) on board, messing with his mates' heads and hearts (and chemistry) is a big change for him. He'll come around, eventually, but he'll take his own time... (and some help from the others).

The reader's buddy, Runt, is super fun to write. He's definitely a lil cutie but he can kick ass too when he needs to. He's spent his whole life proving himself to others, so he's tough as fuck (maybe tougher than most others), but he's definitely got a very soft and submissive side too, which he enjoys exploring with his mates in the safety and privacy of their ship.

Elder is super calm, and definitely has a lot of experience and wisdom, but he knows how to have fun too. He will indulge his mates in almost anything, if they ask it of him too.

Alchemist is a huge freak, and they all adore it.

Cannon is Big Chill. Doesn't speak much but has a very deep soul/mind, is very affectionate with his mates, and Very Protecc. He gives amazing cuddles too :).

The next chapter with Runt is going to be a spicy one :). It's about time he got his reward for helping his human out and saving her life, after all! We also learn a bit more about my little headcanons for their biology in this one (it's basically just an excuse for some weird alien sexy times).

Thank you so much for taking the time to send me this! It means the whole flipping world that you did, and I'm so grateful. Thank you.

EDIT: Chapter Five is now up :) Reader POV

(If folks want to read it, all chapters are now free to access over on my Patreon - first chapter here. I'm not sharing new writing on Tumblr because of AI scraping issues, and I want to protect my work and efforts as much as I can. Anything that was free to read on Tumblr is (or will be after early release) free to read on Patreon. I realise far fewer people are going to click off-site to go read them, but that's something I'm willing to accept to protect my efforts).

[yazthebookish]

Sometimes it needs to be called out but other times there isn't much you can do about weird obsessive people beyond blocking them and making it harder for them to have access to you.

They can talk shit all they like, but at the end they're the ones running their loud mouths and social media is public, people can see everything.

I've been staying unbothered by a lot things this year because you just get used to it or feel numb towards things that are not really okay. I try to flag it as a problem but I really do end up realizing that shitty people will think their shitty ways are right. Immediate block and they don't exist.

It's been proven to me time and again it always reflects badly on the person that is just eager for online validation and recognition.

I know who is nudging the trolls to send threats and harass others, and that confirmation is enough for me to deal with it if it goes too far (and it already went too far you can't justify it).

This fandom is truly a great one once you find your own people and just do your own thing to have fun. It truly gives me joy when someone tells me that they enjoy what I do and I'll continue to do that. A loud minority is still a minority.

I'm actually taking a little break from creating content to recharge and explore what new things I can create. September completely drained me so I'm in recovery mode now.

[sweetcollywobbles]

brain rotting with leon.| leon kennedy

CHUG JUG WITH YOU by leviathan ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• ∞ i realized i can write whatever i want. so have this short, stupid, and terribly written one-shot. leon hates the internet, but loves you. expect updates soon.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

leon truly didn't like the idea of her having access to the internet, especially since he didn't really trust her all that much not to do something stupid. but she had begged and begged to peruse jeff bezos's internet on his phone. the more he declined her access to the world wide web, the more she bugged him about the issue.

frustrated, he came up with a compromise. leon would allow her to scour the internet to her heart's content, but he'd have to supervise her the entire time.

leon thought this to be a great idea. she gets what she wants and he gets more time right next to her. maybe even able to sneak in a cuddle or two.

it would be great.

it would be wonderful.

until it's 1:45 in the morning and she's on tiktok watching some stupid fucking video that he can't even comprehend. and, for whatever reason, she's giggling her ass off at freakbob interrupting a normal video with a phone call. which is baffling to him because she was just absolutely sobbing her eyes out at a video of lost dogs being reunited with their owners.

not to mention all the nonsensical phrases and terms that seem to have become a permanent part of her daily vocabulary.

after watching the spectacle that is the edge rizz dog, for a small period of time, everytime leon needed her to agree on something he had to start the statement with "rizz". after a while, he noticed that she will do it volunterially without needing to be prompted. that also meant he couldn't take her with him through drive thrus anymore because she just started doing it out in public.

not to mention her attention span has now decresed to a whole new level that leon's considering holding up subway surfers gameplay to keep her concentrated as he talks.

every room smells of japanese cherry blossom and she's always asking to drive a boat that she doesn't have. leon has now been addressed as baby girl and kitten while she addresses herself as things like alpha and daddy. in fact, the first time she ever called him kitten, leon felt his body actually buffer.

leon had just gotten home from work, absolutely tired from all the paperwork he mindlessly stared at all day. the pleasant smell of pot roast had wafted its way to the entrance of the home. following it like a cartoon character to a pie, it led him straight to her, standing there by the stove in her pink apron and humming a soft tune while she cooked. whether she liked it or not, the sight of her was the exact remedy that he needed. he slinked his arms around her from behind and hunched over to bury his face in the crook of her neck. just as he began to relax to the sound of her soft melody, she just had to open her stupid mouth to say some stupid thing.

"no worries, kitten. daddy's making you something tasty." she said it so fluently and without skipping a beat, like it was so normal and she just went back to humming. he just slowly raised his head and muttered a small "what?".

leon still isn't sure if she's doing all of this out of revenge or if she was always this…weird. although the videos are strange and a bit annoying at times, he can't help but laugh along with her. because at the end of the day, she's happy, so if he has to play into her little games, he will.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

how does it feel to hold the gyatt of someone you love? rizz.

anywayssss, i believe my inbox is open lol, so if anyone has any feedback or ideas, please let me know!! again, this is all for shits and gigs. xxox

[knightobreath]

Sacri is a groomer

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Zxqi5Fh26KKcggUv-u5ydthhGrX42hPeZJM33AN3qtY/edit?usp=sharing

Okay lets get into this. There's a lot of context missing from this doc.

Doc was posted here on twitter, and sacri has also responded.

tl;dr: blaming someone for making sexual jokes in a discord server as a kid when there were adults enabling it is wrong actually, and this doc has some transmisogynistic and wlw-phobic sentiments sprinkled in. the callout is malicious and not actually concerned with protecting minors but rather tearing down a trans woman with an audience.

First and fucking foremost, most of this doc is just airing out the sexual jokes and thoughts of an at the time 14 year old. Am i the only one who finds this disgusting?? the person who compiled this evidence SEARCHED for this shit, and there are SO MANY SCREENSHOTS of a 14 YEAR OLD saying sexual shit. I'm not going to attach any of these to this post because I think the act of sharing them is gross as hell.

Basically the gist of it is, she was around 14 and making a lot of sexual jokes in a public discord with other minors, as well as being in the nsfw part of the server. The crux of the callout is that some of the people she joked around with were 12.

From the doc:

She has known about this and has attempted to use this popularity to get with a 12 year old at the time.

The attached screenshots for this all read as just jokes. referencing minecraft, "mcdonald licence", and clearly ironic use of emojis.

Sacri has involved herself in many inappropriate conversations within the same server. A majority of the members were minors and within the OSC. Regardless if they were jokes or not, Sacri making these jokes in a public server accessible by anyone at any age is highly inappropriate.

from sacri's response:

Not only was I 14, but I was let into the Tony server's NSFW channel that contained minors AND ADULTS!! I did not know the ages of practically anyone there, EVERYBODY was weird. I was just a weird kid who got exposed to weird things. This is barely based in reality at all.

Yes, a lot of what she said was bad. But as sacri explained in her response, she was let into a NSFW space with other minors AND ADULTS. I cannot stress enough that you can't blame a kid for getting let into an adult space and predictably ACTING LIKE AN IMMATURE KID ABOUT IT. The blame for this falls on the ADULTS WHO WERE PRESENT!!! The server moderators and other adults should have stepped in to stop the sexual conversation instead of enabling it. it was THEIR responsibility not that of the kid.

Like, guys. I'm a server moderator. It's part of my responsibilities to keep the sexual stuff to the NSFW channel and to make sure everyone who has access to it is an adult. If I found out that minors, especially those as young as 12, were in there, I'd be horrified.

From the doc:

There is much more recent information that shows their behavior hasn't stopped, even at the age of 17/18 they still involve themselves in sexual topics with minors, however the victims of this more recent behavior wishes to keep this information private

No evidence for this is presented in the doc, and a lot of people reading this forgot about "innocent until proven guilty"

well, the stuff from that actually came to light after the doc was released, and if you want to hear about, listen to this thread by one of the people who was involved (and who didn't want that shit public but people dug it up anyways!). Sacri didn't know the ages of the other people, cut contact with them after finding out, and it was all sorted out privately. This also corroborates with a part of sacri's response.

After that, the doc tries to accuse sacri, a trans woman, of fetishizing trans femininity and ends with claiming her interest in girls is an obsession and that it makes people uncomfortable. This just reeks of transmisogyny, I don't know how else to put it.

Finally, the doc accuses her of racism which from what they put out there, seems accurate enough. She does admit in the screenshot to using the N word at some point. Again, this is at a time when she was 14 and theres nothing presented to back up that she's still like that. The screenshots don't include anything of her saying it just her admitting to have once said it. She hasn't responded to this part of the accusations yet, only talking about the accusations of grooming.

in conclusion, this wasn't made to protect minors. if it was there would be actual concern about the environment she was in at the time of those screenshots, and blame would have been placed on the adults. This was a hit piece.

[plutonianeris]

ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀᴅ: accepting where people see you as the villain ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

this is a general reading & for entertainment purposes only, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. scroll through the images & choose based on your inner guidance and gut feeling. 🖤

♱☾pile one☽

sometimes it feels like you can never win because one way or another, theres always someone criticizing you. People are nervous around you and its not necessarily anything you do. I got a lot of scorpio and plutonian energy in my cards/ the oracles. People in your daily life make you seem like the villain because either 1) you don't share too much of you and they are craving for access or 2) you are equally as suspicious of them. Regardless, people can be kind of intimidated of you (but never publically admit it, more like hide it behind shady comments). lol the lyrics of the song playing right now in the background "make everyone hate me if that makes you feel better, your girl talks shit about me just to feel better" as you keep climbing up in your career/ reputation youre going to feel like a lot of more people are judging you. Accept that you cant control that. And if it makes you feel any better, it is envy/ hate but its to hide some jealousy and even some admiration as well.

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile two☽

I heard "theres just no way in hell that this is all on me" the people you live with/ family (and in your hometown) could see you as the villain in those moments you are trying to express your emotions. You could get called being too "emotional" I heard "crybaby" or maybe even being called a hothead & impulsive when you try to talk to your loved ones about how you feel. You could be known for having a short temper or being very emotional (like the type to cry after seeing someone in pain or reading a sad news article). In reality, people close to you can get irritated with how emotionally intelligent you are. When you're angry/ upset about something your'e always determined to do something about it, and you start off by allowing yourself to feel your feelings. Accept that some people dont want to make room for you needs/ emotions. But then know when its time to refuse to give people more access to your energy and make sure you are meeting ur own needs. I just heard "I am worth more than these poor experiences you are trying to give to me"

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile three☽

you could find that people in your neighborhood, apartment complex, or even the school you go to tend to turn you into the villain on the forms you communicate/ ask questions/ express yourself intellectual point of view. If you have siblings you could find that you get into frequent fights or bicker a lot. Youre eager to learn new things and that could throw other people off as you rush past them, ready to know more about the world. this pile reminds me of a curious child lol touching the "dont touch" sign. Out of all the piles this one feels more playful. Its like people suck their teeth and roll their eyes but youre so resilient. you bounce back in a way that feels so efortless that they dont stay too mad. its like even the people that see you as "the villian" at times are still secretly rooting for you? idk lol this pile was weird but also kind of endearing. Again, it reminds me of the way a child falls and quickly gets back up. Even if people judge you, you know that you have to keep it pushing. I just heard "in 5 years... shit, in 5 weeks none of this bs is gonna matter"

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

♱☾pile four☽

people you get into close relationships with (friends, but especially lovers or even your crushes) can make you the villain for your "eccentricity." this pile gave off big Aquarius energty (it reminds me of those with aspects between venus and uranus). lol like your beauty and ways of being are very unique or quirky. honestly, those qualities (your forms of dress, taste in music, the weird things you say, random facts u know) are actually what makes people interested in you and start crushing on you. but then at the same time they judge you for not conforming to societal norms. It's like "I think you are unique and brave, but god cant you just be normal sometimes?" thats annoying! My advice to you is don't EVER let people treat you as if spending time with you was a burden and don't let people pick and choose when to hang out with you. watch out for when you have big groups of friends, you could find that 1 or 2 could be hating behind your back. You always stand out in the crowd and sometimes that leaves insecure people with a sour taste in their mouth. You could be someone that has a different religion/ ethnicity/ background in comparison from the rest of your peers (whether it be at school or work). lol alien superstar is playing in the background rn "don't ever waste your time trying to compete with me... no one else in this world can think like me'

♡‧₊˚🕸 TIP JAR ‹𝟹 ∙ 🕷

© plutonianeris🕸️🕷️