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godmadeaterribleerror · 4 months ago

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Chapter 7 - The Blinding Ultra-Violence

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Can y’all please let me know if the long chapters are harder to digest? Because I love writing them, but if they actively impair enjoyment of the story I can start to cut them in half. Chapter Title from DEVIL by Shinedown.

Word Count: 13k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Everyone has a lesson in actions and their subsequent consequences. Emphasis on mental health issues warning for the chapter: specifically suicidal ideation and PTSD.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara @sukunassfinger, @justiceforquentin @acciditties

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk

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Free will was cruel, and you had some choice words for whatever had given it to you. "Words,” meaning several unspeakable acts of violence, a wide variety of cuss words and vulgar phrases that would leave even Ben agape, and at least one loud, feral scream.

Free will had allowed you to attend a fancy party at Vought, a party that put you in a silk dress and winged eyeliner with glossy lips. Free will had let you do one, two, three shots and gotten you tipsy enough that when the elegant woman with strawberry hair had asked if anyone wanted to sing on stage, asked the crowd if there was at least one guest who wasn’t tone deaf and could do a passible rendition of Moon River, you’d raised your hand. Free will had made you not do a fourth shot, so that when you started to sing you didn’t stumble around the stage, missing notes and embarrassing yourself, but had put on a perfect show, singing and swaying in time to the music.

Later, you had learned that the woman with the strawberry hair had been killed later that night, and Free will had allowed you to feel sorry about it. Free will had you visit her grave in the dead of night in a thunderstorm, and let you sing Moon River one last time.

Free will had allowed you to cave when Butcher and the Boys had found you in a different graveyard, only a month later. Free will let you stick with them all the way to the barn. Free will was what had you coming up with very, very stupid plans.

Not this plan, though. You loved this plan. You loved this plan enough that you hadn’t waited even a half hour after thinking of it to call Butcher, or two minutes after Butcher had screened your call to turn around and call MM instead.

“What’s wrong?” MM had picked up after two rings, and you could almost see his worried frown with his words. “Did Soldier Boy-“

“Ben’s in the living room yelling at a documentary about World War II.” You’d dismissed. “He likes to point out all the alleged inaccuracies. I have a plan, I need everyone here by tonight.”

“Uh,” MM said your name apprehensively. “I don’t think that’ll really work.”

“Look, I know everyone’s probably still freaked out about last night, but this is really important-“

“No, that’s not it. We’re fine. Butcher’s still being a fucking ass about it, but everyone else- Hey!” MM had yelled away from the receiver as something banged in the background, accompanied by muffled shouts.

“Uh, MM?” You’d frowned. “Where are you?”

“Ohio.”

“Ohi- why are you in fucking Ohio?”

“Soldier Boy’s shield is here. Turns out it’s been so motherfucking difficult to get because Vought has their hands on it, and they’ve been keeping it in a warehouse in Akron.”

“I thought it had been flown from Jacksonville, with the suit?”

“Nope. Akron. We didn’t know until a few days ago, even Mallory thought it was just waiting in cargo at JFK.”

You’d glanced down the hall to make sure Ben hadn’t heard that his shield was in Ohio, a state he’d once called “America’s shitstained taint” while watching a football game. You heard him shout “fucking commies didn’t do goddamn shit about the Nazi’s, fuck off!” And decided you were in the clear.

“When do you think you’ll be done?” You’d asked, keeping one ear open in case Ben decided to stop fighting with Ken Burns’ voice and join you in the kitchen.

“If Butcher keeps it together and nobody sees Annie and tips off Vought? Tomorrow night.” MM had answered tensely.

“Ok, come right here when you get back. Like I said, I've got a plan, but it’s time sensitive.” You gone to hang up, but paused with your finger over the button. “Don’t die.” You’d added, and heard MM’s grunted acknowledgment just before the call dropped.

Somehow they’d managed to meet MM’s prediction, and all returned in one piece. The team had stood awkwardly in the kitchen—almost everyone avoiding full eye contact with you despite MM’s claim of everything being fine—as you and Ben had sat at the counter, Ben making a mediocre effort to fake some sort of hospitality per your request.

“Thanks to Ashley,” you’d started. “We know Sage told Homelander that I’m in New York and Ben’s awake.”

“Yeah, we’re really sorry about that.” Annie had said your name apologetically. “We should’ve been more careful-“

“No, it’s fine. I’m fine.” You’d cut her off, giving Ben’s shin a swift kick behind the counter before he could’ve said anything, his disbelieving scorn at your statement running through where your arms were brushing. “And we can use this.”

“Use what?” Hughie had frowned, and you’d continued.

“They haven’t told anyone else about it. We weren’t even sure they knew until Ashley told us. I’m not anticipating them to start alerting the media about me anytime soon, but they should’ve announced that America’s number one traitor is back from the dead and out to attack the innocent.”

“Fucking rude.” Ben grumbled, and a surprisingly bruised feeling ran through you. “All I do is help you, Sunshine, and that’s how you fucking thank me?”

You gave him a quick, half-apologetic, half-annoyed look. I’m being sardonic for arguments sake, and you know it. He’d just rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the mozzarella sticks you’d heated up before the Boys arrived.

“But they haven’t done that,” you’d continued, giving Ben one last dirty look. “Which means-“

“They’re saving it for something.” Annie had finished your sentence with a thoughtful frown.

“Exactly. Sage has some sort of plan, some dramatic and complicated way to fear monger people, turn everyone against Starlight by saying you released Soldier Boy, and have been risking public safety by letting him run rampant for your own anti-American reasons.”

“You want to get ahead of it.” MM had said, eyes narrowed.

You’d nodded, and shared your plan. Now, two days later, you were squished in the back of the van between Hughie—a well placed towel separating any physical contact—and Ben—who despite many protests was eating your burger—watching Firecracker and The Deep sing in a way that made you want to permanently remove your ears.

You visibly recoil as The Deep looks into the camera, and Ben looks up from eating to watch the video as it plays on Hughie’s laptop.

“Fish-boy sounds like a fucking constipated cowboy,” Ben mutters through a mouthful of food.

You hum in agreement. “You even sounded better on your stupid Rapture video.”

Ben scowls, taking another large bite that muffles his words. “I was fucking fantastic in that.”

“You were certainly, technically, singing.” You look up at him with a grin. “With all the passion of a dying squid giving one last, mighty squirt.”

“I don’t ’squirt’, Sunshine.” Ben grumbles, and you can see the moment every filthy thing he could say pops into his head. He takes a rough swallow, mouth opening to say something that will undoubtedly make Hughie regret volunteering to stay in the van, and you cut him off.

“Before you say anything, keep in mind that is still my burger, meaning I have every right to take it back and shove it right up your ass.”

Ben glowers at you, taking another aggressively large bite. “Bitch.” He grunts, and a piece of lettuce falls fully out of his mouth. Though you can feel his dirty look in your direction, you can also feel a spark of amusement run from where your knees are touching into your chest.

“Cunt.” You pick the lettuce off his lap and throw it into his face. “You eat like a squid too.”

“The only thing that me and squids have in common is our giant-“

“Okay!” Hughie shouts, pausing the video. “Soldier Boy, can you please not say something sexual for like, fuck, ten minutes?”

Ben doesn’t respond, invested completely in the burger, and you elbow him in the ribs.

He gives a loud cough, little bits of meat spurting out of his mouth. “What the fuck?!” When you incline your head to Hughie, Ben rolls his eyes and offers Hughie a grunted, “Fuckin hell- fine, you pussy.”

“Oh, ok.” Hughie blinks at Ben nervously before fumbling to unpause the video.

As the laptop catches up with the live feed, jumping to Firecracker bouncing over-excitedly around the now empty stage, Ben leans over you to get a good look at the screen.

“That’s her?”

“Yep.” You give the screen a glare. “Crazy brown-nosing bitch.”

Hughie lets out a noise of agreement, and Ben snorts. After another minute, in which Firecracker manages to say a record twenty-two objectively wrong things in a row, Ben grunts in annoyance.

“When I was at Vought, we had real goddamn talent, not whatever the fuck this is.”

“I know, in the 80s they managed to book a Pretty Boy squid who could kind of sing.”

Lettuce hits you in the face, and you let out a sputtering string of profanities.

“I can more than kind of sing, Sunshine. I have the voice of a goddamn angel. And that song didn’t make any fucking sense, I fucking blew it out of the fucking water- what the fucks so funny?”

“Nothing!” You try and smother the giggles that had built in you as he’d devolved into rambling ire. “You’re way angrier about this than I thought you’d be.”

“I’m not fucking angry-“

“I can feel it, Ben.” You press your leg further against his in reminder. “And even if I couldn’t, you just said ‘fuck’ so many times.”

“I’m not a damn pussy, I’ll swear as much as I fucking please-“ Ben falters slightly as the word slips out once more, and you grin at him.

“When you’re angry, every other word out of your mouth is ‘fuck’. It’s actually really funny.“

“I’m glad it’s amusing for you.” He’s glaring at you, but you can feel the rapid ebbing of his anger through your body.

“It is.” You shrug, and attempt an olive branch. “So was the Rapture video. I used to watch it all the time.”

“Really?” At your words, he’s suddenly giving a toothy, egotistical grin. “What, did you have a crush on me?”

“No,” You mirror his grin, even as you feel your cheeks heat and hear your sister’s teasing in your ear. “It was just really funny.”

He scoffs. “Like you could’ve done it any damn better.”

“Oh, I know I couldn’t have. I sing like a horse who chain smokes.” The lie slips through your teeth with practiced ease. “But nobody would be paying me whatever digusting amout they payed you.”

"Joke's on you, Sunshine. I bought a house with that money."

"Hm," you give him a toothy smile. "I think that makes the joke on Vought."

“I liked your dancing,” Hughie offers weakly. “It was… interesting.”

“See, Cocksucker gets it.” Ben says smugly, giving you a nudge as his attention refocuses on the video.

“That’s, that’s not my name…” Hughie sighs, and you offer him an apologetic, close-lipped smile.

Still leaning over you, Ben takes another bite of the burger as he watches Firecracker. “She’s got good tits,” he observes, and you tilt your head to look at him incredulously. “What?! She does!”

“You didn’t even last,” you look at the clock on Hughie’s laptop. “Five minutes.”

“That’s bullshit, I always last more than five minutes- Hey!”

You manage to fit the entire remaining burger into your mouth a once, chewing frantically before he can try and take it back from you. You give him a smug look. I warned you, Pretty Boy.

He narrows his eyes at you. I’ll make you fucking regret that, Sunshine.

You swallow, his promise of regret already catching up to you from the large bite as the food aches down your throat, and push Ben until he’s fully in his seat. “Her tits better not be nice enough that you decide to blow the mission.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine, yours are better.” He ignores your venomous look. “And she’s with Homelander. Even the best fucking tits in the world couldn’t make up for choosing that pussy.” His eyes narrow at the screen. “I should just fucking go now, it’s been the same stupid shit for a damn hour.”

“No!” Hughie’s arm shoots out to hold him in his seat, before thinking better and pulling back just as fast. “No, they’re almost ready, please, can we just wait until they’re ready?”

Ben shoots you a look of questioning annoyance. I could just fucking go. Cocksucker couldn’t stop me, and we could all be fucking done and go home early.

No. We’re sticking to the plan. You glare back.

He rolls his eyes. Fucking stupid plan if it takes ten goddamn hours to set up.

You stick your tongue out at him, and turn back to Hughie. “Have they sent any updates? At least gotten the stage passes?”

“They aren’t supposed to check in for another three minutes.” Hughie shakes his head. “And MM’s still working on the stage passes. They’re $350 for some fucking reason.”

“I don’t need a stage pass.” Ben grumbles. “I could just walk in if you would give me the suit, none of those pussies would stop me.”

“The whole point is that you don’t have the suit. But…” You trail off, frowning to yourself. “Hughie, Ben might be right about the stage pass.”

Ben makes a satisfied “Ha!” as Hughie gives you a wide-eyed stare.

“But they can’t know he’s working with-“

“Butcher and Starlight, yeah, I know, it's my plan. But the whole idea is that he’s rogue. Soldier Boy, back from the dead once more, loose on the streets of Manhattan with no adult supervision.” You sweep your hand in a mock headline gesture, and pretend you can’t feel Ben’s indignance. “A real rogue hundred year old terrorist would not have a credit score that lets him buy Vought’s super-diamond-truther backstage pass.”

“So I can have my fucking suit-“

“No,” you snap, and Ben scowls. “That defeats the point even more than the stage pass. Your suit is known government property. It was being kept in a high-security warehouse in Florida. It would be really fucking suspicious if you were wearing it.”

“They were keeping my suit in Florida?!” Ben’s face coils in disgust. “Was my fucking shield in Florida too?! Fuck, is it still fucking there?! In goddamn, sweat-stained-“

“No, apparently Vought was keeping your shield in Ohio.”

“Fucking Ohio?!”

“This doesn’t really seem like it’s about the mission anymore,” Hughie says nervously.

“It’s not, it’s about you fucking dumbass cum guzzlers keeping my shit in goddamn Florida and Ohio- Fuck!”

You give Ben a warning glare, fingers still smoking, as he rubs his arm. “They survived it, and maybe if you put on your big boy pants you’ll manage to as well. Now-“ You turn to Hughie. “You should tell MM that we don’t need the stage pass before he spends a disgusting amount of money on it.”

As Hughie takes out his phone, closing his laptop and standing to cross the van for some semblance of privacy, Ben nudges you with a grunt of your name.

“I don’t like this.” He’s frowning at nothing in particular, and you can feel tight, solid concern through your body. “It’s too fucking public.”

You wrinkle your brow at him, eyes narrowing. “Since when do you give a shit how ��public’ a mission is?”

“Since it’s a fucking liability. Too fucking public means too many fucking people that even I won’t be able to control.”

“That’s the point-“

“I fucking know ‘that’s the point’, Sunshine, you’ve made that real fucking clear.” Ben grunts, giving you an odd look as his tight feeling grows in your chest. “Doesn’t mean I have to like this fucking dumb plan.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I love it. It’s going to work, you’ll admit I’m a goddamn genius, and maybe Firecracker will start crying like a baby.”

Ben snorts, and a jab of his amusement hits you. But before he can make any snide comments, Hughie hangs up his call with MM and returns to where you and Ben are pressed against the wall of the van.

“Well, MM’s really not happy about it, but he agrees it’s smarter not to do the pass.” Hughie sighs. “And he says that Butcher’s on his way to get us. He should be here in five.”

You nod, turning to Ben with narrow eyes. “Repeat the plan to me.”

He rolls his eyes. “What, don’t you trust me, Sunshine?”

“To retain vital information about my plan that you’ve called ‘fucking stupid’ numerous times? Absolutely not.”

“It is fucking stupid.” He grunts.

You sigh. “Please, Ben. Humor me and pretend you give a shit for one minute.”

Ben’s leg tenses against yours, and something falters along your ribs. He scowls as he speaks in terse, clipped words.

“Get on the stage, make sure the cameras see me, neutralize that Firecracker broad, and beat her up, but don’t kill her for some fucking reason.” The last part is muttered resentfully, and you chose to pretend you don’t hear it.

“And then?” You prompt.

“Break the cameras, find you, and get back here.” He grumbles.

You nod in approval. “You have to make sure you break the cameras, Ben. Frenchie’s going to make sure that all the phones get fried, but you need to break the cameras. There can’t be any evidence you’re not working alone.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking got it. Kill the bitch, break the cameras.”

“Do not kill Firecracker!” Hughie says frantically, giving you a desperate look and saying your name in a pleading tone. “Please don’t let him kill her.”

You elbow Ben in the gut as you respond. “He knows, he’s just being a fucking dick about it.”

“Fuck off, Sunshine,” he mutters. “And you should let me kill her. She’s not fucking innocent, she’s a goddamn lying bitch.”

“Nope. No killing her.” You say firmly, crossing your arms. “You only get to beat her up because we need to sell the whole ‘out for revenge’ narrative. That’s-“

“The point.” Ben finishes your sentence mockingly. “I fucking got it, Sunshine.”

You kick him again. “So prove it, Pretty Boy. No killing Firecracker.”

“What if she tries to attack me? I should be allowed to fucking defend myself-“

You snort. “Her power is being a dogshit human sparkler. Her attacking you would feel like this.” You poke Ben’s arm, and he frowns.

“I thought she was a fucking fire supe. Like you.”

“I mean, yeah. She technically is. But not all fire supes can have massive fucking horse cocks like mine.”

Hughie lets out a chocking sputter, and Ben rumbles a loud laugh that makes your stomach feel soft and warm. You’re saved from dwelling on how the feeling lingers, starting to spread through your body in time with an easy delighted, sensation that’s not yours, by the opening of the van door.

“Am I bloody interrupting something?” Butcher’s dry voice is raised over Ben’s laughter, an angry and wired frown across his face. “Or can we all stop jerking each other off and do our fuckin jobs?”

“Pull the damn stick out of your ass, Butcher.” Ben rolls his eyes. “We’re not the pussies who took a year to do recon on three fucking blocks.”

"Well, someone has to make sure you don’t blow your load all over a bunch of innocent civilians again.” Butcher sneers, and Ben’s fists curl at his sides.

“I have it under control, you fucking-“

“Butcher,” you interject, feeling something hot and bloody in Ben’s chest start to grow. “We’re ready?”

Not taking his eyes off of Ben, Butcher grunts. “We’ve been ready, Love. We’re just waiting on you bloody cunts.”

“Then let’s go.” You start to stand but have barely moved from your seat when Ben’s hands are on you, holding you in place.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ben glares at you, and you feel that weird, tight concern along your skin again.

“On the mission, dumbass.” You snap, trying to pry his grip off of your thigh.

“No.” His hand doesn’t move, and the tight feeling grows. “Too fucking risky.”

“It’s my plan, Ben. Did you seriously think I was going to stay in the fucking van?”

He ignores you, turning to where Hughie and Butcher are watching the exchange, Hughie wide-eyed and Butcher scowling impatiently. “Tell her she’s fucking staying here with Cocksucker.”

“No can do, Mate. She goes where you go.” Butcher gives Ben a mocking grin, and another weird feeling writhes in your—Ben’s—gut.

“We’re right in front of fucking Vought, there’s going to be a shit ton of cameras-Fucking hell!” Ben’s hand jerks off of you, smoking and red.

“I’m a grown ass woman, Ben.” You hiss. “I know what I’m walking into, and I know what the risks are. And seeing as you somehow forgot, I’m in charge of you. I go where you go, and that’s not up for fucking debate. I can, I will handle my goddamn self.”

“Trust me, Sunshine, I know you can.” He says, facing his still-raw palm to you. “Doesn’t mean you have to fucking risk yourself for this bullshit-“

“It’s my fucking job!” You burst out. “The whole ‘find me’ part of the plan requires me to be in the fucking crowd, not sitting on my ass with Hughie!”

“What if fucking Homelander’s there? Then what?”

A painful ardor kicks up in your lungs. “He won’t be.”

“You fucking sure about that?” Ben’s voice is dripping with unconvinced cynicism.

“Why are you being so weird about this? It’s not like-“

Butcher gives an overdramatic cough over your words. “Oi, Bonnie and Clyde. I’d let you two fuck it out, but we’re on a bloody tight schedule. She’s coming, that’s that. Now get off your arses and let’s fucking move.”

“Shut the fuck up, you pussy. We’re not done with our fucking conversation.”

“Yes, we are.” You stand up, walking across the van. “Hughie, wait a bit until we’re out of the alley, then send Ben out. Ben,” you raise your hand, dropping fingers one by one as you run through the plan. “Get on stage, blast Firecracker, give her a few light punches, break the cameras, and find me. No casualties.”

“Maybe sprout some anti-patriot shit as well, Gov.” Butcher adds. “Really bloody sell it.”

You shake your head, giving Butcher an exasperated look. “No, we don’t know what Firecracker might say. What Homelander and Sage have told her. In, violent, and out. That’s it.”

You look back at Ben with a steel gaze, to find a glower of his face you’ve never seen before. His whole body is rigid, jaw clenched, mouth in a dropped scowl as his eyes burn through you. He’s looking at you in a way you aren’t able to read, but you feel like he wants you to. Everything about his face screams that you should be able to understand it, but you can’t.

“You’re, you're leaving me here with him?” Hughie’s voice is unsteady, and when you remove your eyes from Ben you find his face has grown pale.

“It’s only a few bleedin’ seconds, Lass. He don’t bite, don’t he?” Butcher gives Ben a cocky smirk.

“Fucking watch yourself, Butcher, I’ll crack your weak fucking skull and not break a sweat.” Ben snarls, eyes still on you.

Butcher scoffs, a taunting jeer in his voice. "No, you won’t. You don’t want to upset Sunshine.”

Ben’s eyes rip from you as he stands up at a freighting speed, body tense and fists clenched as he reaches his full height. For a second, you think you might have to interfere and prevent Butcher’s life from finding a brutal and inconvenient end in the alleyway, but Ben just gives him a violent, twisted growl.

“Count your fucking blessings that I have a job to do, you pussy. And sleep with one fucking eye open, because once this is over, I’m going to drown you in your own blood.”

Butcher gives him a mocking wink and turns to walk down the alley, leaving you scramble after him.

Before you’re fully out of the van, you turn and give Ben one last look. “No casualties.” You say, and almost against your will, your face draws into a look of and stay safe.

You don’t have time to read his face before you jog after Butcher, but the last thing you see of Ben is his arms still braced at his side, his eyes on yours with an almost feral look.

You catch up to Butcher right at the end of the ally, running face-first into his arm when he holds it out, halted before stepping onto the main street.

“Fucking ow, Butcher.” You rub your face where you’d collided, and over your fingers you barely have time to register the Noir baseball cap and jacket flying at your face, managing to catch them against your chest at the last second.

“Put them on.” Butcher says, and looking over the merchandise you see him leaning out the ally, watching the flowing crowds of pedestrians. People clad in red and blue Firecracker costumes and costume adjacect outfits, a few less in dark greens and Deep trademarked Love the Ocean like the Earth and Fish and Man are One shirts, and exactly one, a bouncing little girl with a tutu and big eyes, wearing a Homelander cape.

You look back down at the cap and jacket—which is a few sizes too big—and realize both were made by Uought International, and that Noir has been spelled as Noire. Looking up, you see that Butcher has pulled a Quen Maeve sweatshirt over his shirt, and is wearing green-tinted sunglasses that have little, blue Soldier Boy brand symbols along the frame.

“You shouldn’t wear those,” you point to your nose, mirroring where the sunglasses sit on Butcher’s face.

“Why, Love, you want them so you can feel close to Ben?” He mocks, and you roll your eyes.

“No, dumbass. Right now Soldier Boy is a dead American traitor who’s going to rise from the dead and commit an act of terrorism in like, seven minutes. It’s not smart to wear anything associated with him to ‘blend in’, especially if you’re pairing it with an off brand shirt of the woman who sacrificed herself to save the world from him.”

“You know just as bloody as well as me that Maeve is picking dandelions in California.”

“Yeah, and Soldier Boy isn’t dead, he’s in the van, probably trying to blackmail Hughie into buying him drugs. The internet is a liar sometimes.”

Butcher pulls off the sunglasses with a scowl and a dirty look in your direction before dropping them on your Noire jacket. “Put on your clothes so we can get a fucking move on. We wanna get outta here before Soldier Boy sees you and carries you back to the bloody van.”

You wrinkle your nose at him and pretend you don’t hear the questioning contempt of his voice, shoving the sunglasses into your back pocket before you pull on the jacket. You give Butcher a nod and step out into the current of the street.

The walk to Firecracker’s stage is silent, both you and Butcher angling your heads down from the crowd, down from the blue, cloudless sky and anyone who may be in it. The sun beats down a warmth that is only offset by the biting of the wind, and Firecracker’s voice, projected by speakers to carry over the horns and shouts of the city, starts to claw into your head.

“Patriots, are you ready to know the truth about Starlight and how she’s been kidnapping and trafficking your innocent babies?!” Her voice has the same southern drawl you’ve heard on TV, her bubbly tone in stark contrast to her words. “We’re lucky we have Homelander lookin out for us, keepin us safe, otherwise Starlight might try to take us too!”

You drop your head further, some fearful part of your brain telling you that Homelander might hear his name from the Tower and decide to make an appearance.

Fucking risky, Ben’s voice says in your head, and suddenly you can see him in your head, that strange, angered and piercing face watching you. What if fucking Homelander’s there, Sunshine? Then what? You’ll freeze up, and I won’t be there to help.

I’ll manage, you snap back at his voice, and can almost hear his scoff.

You’ll start crying and wish I was there. You wish I was there right now. You hate that you’re walking with Butcher, who’s probably going to try and kill you instead of me.

Butcher won’t kill me. He can’t.

Never stopped him from trying before. I wouldn’t let him, Sunshine.

I’m stronger than Butcher. I’m stronger than you. I’m stronger than fucking Homelander. I don’t need your help.

But you fucking want it.

“No, I don’t!” You hiss, and only realize you’ve spoken aloud when the words come out strained, caught on a lump that has formed in our throat.

You hear Butcher snort from your side. “Who the bloody hell are you talking to?”

“No one,” you mumble, feeling your face heat as you feel his disbelieving look.

“If you’re going to lose your damn mind and go all mental, you can wait until all this is done? Would be real bloody inconvenient to have to kill you ahead of schedule.”

“Not funny.” You mutter, and are saved from Butcher’s response by arriving at the crowd, stopping next to where MM watches the show in an A-Trane shirt.

“He behind you?” MM says by way of greeting, voice barely raised over the children’s choir rendition of God Bless the USA, complete with trumpet and string accompaniment.

“Should be,” Butcher looks over the heads of the audience, scanning for something that he doesn’t seem to find. “Frenchie gonna be ready when Soldier Boy gets here?”

“Kimiko got them up on a roof across the street, and Annie will get him the electricity he needs when it happens.”

You glance behind you, hoping that Hughie can manage to keep Ben in the van a few minutes more. “We should move,” you say, turning back to MM. “We don’t want to be anywhere near the path to the stage.”

MM nods and begins to lead you and Butcher deeper into the crowd, weaving through the frenzied cheers and whoops as the choir walks off the stage. You stop at the edge of the crowd, off to side enough to avoid any crossfire, but with Firecracker still in a clear line of sight.

She’s staring down the camera, her toothy and smug smile projected on a Jumbotron as she speaks. “I don’t know about y’all, but I think Starlight should come down here and tell us why! Why she won’t show us any proof of her claims that Homelander is a murderer! When, need I remind y’all, Homelander was found innocent! Has Starlight been found innocent?” You watch her cup her ear, listening for the crowds shouted responses.

“Jesus Christ, she has to know this is bullshit, right?” You mutter to yourself, and MM chuckles beside you.

“As far as I can tell, she really believes all the bullshit she’s saying.” He says with a shake of his head. “She got this job cause her head was up Homelander’s ass for free, she ain’t gonna pull it out now that Vought’s paying.”

You hum, looking up at the sky nervously. “MM, has Hughie texted that Ben-“

You’re cut off as screams sound from down the street, and your head shoots to where you had just stood, watching as the crowd beings to franticly part for something you can’t yet see. Butcher and MM are stiff beside you, Butcher’s gun already in his hand as MM’s lingers at his hip. Firecracker’s voice has faltered through the speakers, her eyes wide and face slack on the Jumbotron. The feeling in you, the ardor against your spine and clawing at your skin, begins, and you try not to watch the sky. The sun is bright and there are no city lights, the only thing you can hear is the terrified people, but Homelander’s not here, so you’ll be fine.

The feeling is in your blood and gut, but you’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

Are you sure about that? Ben’s voice says in your head.

Shut up. You tell it, just as Firecracker lets out a shrill sound that echos down the streets.

You look up and find Ben has gotten to the foot of the stage, only his side profile visible to you. Firecracker has a shaking finger pointing at him, her mouth agape as she watches him walk closer, closer, closer. You hadn’t been sure what to expect once it began. For Firecracker to scream, beg, cry, fight, run, or collapse once it became that her life was gone from her hands. Of all the scenarios you’d traced, all the outcomes with more blood, less blood, more scream or quick silence, you hadn’t thought she start to laugh. Doubled over, cackling glee, tears in her eyes visible on the Jumbotron.

“Well, look here, folks! No need to be afraid, it’s going to be just fine! Soldier Boy here’s a guest, and he’s going to tell us all about how Starlight tricked him and forced him to fake his death!”

You watch Ben freeze on stage, and the Jumbotron begins to broadcast his tight, angered face to the steadily regrouping audience.

“Fuck,” MM breathes out. “They’re going to flip him.”

Butcher says your name roughly. “You need to get there, get him in bloody line. We can’t have him running off with Vought.”

You need to move. Every part of you is screaming that you need to go, go, get there and remind Ben that you’re watching and keeping him in check. But you can’t, frozen as you watch his movements on the Jumbotron, trying to keep control when your blood has run cold, and every breath you take is caught against that lump in your throat. You can’t move, and all you can do is watch him on stage, eyes scanning the crowd as he watches them look at him in awe.

Then your falling forward, barely managing to catch your footing before your knees hit the pavement, turning to see MM on the phone speaking in a commanding, measured tone, and Butcher reaching forward to push you once more. You take another, smoother step back before he can, but you don’t wait for him to bark an order for you to go. You turn back to the crowd with the bass of the speakers barely drowning feeling, trying to weave without touching anyone as it grows and grows.

You’re at the base of the stage now, and before you can start to figure out a subtle way to alert him, his eyes lock with yours.

What the fuck is happening. His gaze asks at it runs through you, his body turned as though he may start to move in your direction, and Firecracker's voice rings the air.

“Lovely, you brought her too!” Both you and Ben turn to where she stands, smiling and looking at you. “Our very special guest, The Anomaly!”

Your blood isn’t cold. It’s burning, everything is burning inside of you, scraping to get out. But there are people moving around you now, people everywhere, and someone is nudging you forwards to the stage until a smiling face is pulling you up and moving you right next to Ben. It’s so bright, and you’re burning, and when you turn your head out to the crowd, you see yourself. Up on the Jumbotron. And there are cameras. Cameras everywhere. Cameras that are following your movements as Firecracker speaks.

“I know ya’ll don’t recognize her, she hasn’t been around for as long as this patriot!” Your eyes tear from the screen just in time to see Firecracker playfully slap Ben’s arm, to watch his whole body go rigid as she did. “But she’s a real good friend, and she and Homelander go way back!”

You’re cold again. Cold and angry and sharp. Everything is sharp again, the faces of the audience are clear, and Firecracker’s words are no longer miles away. No, she’s right in front of you with a wide smile of teeth, and you can hear drums.

Drums.

You look down, and your foot is bumped against Ben’s. His eyes aren’t watching you anymore, fixed on Firecracker, but everything sharp in him, in you, is pointed at her.

“If fact,” Firecracker has turned back to the crowd, hands placed over her heart with a simpering face. “She and Homelander? Well they were childhood sweethearts! Supes, raised together, only having each other. And when Homelander went off to become our great hero, she stepped away from the spotlight.” Firecracker takes a large step back, turning back to you. “She didn’t want the fame. She just wanted him!”

A chorus of sickly sweet awwws ripples through the crowd, and the feeling is behind your eyes.

“Homelander was, is, the love of her life. Which is why, when Starlight and her team of devil-worshippers came to kill her, The Anomaly fought with all she had to stop them.”

It’s under your nails.

“She wasn’t strong enough, though, and they dragged her away from where Homelander had been keeping her safe to let her bleed out, far away from the man she loved.”

It’s on your teeth.

“Love that kept her alive, love that made her find another who had been wronged, another who would do anything for Homelander-“

Firecracker makes a gesturing sweep to Ben, and the world begins to blur.

“Soldier Boy! And now they’re here, to reunite with their lover, their son, and have the happy endings they deserve!”

The feeling is everywhere. Ben is pressed closely against you, and the drums are in your ribs. Firecracker is still smiling and her teeth are so white. The crowd is cheering and whooping and you’re going to crack-

Something smashes off the stage, and Firecracker’s smile drops. You make yourself follow her gaze, the movement like moving through mud, and see smashed cameras at MM’s feet. Gunshots ring out, and something above you shatters as Butcher appears, gun raised.

Firecracker’s face has contorted, cheery persona vaporized and she starts to shout in a furious wail.

“No! My cameras! My show- Do you have any idea how hard that speech was to memorize?! I worked so hard, and you ruined it you fucking-“

She flys across the stage, Ben taking large, violent strides to where she lands with a crack. You can see her fear when she looks up to where he stops above her, the light growing in his chest.

“Help!” She screams, looking around at the stage audience and tech workers. “He’s- he’s fucking crazy, he’s going to kill me! Someone- someone fucking stop him!”

The stage audience.

The tech workers.

You’re running. Words aren’t fast enough, and Ben’s too far gone for them anyway. You are, though. You’re flying, tearing across the stage and throwing yourself against Ben. He falls to the ground, the light still building, and twists to try and throw you off of him, his eyes so deep into himself you don’t think he knows it’s you.

Pressed against him, you can only feel the drums, and you brace yourself as the light in him explodes.

It’s painful. A blinding and unforgiving pain that sears through your body. Numbness follows behind it though, fast and empty relief, and when your eyes can see once more Ben is watching you with horror across every feature.

He looks like he’s going to roar at you, tear into and across you. You can feel fury and something deep into his chest that’s screaming.

Firecracker lets out a breathy, sobbing laugh from somewhere to your side, and even if nothing in him wavers, it saves you from whatever Ben was going to say.

“Shit, you're both pathetic. You can’t even take out one person?” Firecracker starts to pull herself up to her feet. “I don’t know why Homelander was so worried about y’all. You’re weak.” She reaches down, grabbing the back of your tattered Noire jacket and pulling you off of Ben. “I mean, I expected more from at least you, Soldier Boy. He looks up to you still, you know. Was so hopeful you’d flip. But,” she shakes her head sadly. “What a disappointment.”

You’re not sure how it happens, let alone where the energy comes from, but you twist in Firecracker’s hold and punch her square in the face. She drops her hold, stumbling back as her nose starts to fill with blood. You never hit the floor though, Ben’s arm looping around your waist as he draws himself upwards.

Everything is sharp and hungry anger that is driving in you—in Ben—to Firecracker. The thing in his chest is still clawing at him, and you can feel your own glacial fervor, but nothing is as strong as the hungry anger.

Firecracker doesn’t feel it though, the storm that's brewing. And she doesn’t know when to quit.

“You worthless bitch.” She sneers through her fingers, trying to plug the blood. “You frigid little whore.”

“Watch it.” Ben growls, arm tensing around your waist.

“Oh, fuck off, you fossil! She’s tricking you, sinking her little claws into her like she did Homelander, with her stupid little songs and dances!”

“Shut up,” the words don’t come out in the firm command you wanted. Your voice sounds pathetic, weak against your ears.

“Do you have any idea how fucking exhausting you’ve been?” Firecracker whines. “Everything was amazing until you came back. He was starting to trust me! And then Sage comes back, accuses Homelander of lyin to her, and says you’re alive. And all of a sudden that’s all that fucking matters! He’s just angry and hurt and it’s so annoying.”

The world is less focused.

“I’ve heard Moon River so many fucking times this week, it makes my skin fucking crawl. I don’t even get it! What can you do that I can’t? I want him, you don’t even care to stick around-“

Nothing is in focus. It’s only Firecracker, her voice, and the feeling.

“I love him, I am perfect for him, I am blessed and chosen and you’re just a lonely little stuck up slut who didn’t even wait after leaving him and everything he did for you-“

Her teeth are so white and you don't think you can breathe.

“Everything he gave you-“

You can feel ghosts of the pain, see the bright light as they push the fire into you. Can feel it now, trying to get out.

“To turn around and spread your fucking whore legs!”

Something in you snaps. Cracks, echoes through your body, and explodes. You’re everywhere, the fire bleeding from you. You can’t see anything but the white room around you, and you have to get out. So you let everything go. It’s just you and the fire, cocooning around you and keeping you safe.

Just you and the fire and something else that is gripping around you. Something in your chest that is thrashing and trying to keep you close. It feels safe too, so you let it stay as everything else continues to burn.

A deep, roaring voice is calling your name. It sounds like the thing in your chest, and it reverberates through you as if it’s pressed against you. There are screams too, broken and raw screams, but you can’t see where they’re coming from, and they don’t feel safe like the voice.

The thing gripping around you feels heavier. It feels safer. There’s no city lights, you can’t even really remember what they might look like, but there’s music. Soft and deep in your ear, wrapping around you. Putting something out along your skin. You’re getting weak, and you feel cold.

You can’t stop. Something in your head tells you. You falter, and you’re back in the room.

But you’re so tired. The grip feels safe. And the music is settling into you and feels so good.

So when the world goes black, the last thing you feel is the thing in your chest reaching for you, and you could swear it breathes in relief.

————

He’d figured it out. The tapping. Firecracker had said Moon River, and he’d realized that was it. The rhythm of the verses matched that incessant tapping of Hers perfectly. He’d taken a fucking gamble, dragging the verses from somewhere deep in his brain as she’d been consumed by the fire, and it had paid off when She’d collapsed into him. The fire still lingered long after She closed her eyes, long after Ben stopped humming. Most of the stage was ash, from the hollowed, disgusting bodies of Firecracker and a few unfortunate audience members to the still flaming stage curtains.

Ben picked her up, and her eyes didn’t even flutter. Her body was still burning, and his hands protested in pain against her skin, but he bit down his pain with ease. Ben wasn’t a pussy, and he’d heal. This was more important.

A thought that had everything in him—except the feeling he’d been keeping in his gut that had somehow managed to crawl into his chest—very fucking irritated.

Ben turned, carrying Her off the stage to get her as far away from here as possible, only to find both MM and Butcher waiting, guns pointed right at his face.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He growled. They didn’t have any fucking time for these dramatics. As far as he fucking understood from Her explanations, all that shit show had just been broadcast through the fucking nation. Homelander was probably on his way, and Ben wouldn’t be able to do his fucking job and wipe the floor with that pussy if She was still unconscious and the stupid fucking thing in his chest was worried.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Gov.” Butcher jeered back. “We’re not letting you off that bloody easy.”

Ben glowered at him, and his desire to throw Butcher against the nearest concrete wall was only barely defeated by the godforsaken need to get Her somewhere safe. “We don’t have fucking time for this. Move out of my fucking way, or I’ll make you.”

“Take your best fucking shot, cunt.” Butcher taunted.

“Last fucking chance to get out of my way.” Ben could hear the hitch in both their hearts, uneven from the growing steadiness in Hers.

“We ain’t moving, Soldier Boy.” MM angled his gun higher. “And you’re not taking her.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you fucking pussies!” Ben roared, whatever patience he’d managed to hold onto vanished. “Homelander is probably on his fucking way, and unless you want him to take her, we need to fucking leave right fucking now!”

Both men blink, Ben’s words hanging in the air just long enough that he was starting to get ready to just fucking push through them. He’d deal with Her anger about it later, when she was awake and they were far fucking away from cages and boxes.

But MM lowered his gun, narrowing his eyes at Ben. “You’re going to let us take you back to the safe house?” His voice had a tone of disbelief that Ben didn’t fucking appreciate.

“Fucking hell, yes. Now fucking move your dumb fucking asses before I change my fucking mind!”

MM looked over at Butcher, whose gun was still aimed at Ben’s head. “The kid’s bringing the van round?”

“He bloody should be.“ Butcher grunted, but didn’t move. “But that don’t mean shit, I ain’t trusting this cunt to go quietly.”

“I’m certainly not going to go quietly if you keep a fucking gun in my face.” Ben sneered. “I might not do jackshit to me, but it’s goddamn rude when I’m trying to fucking help.”

“Why should we trust that?” MM asked coldly, glancing down at Her in Ben’s arms. “This is your ticket out. You’re probably just going to kill us in the van while she’s still out.”

Ben fucking knew that, he wasn’t an fucking idiot. He could hear Her heartbeat, fully steady as sleep held her under, could feel the scalding heat of her body almost fully faded. When he glanced down at her face, it painted into an empty ease. But when he blinked, it would flash back to just before she’d burst. Afraid. Only pure terror on Her face as Firecracker screamed about Homelander.

She wasn’t going back there.

“I guess you’re going to have to take a fucking gamble.” Ben held MM’s stare. “Because you have five seconds to fucking move before I kill both you pussies and leave with her.”

Some part of Ben still managed to be surprised when they exchanged one last, tense look, MM’s eyes flaring at Butcher, who dropped his gun with an angry huff. When MM started to walk away, likely to where Cocksucker waited with the van, and Butcher only said, “Breathe one wrong breath, Soldier Boy, and I’ll put you right back under.”

Ben wanted to. He wanted to step just far out enough of line that he’d be justified in bashing Butcher’s smug, pussy fucking head against the curb. But he didn’t, just keeping Her in place against him until they were back at the safe house, glaring at the whole sorry fucking lot of Her team as they watched Ben hold Her in the corner. Her heartbeat stayed steady, and it kept the drum in him from bursting, aided by the thing in his chest settling back into him the more distance grew between Her and the stage, Vought Tower, and Homelander.

When they reached the safe house, Ben didn’t bother to pause, waiting only for Butcher to open the door, before he was moving through the hall in tight, bounding steps. Up the stairs, shoving the door to Her room open, laying her on the bed above her sheets. She let out a little sigh as he let her go, and Ben hated how it made the thing in his chest wake up. He had to get himself under fucking control. She was safe, he’d done what he fucking needed to, and he wasn’t about to be a goddamn creep and watch her sleep.

The seconds were starting to stretch though, as he watched Her, listened to the steady sound of her heart. She looked so fucking peaceful, and it was calming the thing in his chest.

Fuck, he didn’t like how easy it felt. Especially as she let out another small sigh, rolling over with an arm stretching out, and he wanted to touch her upturned palm. That realization snapped him out of whatever stupid fucking trance he’d been dragged into, and he managed to turn, walking towards the door.

Before he left though—practically against his will—he turned back just in time to hear another sigh and see Her body curl into the mattress.

“Sleep well, Sunshine.” He muttered and tried to ignore the last sigh released from her chest, and how if ran through him.

When Ben got down to the kitchen, goddamn fucking Cocksucker and Starlight were waiting for him.

“What are you cum guzzlers still fucking doing here?” He grumbled, pushing past them to get to the pantry.

“Is she ok?” Cocksucker asked, and Ben shrugged, grabbing a bag of half-eaten jerky from the top shelf.

“She’ll fucking live.” He ignored the flash of Her fearful face in his head, and how his grip on the bag turned to steel. “One of you better answer my goddamn question.”

“We need to talk to her,” Starlight said softly.

“Don’t hold your fucking breath, she’s out cold.” Ben snapped.

Starlight sighed. “We’ll wait.”

“No, you won’t.” Ben turned around to face her. “She needs to fucking rest.”

“Cocksucker look between Starlight and Ben nervously. “We need to make sure-“

“She did you a fucking favor.” Ben growled. “Firecracker’s not a problem anymore, and her stupid plan fucking worked.”

“She killed four people.” Starlight said tightly. “And after Ashley, we need to know that she’s still with us.”

“With you?” Ben scoffed, saying Her name in the same exasperated tone. “Her? You think she’s going to turn against you fucking pussies?”

“She’s- she’s been weird.” Cocksucker stuttered. “And you’ve gotten closer than we thought-“

“Fuck off.” Ben snorted. “I haven’t turned her, if that’s what your dumb little pea-brains think.”

“We’re not who you have to convince, Soldier Boy.” Starlight watched Ben with a frown. “I trust her. Hughie trusts her.”

“Then what the fuck-“

“Butcher,” Cocksucker said softly. “MM. Mallory. They’re worried she’s going to be a liability.”

“Then they can come fucking tell me their fucking selves.” Ben hissed. “Now get the fuck out.”

Starlight looked like she was going to push back, and Ben was ready to throw her through the door himself, but Cocksucker placed his hand on her back, and something passed silently between them.

“Fine,” Starlight sighed, giving Ben one last, tired look. “If you promise to tell us when she’s awake, I can try and hold them off.” Her eyes narrowed. “For her.”

Ben grunted. “Deal.”

And they were gone, and Ben was alone in the kitchen.

She didn’t wake up for three full days. Three, long, insufferably quiet days where it was just Ben. Three days of pacing, of eating alone, of watching TV all through the damn night because he couldn’t sleep even if he fucking tried. Three days of the awful thing in his chest making up stupid excuse to open the door to her room and check to see if she had vanished. She never had, she would always be twisted on the bed, heart steady, face empty. At some point Ben moved Her under the covers, after he made up an excuse to touch her and found her not burning like he’d been checking for, but freezing cold. Three long days of wishing She was awake, reminding himself he didn’t fucking need Her awake, and the thing in his chest roaring that he did.

He tried to push it down, and almost succeeded, but at the end of the second day he walked downstairs from where he’d been standing outside her door for a disgustingly long time—finally managing to not push in and check on her—to find Butcher in the living room.

“She’s still out.” Ben had grunted, and Butcher had only shrugged.

“I ain’t here for her. We need to have a little chat.”

“I’m good.”

“I wasn’t bloody asking.”

Ben remembered wondering in the moment if he was already in enough hot water that killing Butcher wouldn’t really matter. “You’re playing a game you can’t fucking win.” He’d warned, and even Butcher’s heart hadn’t stuttered.

“I’ll be out of your hair in a flash, Gov. But not until you fucking listen.” Butcher managed to have more intelligence than Ben thought him capable of, and didn’t wait to hear Ben’s answer before he began. “Her plan, somehow, bloody worked. Most of the media coverage is sayin that Firecracker started panicking and lying to try and keep herself alive. You’re being label as a crazed lunatic, out for revenge.”

“Then what’s the fucking problem-“

“Her. Everyone’s buying the story about Her and Homelander, thinkin you kidnapped her after we tried to kill her.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t even make any fucking sense.”

“Don’t need to make sense. It’s the narrative Vought got, and they’re running with it. As far as the public knows, you’re back, out for bloody and evil revenge, and are holding her hostage to hurt Homelander.” Butcher narrowed his eyes at Ben. “And they’ve reached out. They want to meet with you.”

“They?” Ben paused, ready to grab Butcher’s tongue and make him stop talking in fucking riddles. “Who the fuck is they?”

“Vought.” Butcher said shortly. “Sage. Homelander.”

Ben snorted. “Fuck no. We’re not bringing her anywhere near that goddamn pussy and his conniving bitch.”

“Good thing they only want to talk to you, then, ain’t it.”

That made Ben pause, eyes narrowing at Butcher as suspicion had begun to build in his chest. “The fuck are you talking about.”

“One hour, a truce, just you, me, Starlight, Homelander, and Sage. At the old Starlight Fund building. Just talking.”

Ben snorted. “You dumb enough to believe that?”

“Nope. But you agree, it happens.”

Ben grunted. He didn’t trust any of it. He didn’t trust Homelander to have no ulterior motive. He didn’t trust Sage to not be plotting something. He didn’t trust Butcher to not have a fucking trick up his stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt. “And if don’t.”

Butcher shrugged. “Then this conversation never happened.”

Ben had said your name carefully, trying to feel out whatever it was he fucking knew Butcher was hiding. “What about her?”

“She’d stay here.”

Ben raised his brows at that. “You’d trust me without her?”

“Fucking hell, no. Not if hell bloody froze over. Don’t trust you with her. We’d set up something to make you go night-night if you get all nuclear. CIA got more than enough gas to put you under, they can spare some for our lovely uses.”

“How long does the offer stand?” Ben asked, pushing down the drum.

Butcher had shrugged. “Until you give an answer.”

“I’ll think about it.” Ben said. “Now get the fuck out.”

Butcher chuckled dryly. “Alright, Gov. Keep your damn pants on.” As Butcher walked, hands in pockets, down the hall, he paused as he passed Ben, and shoved something into his hands. “She dropped those on her way to the stage. Good luck when she wakes up, Mate. I’d keep her away from the telly.”

Ben had looked down at what Butcher had given him as the man walked away, brow furrowing at what he found.

Shitty, off-brand Soldier Boy sunglasses.

Ben had placed them in his room to give to Her later. But another full day had passed before she woke up, and Ben’s mind had not stilled the whole fucking time.

He hadn’t been lying. Ben thought about Butcher’s—Homelander’s—offer. Constantly. Starting with the fact that he didn’t have a goddamn thing to say to Homelander. The shock of their relation had long passed, fading into a numbness of just another fucking job for Ben to do, just another way in which he had to be alone. Then the numbness had been replaced by a blinding wrath. A disgust from what he had done. Ben wasn’t a saint, saints were weak, self-righteous whiners. But he wasn’t a fucking monster. He did what had to be done, and a little more to make sure he didn’t have to do it again. He didn’t take women and lock them in cages. He didn’t hurt people until the singular thought of him made them afraid. People fear Ben, yes. But just as much as they should.

Ben didn’t fear Homelander. She didn’t fear Ben. But She feared Homelander. A weak, fucking pathetic man who had needed to break someone stronger than him, someone worth more than him powerless, to feel big. She was worth so much more than Homelander that she wanted to help people. Worth so much more that she still somehow looked at the world and found it worth something. She found worth in fucking everything. Everything was amusing to Her, everything was beautiful, everything had value and meaning. Ben fucking hated it. It leaked into him, and felt fucking strange. Because he could hear Her in his head, saying Pretty Boy, this is an opportunity. Don’t be a petty baby and waste it.

And that was where the thoughts would loop. Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Homelander had hurt Her and Ben never would. She’d find a way to use this, though, and She’d want him to go. But Ben didn’t want to talk to Homelander. Over and over until Ben heard Her heartbeat stutter, heard shuffling around in Her room, and had to fight the thing roaring in his chest to sprint up the stairs. He somehow managed to remain seated on the couch, everything in him fucking strained to stay in place as she tapped down the stairs and cleared her throat behind him.

Ben turned to find Her watching him with eyes still crusted from sleep. When She spoke, her voice was hoarse, and her words were quiet.

“How long was I out?”

“Few days.” Ben answered, trying to watch her passively, to pretend he wasn’t studying her every feature. He wasn’t even fucking sure what he was looking for himself.

“What-“ She took a deep breath. “What happened?”

Ben paused, finding her eyes again. Keep her away from the telly, Butcher had said, and Ben had immediately checked to see what the fuck he was talking about. He’d found the answer fast: photos of Firecracker’s scorched body, interviews with the families of the audience members who had met the same fate. Speculation about what Ben was doing to Her, fabricated “evidence” of Her and Homelander’s love. A complete, well-developed, entirely bullshit story about her life. Born in the same hometown as Homelander, happily giving up her life to support him, working instead behind the scenes in Vought marketing and cooking in her free time.

Homelander didn’t have a hometown, that pussies whole story was even more bullshit Vought propaganda than Ben’s was.

She wouldn’t “give up her life” to support anyone. And if she did, they’d have to hear her bitch about it until they fucking died.

Ben had once heard her call marketing “a plague upon human culture and societal development” during the third commercial break of one of his football games.

Everyone would know if She had tried to cook Homelander food, because it would’ve killed him.

Butcher had wanted Ben to lie. But Ben fucking knew She wouldn’t have lied to him. And he knew She would find out the truth somehow and be a real bitch about Ben lying to her.

“Three audience members and Firecracker died. You passed out. We got back here.”

“Oh,” she said softly, but didn’t look away, and Ben could see something fragile in her eyes fracture. Hear the taps of Moon River begin. “What are they saying?”

“They?”

“Vought.”

“Your plan worked.” Ben grunted, and the rhythm of Her heart told him she knew there was more. “But Firecracker’s bullshit stuck. I’m being painted as a revenge-blind maniac, and you’re being painted as my victim.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “If anything, you’re my victim.”

Ben felt his mouth twitch. “That’s what I keep fucking saying.”

She let out another, smaller huff of amusement before her face fell back into that soft state, her eyes still tired as she watched him. “That’s all?”

He nodded. “That’s all.”

She gave one last sigh, and it sounded so weak. He wanted to grab her and figure out a way to make her move. Get her to sit next to him and laugh so the fucking thing in his chest would let go of his lungs. Before he could, though, she turned and padded back up the stairs, her door closing behind her.

Another day passed before Ben even fucking saw her again. She’d slunk into the kitchen around dinner, hair tangled and eyes hollow, heating up a box-meal before placing it on a plate and carrying it back upstairs. The next day was the same, and Ben had tried to grab her and make her fucking talk to him, and she'd stared at him with a wide, empty gaze.

“We need to fucking talk.” He’d grunted.

“Please don’t.” Her voice had been so fucking quiet.

“Don’t what?” He’d growled. “Fucking talk to you? You’re just going to never fucking talk to me again?”

She’d given a small shake of her head. “I don’t want to talk. Please.”

“You’re being fucking weird.”

“Please.” She’d sounded desperate. “I can’t talk. Please.”

He’d never heard her say please so many times. He’d only seen her like this, a weak and fearful girl, once.

He’d hated it on the Neuman mission. He hated it now.

He hated she looked weaker now. Hopeless. He hated how he relented, let go of her, and she’d gone back upstairs and didn’t come back down. Two more days passed, and the only way Ben knew she was alive was the sounds of music coming from her room and the food that vanished from the kitchen overnight.

Ben was going to lose his fucking mind. The last time she’d avoided him this much had been the beginning, and, fuck, that had been better than this. She’s seen him and fought with him, tearing him to pieces as he did the same to her. Stood her fucking ground against him, a completely insufferable, violent, angry bitch of a woman. Even after they’d called truce on their war, she’d remained a powerfully wrathful, unrelenting pain in Ben’s ass. Now she wouldn’t stand in the same fucking room as him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

So, on the fifth day, Ben banged down her door, ready to demand she fucking tell him who to kill to fix this.

He found her curled in her bed, staring far ahead into nothing. Something hit his nose that he forced himself to ignore, and she didn’t even move as he pushed into the room.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked gruffly. She didn’t answer, so he said her name roughly. “What’s fucking wrong with you?”

“Why did you do it?” Her voice was light—frail—as she stared ahead.

“Do fucking what?”

She finally looked at him. “Why did you go back, with Sage, why did you fucking do that?”

“I saved your life, Sunshine. And you never even fucking thanked me.” Ben knew his words were cruel, shooting to hurt Her. But maybe she’d fucking fight him. Fucking do something that wasn’t just fucking sitting there.

“You should’ve left me.” She whispered, Ben rolled his eyes, and her voice raised. Not to a scream, but a high-pitched, frantic tone of desperation. “You should’ve! You should’ve left me and run! You could’ve been free, why did you do that! Why! You should’ve just fucking left me!”

This was worse, Ben knew. So much fucking worse. “Why are you being so fucking dramatic-“

“You should’ve left me to die!” She screamed. “You should’ve just left me to die! Why didn’t you just let me fucking die?!”

Ben stared at Her as she started to cry, shaking on the bed, trying to push herself further back into its frame. She’d tucked her head into her arms, sobs wracking through her whole body as she held herself, fingers digging into her skin. No smoke was rising, no tapping or chewing, just Her tears falling as she let out another, broken scream. Ben was frozen, he didn’t know how to fucking deal with this. Fuck, he barely knew how to deal with Her when she wasn’t breaking down in front of him.

Through sobs, Ben heard Her say it again. “It would be better if you had just let me die.”

Ben didn’t need the thing in his chest to tell him to move. He crossed the room in two long steps, dropping on the bed next Her.

“Look at me.” She didn’t, so Ben grabbed her wrists and pulled them down. “Sunshine, fucking look at me.”

She glanced down at where he still held her and blinked, letting out a stuttered breath. Her voice was still so weak when she spoke, “What?”

“Fucking look at me.” He growled one last time, and she finally did, her eyes still so empty. “You’re being fucking stupid.”

She gaped at him, disbelief finally filling her expression. It wasn’t the amusement or rage Ben wanted back, but it was something.

“What?’

“You’re being a goddamn idiot. Things would…” The words vomited out of him. “Be a lot fucking worse if you were dead.”

She shook her head, the hopeless looking creeping back. “I killed four people, they’d still be alive-“

"Maybe.” Ben grunted. “Maybe not. But they, along with a few more, would still be dead if you hadn’t knocked me down. Which was even fucking stupider than you’re being now, but we’ll fix that later.”

“Fix that?” She gave him a sharp look, words still choked. “I thought we agreed not to fix each other.”

“You agreed not to fix me. I made no such fucking promises.”

There was a silence for a second before She spoke again. “I don’t want you to ‘fix me’. I want to care that I…” Her stuttered, and she took another shaky breath before pushing them out. “I hurt people.”

“That’s to job, Sunshine.”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “I didn’t even want the job anyway.”

Ben watched her, wrists still in his hands, face faraway, and eyes still lined with tears. An image flashed in front of him, of Her a few years younger, singing karaoke and crying about stupid, normal shit. Something Ben himself had never done, something Ben wouldn’t even know how to miss. The image lingered in his head, her smile carefree, singing loudly and off-key, no blood on her hands, and the thing in his chest was angry.

“Ben?” She said softly, and the image vanished. “I’m sorry.”

He scowled. “Why are you fucking apologizing to me?”

“You don’t want to deal with this, with me. It’s not- it’s not useful to cry over spilled milk-“

“Shut up,” he snapped. “No, it’s not useful. For me. For Butcher. For Homelander. You get to whine over it, because-“

“Because I’m a woman?” She asked dryly, and he glared at her.

“No, smartass. Because you’re not like us. You didn’t fucking choose this.”

“You didn’t choose that,” she nodded to his chest. “Do you get to cry?”

“I don’t cry.” He said firmly, and She tilted her head at him in a way he didn’t like. “But I get to be angry. You get to be angry. And if you need to have a little breakdown to be angry, then so fucking be it.”

“But I killed people-“

Ben rolled his eyes. “Three Homelander supporters and Firecracker. Real fucking contributors to society, I’m sure.”

“They were still people.” She pushed. “People who I killed. People who would be alive-”

“If you say ‘if you were dead’, I’ll kill you myself.” Ben snapped.

She stared at him in disbelief and something harsher flickered in Her eyes. Fucking finally.

“I’d like to see you fucking try, Pretty Boy.”

He huffed a laugh. “I’ll wipe the floor with your ass, Sunshine.”

“I’ll make you regret crawling out of your mother in the first place, cunt.” She taunted, and Ben felt a wide grin on his face.

“I’m sure you will, you bitch.” Ben gave her a sweeping look. Her matted hair, tear crusted and red eyes, the smell he’d been pushing down starting to feel fucking visible. “But you need to fucking shower first, you smell like the shit you’ve been wallowing in.”

She glared at him, and for a second Ben thought she’d keep fighting him, or worse, start crying again, but she just gave a light tug against where he still held her.

“Can’t fucking shower if you won’t let me move, Ben.” She said flatly, and Ben rolled his eyes as he let go.

“Fucking drama queen,” he muttered, and She gave him a sarcastic, toothy smile as she stood.

“Eat me.”

“I would if you’d let me, Sunshine.” He called after Her, and though she closed the door with a slam, Ben still heard her heart flutter.

He waited as the water ran and tried not to think about Her, naked, in just the other room. Tried not to think about the relief the thing in his chest had felt when she’d stopped crying, the satisfaction it felt when he’d gotten her to laugh, and the stupid fucking anger it had felt at everything when she’d broken in front of him. He didn’t let himself dwell on the way it made him sit here. Fucking waiting for her like a lost goddamn puppy. Wanting to make sure she was okay. She was fine, she wasn’t sobbing and screaming, so she was fucking fine.

But what if She’s not, you fucking ass? The thing growled. What if she’s just waiting for you to leave?

Ben fucking hated that it worked, and he stayed on the bed.

What if She needs you? It hissed. What if she wants you to stay?

Ben loathed that even more. Because it echoed in his brain, and made him listen intently for any sounds of distress over the water, made him sit rigid and alert until the door opened.

She walked out, a towel wrapped around her body. She blinked at him once, and Ben couldn’t fucking figure out if she was even surprised he was there.

“Clothes,” she mumbled, walking to her dresser. Ben grunted, and watched her return to the bathroom, the door closing behind her once more.

Maybe he should go now. It was late, it had been a weird, long fucking day. He should fucking go and put some distance between the thing in his stupid fucking chest and Her-

The door opened, and She walked over to drop back on the bed, a small smile on her face.

“You’re real shit at comforting people, Pretty Boy.”

Fine. He’d fucking stay.

“Good.” Ben grunted. “And it fucking worked on you. Didn’t even get a damn ‘thank you.’”

He felt Her hand on his arm, and looked at her face, soft and open. “Thank you.”

He grunted again, staring back at the wall, and she chuckled.

“I mean, it was still a shit job, but it was so shit it looped around into being remarkably effective.”

“Doesn’t count as a damn thank you, Sunshine, if you fucking insult me right after.”

She shrugged. “Then do a better fucking job next time, Pretty Boy.”

Ben snorted. “Don’t hold your damn breath.” She didn’t respond, and he turned to find Her watching him, lips in a thin frown with her brow gently wrinkled. “I can hear the fucking gears in your head, Sunshine.” He said. “Say what you’re fucking thinking.”

“I’m going to ask you something once. If your answer is no, you’re not allowed to talk about it again.”

Ben frowned. Every time she started a question with a phrase like that, it ended up being something fucking insane. “Okay.” He said shortly, morbid curiosity getting the better of him.

“If you want, you don’t have to, and I don’t expect you to-“

“Quit fucking edging and spit it out.”

She glared at him. “You can stay in here tonight.”

Ben stared at Her, the thing in his chest clawing against him. “What?”

“You can sit in my bed. If you want. I know you won’t sleep, and I won’t sleep well, and I’d probably end up sitting in your room at some point-“

“Why?” Ben cut off Her rambling, frowning.

She held his gaze, her uneven heart the only sign of her nerves. “I don’t-“ she sighed. “I don’t want to be alone. You’d just be sitting here, nothing else. But if you don’t-“

“Fine.” He answered, and the thing in his chest roared.

“Oh,” she paused, and Ben was pretty goddamn sure She’d expected him to say no. “Okay. Good.”

She pulled herself under the covers, looking up at Ben from her back. He didn’t like what that made him feel, and how easy it would be to just pull Her against him and keep her there.

“Thank you.” She said with a small smile. “No insults."

“Whatever,” Ben grumbled, leaning back in a pointless attempt to find a comfortable position. “Just saving you the fucking walk to my room.”

“You’re a saint,” she mumbled sarcastically, eyes drooping. “I’m sure this must have been very hard for you.”

“I’ll live.” He said, watching Her. “I need you functional, Sunshine. Small, stupid fucking price to pay.”

“You need me?” She breathed out, a sleepy smile on her face.

Ben rolled his eyes. “You burn, I burn.” He echoed the words she'd said before. “I’m not going to let you fucking burn. You don’t get away from me that easy.”

“How sweet.” She whispered, eyes fully closing. “I won’t let you burn either, Pretty Boy.”

Ben wanted to protest, and tell Her that he wasn’t sweet, just practical, and he—despite the protests of the thing in his chest—didn’t need her at all. But Her breathing became steady and even, fast asleep in seconds at his side, and he couldn’t fucking bring himself to wake her. So Ben just studied Her sleeping face, not empty, not twisted in pain, a soft smile playing on her lips. He should fucking go, She was asleep and that’s all She’d fucking needed from him. But he stayed in place, and watcher Her like a fucking creep. Her peaceful face, smooth heartbeat, and gentle breaths soothing the thing in his chest. Ben need to get himself under fucking control, he was being fucking pathetic.

But he stayed, all fucking night, unable to move and barely capable of looking away. And the more of the night that passed, the long he watched Her, the more he realized she was pretty. Really fucking pretty. He hadn’t been fucking blind, he’d known she was pretty before. Thought about it more than he’d ever fucking admit. But fuck, this was different. She was really, really goddamn pretty. And then She rolled over, settling so she was comfortably pressed against him, and he realized she was beautiful. Like one of those stupid, overpriced paintings art-pussies in the 70s had tried to sell him. But real. Fucking beautiful, in a way that made him unable to look away, that made him feel fucking stupid.

Beautiful in a way that made him stay at Her side the whole night, frozen on her bed with her body against him, all the way until the sun started to leak into the room.

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portgasdwrld · 1 year ago

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Remember those og youtube challenges where beauty gurus had their s/os doing their makeup? Ok so maybe the crew were invited to some luxurious island or something and reader injured their arm prior to this event, so entrusted their beauty routine to the strawhats? I know nami & robin won’t let us down, but I’m so ready for the guys to mess us up. 💄 - 🩵

Hii love, how are you!!? Love the idea once again🫶🏻🫶🏻

📂Strawhats doing your make-up for an event

Luffy

He was so excited to learn about what make up was and how to help you with it!

He was listening to your explanation with big eyes and attentive ears

When it came to actually do it, he tried his best to focus, but it ended up looking goofy asf 💀

The eyebrows were overdrawn, the eyeshadow was not blended at all, the eyeliner wing was wonky

You looked like a fun experience of make up that’s for sure, a kid drawing at best

You didn’t want to hurt his feeling telling him it looked bad, so you said it was fine

He left satisfied proud of himself

It looked better done by you even with your handicap 😭

He tried tho 😭🫶🏻

Usopp

He was hella confident, saying he knew some skills from Kaya, so he totallyyyy got it.

The moment he got his hand on your make-up your brushes, he totally freaked out and didn’t know where to start. He forgot everything she taught him.

He admitted he was lost with embarrassment, but instantly relaxed when you chuckled reassuring him and helped him through it.

He actually really did a great job. Well expected from the artist and snipper of the crew, his abilities for details didn’t disappoint.

You ask him to help you from now on, when you’re having a bad make-up day��🏻‍♀️

Zoro

Man was lost lost. He glared at you like “why the fuck are you asking me?”

He said no and walked away, but you whined telling him the others were busy getting ready and he was already done so it was the least he could do.

He stayed firm on his position, but only agreed when you brought up, you could bribe Nami into reducing his debts towards her.

Kinda worked?

He did a horrible job :/

We love you Zoro but make up isn’t quite for you😔

Sanji

He was sooooo down for it. He was smiling so hard and was lowkey dreaming about being able to help you with your make-up routine.

When you asked, he accepted immediately, even cutting you off mid-sentence

He was already on his way to prepare some snacks for you while he helps you out.

He was listening to you very carefully, not wanting to miss out on any of your indications and ruin it.

He was so good and gentle with it?? He was blushing like crazy, being so close to your face, but he got the job done.

He would softly ask you if this was alright and if you liked it. Always asking for feedback so it’s at your liking. Never felt annoyed when you asked to redo something. He was so nice and cool about it which made the experience so enjoyable.

You loved it sm & gave him a big hug that got him on a good mood for the rest of the day☹️💕

Nami

When you asked her, she totally understood on the spot and sat you on a chair close to her.

Before she started, she asked you what was your vision and what you wanted basically.

She gave you advice on what would look best on your facial features, and what would go along with your outfit.

It felt like a professional session, she super focused

Y'all spoke about fashion the whole time and she was so enthusiastic and hyped about the whole thing

She gossiped about who could possibly be there at the event and if there was gonna be anything worth doing, stealing

the end result was so good, it was even better than you imagined it

10/10 would recommend again

Robin

She nodded and asked you to sit somewhere

After she got a general idea of what you wanted she started to work on your make-up at first silently, trying to build the base

As she saw time was running out, she used her devil fruit power to make it quicker and do both side at the same time.

You made a joke about her power being useful and she chuckled before agreeing

she started to speak about her DF and how as she grew up, she kept finding uses to it

It was really a nice and almost healing time

Robin felt like an older sister doing your make up as Nami had more of that best friend vibe

She even fixed your hair to make sure your look was completed and proposed you look through her accessories if you wanted

love her !!!

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dxm-b00 · 11 months ago

Text

Pampering the qween | Vil Schoenheit

An: just reposted on here from wattpad

cw: bondage, aftercare, feminization, body worship, praising, degrading, hand job , light marking, edging, sex toys, anal fingering, overstimulation (don't remember if the reader's gender is mentioned)

━━┅━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┅━━

It was a pretty rare occurrence for Vil to have a day off. No photo shoots, no movies or commercials recordings. Your poor baby works so hard everyday trying to be everyone's number one favorite person.

So once you got the call from him asking you to come over to his dorm; you didn't hesitate to waste any second, but you didn't expect anything else when arriving their.

A pair of dark beautiful sapphire violet eyes looked up to you, his black expensive eyeliner was trailing down his soft clear porcelain face. The beautiful dark red apple color lipstick was smeared all over.

Vil was wearing a cute little purple crop, a short white mini skirt that just barely covered his pre-cum oozing cock, he was also wearing a light purple that faded into white thigh high stockings that perfectly covered his plump thighs.

And just underneath the article of clothing, Vil was wearing a neatly tied set of ropes around his body that perfectly squeezed his body. His blond dyed lavender purple ends hair was sticking to his forehead as the rest was pulled in to a small ponytail or loosely laying out on the bed.

"You look so beautiful like this Vil." You was kissing his neck you sucked on his sweet spot, making sure not to suck too hard to damage his precious skin otherwise it will cause a hickey to form. Vil moaned so beautiful. A light shade of blush dusted over his cheeks, your fingers was ghostly touching his cock.

"Mmm..(y/n)." You lifted up his crop top, pulling it over his head. You leaned down his chest quickly giving him a peck on the lips. Quickly pulling away from him before he could desperately tried sitting up to kiss you again, but you looped your finger around the rope making it tighter.

"Ah, (y/n)..." Vil groaned out, while you smiled in enjoyment. You got up from sitting up from his crotch, you went to his dresser draw moving a few things around as you took out the sex toys the blond housewarden hid secretly in their. If anyone found out he had those his reputation will be tarnished.

"Please...touch me." He begged, his glossy eyes looked up to you. Your hands rubbed his silky smooth thigh highs, you could see his cock twitch underneath the short skirt. Your dominate hand snaked under his skirt, flipping the clothing up to land on his stomach. Buds of pre was leaking down past his slit.

Your hand wrapped his dick giving it a few pumps before you start at a slow pace. "Ah-!! Nghh. . .~" You cooed at him hushing him down so his dorm mates wouldn't hear him; his body was always so sensitive, you could always overstimulate and edge him for hours which is what you were going to do.

"Please-please go faster, it's driving me crazy." he said in between moans and whines. You didn't want him getting too needy so you sped up the pace. The hand you jerked him off with went faster, your thumb would swipe across the slit a couple of times."Mmm~" You simply chuckled at him, your eyes swallowed up the view of his cock throbbing as more of his pre-cum dripping down on to your hand.

Smirking to yourself as a thought came to you, your hand started to jerk him faster. Vil let out a chocked out moan, "Ah- wait..If you go that fast I'm gonna-!" You let go of his cock, Vil's arched his back so beautifully.

For a split second you would've thought he did this with other people. You going with this torturous method until he was begging and sobbing for you to stop, he tried a couple of times to grab your hand to stop you but you slapped his hands away.

Tears of frustration was overflowing in his eyes, no matter how much he begged for you to let him come, kissing his cheeks to calm him down, just to torment him all over again. "Am I not giving you what you want, baby?"

He couldn't even form the words, he just shakes his head, fat blackish tears rolling down his face as he struggled to look at you. Another smile formed on your lips, you leaned back down to kiss his soft lips. It was passionate at first but it slowly started getting sloppier by each second.

Teeth was clashing into each other, your tongue caressing and exploring each corner in his mouth, drool slipped past both of your lips. Vil moaned against the kiss, thick, sticky, warm cum spurted all over his skirt and your hand. You slowed down your hand as you coaxed him through his intense orgasm. "Good job, princess," you gently let go of his cock, wiping your cum spilled fingers over his asshole.

He threw his head back as you slipped one of your fingers inside him tight hole. It was just a single digit, but you was still able to take his breath away making him mewl out in sensitivity from your touch. Pumping your middle finger in an out of his ass- it just enough for him to feel the pressure tighten the coil in his belly. His walls pulsated against your finger, you rubbed his inner thigh. "Baby relax."

You gave him a gentle smile as you add your ringer fingers, feeling him loosen up. His thighs were shaking, every spasms you felt oh his wall as you pressed on his prostate had, his hole fluttering around you, eyes rolling back and moaning out your name. It all belonged to you.

Your fingers curled up against his sweet spot, drawing out higher pitched moans as more of the milky substance leaked out. Pulling out your fingers out of him. You pulled down one of his thighs, lifting up his legs to place soft kisses on the soft skin. You grabbed one of Vil's favorite butt plug.

Circling the toy around his puffy hole before slowly pushing the toys inside, not wanting to hurt him. “F–fuck!” you wait for him to relax. “There you go it's all the way in now.” you dip your head between his thighs, you place soft kisses on his tip.

“Can you go another round sweetie?” he nodded his head, you grabbed the vibrator wand off the bed. Turning it on the lowest an putting it on his sensitive dick, Vil squirmed and bucked his hips. The overstimulation and sensitivity was getting too much for him. He was on the brink of passing out, his body was exhausted.

“Too much, so sensitive!” Moving the vibrator all over his cock, his pupils we're blown wide with lust, and you could see the desperation in him. Pure excitement washed over you as you came to knew what was going to happen neck.

A few more minutes and he came undone for you again, arching his back off the bed again as he shook violently on the bed while making a mess of himself again and the purple sheets. He came down from his high, energy drained completely as he laid on the bed.

His chest is heaving up and down trying to catch his breath, his eyes closed shut everything felt too much for him. He softly drifted off to sleep, you went to the bathroom an came back with a wet suite towel, make up wipes and ointment, in your hand, gently untying the rope you kisses and rubbed in ointment to any spot where the rope left a mark.

After you was done with that you opened the make up wipes packaging to clean up any that was left over and used the towel to dap any sweat, drool and cum on his skin. You put put away the things you used. Getting on the bed as you laid him on top of you, pulling the covers on both of you. “I love you Vil.” You said kissing his forehead as you played with his hair.

#twst #disney twst #vil schoenheit #vil smut #sub!character #sub character #sub vil schoenheit #old work #wattpad #twisted wonderland #sub twisted wonderland #female reader #dom reader #dom!reader #top reader #gn reader #male reader #f

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noemilivv · 9 months ago

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Hi! Could I request a one shot of Angel x gn reader? After Angel has a bad night with Val he comes back with makeup smeared on his face because of the tears and he feels all dirty and uncomfortable wearing his revealing clothes so his s/o takes care of him and draws a warm bath for him, takes his makeup off and brings him soft, warm and comfortable clothes then cuddles him and holds him until he feels safe enough to fall asleep <33 I love him sm

once again, both of these asks were incredibly similar, so i’m doing both at once!!

i tried to keep this as neutral between platonic and romantic as possible, but it definitely leans a bit more on the platonic side

either way, i hope it’s still enjoyable for all💕

Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Mentions of Valentino, Swearing, Extremely short :’)

“Ticking Bomb”

Angel Dust x Reader

You sat in Angel’s hotel room playing with Fat Nuggets while waiting for him to get off of work, tonight was movie night! And honestly, you couldn’t be more excited, you and Angel had seen a preview for this new show, and you both were ready to binge the whole thing in one sitting.

Next thing you know, Angel bursts through the door, only to collapse against it, clutching himself closer, sobs echoing from his lips.

You knew exactly what happened, Valentino.

Immediately, you rush over to Angel, crouching down to his level. “Can I hold you?” You ask, your voice shaking, you feel awful that it does, cause this isn’t about you.

Angel’s head perks up, bold, black mascara - or eyeliner - you can’t tell, is dripping down his face, his wails bouncing off of the walls of the room, unable to control his voice enough to give you an answer, he was like a ticking bomb, waiting to explode.

“I need words.” You say softly, Angel wipes his face, before hiccuping a small, “Yes…”

You take him in your arms, cradling him, shushing his sobs as they slowly subside. “How about this? I’ll go start you up a bath, and then you can just let everything go, okay?”

Angel nodded, his body still shaking, “O-Okay…”

Quickly, you headed over to Angel’s bathroom that was attached to his hotel room, you scrambled through his pink bin of bath products before finding a nice bubbly, pink soap and a baby purple bath bomb.

You put both of them in, the water turned a nice lava pink, you lit a few candles, and turned off the lights, closing the door behind you, only leaving a crack open, “It’s ready for you, Ange, I’ll be waiting out here.” You said with a soft smile, as he entered the bathroom.

After about twenty minutes, Angel was done, you helped him take off any extra makeup that was left, as well as helping with additional skincare.

Now, you both lay in bed, Angel laying on top of you, for once his head was in your chest, and not the other way around.

You combed your hand through his hair, his snores falling off his lips, and eventually, yours did too…

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aimbutmiss · 9 months ago

Text

Buggy gently held the face in front of him, fingers wrapping around the jaw to keep it still. He was supposed to go in for the eyeliner next, but the man in front of him flinched as soon as Buggy's fingers brushed his face, the reaction barely visible to the untrained eye. But Buggy knew Mihawk, or he thought he did, at least to a certain extent. He liked to think he improved a lot when it came to reading the hawk eyed man, especially compared to when they first formed Cross Guild. And what all that improvement entailed now, was the fact that the swordsman was uncomfortable. He let go of his face just as gently as he had held it.

"What's wrong?"

"..."

Buggy frowned and slumped his shoulders at the lack of response. "I let you do that horrifying gothic clown makeup on me, remember? Because I trusted you. But I'm not planning on turning you into a clown or anything, it's just your usual black eyeliner. So, trust me?"

"I do trust you." Mihawk sighed heavily, uncrossing his arms. "It's not about that. It's just... I'm not really used to- to this." He motioned between the two of them, trying his best to convey his feelings. He clearly needed more practice in that department, but Buggy took it in stride. They could work on it later, and frankly even this was an improvement.

Buggy retreated a bit, putting some more distance between them. "We don't have to do... this." He motioned between them just as the other had. "I just thought it would be fun, like last time. Even though I ended up looking straight out of a horror story, at least the process was enjoyable. Relaxing even."

Mihawk gave a small smile at that. "I thought you looked rather dashing in black."

Buggy rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. But I think I'll leave that to you. Wouldn't want to steal your schtick."

Mihawk's eyes squinted in amusement. "You couldn't if you tried."

"Nice try, but you can't provoke me like that. I'm not even going near black face paint for the unforeseeable future."

It was Mihawk's turn to roll his eyes, but he didn't say anything. They had fallen into a comfortable silence when Mihawk slowly reached for Buggy's hand, delicately caressing it with his thumb as Buggy held his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm being difficult. This was supposed to be fun... But I'm okay now, you can continue."

Buggy shook his head, squeezing the hand holding his. "It should be fun for us both, I can't enjoy it if you're not enjoying it as well. You don't have to force yourself."

"I'm not." Mihawk looked Buggy in his big, round eyes that looked like they were portals leading straight to the ocean, his stare as unwavering as his voice as he spoke. "I'm not usually comfortable with people at this proximity... but I've come to find that I really don't mind it with you. I like it, in fact."

Buggy gulped, unable to break the intense eye contact. He didn't really know what he did to get into the swordsman's good graces, but he wasn't gonna mess it up no matter what. He gently reached for his face once again, getting in position to finally draw on the eyeliner.

"Don't move or I'll smudge it." He said, almost in a whisper.

Mihawk simply hummed in understanding, staying still as the waters of the Calm Belt. Buggy's breath was tickling his cheeks, and his hands were warm. He did his best to watch him do his work without moving, carving every inch of his focused face into memory.

"You're beautiful."

The words came out of his mouth without thinking, flowing as naturally as his haki through Yoru, and they made the clown still in his movements.

"What?"

Mihawk gave a breathy chuckle as Buggy's face grew redder by the second. "You heard me, beautiful."

Buggy moved back a bit, staring at the man as if he grew a second head. "What's gotten into you?"

Of course, Mihawk completely ignored him. "You look cute when you blush."

"Oh my God, can you stop?!" Buggy's face was now matching his nose, and Mihawk could swear he could see some steam coming out of his ears.

"You're not very good at taking compliments, are you?"

"I take them all the time! From my crew and my fans... It's just, unexpected from you."

That made something inside Mihawk twinge, but it didn't show on his face. "Then I'll have to compliment you more until you get used to it."

Buggy seemed to be struggling to put his thoughts into words, confused out of his mind at the other man's words. Did he eat something off? Was it a devil fruit user? Because something had to be wrong. But in the mess going inside his head, only one word was able to make its way to his tongue:

"Why?"

"Because I love to have your attention, your eyes on me, your hands on me... and your kindness. But I need to be kind to you as well to deserve it. This, right now... I don't deserve this, as things stand."

Buggy stared at the man in front of him for a moment, before slowly reaching out to cradle his face. "You are kind to me."

"Not kind enough to make up for the things I did before."

So, that's what this was about. Buggy sighed in understanding. "You apologised. I accepted your apology, and Crocodile's. Neither of you have any need to feel bad for your past mistakes."

Mihawk opened his mouth to speak but Buggy shushed him, pressing a finger on his lips. "I forgive you. Just take my word for it, idiot."

"... Alright."

Buggy smiled wide. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Later that evening, Crocodile walked into the tent to find a sleeping Buggy, drooling on a sleeping Mihawk. The swordsman's face was smudged with eyeliner, and the evening breeze was washing over them from the open window flap.

But neither of them were cold when they woke up, covered by a blanket they didn't remember getting.

#i was struggling big time with this one #I keep saying I'm gonna try to write more Crocodile but then end up with bughawk #sorry not sorry #I'm just obsessed with them #it's okay croco baby I love you and your time will come. promise #one piece #buggy the clown #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #cross guild #bughawk #buggy x mihawk #my writing

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raapija · 8 months ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Sparkly Eyes ๋࣭ ⭑

Fernando Alonso/Lance Stroll, 18+ for spicy language

This is around 1k words, so give it a quick read <3

Lance knows exactly what strings to pull to make sure Fernando suffers as much as he wants.

"Well, what do you think?"

Fernando looked up from his phone and damn near fell off his chair. Lance was standing at the hotel room hallway, motioning with his hands at the outfit he got on and doing a little twirl to show it from all angles. A blue BOSS-suit straight from the tailors with a matching undershirt and a couple buttons open to show his perfectly smooth and bare chest. His hair was styled scruffy, but in a cute and acceptable way for an evening party and oh, his eyes. Fernando got absolutely stuck on them.

"What... What's this? " Fernando could barely formulate words and pointed at his own eyes to make some sense to Lance. The younger man snorted and walked over to him, smoothly swinging a leg over his lap and straddling him. He wrapped his arms around Fernando's shoulders and smiled. The Spaniard stared up at him with a dumb look on his face that made Lance giggle.

"Oh, this? Just something new I wanted to try." Lance attempted to sound innocent, as if he hadn't done the make-over just so Fernando could suffer through the whole evening trying not to get hard. He knew the older man was weak when it came to him putting on simple eyeliner, and this was a whole look. Smokey eye with some magenta and blue glittery eyeshadow and the longest lashes he could find. He cocked his head and batted his eyes at Fernando, which made them sparkle in the dim hotel room lighting and he could swear the older man moaned under him.

"You look fucking hot." Fernando said and Lance hummed, content with his reaction. He grinded against him gently and could feel Fernando's grip on his waist tighten. Lance loved to tease. He could feel the tension from below building against his own crotch and it sent small electric shocks throughout his body. He studied Fernando's expression; his eyes were fixed onto him and mouth slightly open, in complete awe of him. It made Lance feel like the most special person on planet Earth. That he alone could make Fernando completely blank out and short circuit his brain.

"I know I look hot." Lance smirked and leaned down to kiss the man. His man. It was sloppy, wet and lazy. He loved the tingle he got in the pit of his stomach from making the older man lust for him. Fernando was easy enough to get going, but Lance had devised some truly evil tactics for his own enjoyment. This was definitely one of them, and he could make Fernando suffer as much as he wanted. And the Spaniard seemed to enjoy it as well, though he would never admit it. Fernando Alonso was not a person who could be ordered around. Or so everyone thought.

"We don't have much time." Lance pulled back slightly as Fernando tried to reach his lips again. "Dad'll be pissed if we're late."

The Spaniard furrowed his brows in disappointment. He wanted Lance right now, and he didn't like not getting what he wanted. Fernando was a sore loser. "I'll be done in five minutes, don't worry.”

Lance snickered at that and leaned back, slender hands holding loosely onto the back of Fernando’s neck. He rubbed one of his thumbs along the skin where he imagined the top of Fernando's samurai tattoo was.

"Oh, I'm sure. But I want to see you squirm the whole night trying to hide a hard-on for me. Shake people's hands and smooth-talk them into buying dad's stupid car and invest into the team. Then, after the party, I'll let you do whatever you want to me, okay?"

Fernando huffed and pulled on Lance's waist so their crotches grinded against each other again. It felt, oh, so good, but Lance didn't relent. He pushed against Fernando's shoulders to make him stop, earning another dissatisfied look from the Spaniard. "After. I really need you to perform at this event. For me and for daddy."

Fernando looked at him with murky eyes, trying to plead and beg but failing miserably against Lance's cold stare. The younger man had him wrapped around his little finger so tight, he could hardly ever win. And it drove him mad. Mad in love with him.

"Fine." Fernando sighed and begrudgingly let go. Lance's face broke into a big smile as he got up from his lap. The lighting hit his face again and made the glitter on his eyelids glimmer, sending a chill down Fernando's spine. As soon as they'd get back from the party, he'd rip that suit off of him and throw him onto the bed. He'd make him scream his name, no matter if the whole damn hotel heard them. He'd leave little marks all over his skin as a sign that he owned him. His perfect princesa. For only him to devour and enjoy.

"Well, come on." the Canadian said impatiently and held his hand out to Fernando. He grabbed it only to get yanked up off of his chair. They were close together again, Fernando looking up a bit helpless and Lance right down back at him. The younger man smirked and moved in to hover his lips over Fernando's, warm breath teasing at his skin. He slid his free hand down Fernando's stomach and onto his crotch to cup him. It wasn't gentle or sweet, but rough and it made Fernando flinch and suppress a yelp. Lance chuckled at the reaction.

"Anything you want." The young man repeated his own words with a low tone and then pulled back, letting go of Fernando and stepping off to gather his stuff and leave the room. Fernando was left standing there, speechless and cock straining against his trousers. The gall on this kid.

He fought against jerking off and instead decided to just throw some cold water onto his face and hope it would soften him down. Lance would be mad if he didn't get every last drop of him. And he'd give it to him. Slow and rough and messy and make him beg for it, just like his lover wanted. And then he'd kiss every bruise and bite mark he left on his body and make sure his princesa was happy and satisfied.

Hello, send me a message if you want more of this... I'll now go sit in a dark corner and contemplate my sins. Toodle-oo! <3

#strollonso #f1 fic #lance stroll #fernando alonso #I'm afraid i cooked a bit too hard on the header image of lance as i now am bewitched by it

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danmeichael · 4 months ago

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What type of twitch streamers would the svsss characters be?

i think i've said before i don't think most of the characters would be twitch streamers, most of them aren't the right type of attention-seeking for that kind of thing.

i'm currently watching trackmania videos and i think shen yuan is the right kind of insane for that. by far his most popular streams, though, would be his ban review streams where he shreds people to filth over their unban requests.

binghe has the potential for the streamer's temperament, though it honestly depends on how i interpret him, but i'm not sure what games he'd play. cozy games are the pidw option -- everything the viewers want, an incredibly beautiful man in eyeliner and a v-neck playing cute little farming games or whatever, but incredibly hollow in terms of binghe's enjoyment in them i think. he might like soulsborne games, or he might do cooking streams, but i think he'd probably enjoy something with pvp the most. he spends multiple days trying to speedrun a trackmania map sy holds a record on to get his attention.

sha hualing is the only bitch here with the true twitch streamer's temperament. she's clever, calculating, and driven in addition to being gorgeous. she strikes me as someone unafraid to play the role of the exact kind of streamer twitchbros get reaaaally mad about: ditzy, cute, lowcut tops and short skirts, shallow view farming material where she just watches tiktok/youtube/other twitch streams and comments on them. a lot of people hate her because she's shallow coomer-bait, but you don't hit it big by just sitting there and looking pretty. sha hualing is undeniably charismatic and willing to put in the time and work to secure her position. the controversies she gets involved in only boost her engagement, and she's probably in the top 3% of earners. she's turned it into a science. she watches over her analytics like a warlord looks over trade routes. she intentionally starts a rumor that her and binghe slept together at twitchcon and binghe is too busy mooning over sy to care. this is not about the love of streaming or her deciding to simply broadcast another passion. success is a game to her and she intends to win, no matter how many fake teary-eyed apology videos it takes to get there.

nobody else would stream unless they were forced at gunpoint.

#ask danny #svsss #also before i get accused of my streamer shl hcs being misogynistic:#that's the point. twitch is a deeply misogynistic platform and she's aware of that and she's gaming the system.#this kind of streaming is not low-hanging fruit in the way a lot of angry pissbaby dudebros think it is #it takes charisma skill dedication and hard work to actually effectively manipulate people out of their tier three subs.#and this is not even considering the mental toll of being objectified by tens of thousands of strangers as your day job.#strangers who can and will attempt to bring real world harm to you.#i am not saying these things to flatten shl's character. i'm saying these things for a reason.#i think she's on that fucking grindset and i respect the hustle #and i think she should make whiny entitled manbaby streamers ragecry about her success.

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lilac-5ky · 1 year ago

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Roommates from Hell, pt.4 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 4: Jungle Schlong

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist | Requests

A/N: Commentary at the end because I think I'm funny.

Warning: Without spoiling a thing: porn, IKEA and angst.

Out of the many survival skills people who live alone develop during their self-imposed period of solitude, the ability to share a flat —and by extension, its features— is not among them. For example, while you knew exactly how many sips it takes to empty the milk bottle, you didn’t account for Toji’s intake being twice your own. It took multiple shakes and peeps through the hole for you to reach the shocking conclusion that you were indeed out of milk and hurried to announce it with pompousness second only to an anchorwoman’s.

Breaking news! Manslaughter at the center of Shibuya: 18 dead and 37 missing— and Y/N’s fridge is devoid of milk! Well, not exactly phrased like that, though Toji’s reaction rivaled that of a disinterested viewer’s zapping to the next channel.

Apathy. And it suited him so well; speckles of fury shimmering in his darkened eyes like residues of a stubbed cigarette whenever they happened to cross with yours. You preferred him when he lashed out. At least then you could lock horns and get it out of your system, but he’d been the same since last night. Cold-shouldering your every inquisition, and if an answer was required, then it was curt and gruff like the rest of him.

The only thing his stoic expression eagerly rubbed in was how he didn’t give a damn whether you had an ounce of milk to drench your already-poured cereal with, a place to sit and eat, or even warm water to shower with. And normally, he’d be out the door searching for the next woman (read: victim) to leech from, but today he valued his word. He’d take you shopping and use it against you for some extra petty points whenever he decided to throw his tantrum.

The drive wasn’t any more enjoyable than breakfast. Your attempt to turn on the radio was slapped away, while your dissing a woman who’d stopped the entire traffic to fix her eyeliner in the rear-view mirror of her shit-colored Datsun fell on deaf ears. That one hurt the most. Humoring idiots together was your thing.

Traitor. Although you both knew who the real traitor was, and that was why you willfully took the punishment, biting back any back-handed comment and half-assed apology your tongue mustered. Not that he’d accept one in verbal form anyway; oral was more like it.

You kept your mouth zipped until he pulled over at IKEA’s parking lot, his hands glued to the wheel and the gear lever even after you’d stepped out of the vehicle.

“Aren’t you coming?” You questioned and he finally spared you a look that was more mischievous than contemptuous, a smirk trembling at the end of his scar.

“Said I’d drive ya, not that I’d stick around.” His left hand jerked the gear downward. “You pay for what you get. If you want my services, better pay upfront.”

Your bag’s straps creased under your fingernails. This was where you drew the line.

“We came here to get furniture for your ass to fit in, and you tell me you wanna bail?”

“Missed the part where I said I needed shit,” Toji shrugged. “Your house, your rules, right? Your furniture, too. Don’t involve me.”

Your nostrils flared in response. “Fine! I’ll do it myself, don’t need your sulking ass raining on my parade. Pretty sure they sell dog houses your size, and—” You switched to yelling as he stepped on the pedal, “forget about gas money ‘cause you ain’t getting shit, you hear me? Hope you get a flat tire and lose your way, fucking—”

And just like that, he was gone. Fuck. And you’d just ridiculed yourself in front of every onlooker that involuntarily eavesdropped on your crude spiel without witnessing the full scene of your unjust abandonment. Even bigger fuck.

You lowered your head and dragged your feet toward the store’s revolving door, where a little girl who’d made a game out of the doors bestowed you a genuine smile— of sympathy, you hoped.

Since Toji lacked the courtesy to let you use the bathroom before towing you all the way to his car, you were still in your homewear, tan sweatpants and all. “Disheveled” didn’t even begin to describe the frantic state of your hair. The person inside the glass had the deranged appeal of someone who’d jumped into a hornet’s nest with some seriously angry wasps, each strand attached pointing in a different direction.

However, credit where credit’s due. You’d done well to bring your trusty shades. They hid both your dark circles and bloodshot-from-all-the-crying eyes while giving off some of that washed-out rock star air you desperately needed to feel somewhat human.

You pulled the hoodie over your head and fastened the knot below your chin. You gave your door-riding companion a practiced smile and asked if her parents knew her whereabouts, like the exemplary adult you were.

She pointed at a couple near the gift-wrapping section. Her spitting image in high heels and a strict pencil skirt held onto a vase that a scrawny man in a duffle jacket—the father, you assumed— helped wrap in decorative paper. A bit late for Christmas gifts, isn’t it? Neither seemed to worry that their little angel was talking to a stranger, so you took it upon yourself to warn her, tucking a golden curl behind her ear and ushering her to their side.

As expected of a preschooler, she grimaced in defiance and tried to extort you from a soft serve, but ultimately agreed to lock pinkies and promised to return after one final ride.

The doors aligned, and you stepped out, walking slowly enough to watch the girl be scooped into her dad’s embrace, her tiny arms looping around his neck while he pressed a kiss on her forehead. Her mom set the vase on the counter to rub her back, a goofy smile contorting her otherwise sharp features.

Sorrow withered like a flower of decay in your heart, the display turning into thorns the longer you perceived it. Not now. Not again.

You tore your eyes away and headed further in, beelining straight to the supply rack by the escalator. You grabbed a yellow tote bag and stuffed it with the usual suspects —a map of the store, a paper measuring tape, a couple of shopping forms, and a miniature pencil— before drifting to the second floor.

The first area of the tremendously vast showroom displayed everything from 4-seat sofas with installed chaise lounges to hand-woven rattan footstools and miscellaneous decorative pieces such as faux antler horns and brazen candlesticks. Every living room was carefully considered and well put together, attracting the appropriate demographics.

Frilled cushions and fairy lights for the young romantics; futuristic ceiling lamps in curious shapes and slick TV benches for a breath of novelty in your space; functionality over flashiness in rooms with spacious cabinets and railway-sized couches to accommodate those who couldn’t keep it in their pants and birthed a horde of happy-go-lucky squirts; warm textiles for a cozy atmosphere; cooler hues for a more urban style. A plethora of choices meant to daze and bedazzle the stingiest shopper into buying not what they needed but what they wanted at an affordable price.

A true celebration of capitalism.

You paced around the rooms, mindlessly picking on random objects and price tags, working quick math in your brain for items that would be forgotten as soon as you entered the next scenery of artificial palm trees and sand-filled wooden tiki bowls. Perfect for beach lovers, the sign said, though you couldn’t fathom the tackiness of a man with a hammock amidst his living room.

Unable to beat your childish urge to ascertain whether the sand was real, you dipped your hand in one of the bowls and glanced over your shoulder just in case you were busted—you weren’t. And it wasn’t.

Your interest was extinguished, only to be rekindled by the golden sheen of a picture frame that stood remarkably plain between two spiral seashells on a wall-mounted shelf behind the aforementioned hammock. Normally, frames either sported an image of some stupid logo that wrote “Love” or “Happiness”, or encased a placeholder picture for the owners to replace at a later date. But this one was vacant. Naked. Forgotten.

You didn’t have any frames in your house. Didn’t need any. All remnants of the past were safely tucked inside an old shoe box below your bed —memories you occasionally fished out but mostly wished to forget. All, except one. A token from your graduation that you always kept inside your bag as precious memorabilia, not of the event itself but of the man whose arm lazily slung over your shoulders and of the smile that stretched from the western tip of his scar to the eastern end of your grin.

You’d rather be mugged off every worldly possession, even your mother’s handwritten cookbooks, than part ways with this picture. That’s why you never let it off your eyes and never properly framed it, though looking at the empty frame, something finally clicked.

You pulled out the picture and unscrewed the safety clips, fitting it around the edges, and then locked it in place.

Your thumb brushed over Toji’s face as gently as if it were his actual cheek you touched, and last night’s fiasco began accelerating with the momentum of a three-foot boulder that wrecked everything in its passage. Frustration stirred your insides, urging the coarse cereal to spill out your guts and paint the baby-blue mat a dubious streak of remorse. You wondered what color that’d be. Nothing pleasant to look at, for sure.

With a sigh, you brought the picture closer to your lips and whispered, “I’ll say this once and only once, so better stop giving me that smug look. I’m sor—”

“That bored without me you talk to lifeless objects now?”

The gravelly voice flowing not from the frame but from the person behind you made you nearly knock the entire shelf to the ground. This habit of his was getting old real quick.

“Is scaring people your hobby, or do you get paid for it?” You leered at him, slyly stuffing the frame in your tote bag, confident he hadn’t gotten a proper peek.

“If only,” Toji smirked. “Could make a fortune out of you alone.”

You rolled your eyes and crossed the tote bag over your free shoulder, progressively scanning the parts of his body you didn’t want to slot a pacifier in. He was holding onto a paper cup, the keyword being “a” as in singular and not plural. As in one, and not two. As in, he got fresh coffee from the machine at the entrance for himself, but not for you.

Jerk.

“Couldn’t keep a dime if it was glued to your forehead with super glue,” you huffed.

His free hand reached your face, fiddling with the laces of your hoodie. “Kept you all these years, didn’t I?” voice dropped an octave. “My goldmine.”

You couldn’t tell if he was being flirty or simply condescending; his thin eyebrows bearing hints of annoyance in how they furrowed, as opposed to the curl in his lips that almost seemed amiable. You didn’t reciprocate either sentiment. Instead, “Thought you said you weren’t coming.”

“Changed my mind,” his eyelashes fluttered heavily over his cheeks. “Didn’t want to leave you all alone to carry that shit. Wouldn’t sit right with me.”

You questioned whether the Toji in front of you was the real deal or a stand-in for his otherwise “no can do unless I’m paid” self. Unless…

“You ran out of gas, didn’t you?”

The smile dropped from his face and rose to yours as he took a step back, his tail between his legs. He drained the coffee in one sip and squashed the cup in his fist, flicking it at the bin closest to him without caring that it was part of the exhibit.

The words swirled in his mouth, bitter, and taut, and doused in caffeine. “You have my money.”

“My money,” you corrected. “You said I could keep it.”

“I did?” Toji asked, confirming it a second later. “I suppose I did. I take it back. Give it back.”

His palm unfolded in your direction, fingers beckoning you to react, which you did, though not in the way he’d hoped.

“What do you think y’are doing?” Jaded green eyes entered a game of ping pong between the items you’d shoved in his hand and your undeniably cheeky expression.

“You are so right. I’m bored out of my mind when you’re not around, but now that you are here, I feel sooo much better!”

Toji arched a brow at your admission, not convinced in the slightest.

“I’ll give you some of the money back,” and this was the kind of sentence that seldom went without a but. “But you have to stay and help.”

His mouth opened to express disagreement, which soon turned into acquiescence.

“I’ll buy you soft serve after.”

“Deal.”

The two of you wandered around the labyrinth of lamps and sofas with a different gait each; yours were quick steps full of determination and moderate excitement, stamping individual items and running after them, while Toji’s were long-drawn strides with no real purpose other than to follow the thread you dropped behind in hopes of it leading to an exit. You presented one object after the other, weighing the pros and cons he didn’t care to consider, merely jotting down the unpronounceable Swedish names and their corresponding codes.

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t have much of an opinion regarding his lodgings. He claimed he could sleep anywhere but was visibly vexed when you pointed at an adorable bone-shaped dog bed, gritting his teeth and saying that your bed could fit you both just fine if you weren’t such a “little bitch” about it.

Only when you got to the rooms with very particular and niche equipment did his disinterest fade, giving way to disbelief at how anyone could ever think to create something as useless as an egg yolk separator or vegetable cutting gadgets that a single knife could easily replace. He wasn’t wrong about that, but he was dead wrong to assume you were letting him bring a Cookie Monster-esque atrocity of dyed sheepskin back into the apartment. Or a portable charcoal grill for that matter. Or a bike trailer when you couldn’t even bike.

“Are ya dumb? Biking isn’t knowing, it’s doin’,” he’d said.

A side-eye was typically enough for him to return them to their places, but when it came down to his peak fascination with a voice-activated toilet flush, things got excruciatingly hard. He insisted on calling it a worthwhile investment when he’d previously dubbed your portable drawer unit a waste of cash. If it weren’t for the three extra zeroes at the end of its crumpled price tag, he would still be there tossing rocks just to hear the toilet praise the size of his dung.

You each made an exception for the other to buy one non-pivotal item, as long as it didn’t exceed 3000 yen. He got himself a neck pillow. You got a ghost night light that apparently looked nothing like curses, much to your disappointment, and while his attention was diverted, you shoved another in the bag to give him as a welcoming gift, hoping the cuteness of the green, chubby ghost would help bury the hatchet.

Eventually, you plopped down at a dining table in a room obscured by the shop’s many corners, Toji on the head and you on the foot, as if you were holding an official conference. You went over the shopping forms together, but coming to a decision when neither was remotely capable of pronouncing the names proved a challenge. And while each butchered the language in your own irreverent way, you were the first to break into chuckles, finding Toji’s heartfelt conviction that Frihetten and Fry Hatred were one and the same positively endearing.

Flustered, he threatened to break your bones into furniture, but not even he could take himself seriously anymore when his answer to the question “What would you name me?” was “The Stupenbraten”.

The mood lightened, and after some necessary discourse, you decided upon a gray sleeper sofa to replace your current couch and a chair from the same set you had in your kitchen, as well as some covers for the remaining winter nights. All was well again; aside from the total cost exceeding the initial budget by a few hundred yen.

You were back to square one, though a new plan became apparent faster than anticipated. A plan wearing twin pigtails and a smile straight out of a toothpaste commercial that resiliently lurked wherever the two of you went. A plan who fidgeted with the name tag on the left side of her canary-colored shirt a bit too much, her knees wobbly under her tight-fitted navy jeans. A plan too naive for her own good.

At first, you assumed she’d received a report for the terrorist-looking female in the orange hoodie who double-checked the price of each individual plate in the service, but then you put more effort into deciphering her alert eyes and concluded that the target she was ogling was none other than your partner in crime.

He who, although dressed identically to you, stood out among the regular customers like a celebrity that’d failed to mingle with the crowd at their own premiere, a dandelion among a field of dried weeds, or even a conch amidst a sea of pebbles; out of place and infinitely extraordinary; easy to miss and hard to notice, but when you do, there’s no taking your eyes off it.

The employee tracked you down as if her career depended on it, infatuated with the mere idea that a man like Toji could give her attention, and when he actually did under your direction, the plot began writing itself:

Straight out of a Wong Kar-wai movie, the dark and brooding, albeit confident, male lead slowly enters the hesitant female lead’s orbit. He hangs around the information desk, where she pretends to work, and flips through the pamphlets with faux interest. He lets her study him up close and plants an idea in her head, convincing her the first move is hers to make—that she’s in charge.

Her head lifts up, and their furtive glances catch fire. He bows forward, and his lips move without making a sound, a joke only for her ears to assess. And it must be terribly funny because she is laughing, and with her, the whole world beams, with sequences of time-elapsed blurs and filtered close-ups spurring everyone into the mood for love.

That’s a true pro for you.

You stayed until you saw them exchange papers. It’d only been five minutes, and they were already plotting their next tryst away from the prying eyes of the audience and the mastermind behind their affair. Admittedly, this was neither your best nor proudest moment, but if conning an impressionable sweetheart out of a minor discount was your ticket to hell, then you’d better go ahead and save yourselves front-row seats.

For the time being, you left Toji to his own devices and leisurely padded along the corridors, finding yourself a sanctuary in a room where the sounds muffled into ambient sound and the colors bled into shades of chaste white that dribbled from the ceiling to the king-sized bed in the middle. You dropped your bags on the bed stool and fell back against the polyester duvet, limbs stretching across all four corners to create idle snow angels.

You glimpsed at the price that neared half a million yen and wondered what kind of people could afford a bed like this. Was it old money who lived in luxurious mansions with fourteen bedrooms and twice as many servants to tend to them, or a young couple with too much love to spare? Did it belong to a loft that overlooked the city, or was its place on the outskirts of the countryside? How many surprise breakfasts could it host, and how many kids could bounce against the planks to wake up their weary parents before the springs broke?

Could a bed like this ever be yours?

“People who fuck for a living, obviously.”

Rings of saturated smoke poured out of Toji’s lips as he lit up his cigarette and took his first real puff of disappointment. He’d hoped that after popping two and a half bottles of overpriced carbonated piss, smoking ought to at least rouse a tingle, but he’d only managed to further soil his mouth with more filth.

“Want that?” he asked, despite stubbing it in the ashtray. With the amount of alcohol you’d downed, you’d probably let him put it out on your tongue without objection.

You tracked the movements of his fingers, inevitably following them to where the dark spirals of his hotel-provided yukata met with the creamy complexion of his sculpted thighs, elbow propped against his one knee, and wrist dangling freely in the gap between his legs. He was still on his back, his tousled raven hair having spilled over the pillow, and the ebony fabric fitting tight around the bulge of muscles, leaving only his pecs completely exposed.

A sight for sore eyes and those with the hunger to eat it up, while you tried your hardest not to gawk, directing your attention anywhere that wasn’t him, such as the baroque chandelier on the ceiling, the plasma screen on the opposing wall, the leftover beluga caviar and Dom Pérignon on the service trolley, or even your own legs dressed in the same piece of clothing.

The two of you painted quite a sinful image: a girl barely of age and a boy slightly above sharing a bed the size of your house at one of the country’s top-rated hotels, your clothes scattered around the floor like some perverse artistic signature. How cliche, but every cliche comes with an “It’s not what it looks like”.

You received the message on your beeper a few blocks away from school at an unoccupied payphone; Toji’s voice requesting help on the other side of the line. He didn’t specify anything other than his location and seemed particularly elated to find you at his suite’s doorstep fifteen minutes later with your heart in your mouth. At that point, he’d already jumped in his yukata, sporting a pair of fluffy gray slippers and a sardonic smile that widened at the sight of your summer uniform.

Alcohol blurred your memories quite a bit. You couldn’t remember why you’d changed out of your uniform, but were certain it had something to do with his indecent commentary. Not that the yukata covered more skin, but it did feel smooth against your body.

You quickly realized that Toji was neither in danger nor in dire need of help. He’d just received his biggest paycheck to date and wanted someone to burn the money with, and as much as he hesitated to admit it, your phone was the only number engraved in his memory outside his handler’s.

In retrospect, your evening felt more like a fever dream than a real one. You ordered every exorbitant French specialty off the menu, drank through the contents of the minibar, and flipped through the various cable channels, paying thousands of yen for movies you lacked the attention span to finish.

You were so out of it. You dismissed the crude answer he’d given to your question for the sake of recounting events that hadn’t aged past six hours.

A subtle hue of red bloomed across your cheeks, dipping lower down your chest to sheathe in the pit of your stomach as liquid fire. The feeling itself wasn’t unpleasant; simply unprecedented. This was your first time drinking, and in all honesty, you could do fine without being reminded every three seconds —the exact interval between your glances— of how well he wore the traditional attire.

“So it wasn’t just an urban legend, huh?” Toji mumbled to himself, fumbling with the buttons on the remote until he landed on a channel that piqued his interest.

“Hey, wanna watch some porn?” The second question was definitely meant for you, his hand ghosting over your eyes as if to snap you from whatever trance had absorbed your conscience.

You blinked in surprise, eyes dancing between the numerous naked ladies that flaunted their assets in provocative stances and Toji’s serious expression while he eagerly awaited a response.

“Uhm… sure?” You asked him back, clearing your throat of any doubt, and then repeated the same word.

He gave a tiny smile and scrolled through ridiculous titles named after popular American movies, such as “Pulp Friction”, “Cum-busters”, “In Diana Jones”, and your personal favorite of the bunch, “Yank My Doodle, It’s a Dandy!”.

“Probably nothin’ too extreme, right?” You mindlessly nodded. “A’right, gotcha.”

While you stacked up the pillows behind your neck, Toji clicked a few more buttons, and eventually, a movie began playing, starting with a picket fence house in the suburbs and a jolly housewife who awaited something on the door. The “something” revealed itself to be a “someone”— a pizza guy, more specifically, on whose pizza both Toji and you placed bets.

“Pay up,” he grinned when the man announced it was a pepperoni one, only to grunt after the pizza box fell completely empty to the floor. A directorial oversight.

The man proceeded to make out with the housewife in front of her house’s doorway, backsteps bringing the scene into the kitchen, where the woman removed her apron to expose her —surprise, surprise— naked body underneath. She sat the man on a chair and kneeled before him, caressing the tent in his jeans and slowly tugging it down, she set his cock free.

A gulp disrupted your swallowing, your eyes zooming in as the woman’s hands wrapped around his dick and pumped it up and down with expertise his moans revealed. Your thighs clicked together in sync with your teeth, your mouth more parched than it’d been before you gobbled all that alcohol up.

Without being aware of it, you’d scooted closer to his side of the bed, almost curling against his arm. You stole a glimpse at him, his brow quirking at the sudden closeness. You pretended to watch the movie, and partially you did, although there was no ignoring Toji when your entire vision became that of uneven black strands.

“Are ya wet by any chance?” He smirked, eyes darting lower over your body, if only for a second.

“N-not sure, but I… really want to pee,” you admitted, causing his face to crack into a fond simper. “Been that way since the champagne—” you tried to explain, and you tried to hide your colored shame in the crook of your neck, but he wouldn’t let you do either.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Toji said in a reassuring voice that begged to filter all bashfulness out of your system. “Still a virgin, mm? Well, there are other adult stuff we could try together. Other than drinking champagne, or” his hand rubbed against your outer thigh, “watching amateurs fuck,” fingers carefully squeezing their way in. “I bet we could do so much better than that.”

“Whaddya say, pretty girl?”

The rasp in his voice mellowed into a candied hum as he tilted his head to the side, and when he did, you didn’t move— not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how to without your inexperience showing or your heart betraying how much you’d longed for this moment to come, as his lips finally crashed against yours and you suddenly gained all the knowledge in the world.

You knew how to squeeze your eyes shut slowly enough to catch his green eyes fading past his heavy eyelashes along with the intensity behind them. You knew exactly how to move your mouth in accordance with his, letting your upper lip be sucked into the kind of warmth that could never be replicated—a warmth that was unique to Toji and the softness of his lips and the roughness of his palms—and that gradually seeped into your stream, flooding and then drowning all your senses until he was the only lifeline for you to grab onto to stay afloat.

He flipped you to your back and crawled on top of you, the bed dipping against the accumulation of weight while the kiss deepened. His tongue slipped into the wet cavern of your mouth, taking its time to explore the basis of every snarky remark and withheld affection meant for him. A soft, visceral sound was swallowed by a stifled groan as your hands clutched onto the fabric around his waist and pulled him closer, your hips abruptly snapping upward.

You weren’t thinking until Toji gave you permission to, the string of saliva that united your mouths now tearing you apart. His tongue swiped over his dampened scar, hooded eyes zeroing in on the pink ribbon at the center of your bra’s band as the friction caused the cups to spill out of your kimono. The sounds in the background were barely audible over the sound of your panting as he took hold of your breast and firmly palmed it over the fabric.

“Feel any different now?” The hand on your thigh prodded at your stomach, even though he’d never stopped fondling your chest and still maintained a loose grip over your hip—

Oh.

You mustered enough courage to peer at where your bodies connected, finding a bulge akin to the one in the non-pizza-carrying pizza guy’s pants, albeit much bigger, more real, and definitely palpable, and although you were no busty hotwife, you’d made this happen.

Things were moving so fast; too fast, that your brain short-circuited between two contradictory notions, the first gathering as slick between your thighs, while the second argued this wasn’t something you should be doing—not something that friends should be doing.

But you liked Toji, and when he looked at you with raw desire burning in his eyes, you swore that you loved him.

“I really,” you croaked, rapidly losing composure under his fingertips unraveling your bare skin, his larger palm set on capturing as much of you as possible. “R-really,” you bit your lip before breaking into a literal yelp when he tried to tug off the strap. “Really, really, really need to pee!”

Without either of you entirely comprehending what happened, you slithered away from his grasp like an eel and bolted to the bathroom, locking yourself in with a loud “bam”, lest he push it open.

You looked in the mirror, confusing the image with that of a peeled tomato straight out of the can with how flushed and moist you appeared. Beads of sweat dripped from your forehead to your neck, and—God, his touch hardly qualified as groping, but nothing was in its place anymore; everything loose, disheveled, and so terribly lewd.

Reluctantly, you drove a hand between your thighs, coaxing a high-pitched gasp at the sheer amount of wetness drenching your underwear, an outcome entirely dependent on him. Toji. Toji, who’d given you your first kiss and who would have given you more— every last inch of him. Toji, who must’ve been laughing his ass off, cursing you, or doing both simultaneously.

Nothing could be done about the butterflies rummaging in your stomach, rabidly swarming your heart as if there were nectar at its core. You could only force yourself to sober up by throwing cold water on your face and carrying on with your “duties”, returning to the main room ten minutes after you’d perfected the most laid-back smile from your extensive collection of insincere expressions.

“Took ya long enough,” Toji exclaimed, a spoon sticking out of his mouth. “Thought you got flushed down the drain or somethin’.”

No such luck, you thought to yourself, sitting noticeably further away from where he dug through the remaining caviar. The porn was switched out, or paused—you couldn’t tell—with the hotel’s logo in cursive letters traversing one corner of the screen in favor of the other. And as for your previous reason for distress—

“Did you know they have Acqua Di Parma toiletries?” You panted more than asked, leaning closer to the tray to pinch a green olive between your fingers.

“It’s a French hotel, what did ya expect?” he shrugged.

“They are Italian.”

“Who cares?” He grimaced, dropping the spoon back into the crystal bowl. “Overpriced shit. Shoulda been 12 yen instead of 12k.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” you chuckled. “Plus, you are doing it all wrong. You shouldn’t chew, you should move the roe with your tongue until the flavor falls apart.”

Toji stared at you as if you belonged to an alien tribe that’d descended to earth on its way to world domination, his eyebrows creasing at the middle of his forehead. “Now you reveal you were raised as a silver spoon? Woulda been nicer to you if I knew.”

A short laugh cracked into a nasal snort, your hands cutting the air between you. “Not at all! It’s just, my father would make me tag along to some of his business soirees when I was a kid, and they always had the best food there. Well, not the best, but certainly the priciest shit an eight-year-old can put in their mouth.

“And what do you mean nicer?”

He hummed, washing the fishy taste from his mouth with some of his unfinished champagne. A regrettable choice, considering he’d forgotten how disgusting the alcohol felt on his tongue. He winced, “First time I hear ya talk about your family.”

“What? Can’t be true; I mention them all the time.”

“Mention,” he echoed. “Ain’t the same as talking.”

You wondered at what point your roles were reversed. He was the one who stubbornly refused to mention his folks, and up until a month ago, you didn’t even know what his last name was.

“There’s not much to talk about.” Your lips pursed around your glass while Toji insisted on drilling holes through your thick skull. He had no intention to drop this.

“I’ll tell you, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. It’s all boring, anyway. If you fall asleep—”

“Cut the intro.”

You bit back a comment and dug straight into the story.

“My dad started off in the textile industry. Used to run a small yarn company with a fellow classmate. They made it big for a while; branched out from Tokyo to Fukuoka and their rep grew nationally. Every clothing store in the country used their wares, and they must have thought ‘Hey, why not test our luck elsewhere?’— I wouldn’t know; I was too young.

“Thing is, when compared to Japan’s fish tank of a market, China is a whole damn ocean with man-eating sharks. Quality doesn’t cut it versus sweatshops, and it didn’t take long before they went bankrupt, closing their stores and losing all of their investments.

“Yamada-san flew to Korea, and they never talked again, while dad—he,” you paused, lifting the glass to your lips, champagne tasting like tar. “He drunk. All day long and all evening long, he drank himself unconscious on the couch, the carpet, and even the front door once. His excuse being that he couldn’t get himself a new job, that no one was hiring at the moment, and that damn moment lasted 5 whole years before he decided he’d had enough and slammed the door on us.”

“What about—”

“Mom?” You smiled habitually. “She was there. Down with one sickness or another, her symptoms varying from a simple cough to weeks of catatonia. It was as if whatever poison my father injected in his veins made it back to her, and with him gone and her in that state, I was the only one available to take care of the house. But it was fine, you know? As long as we were together, I was fine cleaning, cooking, and playing nurse.”

Silence stilled the room, somber at its best and deafening at its worst.

“Wanna know what the final straw that made him leave was?”

Toji didn’t answer, certain you’d go on regardless.

“Donburi.” A strained chuckle poured out of your lips; dark, hollow, and devoid of any ebullience. “Fucking donburi. She tried to cook him donburi for his birthday but couldn’t keep an eye on the stove ‘cause she got dizzy and the fish burned to a crisp. She served the rice and the vegetables, all intact, but the fish was missing and h-he… He broke the plate against the kotatsu and packed his things right after. That was the only time Mom talked back to him. She asked why, and you might think that’s pathetic, but—”

You rearranged your thoughts. “She asked him why, and all he said back was ‘Because she isn’t deadweight. Because she doesn’t smell like death. Because she doesn’t let the fish get toasted.’ That was the final thing he said the final time I saw him. Don’t even know if he’s dead or alive, and as for my mom… You know she’s not here anymore. Passed away three weeks after he bailed.

“And that’s my shitty life’s shitty story,” you concluded, consciously leaving out the part that linked your culinary cultivation and hopes for your father’s return.“Nothing interesting or fun about it. Just a big pile of shit piling on top of each other from the beginning to its ending.”

You were about to give yourself a refill when his fingers snared around your wrist. You locked eyes, your vision of him distorted as the green in his eyes overflew, his pointy nose, and the slanted scar of his lips trading places. He appeared like one of those Picasso cubism paintings from your art textbook, except his features were more beautiful than a human brain could ever perceive to draw, even in their disarray.

You let him return the champagne glass to the trolley while his fingers studied your face with the same curiosity your eyes studied his. You thought he was going to kiss you again, and maybe the notion crossed his mind too, but he must’ve decided against it, using his mouth to try and console you instead.

“Should’ve let me fuck you, stupid,” Toji mumbled, the pads of his thumbs repeatedly swiping below your eyes like windshields, his facial structure making sense once more. You’d lost track of how many sobs you’d kept bottled up until they started to hiccup out of your throat and wet his fingers.

I wish I’d let you fuck me.

“Lost your motivation?” Your voice was still unstable.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “Just don’t want your sappy face ruinin’ the mood. Can’t make ya cry under my dick if you’re already crying for someone else.”

Your reflection stirred in shades of green as you threw your head against his shoulder, laughing harder than you thought possible. He always came up with the worst things to say, and yet nothing could have comforted you more than the inner frustrations of a teenage boy in heat.

His hands dropped limp between your bodies, while yours looped his neck in a tight embrace. “Can’t believe you tricked me into sayin’ all that when I don’t know the first thing about your family.”

“Your folks are dead ‘cause they died. Mine been dead to me since birth.”

You propped your chin against your elbows. “What do you mean?”

“That I don’t have a family,” he said.

“You wouldn’t talk like that if you didn’t.”

“Then I don’t need one.”

“Don’t say that. If they’re still alive—”

“Then I’ll kill ‘em dead,” he hissed. “How’s that for an answer?”

Convinced that ought to shut you up, Toji planted his fingers at your ribs and attempted to detach you from his body with half-baked conviction, when your mouth opened again and you uttered the one thing he wasn’t prepared to hear—not on that day, nor in a million days either.

“What if I was your family?”

A complaint scratched his throat, his own words prickling his tongue before dissolving into a heavy sigh against his chest, one that served as your cue to continue.

“Even if we don’t need anyone—no, even if no one else needs us, how about we need each other just a little bit? I’ll need you, and you’ll need me. So let’s be family, Toji.”

He remained deep in his thoughts for a long while, unknowingly kneading your sides as if you were a life-sized stress ball meant to relieve his tension. You couldn’t read him. Not from that angle or any other, for that matter. He wouldn’t let you. He didn’t want you prying at a side of him so pathetically ugly and insecure that not even he had the guts to stand up to.

And so he took his time waiting, testing the waters with every combination of verbs and articles already tried out. Words that’d earned his face red smacks and gotten his hair soaked in all types of beverages—not excluding the hot kind. He’d fill you in on the terrible, horrible things he’d done to deserve hatred, give you a glimpse at the true nature of an abomination, as his parents endearingly called him, and if that wasn’t enough, he’d show you. Overpowering a fragile little thing was nothing. He’d force himself on you, squeeze you for all your body’s worth, and then toss you aside like a squeezed lemon cup.

It was that easy, really, but the longer he let the words fester, the keener he found himself to plug the holes in his ego with a more permanent solution.

“Y’are throwing yourself into a bigger pile of shit, know that?”

You held onto a chuckle, unaware of the effort poured into his statement, while you lightly toyed with the frayed edges of his hair. “Used to the stench. Besides, stepping on shit is said to bring you luck, no?”

By the time you pulled away, an intimidating frown was etched deep into his features, his expression similar to that of a cat being hugged against its will. It didn’t take long for the two of you to nest back into the pillows (with one acting as a partition), share a pepperoni pizza upon his request, and browse through the hotel’s porn archives anew—only this time, he’d given you the honor of choosing.

“The hell is a doodle?”

Your brain was still asleep when your eyes fluttered open, failing to identify the humongous white fluff that warmed your face until you peeled it off. Bear…? No, not just any bear. A panda bear, though that didn’t explain its origins or the reason it sat on your head either. You wondered if someone had tried to suffocate you only to give up halfway through, but when you nearly lost your eyesight to the blinding lights above, you appreciated the kindness in the proprietor’s heart.

You buried your face back into the plushie’s belly and rolled onto your side in a fetal position, the memory of your sunglasses too distant for you to question their sudden disappearance. For now, all you wanted was for the lights to go away and for the voice in the speaker to quit yapping—

As if a current charged your joints with electricity, you jolted against the bedpost, the realization of you enjoying a nap in a semi-public space coming with a heavy dose of panic once you spotted a pair of stretched legs to your left.

“Don’t like the jungle schlong?” The legs, or rather, the mouth that belonged to their owner asked.

A deep exhale jogged your memory of the furniture store and present-day Toji, his younger counterpart vanishing as an apparition of the past.

You flipped the toy around until you spotted the tag hanging from its right foot. Djungelskog.

“Very funny,” You exclaimed, shoving it against Toji’s face, who in turn threw it under his armpit. “How long was I out of it?”

“An hour, more or less. They wanted to call security but changed their minds after some Chinese couple bought the same bed,” he sneered. “Got such a cute sleeping expression when ya drool all over yourself.”

You scrubbed your jaw with the back of your hand, feeling the crisps of saliva deteriorate. What were the death rates for suicide by plush toy asphyxiation in Japan again?

“Y’are welcome,” he answered in case you felt like thanking him for saving you some face.

“So, how did it go with the salesgirl? Shagged her yet?”

Like a gravure model, Toji propped himself against the bed, tilting his cheek into his palm. “Jealous?”

You scoffed. “Hardly. Just wondering how long before you lose your touch now that you are nearing your thirties. Should find yourself a dutiful young wife to clean your denture before it’s too late, old man.”

He was uncharacteristically quiet until his hand dug into his pocket to reveal a rectangular blue note that he slid across the covers. “Not a chance, kiddo.”

You seized the paper, thrilled to see the words “10% off” spelled in yellow capital letters. “That’s actually impressive! How did you do it?”

“Trade secret,” he shrugged.

You decided you didn’t need to hear the rest. This was enough for both the furniture and his treat— maybe even groceries, if his mood remained unspoiled. “Just won yourself a second cone,” you beamed, wiggling your way across the edge of the bed. “Come, let’s get the stuff and go home.”

“I’ll go first,” Toji declared as he leaped to his feet.

“Don’t want your new girlfriend getting the wrong idea?” you smirked. “Fine, fine. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”

Without confirming your assumption, he hastily strode off through the doorless entryway, leaving the bear plushie behind to endure your wrath for when you’d finally discover there were two sides to the coupon and the backside that read “Newlyweds Discount”—his name reaching his ears about five rooms later.

A/N: I have the need to mention that their IKEA date was inspired by 500 Days of Summer and that the toilet was a gag in Better Call Saul. In the Mood for Love is an amaaaaazing movie, that I definitely recommend for angst lovers! Also, all the porn movies I mentioned are LEGIT lmao, I wish I was joking. Oh, and this chapter features a lot of foreshadowing for the next one, guess what it is and enter the giveaway for a--- yeah, no. I'm joking, but the foreshadowing stands.

tags: @absoluteindulgence , @evansuvamp , @sarwhorius , @liluvtojineteyam , @whodoesthatanymore , @m00dycr4nkybitc , @tzutology , @lilykitt3 , @whispers-of-lilith , @batafuraikisu , @zerotwo-sciencequeen , @vel1ia , @allen-444

Just went ahead and tagged those of you who commented, hope I got everyone right.

Comment to be tagged on future updates!

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 1 year ago

Text

👑The girl in the silver dress👑New version (Prt 3) (prt 1 here) (Prt 2 here)

Aemond x reader

Tags: Fluffish, royalty, modernroyalty, theselection

Cool devider credits: firefly graphics

🔷Summary: You are invited to become a selected girl for Prince Jacaerys's selection. You never thought you would fall for his uncle, prince Aemond instead.

🔷Author's note: Based on the books by Kiera Cass, but reading them is not required.

🔷Wordcount :3464

🔷Warnings: Non apply

TAGLIST: @connorsui @lportes-22 @thisaccountisrandomsstuff @nikkitc0703 @lijeno

Months have passed since the ball. Yet you still can feel your heart be ripped in two. Aemond has not bothered to come back for you, believing he is somehow doing you a favor by staying away. You wonder if he is doing alright. You should be furious, angry, perhaps take revenge and sleep with other men but….

Part of you knows Aemond too well to even do that. He genuinely believed he did the right thing. The good thing, by leaving and setting you free, so you could become the Queen. But what is a crown over true love? How can you rule over countless people if it is not the man of your dreams by your side, making the horrible choices so worth it, just because you’ll make that choice together? What is the future if you can’t spend it by his side? What is a golden cage if you can live with him in freedom? And why would you care about being Queen, when you could just be the woman he loves?

Tonight, you all will be interviewed by the press, a common occurrence so the people of Westeros will know you a bit better, perhaps you’ll become someone’s favorite.

Your make-up team works on your eyeliner, black with silver small tiny glitters. They put gloss on your lips and put your hair up, so the silver necklace around your neck speaks volumes. Baela is already done with her dress, and has taken time to chat with you about Aemond. She has become a close friend of yours in the past months, together with Dyana. You form an alliance with both, against Floris and even Queen Alicent. ‘’He loved me, he said so in his letter.’’ You tell Baela when she asks if Aemond wasn’t playing a fucked up little game. ‘’I’ve seen the man behind the mask when I am near him, Baela. It can’t have been a act.’’

Floris approaches in her black swan feather dress, glancing down at you with great enjoyment of your misery. ‘’Well, Queen Alicent has already said Aemond won’t be coming back from Dorne anytime soon. So, have fun being depressed and disappointed.’’ Alicent likely told Floris that in confidence but Floris takes any chance to make you feel miserable.

Dyana wears a gorgeous red gown and approaches Floris rapidly. She puts her hands on her hips and you and Baela know Dyana has had it with Floris. ‘’Just like your father was when you came in-'’ You see Baela gasp when Dyana opens her mouth, and the last 15 remaining girls listen with their breaths hold in. But you speak up, forcing her to remain calm, grabbing her hand and dragging her back before she can claw out Dyana’s eye.

‘’Don’t stoop to her level, Dy. She is not worth our anger or energy. She craves attention, so she seeks it.’’ Dy nods, before moving back to her chair. Floris scoffs at you three before she and her minions let the tv crew know they are ready.

After watching the other girls excel with their questions, the same questions time after time, you think you are prepared for whatever they may throw at you. You sit down in the comfortable chair, your legs crossed.

The first question is about your first meeting with the prince. The interviewer smiles, but her eyes tell books. ‘’Everyone knows you are a common-born girl. Do you think the reason you are still here is because of favoritism?’’ You first gawk at her, attacked and offended. Until you see the chance to clap back. And you will.

You speak from your heart but you can’t ignore the sting as if you betray Aemond. ‘’Frankly, I believe Prince Jacaerys is quite taken with me, and his opinion matters more than what a small crowd chooses to say about me.’’

Her eyebrows rise and this time she is the one who lost her tongue, clearly fumbling over cards to find a good other hostile question. ‘’Do you think you would make a good queen? How would someone as commonborn as you even lead the country?’’

A fair jab, but you are done playing fair. You will come at her with everything you got. ‘’I think us commoners know more about the country than the nobility ever will. We are the ants, carrying the crown. I hope to make life better for all civilians of the Seven Kingdoms, not just the commoners or the nobility. I hope to be a ruler. Not a decoration on a shelf.’’

The woman is seething with rage at your composed sweet answers. ‘’That was my final question.’’ You blink innocently and surprised.

‘’Was it? You seem to have forgotten to ask me the questions you asked all the other girls. Perhaps you need a break.’’ You suggest, sweetly. A few chuckles erupt among the selected.

The interviewer is removed by Lady Aemma before getting a firm talking to off screen. You stand up from the chair and sigh deeply. That went as horrible as could be. The only thing that would have made it worse would be questions about Aemond. You saw her cards, they were on there. Yet she kept from asking. Odd. And someone is working on getting you removed, someone very high up.

The next major event is the Halloween masquerade. Only 10 girls remain, including you. Jacaerys has been nothing but kind to you, treating you as a true lady whenever you are around him. Floris and four other girls are now under Alicent’s wing. You used to be jealous that she had selected clear favorites. Yet none of that matters. Jacaerys has only eyes for you.

Prince Jacaerys dances with you, under the great chandelier. All those months practicing with the waltzes and dances have finally paid off as you smoothly follow his movements as if you are two body pieces belonging to one soul.

But alas, despite him having you made his favorite, you remain a pawn in a game. And a game has rules, no matter how unfair. Jacaerys ends the dance with a respectful bow before moving to Lady Baela, a sweet kind girl you’ve come to know very well.

You take a glass of champagne, before sitting down on a chair, lost in thought. You’ve been here for months. You miss Aemond, of course you do.

At some point you lost track of Baela and Jace. They must be getting more champagne. A servant loyal to Jacaerys whispers in your ear that you must come to the library. The prince has a surprise for you.

You enter the library not much later. A masked figure stands with his back to you, a black hood covering his hair. ‘’Jace?’’ You ask, before approaching him. Jace does not answer you, instead he grabs you by your hips and drags your body closer until you both collide. Your chin is grabbed and he kisses you fiercely before exhaling deeply, sniffing the perfume on your skin.

This is improper. You must stop this. Jacaerys and you are not married, this is the selection. This is not fair to the others.

You gasp, as you remove the mask and look into blue eyes, not brown ones. Aemond silently brings his fingers to your lips before slowly bringing his face back to yours. The worst part is, you let him. You welcome him. Your lips find his soft pink lips, gently moving against his lips until the movements become rough as if he is trying to hurt you. ‘’Y/n,’’ he murmurs against your lips, leaving kisses on your skin. ‘’I’m sorry. I honor the traditions, normally. But I can’t stay away from you.’’ He mutters. You kiss his lips again.

But you look into his eyes. ‘’We’ll make our own traditions.’’ You promise him, hot tears running down your cheeks of pure joy. He kisses you again, much slower and softer as if he wants to savor every moment of this. Aemond murmurs against your lips and you become lost in the passion and the love you feel for one another. You tug at his tie but he shakes his head, before leaning in and whispering in your ear. ‘’I don’t want you to become a secret, or a scandal. I will ask my nephew, and my father for permission.’’ He searches in his pocket for a small rock shaped box and opens the lid, before sinking to one knee and grabbing your hand. Lady Aemma enters the room, holding a smartphone so she can film this wonderful moment as tears sting your eyes.

He is proposing. He is asking you to become his wife. ‘’Lady Y/n, queen of my heart, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife, my equal, and may I bring you under my protection?’’ A small ring with gold and a clear sapphire smiles at you, and you see dreams and hopes in Aemond’s eyes.

You smile. You wait for him to stand, and nearly slam the ring out of his hands before you kiss him again. ‘’Yes, yes, a dozens times yes.’’

Aemond grins, picking you up from the ground, spinning you around when kissing you. Lady Aemma makes herself known again, gently clearing her throat, but her eyes are misty with tears. ‘’I’m afraid there is a matter of permission. A royal marriage can only exist with the blessing of the king.’

The king has been feeling ill lately. He has taken to bed and refuses to leave for anyone. Queen Alicent rules in his stead, as a faithful wife would. You and Aemond rush past ladies, princes, nobles and paparazzi, hand in hand, clearly smitten as your feet go as fast as you can go. Paparazzi quickly turn their camera’s to you both, but all they get is a messy blurry picture, that is how fast you both are walking. Finally, you reach the rooms of the king.

Queen Alicent sits by his bedside, faithfully reading him the newspaper. She turns around when she sees you both, and you drop into a curtsy. ‘’What are you both doing here?’’ She asks.

Aemond clears his throat, before sitting down on his father’s bed. ‘’Father, I’m sorry. I know you told me I should always follow duty, and that the crown requires sacrifice.’’ He did? King Viserys avoids your eyes and you understand he was behind Aemond’s sudden departure. You cross your arms over your chest.

‘’I did.’’ The king confesses, a bit grumpy.

Aemond gestures for you to come closer, so you do. He takes hold of your hands. ‘’But my path to duty led me to Y/N. She makes me feel things I never felt before. She is the love of my life, Father. I know you both sent me away to Dorne to forget her, but I know by now: No one will ever compare or come close to her. She is all I ever wanted, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. If I have to give up my titles, so be it.’’ He declares, firmly.

Viserys coughs, before smiling at you both. ‘’Aemond, come here my boy. I know I've been a horrible father to you and my other children.’’ You look away, not sure you were meant to hear this.

‘’Yes.’’ Aemond says, agreeing without missing a beat.

Viserys looks at you. ‘’But I'm going to ask you this once, my boy. Do you love that girl?’’ Your heart beats faster and faster and you are afraid it might stop.

Aemond looks at you when speaking, nodding. ‘’I feel alive when she is with me. Like everything is possible and she makes me whole in ways I used to be broken.’’ Viserys nods.

‘’Then who am I to deny you both? Go, be happy, my boy. You always have been meant for it.’’ Aemond nods, pretending to not tear up, but even you have teary eyes watching this reunion.

This is nice, but there is one other obstacle. Jacaerys. You belonged to his selection. To go with another man is treason. ‘’Jace, of course, I will ask-’’ Aemond is interrupted as the doors open and Jace himself enters with Lady Aemma close behind.

Jacaerys holds up his hands, silencing Aemond. ‘’You don’t have to, Aemond.’’ He turns to the king before speaking. ’I've seen it for myself, Grandsire. Y/n and Aemond are two parts of one soul. We must not keep them separated. They belong to one another.’’

Alicent looks concerned. ‘’But what will the media say?’’ She is right. They have not been kind to you.

Viserys grins. ‘’They can say whatever they like. Y/n will become Aemond's wife, a princess of house Targaryen. They will learn to mind their tongues over time.’’ You hope so, at least.

Aemond turns to his mother. ‘’Do I have both your blessings? May we marry?’’ He asks, hopeful.

Alicent looks you over, and you wonder how much she secretly hates you. She smiles, before touching her son’s forehead, kissing it. ‘’Your happiness is all that I ever wanted for you, Aemond. Go find it with your wife.’’ And just like that, a nightmare ends and a dream is born. Aemond kisses your lips, not giving a damn about the audience that is present.

The first moment with the press is there, the engagement photoshoot. Of course you are afraid, but Aemond makes it all worth it. He is still a bit stiff when it comes to press and attention but you bring out his true wonderful self. You and Prince Aemond hold hands in front of the castle, as multiple press magazines, news channels and photographers from all over the world take in this wonderful moment.

‘’Prince Aemond! "Please look here!"

‘’Duchess Y/n! Is it true you and Prince Aemond bonded over your love for Dornish architecture?"

‘’Yes. We are big nerds."

‘’O, that was improper of me wasn't it?’’ You mutter as the press eagerly writes things down.

Aemond shrugs before whispering in your ear. ‘’You're doing just fine. We kinda are big nerds.’’

You return the smile, taking hold of his face before kissing him. ‘’The biggest.’’ You declare before kissing him. The flashes go crazy the moment your lips lock, and all photographers shut up, taking millions of pictures.

Aemond breaks the kiss, grinning at the press when you blush lost in the moment. ‘’Prince Aemond, what was your first thought when you saw her lady?"

Aemond thinks back and you see many emotions cross his face. ‘’Why don't good things ever happen to me? And it's ironic because…she would become the best thing In my life.’’

One photographer clearly adores that and makes a little strangled ‘’awh’’ sound, causing their colleague to smack them lightly on the arm. ‘’What? They are adorable!’’ He declares, simply before returning to making photos.

You glance at Aemond. ‘’I am simply speaking my truth.’’ He says as if he’s defending himself.

You grin. ‘’Hmhm.’’

An interviewer of the Targaryen times finally asks a question, having worked up the courage. ‘’Princess-I mean, Duchess…’’ She stumbles and blushes, embarrassed as she looks through her notes nervously.

Aemond smiles, reassuringly. ‘’Princess is fine, Ma’am. She must adjust to her new title somehow.’’ Finally she lets go of her cards, and becomes much more confident because of it.

‘’Princess Y/N. What are the plans for the wedding?’’ Aemond grins, turning his head to you as if he wants to hear it as well.

You smile, painting a picture. ‘’A grand one, in the sept, honoring ancient Targaryen traditions. But also a couple of new ones.’’ You for example would love for Vhagar, Aemond’s cat to wear the rings down the aisle or for your wedding dress to be silver. And so, that happened. 25 october, you and Aemond said your vows for dozens of people to see. And after that, came the honeymoon.

You finally stand before the statue of Nymeria, the statue you dreamed of seeing since you were old enough to want anything. Aemond is with you, together with your security, hidden and dressed as ordinary tourists. You look at Nymeria’s statue, at a loss for words, that's how beautiful you find it all.

‘’I can't believe you took me here.’’ You tell Aemond, searching for his hand to hold as tears of happiness roll down your cheeks.

He gently wipes them away. ‘’I can. You always wanted to see it. And now we can.’’ He tells you, with a smile and a kiss on your lips. ‘’This does mean that you need a new dream, I’m afraid.’’ He jests but you turn his face back to your own.

‘’I don’t need a new dream. You are my new dream.’’

Next year, you all come together for christmas. You and Aemond have brought gifts. The family sits still in gowns and suits, as royals are expected, but their smiles are the same of any other happy family.

Finally it is your turn to give something to Viserys, the king.

‘’Grandsire, we have a surprise.’’ Aemond looks around the room, and everyone watches as Viserys unwraps his present with the help of Alicent, and reveals two red with silver baby socks.

Rhaenyra gasps, delighted before hiding her giggle. Jacaerys and Baela grab each other’s hand and Helaena grins. Even Aegon seems to understand what this means. His hair has slightly grown back, but he keeps it shorter than usual, he quite liked it.

Yet the king seems at loss for words. ‘’These are a little too small for my feet.’’ Viserys says, taking in the baby socks.

Aemond grins, putting his arms around you. You beam, waiting patiently for Viserys to get the hint.

Alicent jumps up from her chair, gasping. ‘’Oh my gods, she is pregnant!’’ You break into a bright grin as Aemond softly rubs your belly.

Instantly the king smiles, standing up to hug you both. ‘’Oh! My stupid arse thought you bought the wrong size!’’ He is still very fragile, but manages to walk a few inches.

‘’Father.’’ Rhaenyra says with a chuckle.

Daemon, her newest husband, smirks, before coming over as well. Usually he is too cool for things like this, but this time, it's different. ‘’Ah to hell it with, get here you two.’’ He hugs you both. You look at the beautifully decorated christmas tree, and realize that next christmas might look even more beautiful.

The next Christmas is just like that, beautiful. Baela is now pregnant with her own child, the future heir to the seven Kingdoms. Dyana has been married too, to a friendly sweet woman she met in a coffee shop. She remains one of your closest friends, after the selection and Dyana and Crystina are invited to court, to become your ladies.

Your son is now born, Prince Daen Targaryen. Aemond and you picked the name together.

‘’He takes after his father, always with his nose stuck in a book.’’ Prince Viserys comments as you and the young prince look through a picture book he got from his aunt, Aunt Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra seems pleased that your son likes her gift and you smile at her. ‘’He likes colorful pictures.’’

Rhaenyra nods. ‘’Viserys and Aegon are the same.’’

Aemond talks with his dad, you see them bond more and more, becoming closer. ‘’Do you remember?’’ He asks.

Viserys almost looks offended. ‘’Of course I do. Your favorite things was to read, to eat cookies and to see the horses.’’

Aemond grins, looking at you and your son. ‘’I thought you had forgotten.’’ He confess.

Viserys nearly chokes on his champagne. ‘’Never.’’

You lift Daen from the ground, picking him up and bringing him to Aemond who happily accepts and holds his son. ‘’Look, it’s daddy.’’ You tell your son with a smile. ‘’Say hello to daddy.’’

He grins, hugging your son tightly when rocking him to sleep. ‘’Our little prince.’’ He tells you with a wink.

You nod. ‘’Our little prince.’’ You have learned a lot in the time of the selection. But the one thing is that your life can change, if you just look past people’s appearances, and past their walls. The most gorgeous crown can be hidden behind a ugly box and the most wonderful story has the dustiest cover. You can’t judge people for the walls they keep around, as everyone has their own stories. But most of all, you learned to fight for things you believe in, and to fight for things you love.

A/N.

Thank you so much for reading with me. When i started it idk how many people would even like it and the support was insane. Thank you all so much. I hope you all liked the story as much as I did telling it, in hotd/selection fashion.

#hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you #aemond fic #aemond fanfiction #hotd x oc #aemond x oc #aemond targaryen x reader

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every-aj-needs-an-angel · 1 year ago

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Part 3 of the Steddie Vegas AU!! Is it okay if this is a weekly thing? I know most of it is already written but it's finding time to edit it 😬 this summer is killing me istg

Part 1 --- Part 2

Steve awoke groggily sometime later to a sleep-rumpled Robin telling him they needed to get ready because they were being picked up in half an hour. Directing a confused frown at his best friend, Steve searched his mind for an answer, being picked up…?

It took a second for the past few hours to finally filter through but as soon as thoughts of Eddie flooded his mind, Steve's face slowly split into a sunny grin. He couldn't help it, no matter how much Robin scoffed and rolled her eyes, the butterflies taking flight in his stomach made him feel giddy.

He hadn't been this excited to see someone in a long time! Jumping up, he took his best outfit out of the wardrobe heading toward the bathroom to get changed and start taming his hair; kissing Robin playfully on the cheek and humming a merry tune as he practically skipped by her.

Robin tutted and rolled her eyes at him through the mirror above the desk, "Stop! God, you're gross when you're in love," she grumbled.

Steve laughed, "That's alright, so are you," he teased, pulling products out of his toiletries bag onto the side by the sink.

Robin scoffed, "I'm not in love!"

Steve's eyebrows jumped up sceptically, "No? That's not what you said at the cafe," he countered.

He heard more than saw her slam something on the desktop, "When did I say I was in love?" she squawked indignantly.

Steve's eyebrows furrowed at himself in the mirror as he thought back to that morning, "When me and Eddie arrived?"

She snapped the lid of something and snorted decisively, "I didn't say anything!"

"I know!" Steve agreed because she hadn't said anything, she didn't have to.

Robin sighed heavily, "How did I say it then?!" she retorted.

"With your eyes!" he shrieked, rolling his own in exasperation.

Robin huffed out a laugh, "Oh my god, Evie! You're such an idiot! Now shut the fuck up before I ruin my eyeliner!"

Steve did as he was told, pumping serum into his hands and smoothing it into his hair; running his own fingers over his scalp didn't have the same enjoyment now he knew what it was to have Eddie run his hands through his hair. He sighed wistfully, how do I miss him so much already?

Shaking his head to clear it in the hopes of not letting his thoughts run away with him, he rinsed his hands before poking his head around the doorway to check Robin was done with the pencil.

"So you don't like Chrissy then?" he asked curiously, leaning back into the mirror to check for stray eyebrows.

Robin let out a prolonged groan, "I never said that!"

Humming in understanding, he yanked out a hair with the tweezers, "You're just not in-love?" he clarified.

"Duh! I've known her a day!" she insisted, sighing heavily.

Steve chuckled, swapping the tweezers for a blob of moisturiser, "I've only known Eddie a day!" he argued, rubbing the cream gently into his skin.

She whined huffily, "Yeah but you're different! You're all…" Steve could practically hear her wafting her hands around.

He knew she didn't mean anything by it and he tried not to be offended but his voice came out all squawky anyway, "I'm all what?" he wanted to know, popping his head back around the doorframe.

Robin puffed out a frustrated breath, opening and closing her mouth a few times before settling on, "Romantic?"

Steve rolled his eyes, leaning back into the mirror checking for imperfections, "Why'd you say that like it's a bad thing?" he asked, his tone not as neutral as he'd like it to be.

"I didn't!" she argued with a sigh, "It's just… that's not me. I'm more…" she lamented, and whimpered, unable to find the words.

Steve flicked on the tap, washing the cream off his fingers, catching sight of his wedding ring and smiling softly to himself. Okay, maybe she has a point!

"Reserved?" Steve suggested the word having popped unbidden into his head.

"Exactly!" Robin agreed.

Steve smiled fondly to himself, a reserved Robin was nothing new, but neither was her denying the strength of her emotions. What was new was the way she was with Chrissy but maybe that wasn't as good as he'd first thought, "But you had a good time with her?" he checked.

Robin made a giddy little squealy sound in the back of her throat, "Oh my god, Steve! I had the best time! She's amazing! Did you know she's a three times cheer champion? And she won gold in the regional gymnastics championships! Do you know what that means?!"

He had no idea what that meant, Robin couldn't care less for sports, or medals, or winning things, "That she's incredibly flexible?" he guessed, only half joking, stepping away from the mirror to get changed.

Robin huffed exasperatedly, "No! I mean yes but not what I meant!" she grumbled.

Steve was halfway through changing into his jeans when he paused to think about it for a second, standing abruptly as it hit him, "Oh! Oh, you like a jock! Robin Bobbin Buckley! You like jocks!" he taunted jovially.

Robin tutted, "Shut up! You've married a dork!" she grouched.

He couldn't stop the little giggle crawling up his throat at the thought of being married, at some point it'd stopped being scary and just started feeling exciting.

"We already knew I was into dorks! This is brand-new information! Have you ever dated a jock before?" he wondered aloud, bending back down to finish pulling on his jeans. He knew none of the girls she'd dated while he'd been around had been but she'd never really mentioned a high school love life.

"No!" she whined, sounding unsure and a little upset.

"Aww Bobs, don't worry. If it helps we're very easy to please," he told her, trying his best to be reassuring, "Plus, I don't think you've got anything to worry about, she seems pretty obsessed with you!" he added absentmindedly as he pulled on his shirt, concentrating on doing up the buttons.

Robin let out a hopeful little whine, "You think?"

Steve stopped what he was doing to huff a gentle laugh, thinking about how Chrissy had barely been able to keep her eyes or hands off his best friend, the way Eddie had found it adorable; it seemed Chrissy's attraction was obvious to everyone but Robin, "Yeah, I do yeah," he assured her gently.

She hummed softly and then went quiet, deep in thought and smiling to herself as she ran a brush absentmindedly through her hair, pretending she wasn't when she caught Steve sneaking a glance around the doorframe.

Steve popped back into the bathroom before he ended up with a hairbrush launched at him, chuckling as he twirled a stray strand of hair around his finger, that particular one always had a mind of its own.

At least chatting with Robin had somewhat calmed the jitters he was feeling! Just the thought of Eddie on the other side of the door, looking all pretty and wanting Steve to get involved in something that was important to him was making him want to jump up and down, or dance a jig, or maybe both at once.

He'd never had that before, someone who'd wanted to include him in their recreational activities. Nancy had thought him too stupid to help her with her journalism and decided for him that he'd find the library too boring, without ever actually bothering to ask him. He was never invited to hang out with her friends or to join her study groups, he was pretty sure he was only there to bolster her social standing at school and to keep her folks off of her back.

He and Billy shared a love of basketball but other than school sports, he was never invited to do anything other than "dates" with him, which usually turned out just to be an excuse to hook up. But Steve was certain Eddie had known from the look on his face that he had no idea who they were going to see, Steve wasn't even sure whether they were going to see a singer or a band, but Eddie had still wanted him to come anyway, was on his way over to share this experience with him. Steve couldn't wait!

He was just doing a final mirror check when Robin asked, "You want eyeliner, Dingus?"

Steve wandered out of the bathroom, smoothing down the front of his shirt, smiling to himself when he saw Robin was wearing the dark plaid shirt that was now hers but had once upon a time belonged to him. "Do I need eyeliner?" he asked curiously, he was never sure whether it did anything for him.

Robin stared bug-eyed at him through the mirror, then whipped around to stare directly at him, "what the fuck are you wearing?" she squawked.

Steve looked down at his outfit and then back to Robin with a confused frown. He loved this shirt! El had chosen it for him the last time she and Hop came to visit, short-sleeved and paisley in colours that really complemented his complexion. Pairing it with his favourite pale blue jeans that hugged his arse perfectly was a no-brainer and he always wore his trusty Nike's, surely she knew that by now.

Robin tugged on her hair trying to dampen her frustration, "Holy crap! Evie! You absolutely cannot wear that tonight!" she yelled.

He knew she wasn't trying to hurt his feelings, she just had no filter when she was overstimulated, didn't make it sting any less though; on a normal outing, she wouldn't even bother to glance in his direction, she'd just tell him he looked hot (mainly, so they could make it out the door before Steve went back to his wardrobe to change, and the day was officially over) and off they'd go, but apparently not for one of the most important dates of Steve's life.

"I look fine!" he muttered indignantly, just for the sake of it because now he felt the need to be grumpy. He wanted Eddie to think he was pretty and he didn't bring anything else that made him feel as good as his SuperEl shirt did, or it had before Robin said that.

Robin rolled her eyes exasperatedly, "You're dressed like my dad!" she exclaimed, eyes going wide and immediately covering her mouth with both hands in shock. Clearly she hadn't meant to let that thought out!

Steve gasped involuntarily, and Robin immediately tried to backtrack, muffling an apology through the hands that were still clamped over her mouth.

There were only so many places to sulk off to when sharing a hotel room with your supposed best friend and honestly he really didn't want to hear it! Eddie would be here any second and now he felt like crap. He flopped face down on his bed determined to never move again, what was the point when your nicest outfit apparently means you're dressed like a pensioner.

Steve heard more than saw Robin turn back to the mirror, her hands landing heavily on the desktop, she sucked in a deep breath then jumped up, pacing in the small space; Steve could picture her wringing her hands as she moved around the room.

She was letting him mope because it was better to get it over with, that way he could change before the others arrived, which would be any second and she really thought it best for everyone involved if Eddie didn't see that monstrosity of a shirt just yet because he might be obsessed with Steve but the shirt was horrendous!

What Robin never seemed to realise was that she had this tendency to mutter her thoughts to herself aloud, especially when she was stressed. Steve rolled his eyes to himself and sighed, he thought Eddie would like the shirt, even if she didn't.

Robin sighed heavily, "You know I love you Steve, but you absolutely cannot go to this concert dressed like my dad!" And of course, Robin had to be shouting that just as there was a knock at the door! Steve groaned loudly and dragged himself up to answer it.

He couldn't just leave them standing in the hallway! Robin said he was a perpetual people pleaser, said it had something to do with being left too young, that he'd learned the best way to get his parent's attention or approval or whatever was to be well-behaved. He didn't know if that was true or if he just enjoyed making people happy. Right now he was just battling with wanting to see Eddie and maybe getting a hug and wanting the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

Steve hid himself behind the door as he opened it, only letting them see Robin, just while he gathered the last of his courage. Not that she gave him much of a chance to do that when she immediately screeched, "Eddie, tell him he can't go out like that!"

Eddie said nothing as the door slid shut behind him and Chrissy but it was obvious they were both trying their hardest not to laugh, at Steve or at their bickering Steve didn't know, but even though Eddie was physically biting his lip, his dimples were still poking through.

"Eds?" Steve whimpered pathetically.

And Eddie, sweet, wonderful Eddie, smiled his warmest smile, took Steve's hands into his own to stop him scrunching in on himself, and told him "You look beautiful, sweetheart!" humming and grinning in return when Steve preened. "Perhaps you could wear that when I take you out to dinner instead?" he suggested, cheekily waggling his eyebrows, making Steve feel all blushy and bashful.

He knew Eddie would like the shirt! Robin may be the brains of their pairing but her ideas of fashion left something to be desired.

Steve wanted to snark at Robin about it but that was when he noticed Eddie was wearing eyeliner! And at least three necklaces, a leather one with a pick dangling from it and two different chains. A black t-shirt with an indistinct pattern because the fabric had been slashed as though he'd had a fight with a wolf or a tiger. Black jeans that were so tight they might as well have been painted on with chains and studs and safety pins attached with Docs and a leather jacket.

Is it warm in here or is it me?

Eddie had his head tilted, surveying Steve from head to toe, contemplatively he said, "Maybe if we just... come with me," he urged, tugging on Steve's hands, pulling him out of the room, leaving the girls behind.

Eddie dragged him into a joyful skip to the end of the corridor, straight up the stairs, taking two at a time. Two floors wasn't far but it'd been a while since Steve had kept up with his fitness regime, so he was huffing and puffing. Coach would be so disappointed!

Eddie just grinned at him fondly, told him, "You do look beautiful, Sweetheart, if it were up to me, we'd cancel the concert and I'd take you to dinner instead, but we can wait, can't we?" he asked, with such sincerity in his voice, and not nearly out of breath enough for Steve's level of embarrassment.

All Steve could do was nod, he couldn't speak even if he wanted to, and he did, he wanted to tell Eddie that of course they could wait, that he didn't want Eddie to miss his concert, that he too looked incredible but Eddie was happily tugging him down a corridor, unlocking one of the many doors and shoving Steve straight into their room.

A feeling of awe swept over Steve as he skidded to a halt, standing shellshocked just inside the door, because Steve'd thought his and Robin's room was nice but Eddie and Chrissy had a suite and it was fucking gorgeous!

The door opened straight into a living space, a beautiful kitchenette with dark wood counters and a marble worktop, chocolate leather sofas and dark furniture and gold furnishings in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. And the view! Wow!

The Strip lights were vibrant even against the setting sun, even though it wouldn't be long before she tucked herself behind the mountains for the night, Steve had this absent thought appear in the back of his mind that he hoped he and Eddie would have time to stop and just sit and watch it set together before they had to head back to Indy. Eddie squeezed his hand, smiling so affectionately at him, as though maybe he was sharing the same hope, before gently drawing him through one of the open doors that led into a bedroom.

The bed was huge with neatly made golden-coloured sheets, the decor just as ornate as the main room had been. Not even the mass amount of clothing covering the expanse of the room could make it look any less magnificent, if anything, the touch of Eddie just made it all the more beguiling. Steve just sort've stood there in wonder, taking in the space and watching as Eddie rifled through the wardrobe, finally coming out with a hanger that held what was once a black t-shirt with an "ah ha!"

The shirt was at least two sizes too big for either of them and had had the sleeves completely removed all the way down to the waist. Steve couldn't even call it a vest because he wasn't sure there was enough fabric left to be classed as one, convinced one of Robin's camisoles (that he'd once used as a windscreen chamois and got yelled at for) would cover more, and although it wasn't his usual style he liked it.

He definitely liked it more than the unsure smile Eddie was now shooting him, Steve grinned his brightest grin as he reached a hand out for the garment, making sure to fully appreciate the way Eddie’s breath hitched before his smile grew until it nearly split his face in two. Steve was expecting Eddie to just pass him the top so he could get changed, what he wasn't expecting was Eddie pulling him into his arms, trapping the fabric between them, Eddie cupping his jaw, gently caressing his cheek with his thumb.

It was his turn for his breath to hitch, Steve had seen pretty eyes before, but none of them held a candle to Eddie's; rich coffee coloured, lightening towards the pupil like the growth rings of a tree and speckled with gem coloured glitter that shined like diamonds, so expressive and full of life, he wished he could spend the rest of forever looking into them.

As close as he was he could see the crinkles in the corner of his eyes as he smiled affectionately at Steve, then Eddie was glancing purposefully at his lips, practically begging Steve to lean in and who was Steve to refuse?

He let his eyes flutter shut as soon as Eddie’s plush lips touched his own, as they both sucked in a breath neither of them realised they'd been holding out on taking as they melted into one another.

Steve had never been handled so delicately as he was by Eddie, with gentle caresses and soft kisses; the girls he'd been with always expected him to be the one to treat them gently and the guys, well it was obvious they were after one thing and getting there the fastest way possible but Eddie kissed him like they had all the time in the world, like all he wanted to do was just be here in this moment with him and Steve couldn't get enough.

They were interrupted, far too quickly in his opinion, by their best friends, standing in the doorway to Eddie's bedroom with their arms folded and matching raised eyebrows to go with their "ahem!" Robin couldn't keep up the ruse though, laughing at the guilty look on his face, even as Eddie pressed his forehead to Steve's unwilling to separate, glaring daggers at Chris while she laughed along with Robin.

Steve kissed Eddie on the corner of his mouth, reluctantly stepping out of his grasp, shooing the three of them away with a promise to get changed. Eddie stepped away only to scuttle back over to kiss Steve tenderly on the cheek, Chrissy calling for him exasperatedly from the living space. Eddie chuckled, chasing after his best friend with a "I'm coming!" leaving Steve alone in Eddie's bedroom.

He took a minute just to centre himself, taking a deep breath to slow his beating heart, wondering how on earth they'd ever function when they had normal every day things to do like get to work on time.

Steve could hear Robin getting antsy about being late and quickly started on the buttons of his SuperEl shirt, throwing on Eddie's top and heading for the door; an anxious Robin was not something he wanted to induce by dawdling.

But just as Steve was about to leave the bedroom, he could hear Chrissy teasing Eddie, "I can't wait to tell Gare! Jeff's gonna lose his shit, they were already pissed that they couldn't come with us! When they find out you almost missed the concert of the century for a boy! Minds will be blown!"

Eddie muttered something in response that Steve couldn't hear but both girls gasped audiably.

"Really?" Robin asked softly, something really hopeful in her tone, and Steve wasn't sure if Eddie replied verbally but he could see him nodding and Robin grinning as he finally left the bedroom.

"How do I look?" Steve asked bashfully, fully getting to enjoy the way Eddie's eyes darkened as he spun around to face Steve.

"Wow!" Chrissy complimented.

"Evie!" Robin breathed.

"Um, uh, looks- it looks great! You look great, just needs a little..." Eddie mumbled, trying hard for nonchalance and missing by a mile. He swooped forward and started adjusting the safety pins at Steve's hips, he'd originally assumed they were an aesthetic thing but as the fabric tightened the whole top seemed to settle better. "Of course, you're skinnier than me!" Eddie grumbled as he fixed the shirt in place, stepping back to admire his work.

With the bottom of the fabric tight around his hips, it draped loosely off his shoulders, the excess swinging freely around the pockets of his jeans, the round neck showing off the v of his pecks, the straps just barely covering his nipples. It was sort've... freeing.

No one said anything for a few moments, the three of them just stood staring at Steve, it was really disconcerting and it didn't help that he couldn't really decipher the look on any of their faces. Robin was the easiest to work out, she just looked bemused like something was missing, she pulled that very same face when she was trying to write a shopping list. Chrissy looked kinda impressed, like the difference between the two tops was that surprising. And Eddie had the same abstracted look he'd had back in the waffle house, like he was in a world of his own.

"Eyeliner!" Robin blurted, snapping everyone's attention to her as she handed Eddie a black pencil.

Eddie blinked rapidly before taking it from her and stepping back into Steve's space, gently forcing his eyes closed with his fingertips. Applying the makeup with practised ease and rubbing his thumbs gingerly over the lines he'd created.

When Steve next opened his eyes, all three of them were full on, jaws dropped, gawping at him. A shiver ran up his spine, causing goosebumps to break out and all the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand up. It wasn't like Steve wasn't used to the attention, he was Prom King, he'd been hit on and chatted up and propositioned in every club he'd ever stepped foot in, hell he'd been called pretty for as long as he could remember, but the look in Eddie's eyes was so intense Steve felt almost pinned by his gaze.

"That's just not fair," Robin whispered to herself.

"We should go!" Chrissy decided, grabbing hold of Robin and Eddie and physically herding them out the front door.

Steve took a moment to just shake himself off, he wasn't an idiot he knew he was attractive but he'd never felt that before, although feeling new things just seemed to be a reoccurring theme since he'd met Eddie. Then he heard Chrissy call his name from the hallway, his legs kicking back into action leaving the suite and following her to the lift, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the back and having to do a double take.

Because holy fuck! He looked hot! Like really Hot! Like HOT! And it wasn't like he was the only one, he took a look at the four of them in the mirror and holy shit! Together they looked incredible! They looked like something you'd see on the cover of a magazine, or like a band on a red carpet, or like the leads in that vampire movie with that handsome bloke from that show.

Eddie with his slashed band tee, his leather and chains, Chris in her little black dress and thigh-high boots, Robin head to toe in black with her trademark dark plaid, and him in a skimpy bit of black fabric, showing off muscles and moles and chest hair.

It wasn't a look any of them could get away with in Hawkins, they’d be branded Satanists before they ever had a chance to so much as smile, but Vegas was special and as the four of them stepped out of the elevator into the lobby, they just looked like they belonged, not just on The Strip but together.

Part 4

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tag list @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @newtstabber @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis just lmk if you want removing

#apologies for grammar and tense changes i do proof read i promise my literacy skills are just embarrassing af #mainly talking very little plot!! i told you i can only do one or the other 😂#i actually quite like this chapter 🙈#it can be the last one though if y'all are sick of me. like i'd at least be happy that it's a nice stopping point y'know #idk this probably sucks so hard #steddie vegas au #steddie au #steddie #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #background buckingham #steve's pov #aj writes

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