#holy crap I am jaw dropped

[soyspance097]

SONIC MOVIE 3 SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I took Mini Knuckles to see the movie! Expand past him to see my feedback lol

OKAY SO CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE FACT THAT SONIC MOVIE 3 DID SUCH A GOOD JOB WITH SHADOW’S CHARACTER?

THEY DIDN’T MAKE HIM A SIMPLE ANGSTY EDGELORD WITH NO PERSONALITY OTHER THAN “REVERSE SONIC.” THEY SHOWED MARIA DYING.

THE TRANSITION AT THE START FROM SONIC TALKING ABOUT HOW HE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT HE WOULD’VE DONE WITHOUT HIS FAMILY, WHICH THEN CUTS TO SHADOW WALKING THROUGH CROWDED STREETS OF TOKYO ALL BY HIMSELF WAS ABSOLUTE CINEMA. WHEN I SAY MY JAW DROPPED I FUCKING MEAN IT.

I am sad that there was no Eggman Announcement but at least he confessed his love to Agent Stone (kinda, this is another Jayvik situation and if ykyk).

The pacing did feel a tad rushed sometimes but it’s alright, because for the run time of the movie, I feel like they included everything that needed to be included to further develop Sonic and also introduce Shadow.

Also the shots in the movie are gorgeous. Sonic and Shadow sitting on the moon, looking at the stars, and then watching the sun appear from behind the earth was just such a beautiful shot and there are so many moments like that where the lighting and scenery was just incredible. Deadass took my breath away.

Anyways, I’m still a little frazzled from the movie so I might go a little more in-depth once I recover lmao.

[redflagshipwriter]

Red Hot Ghouls

Chapter 12 part 2/2

masterpost

Danny leaned forward. “I am listening.” His grip tightened on his drink unintentionally until the plastic creaked. He withdrew his other hand from the bag of chips fragments and rolled the top of the bag shut.

She lifted a finger. “Option one is pretty selfish, in my opinion. But it would work. You could banish him from the Infinite Realms. Assuming he either never dies or dies and does not become a ghost, there are no consequences for this!” She made a cheerful gesture and crinkled her eyes shut along with a grin.

‘She’s so scary sometimes.’

“Assuming he never dies,” Danny repeated incredulously. He put his hands in his hair without even thinking of how he was seasoning himself with salt and vinegar. “Jazz- bestie, I don’t think we should bet on that one. I guess I could ask him if he feels like he’d be really good at not dying?” His voice lilted up. He touched the phone in his pocket, thinking about texting just that. Then he remembered that he was annoyed with Jason for hunting him down as Danny Fenton. He didn't know how Jason did that, but it was rude!

‘Should I tell her that he knows that?’ Danny absently wondered. ‘I don't know what he thinks. It can't be the right thing. Maybe he thinks I'm possessed or something. Maybe disguised, like Sinestra.’

She shrugged unrepentantly. “I said it was kinda selfish. It would totally solve your issue. No connection to the Infinite Realms would mean no channel for the bond between your souls-”

“Ew!”

“Or- okay, how are souls gross?” Jazz demanded.

Danny exaggerated his disgusted face even harder. “Uh, I don’t know, that’s a romantic and unscientific concept that I don’t believe in and feel offended by.” He crossed his arms across his chest to distance himself from that yucky shit. Ugh. Nasty.

“Soul is the literal term used in the reference books, so.” Jazz said dryly, as if that proved a point. Danny rolled his eyes but let it go. “My preferred option is that you marry him properly.”

Danny inhaled once. He steepled his fingers in front of his face.

His sister waited him out patiently, but he could tell that she was internally laughing at him.

“I wouldn't say that's a solution,” Danny finally managed to get out calmly. “Do you see how marrying the guy might be considered an escalation of the unwanted engagement?”

Jazz snickered and held up a hand. “See, that's the thing, you're not engaged. You're fully settled into your current relationship.”

His jaw dropped. “I’m what now?” His stomach lurched violently.

Jazz gave him a little bit of pity but she kept going. “You technically accepted the offering when you took him into your custody.”

Right. He got there and invited Jason into the Specter Speeder. He even took him into the castle. Shit.

‘This is my fault. How can I tell him that?’

He closed his eyes. He took another deep breath and put his hands over his face. “I need a minute,” he managed to get out through his fingers.

‘If I had just left him the fuck alone, I wouldn't have had to deal with this at all. I could have minded my own business. Maybe he would have gotten out of the Ghost Zone on his own, I don't know. I'm not his keeper.’

Oh. Danny winced again and drew his knees up so that he could think his head against it.

He was Jason's keeper. Holy fuckin crap. That weird sacrifice ritual had put Danny in a very real position of both power and stewardship over Jason.

‘I’m missing something,’ Danny realized, and felt like he might throw up. ‘It has to have an impact I don't know about. There's always a catch. But the catch isn't at my expense. What did I do to Jason?’

“Danny?” Jazz had switched to her softest voice. She put a hand on his shoulder. “You've been turtling for a while. What are you thinking?”

Danny bit his lip for a second. He lifted his face a little to watch her face. “There's no way something this messed up doesn't have a serious drawback for Jason. His consent wasn't required at any point. I've got some kind of leverage over him.” He felt a cold dread crawling up his back.

Saying it aloud made him feel like he had a literal rock in his stomach, and he would know! He'd eaten a moon rock before just to see what it was like, and then a few Earth rocks so he could make a useful comparison.

“Oh, Danny.” Jazz tugged him in for a half hug. “Yeah. I know. Do you wanna know the details?”

He drew his shoulders in closer. His chest felt tight. He should say yes. He was a coward for wanting to avoid knowing the details.

“We can come back to that later.” Jazz rubbed at his back. “It's okay.”

“Ahuh,” Danny choked out, thinking about Ember using her hypnotism to make him obsessed with Sam. Thinking about Sam made him think about Freakshow.

He clutched at his chest. It hurt, it felt tight. He swallowed hard. His heart rate started to climb. “I can't do this, Jazz,” he bit out. “I can't- I can't have control over another person like that-”

“Right, right, of course. That's what I mean.” Jazz fully folded him into a hug and pressed hard. He clung to the physical distraction, grounding himself in here and now. “That's what I mean. If you marry him, ghost wise or human side, that upgrades the relationship to one on equal footing. From there, you can dissolve it.”

Danny let out a humorless laugh. “And all I gotta do is get him to marry me, when what he wants is to get away.” He felt a headache coming on. “I think that if I was him, I'd think that was a trick or a trap.”

Jazz winced. “Yeah. Maybe so.���

[igneouswyvern]

The funniest thing about the zelda series to me is the way that the Great Fairy designs differ so WILDLY from game to game like

We got everybody's favorite ocarina of time design:

Nice and sexualized, skimpy clothing, weird ass hair, fucking massive in relation to link. Always hated this design, 1/10

(didn't intend to rate them when I started this post but here we are now ig)

You got the alttp and albw designs:

In the first one she looks all right, second one she looks like a child for some reason? Tiny. Barely any larger than link himself. How am I supposed to take her seriously 4/10

Breath of the wild design next:

Girl you are. HUGE. Hi????? Pretty oversexualized too like oh my god she is fantastic porn bait but like. I respect this design I'm ngl. Fucking massive sexy bastard could probably crush my head with her thumb and forefinger. 7/10

Twilight princess design:

Uh.....huh. Hey girl, how many wings you got there? Also would you mind putting on a shirt? Please and thanks? 3/10

Then we got wind waker:

????? Hello girl, may I ask, what the hell? Why do you have so many arms. Where are your legs. Fi lookin ass, kinda? Barely even looks like a fairy. 5/10

NOW. I JUST STARTED PLAYING MINISH CAP AND I FOUND OUT WHAT THE GREAT FAIRY'S DESIGN IS IN THAT GAME. AND I ALSO LOOKED AND FOUR SWORDS DESIGN IS THE SAME. MAY I PRESENT TO YOU:

Four swords/minish cap design:

Holy crap?????? Absolutely gorgeous. There's three and they're all based off of insects. But holy shit they look amazing. They're so regal and dignified, they don't look like children like the albw design, they're not oversexualized like oot and botw, they're beautiful. My jaw dropped when I saw the butterfly fairy in minish cap I was like holy fucking shit. THIS is what a great fairy should look like. So fucking beautiful. My wife I love her so much easiest 10/10 of my life

[zombocomme]

Between The Lines, Episode 7: Drink me, Eat me.

Enjoy

🔞NSFW:MDNI🔞 *mentions blood, dom/sub power exchange, edging, vampirism, some sub-drop and a little aftercare

“I am all eyes...I am all ears..." -GHOST, Faith

💒⚖️🧔🩸🎭🐑✨️🫲🙂‍↕️🫱✨️🐐🎭🩸👨🧤💒

Jim breathed heavily, the wet warmth ghosting Copia’s neck as they hid from Imperator’s scowling. Ditching their Priestly duties had gotten them in serious trouble before. And unfortunately, she was the mother superior of the abbey they were in. And absolutely, they could be punished. But they couldn’t help it… they needed each other. And right now, Jim needed Copia… badly… 

As the lights in the halls were extinguished and doors locked they knew they might have to outwait her and her ghoul goons patrolling the place. Which of course meant they had a lot more time to be missing. And despite the supply closet being a bit cramped with junky crap and linens, the one good thing about the infirmary.. Was that there were plenty of pillows

“It’s a shame we have all this time” Jim murmured in Copia’s ear, his hands slipping around Copia's hips as they kept their ears pressed to the door. 

“Shhh, shut up” Copia Hissed hearing the creaking of metal beds and orderlies talking beyond the door. But Jim was eager. He had been out on assignment for weeks. And he and Copia had spent all day taking way too long to run errands just to find each other in the halls trying to make up for lost time. 

And though his beloved Cardinal was resisting, his willpower wavered, when Jim began to palm his front side, it made Copia shudder. It didn’t matter how much fuckery they had committed in the Abbey. There was always a reason to do more, and need more. Satan’s pit, they were crazy over one another…

It was illicit, it was even disturbing, the way a “Holy preacher man” from the ministry outreach program was head over heels for a sinful Cardinal of a Satanic church. But goddammit, you can't help who you fall in love with… and you can’t help what makes your cock jump. And in Jim’s case, it was for this Cardinal.. His sharp features and little mustache, the way his voice lilted almost musically when he spoke. And Copia well, he was no better. He was just as deeply infatuated with Jim as *his Jim* was for him. His satanic church didn't give a shit about being gay, or being “unmarried”... But they apparently cared if you were twice tardy for mass in the same day. Copia, himself, didn’t really care, though he had to, for the sake of keeping his reputation, for the sake of trying to stay in The Clergy’s good graces. For  the sake of being able to keep *His Jim* around. Funny how a Preacher Man from the Emissary Alumni was the most corrupting person between the two. 

There were two things Copia cared for the most. Whose blood he was sucking. And whose cock would be in his mouth…and he wanted both to be  *His Jim*.

“Shame we gotta hole up in here when we should be on something a tad softer” Jim said, letting Copia go, making the cardinal whine softly from the absence of that sweet friction from Jim’s rough palm. “Fuck it” Copia hissed and turned to grab Jim’s face by the Jaw, shoving his tongue into the other man’s sweet, hot mouth. Jim moaned into Copia’s and met him with the same eagerness, colliding into one another as if with a need to consume.

Such it is for Jim, so starved of connection. Copia, so starved for touch. A match made in well, heaven or hell, it didn’t matter to them. Their beliefs, their rules, their insecurities, all thrown out the window like the pretentious shit it was. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that they were right here, right now, and they were both starving… and they both needed each other…

As Copia pushed Jim, walking him back into a shelf with a small clatter of falling supplies and bleach starched linens and pillows from the laundered pile on the shelf to the ground. His body against the taller man felt needy and aching... throbbing for the touch. And Jim cupped Copia's  face, hands sliding all over, wanting to just get right under that pale skin, wanting to both hold together, and rip it apart, all he wanted was to satisfy the feverish desire that pulsed through him, passionate, feral, and damning.

Copia’s lips traveled down Jim's neck, biting at the skin, gloved hands slipping under the hem of Jim's shirt to peel it off his gorgeous body.

Jim had gotten chubbier over the past few months, relegated to desk jobs as punishment for his own transgressive failings under Sister Imperator's eye. But Copia loved it; he loved Jim in all his glory.. It only made Jim more comfortable to enjoy, and he relished in making the Macho man squeal in pleasure under his ministrations.

Copia practically vibrated with power and lust. Jim gripping his uniform like he wanted to shake Copia like a ragdoll and fuck him, but it was Copia’s turn to take the lead. He may be Jim’s blood master, since Jim is *his familiar*, but Copia loved that man with a passion that mirrored the fire and flames he would inherit as a prince in hell. He deserved this. Jim deserved this, to be worshiped, thanked, and tended to with earnestness…

Copia hummed in response to Jim's whimpering noises, pressing their bodies together, feeling the comforting sensation of the softness in the body and the strength in Jim’s bones…

His hands roamed over Jim, touching every place that made the preacher man squirm. Copia broke the kiss, “You feel…so damn good”. Jim panted and groaned  in response, as Copia's touch grew more urgent and needy, tracing every contour line, every muscle, every slope and valley of his flesh, his mouth and lips following not far behind. As Copia nipped at Jim’s bare chest the soft sheen catching in the soft down of chest hair, made Copia nuzzle into the familiar scent, hands sliding lower, tracing the outline of the man’s growing arousal knowing that even in the darkness of the supply closet, a dark spot was forming in Jim’s slacks.

“Fuck, I love you like this” Copia said, his tongue sliding up Jim’s happy trail, making Jim’s exhale sound and tremble, a erotic rumbling in his throat. Jim hissed behind his teeth, not to be out done in the dirty talk, firmly clenched Copia’s chin in his hand, shoving his thumb inside the cardinals wet mouth, Copia suckling on it, eyes darkened with desire as his promise of what was to come  was foreshadowed in the way he teased at Jim’s finger.

Jim smirked , “Mmm… body’s a bit soft, but oh man, do I got something hard for you to take advantage of babe.” he  said, his free hand shoving his slacks down to his knees. Copia's eyes widened in excitement as Jim's cock flung out proudly towards his face. He sucked harder on Jim's thumb and groaned, his hips moving gently as craved Jim’s touch, squeezing his thighs to relieve the pooling heat between his own legs. One look at Jim’s purple shining cockhead was enough to convince him, yes. 

This is how he wanted to please *His Jim*.

“Is that so, Caro, I suppose I’ll have to test that out for myself” Copia murmured wickedly, pulling a pillow over his knees to kneel on.

Copia could feel the heat from Jim’s stare. He looked up, meeting Jim's gaze as he released Jim's finger with a lewd pop. He ghosted his breath over Jim's length and let his dropped fangs gently prick the skin around Jim’s groin as he nuzzled into the soft patch at the end of Jim's pretty little happy trail. Jim was always such a sucker for being teased. Nothing made that man whimper and come undone, and make those sweet little subby noises , like being edged out of his mind could. Copia may be on his knees for his lover at the moment , But Jim was *His Jim*… And he took care of what was his… and it thrilled him to bow and service his beloved heart.

Jim gazed down at Copia, breathless and hungry. Their little power exchanges were like dancing something they knew front to back. And trust this, they knew each other. Every, fucking, inch… no matter who wore the leather or the lace, they could recognize one another in the dark by touch alone in a crowded room.

Jim tensed with desire, his hot excitement dripping, as if weeping from the denial Copia was giving. Then Jim leaned back against the closet shelves sighing as Copia’s tongue darted out to taste, knees jerking together instinctively at the sudden sensation, then widening as Copia swirled a devilish tongue around Jim's tip, sucking from the little slit, more of the pre-cum that was still traveling down to be consumed. Like the nectar  in a honeysuckle flower, a flavor sweet, bright, and all Copia’s to worship, cradling the heady mixture in his tongue to savor it longer as it slipped down his throat. 

“You taste so good amore,” the cardinal said, his voice sultry and low. He groaned softly as he made a mess of the slick over his face. Jim’s sighs began to turn into soft little pants when Copia would press the back of his tongue and suck, twisting on the shaft, a mind blowing technique when  paired with the gentle, vaguely threatening scrape of those vampiric fangs…

Jim shivered, his jaw going a bit slack, “Goddammit, you, ah-, you know what your words, do, do to me!” he said, his voice tightening as Copia slid his hand up to squeeze the firm flesh cradling Jim's heavy balls in his rolling fingers and adding his signature move as he pulled back, slipping his fingers up as he would go down. Oh yes, he wouldn't let an inch of Jim's heat be touched by the stale cold hospital closet room air, no, Copia’s hand and mouth worked to keep him always exposed, and ever shielded, warmed in Copia’s gloved hands or slick throat.

Copia was squeezing more drops of that delicious salted sweetness that made Copia purr with pleasure, as he continued to pump him. Changing tactics, he leaned underneath, sucking at the low hanging flesh that was quickly drawing up. He absolutely knew what his words and his touch were doing to this “holy” preacher man. Jim may be a corrupting force, instigating their constant fucking around the ministry. But Copia, the black Cardinal, was even more *sinful…

“I do know” he said, mouthing over the fat cock in his hand, making Jim let out a strangled moan, knees flinching inward as Copia's fangs slid along the seam of Jim's length.

Copia chuckled playfully, enjoying how easily Jim was giving in this time. Copia’s tight little asshole was fucked raw from earlier, and Jim as the giver, was so used to sucking him off instead, as Jim just loved to please, and make Copia cry out and whine. And now, this big lug of a man, shirtless and pants now  dropped to the ankles, bucking gently into Copia’s touch, so practiced, so perfected over these past months, was just unraveling.

And it was a delicious erotic sight…and Copia felt the tingling euphoria of having such power, and of serving his servant of Blood, with sins of the flesh, as he deserved. Copia’s cheeks burned as the zipper seam rolled over his own heat just right, as his own hips wriggled to try and calm the ache between his legs

Jim gulped the stale closet air, a guttural moan passing his parted lips as Copia continued tot ease Jim with is words, and his tongue, saying the filthiest most sinful phrases, so taboo, and so scoffingly wicked to Jim's pretty red ears, that the preacher man was mewling into the darkness at no god but that of his idolatry, his master, bending his knees, kneeling, giving him the sweet torture of helpless pleasure that other men would have traded their souls for. Oh how a preacher man pretending to be celibate is actually the most whorish and unholy. And god did it feel good to sin!

“Mmm…you’re so sensitive baby” Copia teased before slowing, wrapping his lips around Jim, taking him into his mouth, pressing the tip past the fangs, against them, enough to twinge his poor Jim’s drooling head and kick up.

“Haannnghhhmmm!!-” Jim moaned loudly, throwing a hand over his mouth trying to clamp the noise down as they both heard people passing in the halls again. Copia chuckled around him, the muffled sound of his mouth matched by the moaning he was doing tasting Jim's' in his  mouth… He’d have to get Jim to be quieter.. But the thrill of being caught, well, that only made it more fun to try and game out the preacher man.

Who Was the bigger whore? Really, both of them at this point, though Copia liked to think it was Jim since he was so closeted about his desires. And Copia was learning every single one, and he was in love with watching Jim submit to them. Feeling free. And it was a beautiful sight.

“You make such beautiful sounds, amore” Copia mouthed, coming up for air. Jim was a gorgeous disheveled sight. Jim had a hand in his own hair pulling, carding through the locks, overwhelmed with the intensity, eyes glassy, mouth parted and panting, sweat starting to sheen over his whole body, a droplet slipping down from his brow as body as he grew hotter, his sweet blood thrumming beneath the surface, rushing around in search for it’s true master…

Copia pulled his own cock out, stroking it as he gazed up at Jim. Jim was weak in the knees. 

But Copia, ever the gentleman, wrapped his free hand around Jim’s leg helping keep him steady, palming his thigh as he slowly began to bob his head over Jim’s hardness, his fangs grazing the sensitive skin with fire in their wake.

Jim nearly passed out from the sensation, his eyes rolling back. He pulled a small pillow from the shelf biting down on it as every movement tugged hotly inside from his navel to his end, the heat pooling in his groin heavy and needy. And of course Copia was particularly enjoying the act of handling his man without mercy. The power, the satisfaction, of being so wicked, making Jim cave, reducing the preacher man into a trembling moaning mess, god the thrill was like a drug in his veins.

His movements continued, steady and determined, looking, seeking out Jim’s pleasure, like a hound to blood, the perfect combination that would break his pretty Jim, just the right pressure, just the right suck, the rhythm that would absolutely shatter the man standing over him right now, meanwhile his nose nuzzled at the base, inhaling the scent of arousal, a musky scent that made his stomach drop over and over like he was free falling on the same ride over and over again.

Copia was feeling his own pleasure rise and he was whimpering around Jim's manhood, his own sense of helplessness and wanting to make Jim feel so good, to want to destroy him, make him explode, and lick him clean.

Jim dared to look down and was met with Copia already staring up at him, eyes half lidded and darkened brow furrowed upward as he continued to try and coax Jim’s release from within, as he continued drooling and choking deeply on the throbbing shaft, all the way till his lips cupped at the tip, and descended, fangs nipping around the base.

Jim was breathing unevenly, caught between pleasure and impatience. He was rocking his hips ever so slightly, breathy moans warming the damp spot his mouth was clamped over on the pillow. He cupped the back of Copia's head, dropping the pillow from his mouth now slick with drool. He moved Copia's sweaty hair from his face to watch as the Cardinal took him so easily, watching his impressive, so “precious chastity” be swallowed up in the entrance of Copia’s silver tongued praises and unholy pleasures.

“Fuuuck, god-mmm oh god.” Jim moaned through his ragged breaths, trying to keep quiet as he drank in the delicious sight below. He had to look away or he was going to come on the spot. He  knocked his head back again against the wall, muscles tensing, his eager desire for the sweet release being so sumptuously denied added pressure to the coiling behind his stomach, spreading outwards making him let out pathetic cries, sobs of desire, keening when Copia’s fingers began to twirl behind Jim’s taint.. 

Copia came up for air again with a soft slopping sound. “Mmm… you like that one don’t you baby, you like when I take care of you like this. Taking care of you so *deeply”. 

The sound of Jim moaning his name as his back arched while Copia pressed against that sensitive spot with one hand and pumped him with the other. It was a sight he wanted to memorize, to remember in vivid detail when he would fuck into his fist and spill over his knuckles tonight. He knew his gloved hands would be filthy by the end of this encounter but he didn’t care, he wanted to keep the scent of Jim's sex in the leather, and anytime he caught  a whiff of it he wanted his own cock to jump with the “sex flashback”. He knew it was dirty, but he was a devil.. Who wouldn't want to crave the nectar of *his sweet angel, Jim*. 

He imagined licking his fingers and jerking off under his desk to the very idea of Jim spilling over them sending his climax straight towards him, and he made a panicked sound that nearly made Jim bust.

 Copia humped into the pillow he was kneeling on, the underside of his hardness slick against the cheap plastic material of hospital pillows. He would bring Jim to his room later for a more comfortable session. And if he couldn't, well, nothing beat the glide of Jim's black lace and velvet edged stockings he kept handy in his bedside drawer… the thought of it made him moan and made his own heat burn in his belly, rocking his hips harder and faster into the pillow. His vestments were convenient to hide any mess he made, the frock hanging over his pants beneath, and Copia knew his pants were an absolute mess now. 

Jim watched as Copia fought to keep his own release in check, and his own climax was rushing on eagerly towards him. “Hrnnnghahh- Copia, oh god!” Jim panted urgently, fingers flexing in Copia's hair, arms taut with tension, tendons flaring as his back arched off the wall, trying to keep his impatient movements under control. He was letting Copia take the lead, and he was savoring the helplessness he was submitting with. Copia, his blood master, Jim, Copia’s familiar and long time lover, were both about to rock over the edge of a glorious release, they knew.

Copia groaned at the way Jim was clinging to him, mouth pleasing to his preacher, his actions confessing his soul  for him, like an absolute sinner. His pace was urgent, and having Jim at his mercy to every touch and caress, it was all he could do not to let him have it and bite down to suck out the cum and fangs bleed the preacher man down his throat. And it was everything in Jim not to damn his genteel efforts and fuck Copia’s pretty face full of slick, tears, drool and the drippings of his black paints. Copia couldn’t help it, he needed Jim to let go or else he would.

He braced himself and then did something he knew Jim would explode with; The Dark Cardinal opened his mouth even wider, his throat relaxed and he shoved his face into Jim, his sharp nose nuzzling on that happy trail on Jim's soft stomach, groaning, moaning, vibrating around Jim's kicking cock, and he slipped his fangs to penetrate the flesh at his groin, the euphoria of his venom snapping Jim in two with a glorious song of absolute ecstasy!.

Jim’s stomach tightened and a tingling sensation bloomed all over his skin like drugs in his veins, breathing faster and faster, tension mounting to the pinnacle, teeth grinding as he tried to keep from screaming in his pleasure, as Copia's tongue slid over the sensitive flesh lapping and suckling on the essences of Jim's very life force.

Copia gripped his thighs, the squeeze bringing even more sensation, attention, and hot blood  to the place where Jim's entire being was existing upon..

“Oh fuck oh god oh fu- ahh, nnnngggghhhh!” Jim groaned, a deep almost demonically lowly sound as he bucked twice more down into Copia’s throat, spilling down his gullet.

He twitched and jerked and shook, his grip in his lover’s hair blinding as Copia gripped his shaking legs and shot his own load into a sputtering puddle across the floor, splattering the wall at Jim’s ankles, but he did not slow, he worked Jim over until the man was sobbing from the stimulation, drawing out every last wave of pleasure from the holy preacher man he loved, and adored so much…needing, more than anything in the world at this moment, to inject every ounce of love and desire to shoot straight to his heart

He savored the taste as he swallowed, pulling off of Jim who collapsed into the floor puddle in a heap.

“Satanas, you are so delicious” Copia breathlessly gulped, blood trickling from his mouth down his neck as he threw his head back and sat kneeling there a moment, reeling in the presence of the divine, of the dark gift he had, and had shared with Jim. 7 Hells, his smile faint on his face was that of pure bliss.

He  purred, gently lowering Jim to the floor onto a clean pillow and unsoiled starchy bleached hospital blankets in the dim closet, “Caro, oh my angel, my sweet little dove, so good for me, so good…” Copia babbled, feeling like he was praising his intercessor in thanks.

Jim was incoherent and dazed, practically passed unconscious. Copia chuckled softly as he sidled up to Jim gently sliding his gloved hands caressing Jim’s sensitive skin, making the man whimper softly and the blush bloom over his skin wherever he touched. Jim was so beautiful, so pliant, so *his* in every way. Copia leaned down and peppered that cute little fucked out face full of kisses and praises, “You did so good for me baby….you’re so beautiful like this… you are my sweet angel… you made me feel so good darling… my love…” 

Jim's eyes fluttered and the tiniest weak little smile crookedly spread over his face. Jim felt elated, overjoyed and every bit as beautiful as his long time love said he was. Every inch teeming with pleasure and satisfied exhaustion.

Copia arranged the bedding around and rolled Jim onto his stomach and began massaging the jerking muscles in his calves and thighs. Jim began to feel that wonderful sub-space-brain take over. Slow. Sensual touches lulling him into a state of absolute bliss… He felt vulnerable, and yet, every touch, every trailing kiss, every warm praise from Copia soothed him so easily. He belonged here.. Like this. Being pampered and loved on. He needed it. He needed that connection as much as Copia needed to feel his own touch…Taking turns, giving and receiving, it felt so right… 

How could such a love, such a feeling of pure joy and visionary pleasure be considered sin. Loving Copia had never felt like a sin. And he was tired, oh so tired of living a dual life of preaching about chastity and long suffering , making sacrifice, when every miracle seemed to lead him here, into the arms of to whom his “holy heart” truly belonged… he sighed contentedly and brought his arms up to stretch and rest his chin on them enjoying the attentive ministrations of Copia's care. He was home, truly, where he belonged…

“I am yours. And You are mine, Caro,” the cardinal said softly in his ears, petting Jim’s hair lovingly, “and it is an honor…to take care of what’s mine…”

[hwasfeatherduster]

P1Harmony at The Forum!!!!

I saw P1H for the first time ever at The LA Forum on June 16th. I just want to preface this by saying that I am not a P1ece (well I wasn't before but I think I will become one now). And I knew their music (Cause I studied that setlist like I was studying for The Bar) but I did not know anyone but Keeho...and I knew one was named Soul but I didnt know who Soul was and 30 minutes in I realized that Soul was in fact NOT Jiung. So when I tell you I really just showed up to this concert cause I heard Do It Like This and Killin It, that was the entire reason.

With all that being said... HOLY FUCKING SHIT THOSE BOYS CAN SING. I was beyond shocked. Backtrack who? cause it was not there. It was just raw vocals and holy crap they were amazing. I think they are one of the best groups that I have seen and heard live. They really have the full package. Their music is 10/10. Their performance level is 10/10. Their voices are 100000000000000000/ 10. They are all around AMAZING PERFORMERS!!!

Quick side note, Soul. After I found out who Soul was it made so much sense. That man puts his entire SOUL into dancing. I think he's the maknae (please correct me if I am wrong) but he is going places. He will blossom into a dancer that will change the industry cause I have never seen someone dance the way he does with so much power, control, and perfect execution and just make it look so freaking easy. My jaw dropped. What is this magical group that I stumbled upon?!?!?! How come I have never listened or seen them in concert before?

They are so amazing that they need to sky rocket to the top like right now. They need to lock down this industry the way BTS did. Out of all the concerts I have seen so far this year, this was probably the second best (I got 2nd row for TXT and it changed my life) BUT P1H, if I was 2nd row, I think they would've taken first place. Next tour, I'm there! Front row! If you are not a P1ece, do yourself a favor and become one because those boys are onto something.

[rawbiredbest]

6+4+5, and FuryNov? for the drabble game :3

send these

"Nothing personal. It's been a really shitty day."

The barista -- Miguel, by his name tag -- lifts his hands up and regards the pistol pointing at him with disinterest. "Then what does that make my day, asshole?"

It's true -- though Bryan Fury has driven past the tea shop twice a day for the past eight months, he's never stopped in, never even registered its name. It just happened to be the closest open business from the construction site. "Shut up and empty the registers. All of 'em."

He's been jerked around long enough. Working long hours with tenuous OSHA compliance and the only excuse given for weeks of withheld pay being we're soooo sorry, we're waiting on a big loan to go through, have you looked through your spam filter for your check? -- there's only so much he can take. He has bills and rent to pay, and he sure as shit isn't going to live on the streets if he can't.

Punching his boss in the face, throwing a jackhammer through the windshield of his Fuckoff 450, and stealing the gun in the glove compartment was more for personal satisfaction than anything.

Now he has to get money and go before the cops show up. Hence the tea shop. Nothing personal.

Miguel is dropping bills from the last register into Bryan's bag when the barista's eyes dart up for a split second.

Fury turns toward the door.

Holy shit, he's beautiful, Bryan thinks, before a fist connects with his jaw hard enough to drop him to the floor.

He fumbles the gun; Miguel hops the counter and kicks it out of reach. Fury barely notices. His primary concern is the iron grip around his leg. He's not a small man by any means, but he feels smothered, pinned to the floor by a sheet of solid steel. Those aren't arms, they're cables, and they pull his knee in a direction it is not meant to bend until Bryan's agonized howls drown out the approaching sirens.

- - -

The beautiful man walks in with a pixie to the holding cell at the police department. He stares down at him as if he’s an amoeba on a microscope slide, navy blue suit jacket folded over his arm. It’s still slightly scuffed from nearly breaking his bones.

“Hello, Mr. Fury,” the fairy says, smiling, “My name is Alisa Bosconovitch. I am Mr. Dragunov’s personal assistant. He would like to extend you an offer, if you care to hear it.”

Bryan half-listens, preoccupied with the beautiful man’s eyes. Pale blue with the barest hint of hazel. Unearthly. Gorgeous. “Dragunov. That Russian? Gonna send me to the gulag?”

Those blue eyes narrow.

“Mr. Dragunov will not press charges on one condition,” Alisa says, “Enroll in our criminal employment program. Work at one of our stores. The experience on your resume will have far more appeal to future employers than consecutive jail sentences.”

Bryan stares at both of them, gears in his head turning. This isn’t just a shitty day, it’s a weird one. “What kind of use would I be in a tea shop? I have the emotional capacity of a brick. Unless your gig’s a front for the weapons trade, that dainty crap’s not for me.”

Dragunov’s distaste finally blooms across his face in a deep scowl.

Alisa can’t disguise her own disgust, frowning. “Mr. Dragunov takes his tea very seriously.”

Again, Bryan barely notices. Scars. Dragunov has scars on his face. What tea leaves scars? Fury regards the cuffs on his wrists. Prison would be a roof over his head, yes. But steeped in intrigue it would be not.

“What the hell,” he says, meeting those off-hazels, “Count me in.”

[taeyamayang]

Boo, im alive👁👁

How long has it been _:(´□`」 ∠):_ it feels like ages!! I missed you😭 last time i graduated, and now i am in a different school studying in STEM and suffering😔

I have tons to tell you, but the number 1 thing i want to share with you is my greatest happiness, I HAVE MANIFESTED A TSUKISHIMA KEI INTO MY LIFE LETSSS GOOOOO😭 literally looks exactly like him (short blonde hair, glasses, 6'2) and acts like him too kshskshsk😭 we've been together for 5 months now! It is long distance, but he plans on visiting next year in summer:D

I hope you're doing well Pea, please update me on how you're doing😭🫶

OH MY GOD WAIT A MINUTE

WAIT A MINUTEEEEE

HOLY SHITTTT AAHHHH THE JAW MY JAW DROPPED ON THE FLOOR AND IM-

im fucking speechless! im so happy for you hows he treating you? has he been treating you right? (as he should bc YOU deserve it)

i NEED an update on this pls holy crap

[safesthaveninexistence]

LMFAOAOAOAOAOA ATP I ALREADY MADE IT!!!!! HOLY CRAP OKAY ALL I GOTTA DO IS JUST KEEP BEING POSITIVE AND EXPLORE REALITY W SM FUN!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I SEE MY SUBCONSCIOUS BRAIN CONJURING UP MY DESIRED ANIMALS MY DESIRED CATS OUT OF NOWHERE!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I ALREADY PLAYED THE SUBLIMINAL WHERE I RELEASED FEAR AND GUILT AND IT REARRANGED ALL SITUATIONS INTO MY FAVOR IM DIVINELY THANKFUL GODDESS OF THE NIGHT GUARANTEED MY DESIRES W EASE AND EFFORTLESSNESS I LOVE IT HERE OMGGGG I FEEL SOO RELIEVED OMGGGG THANK GOD I CAN SEE NORMALLY! LMFAO DUDE I ALREADY MADE IT!! DOESNT MATTER IF IT GOT DELETED OR NOT EVERYONE ALREADY KNOWS I ALREADY MADE IT AND I KNOWWWWWW I ALREADY MADE IT THATS ALL THAT MATTERS!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL ALL I HAD TO DO WAS BE POSITIVE OPTIMISTIC AND THINK ON MY FAVOR CAUSE ITS AS SIMPLE AND AS PROFOUND AS THAT!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL MY DEPTHS ARE EXTRAORDINARILY EFFECTIVE!!!!! MY MAGNETISM DAWGGGGGGGGGG IM DIVINELY THANKFUL ABSOLUTELY ALL OF MY INNER WORK HAS NEVER LEFT ME IT IS STILL ME IT IS ONE WITH ME IT IS HERE WITH ME IM SO EXCITED IM SO BLISSFULLY HAPPY IM BLISSFULLY JOYFUL BEHIND THE SCENES EVERYONES MISSING ME NEEDING ME WANTING ME CRAVING ME YEARNING FOR ME!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL THOUGH!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL THOUGH IM EFFORTLESSLY A BEAST WHEN IT COMES TO CONJURING UP MY DESIRED SITUATIONS AND PLANES OF EXISTENCES!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM A BEAST WHEN IT COMES TO CONJURING UP MY DESIRED PEOPLE WITH EASE AND EFFORTLESSNESS!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL ALL I IMAGINE SIMPLY GETS TRANSMUTED INTO ME BEING PRESENT WITH ALL OF MY DESIRES ALREADY HERE IN OVERABUNDANCE OMG!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM EXCEEDINGLY TAPPED INTO MY DIVINE POWER! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL MY ENERGY PACKS ALL OF THIS EXTRAORDINARY MAGIC THAT HAS EVERYONES JAW DROPPED TO THE FLOOR CAUSE THEY SEE IM THIS BEAST THAT DEVOURS THE DARKNESS ALL OF IT AND TRANSMUTES ALL OF IT INTO DIVINE LIGHT AND LOVE!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I STEAL ALL THE SPOTLIGHT CALL ME LEOVENUS IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM DIVINELY ENERGETICALLY SPIRITUALL PSYCHICALLY IMAGINATIVELY WINNING!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I BEEEEEN MADE IT IM DIVINELY THANKFULLL I BEEEEEENNNN MEGA WON!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM MEGA WINNING BIG BEHIND THE SCENES IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I KNEW I COULD RELAX AND TRUST EROS AND NOW AS A RESULT I CAN TRUST THE REST OF MY LIFE THE FRONT OF THE SCENES AND BEHIND THE SCENES BECAUSE ITS ALL LOVE FOR ME IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I ALONE HOLD ABSOLUTELY ALL THE POWER IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I SEE HIM ADMIRING MY POWER!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I SEE EVERYONE IS PROFOUNDLY IN LOVE WITH ME EVEN SILENTLY BECAUSE MY OWN DEPTHS DRAGSSSSSSS DOWN THE LEVEL OF LOVE AND DEVOTION THEY HAVE FOR ME TO THE LEVEL IM AT BUT IN THE WAY I DESIRE AND PREFER LOL!!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I RESPONDED TO DARNELLE OMGGGGGG IM DIVINELY THANKFUL THAT WAS A DIVINELY PEACEFUL ENDING WITH HIM LIKE WE GET EACH OTHER AND WE GET EACH OTHERS DEPTHS AND JAZZY RESPONDED!!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL MAYBE I SHOULD DATE JAZZY IF LAIKA AINT COMING YET LMFAO I SEE HOW PURE JAZZY IS FR! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I DO AND SAY EVERYTHING RIGHT REGARDLESS BECAUSE EVERYTIME I CHOOSE MYSELF THEY CHOOSE ME REGARDLESS!!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL ITS OKAY AND MORE THAN SAFE FOR ME TO LET GO OF THE PEOPLE WHO I THOUGHT ID DATE TO FOCUS ON THE NEWER PEOPLE THAT ACTUALLY DOES EXCITE ME BECAUSE ITS OKAY I AM FREE I HAVE MONEY IM EFFORTLESSLY THE WEALTHIEST IM EFFORTLESSLY DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT MY AUTHENTICITY REIGN SUPREME!!!!!! IM ENOUGH AS I AM IM WORTHY AS I AM I DO MORE THAN ENOUGH!!!! I AM MORE THAN ENOUGH AS I AM!!!! IM MORE THAN WORTHY AS I AM!!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL MY PERIPHERY IS SIMPLY DRENCHED IN LIGHT AND LOVE IM DIVINELY THANKFUL I CAN WHOLEHEARTEDLY TRUST BECAUSE I CLEARLY HAVE EVERYTHING I NEED AND DESIRE FROM ABSOLUTELY ALL PLANES OF EXISTENCES THAT EXISTS WITHIN ME IM DIVINELY THANKFUL NO ENERGY CAN SNATCH ANYTHING FROM ME!!!! IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM UTTERLY AUTHENTIC REGARDLESS IM DIVINELY THANKFUL IM UTTERLY MAGNETIC AND ATTRACTIVE REGARDLESS IM DIVINELY THANKFUL

[deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist]

Damn, what a great chapter – so many big feelings! Without any further ado, let me jump in and shout out my favorites while I still can:

“… you knew that Ben wasn’t capable of that feeling that now sat under your skin with the fire. He didn’t want it—not with you—and you don’t blame him. But you don’t think you could do anything else, anything that wasn’t everything. …It would fade, or pass, or change back into something neutral and platonic. And if it kept growing and growing to affection and fervor and desire and undying-“ Oh, my poor girl - I know she’s got it bad, but those dreams - are they hers, or his? Or is it perhaps a shared experience?

“Tough shit.” Ben doesn’t move, if anything he might be holding you tighter. … “That’s not my fucking problem.” His words are becoming more firm—less slurred with sleep—and you can feel the tight content sitting in his chest. “You should’ve showered last night.” I love this so hard! And see, she can sense his contentment…

I am now forever going to be wondering what the melting point of pizza is… That made me laugh! I love the fact that they’re cooking together, and having fun with it, even though things occasionally get destroyed.

Why does he want his shield in the bathroom and not the bedroom?!?! That’s so weird! 

I love he still has the racist grandpa list, and that he seemed a little embarrassed by it – I love it when he’s being soft like that. I love me some grumpy Ben.

The whole “Correlation isn’t fucking causation” exchange was wonderful!

“You’d be a great whore,” Ben’s voice is shockingly indigent. “You’d make a fortune.” / “Thank you?” broke me - I laughed so hard! Bless, it’s not the compliment he thought it was (And my God, girl, get a clue, Ben’s got it Bad! But that’s easy to say, I’ve never known when someone was flirting with me, either.)

The whole “The fuck do you mean you’re not the beauty?” exchange - he totally missed the implication she thought he was handsome. But his whole “What makes you fucking think that?” He’s glaring at you, like you’ve personally offended him. You can feel something strong, something confusing, pounding through his chest. “You’re plenty jaw-dropping.” I know she wouldn’t believe he would feel that way about her, but I love the fact that his body is giving it away, and she’s missing it!

And then… well, crap, I got so sucked in by the story that I couldn’t stop to say what sentences really struck me, because the story absolutely consumed me! Please accept it for the complement it is, because I almost never get sucked in that hard! Butcher’s absolutely cock-up with making her sing, her not having the ability to go tell Ben what might happen, and hoping he would forgive her. Watching Fake-Ben appear with her on stage – Lord, that’s going to be an awkward as hell conversation when they finally get to talk about it…if they get to talk about it! My heart was in my throat when Tek Knight announced Homelander was on his way, and Ben not putting her down, or even being mad in the moment – not to say he won’t get mad later, but at least he wasn’t right then. Holy crap, such an intense chapter, so many big feelings - damn fine chapter. I can’t wait to see what happens next!!

Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This Chapter of No Love Lost is brought to you by blatant Jennifer’s Body propaganda, Too Much Plot™, acidditties infinite patience, and readers like you. Thank you. Chapter Title from Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift.

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: A new plan is made, and the team takes a trip to Staten Island. Usual warnings

Read on A03!

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

You’re up against the wall. You weren’t sure how you got there—it was all a blur of teasing and mock fighting and getting just a little too close together—but you knew something had snapped. One of you had started this, this furious kiss that might be like a drug, that might ruin every other kiss you’ve had, will have. You think you’ll blame Ben later because he has no actual proof it was you that moved first and you can talk circles around that man for days. Most of the time. Right now you’re not sure if you know any words expect Ben and fuck and please.

Ben’s standing over you, his arms caging you between his body and the wall. Your hands are tangled in his hair, pulling him down to you so that this never ends. One of his hands has dropped to your waist, pulling you closer, closer, until you’re off the wall, pressed against Ben’s chest and wrapping an arm around his neck to stay steady.

His arm wraps fully around your body, the other hand leaving the wall to tangle in your hair, raising you slightly off the ground. You moan, and suddenly the arm around your waist drops to right below your ass, lifting you completely before all but slamming you back into the wall with a groan.

“Ben,” you gasp, wrapping your legs around him as his teeth pull at your lip. “Fuck, please-“

 He chuckles, leaning back slightly. “You want me to fuck you, Sunshine?”

You whine, trying to return his mouth from where it’s torturing you—just a breath away—to where it belongs. Against yours, forever. Things like talking can be secondary, because this can never stop. “Ben, please-“

“Words,” He teases, and when he says your name it vibrates through his chest, through your blood. “I know you know how to use them.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, still trying to pull him back forwards. “Please.”

“I’ve never seen you speechless before. If this is all it took I’d have kissed you months ago.”

“Ben-“

“Words.”

Your indigence manages to push through your desperation. “That is a word, fuck-“ you hiss, because Ben’s pushed his knee up to rest between your thighs. “It’s a proper noun.”

His head drops to your neck, kissing bruises that vanish in seconds. “Can’t stand being wrong, can we?”

“Wasn’t wrong, you-“ Your head can’t fall further back, so he’s moving up, up. Kissing at your ear, your cheek, your forehead and nose and everywhere else but your mouth. “Fuck, Ben.”

“That’s what you want?” He teases. “Say it.” 

You’re past dignity. “Please fuck me, Ben. You absolute cu-“

He cuts you off, kissing you long and heavy until there's no breath in your lungs to keep going.

“Bed?” He grunts, and you nod frantically.

You blink, and suddenly you’re on your back, still between Ben, still resting your legs on his hips, but the surface behind you is now soft. The bed is already squeaking slightly as Ben kisses you into the mattress, and you don’t realize that you’ve started to grind against him until he pulls back with a groan. 

“Fucking quit that, or you won’t get what you want,” Ben snaps, and you can feel him, long and hard against your leg. You test your luck, pushing up into him one more time, making him moan against your ear.

“Plea-“

The word isn’t fully out of your mouth before Ben’s pulling away from you, weight moving off your body and making you push up on your elbows to try and bring him back. You barely have a chance to see him kneeling at the edge of bed—your lower body having somehow gotten exposed along the way—before you fall back with a strangled gasp as his mouth finds your pussy.

His beard is scraping at your inner thighs, his tongue is pushing inside you, his nose keeps brushing against your clit, and one large hand is managing to hold you still as you try to buck off the bed.

“Fuck, Ben, please-“ you moan and he growls against you, moving faster-

A snore tore through the air, yanking you from the hands of sleep in an instant. Still in bed, still on your back, and, torturously, still pinned down by Ben, who was all but passed out above you. 

You were starting to lose your mind. Over the past week, Ben had solidified his habit of pulling you under him in the night, tangling your legs together and pushing his head into your shoulder as his arms covered your chest. It would’ve been sweet if—over the past week—you hadn’t been waking up every morning with an ache between your legs, covered in sweat and filled with an insatiable need for the very man sleeping above you.

You never moved. You couldn’t move. Ben looked so peaceful when he slept, and it made the Feeling warm and easy. His voice would roll through your body as he grumbled incoherently under his breath, his face would bury into you as he held you tightly, and you just weren’t cruel enough—to Ben or yourself—to wake him. You always waited until he let out the low sound that signaled he was leaving sleep, and then you’d start whispering his name, pushing at his arm slightly until Ben woke himself.

The pitfall to this plan was that you’d be trapped under Ben—horny and still half asleep—trying to fight yourself from doing something really, really stupid. Like kissing his pouting lips that looked really soft, or tracing his sharp jaw from his chin to his hair, or pulling him further into you just to be closer, feel his warmth and strength as he breathed against you. This was not a plausible long term way to exist. It was starting to become distracting, how much you wanted him. Yesterday morning he’d reached over you in the kitchen and you set the orange in your hand on fire. You’d somehow managed to play it off as being startled, but all you could think about for the rest of the day was Ben’s body and how it had pressed against yours in that split second. The thoughts followed you into your dreams, and the current position you were in wasn’t doing you any favors.

Time began to move in a cruelly slow passage. You might have been held under Ben for days or mere minutes, but it felt the same. He was right there, touching you so casually, and you couldn’t do anything about it. It had clicked, when you’d woken up from a safe and peaceful sleep last week, that the Feeling didn’t feel inseparable from your own self anymore. It was Ben. Your… attachment and care and ease with him. You were an adult, and you could admit that maybe it was just Ben. That you wanted him matching you step-for-step, holding you peacefully, and fighting that consuming thirst for just him, him, him forever.

And you knew where the catalyst lay, in that very thought. That was too much. It was more than infatuation, it was something deeper you didn’t really have a word for. And you knew that Ben wasn’t capable of that feeling that now sat under your skin with the fire. He didn’t want it—not with you—and you don’t blame him. But you don’t think you could do anything else, anything that wasn’t everything. You were an adult, a grown woman who had a PhD and was perfectly capable of living with the man she liked not liking her back. It would fade, or pass, or change back into something neutral and platonic. And if it kept growing and growing to affection and fervor and desire and undying-

You’d live. You’d find a way to live.

When Ben finally started to move, that low sound from his chest rolling through yours, it felt like mercy. You might have exploded—burst into a million pieces of want and desperation—if he hadn’t.

“Ben,” you whisper, tapping his arm where it holds you. “Wake up.”

His response is a low, muffled grumble. “No.”

“It’s noon.”

“So?”

“I’m hungry.”

 “Go fucking eat, then.”

You sigh. “I can’t, not until you move.”

“Tough shit.” Ben doesn’t move, if anything he might be holding you tighter.

“Please,” you poke his shoulder. “I need to shower.”

 “That’s not my fucking problem.” His words are becoming more firm—less slurred with sleep—and you can feel the tight content sitting in his chest. “You should’ve showered last night.”

“All the hot water was gone,” you frown at the ceiling, poking him again. “Because someone took their sweet fucking time.”

“You could’ve just used the damn guest bathroom.”

“You could’ve just used the guest bathroom. It’s not my shower that’s broken.” You almost jump when you look down at him, finding his eyes open and watching you with a heavy look. Your words stumble a little, mouth suddenly dry. “I’ve told you I can just call Mallory-“

“I don’t need the CIA in my shit any more then they already fucking are,” Ben mutters. “It’s not worth it.”

“Easy to say when you’re the one who gets to take hour long showers in my bathroom-“

“Our bathroom, Sunshine.”

You snort. “Our bathroom? Seriously?”

“It’s my bedroom too now, my fucking bathroom as well.” He sits up slightly when you giggle again, “what’s so fucking funny-“

“Nothing,” you shrug.

“Liar.” Ben’s propped up on an elbow, slightly over your body as he glares down at you. It’s not doing you any favors. “You have that shit-eating grin when you get to teach me something fucking dumb. What.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I’m not a sensitive pussy, I can fucking handle-“

“Communism, Ben. I’m laughing because ‘our’ is a communist sentiment.”

You feel irritation strain against him, but there’s no drums, no fury. “I ain’t no fucking commu-“

 “I know. That’s the joke.” Still on your back, you stick your tongue out at him. “Jokes are funnier when you explain them, you know.”

Ben drops back to his side of the mattress, and you mourn the loss of his warmth. “Just for that shit, I’m not cooking tonight.”

“It’s my night anyways, dumbass.”

“And you’ll be blowing up the kitchen alone.”

You roll your eyes. “A girl blows up the kitchen one fucking time, and suddenly it’s all she’s ever done.”

“Twice,” Ben’s smirking when you look at him. “Pizza.”

He’s right. Five nights ago you’d tried to bake a pizza by hand, and destroyed the counter and several cabinets. And he knows he’s right, because he’s already got the cocky told you so look in his eyes, the one that appears when he wins an argument.

“Shut up,” you mumble, climbing out of the bed as Ben laughs behind you. “It’s not my fault pizza is so easily flammable.”

Ben sits up against the headboard, and you can feel him watching you move around the room. “I think you’d find a way to make stone ‘flammable’.”

“Everything in the world is flammable, Ben. That’s how melting temperatures work.” 

“Fuck off, brat.”

You flip him off, moving to the bathroom and closing the door with a lock.

Ben had, in a remarkably short amount of time, made himself at home in your space. His razor was near the sink, shampoo next to yours in the shower, and his shield was—for reasons you still didn’t fully understand—sitting against the wall.

“Why does it have to be in the bathroom?” You’d asked, and he’d scoffed as if it were an insane question.

“Because.”

“That clears absolutely nothing up.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it.”

You’d frowned, following him into his own bathroom for the last of his items. “See, I wasn’t worried, but now I am. This is a big house, there’s definitely space-“

“I want it close.” He’d grunted, stepping into the shower for toiletries. “That’s it.”

“Close to where you shit?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He’d turned back to you, arms full. “This is everything.”

You’d looked around the room. “What about your toothbrush?”

“I don’t brush my teeth.” He’d pushed past you, and you’d followed his long strides back down the hall, gaping at his back.

“You don’t brush your teeth? For what possible fucking reason?”

“Don’t need to. Waste of fucking time.” Ben had glanced down at you, expression almost confused. “You don’t need to do that shit either, now. You have a better healing factor than I do.” 

You’d blinked. “It’s a good habit.”

“Whatever,” he’d shrugged. “Not my damn time you’re wasting.”

After that conversation, you’d bought him a toothbrush. It was still sitting—bristle and dry—next yours, but it made all of it, made Ben, feel more concrete. Like some form of evidence that you were sharing a room, and he wasn’t sick of you yet. That he’d forgiven you enough to only roll his eyes when you suggested he use it.

He’d forgiven you. By some miracle, he’d completely and totally forgiven you. You’d played it all in your head a million times, trying to see if there had been a break in his words, a falter in what you’d felt from him, any sort of evidence that he was lying. But he wasn’t. You’d watch him bend a knife in half because it “wasn’t working properly” or make snarky comments at the show you’d be watching, and all you could feel from him when you grabbed his hands or your legs brushed together was ease. His words, his offer, looped and looped in your brain, and began to carve a groove.

Do you seriously fucking believe that Homelander would take you and I wouldn’t fucking burn everything to get you away from him.

You can always fucking be around me.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

You picked the words apart. Trying to find a divot or crack to show that Ben was lying, that you needed to have doubt and tread carefully.

To get you away from him.

Away from Homelander. Not back to Ben, away from Homelander.

You can always fucking be around me.

Always.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

He’d forgiven you. Fully, completely. And you didn’t know what that meant.

I give a shit about you.

You’d expected him to be gone from the bedroom when you finished your shower, so you changed slowly in the lingering, humid steam. But you open the door to the bedroom and find him exactly where you’d left him, looking bored and sullen.

“Who takes long fucking showers now?” He mutters under his breath, and you blink at him.

“I thought you’d just go downstairs,” you say blankly, trying to read his face. “If I’d known you were waiting-“

“I wasn’t waiting.” Ben snaps, standing in one quick, abrupt movement. “I needed to shit.”

He pushes past you, into the bathroom, and you call as he closes the door, “there are like, four other bathrooms!”

You hear his shouted response through the door. “Shut the fuck up!”

Taking a step to the hall, you hesitate, glancing back at the bathroom door. “Is it a long shit?!”

There’s a pause, and then, “What?!”

“I’m going downstairs! If it’s not a long shit, I can wait-”

“I can shit by my goddamn self.” You can almost see his frown through the door. “I don’t need fucking help.”

“I wasn’t offering help, you asshole, I was offering to wait. So we can go downstairs together.” It sounds stupid as you say it, but you can’t bring yourself to take it back. 

There’s another second of silence, then a gruff, “Fine.”

You hum, glad Ben can’t see the heat on your face, and drop back onto the bed. You expect to wait a few minutes at least, but the toilet flushes almost immediately and Ben pulls the door open with a grunt.

“I’m hungry.” He snaps, and you stand off the bed with a shrug.

“Join the club.”

“Fuck off.”

You laugh to yourself, following him down the stairs. “Thoughts on dumplings?”

“What?”

“For lunch. I saw a recipe in the book yesterday.”

He makes a tight face at you from the bottom of the steps. “I don’t fucking want oriental food.”

“Jesus Christ, Ben.” You sigh, shaking your head as you move a pace ahead.

“What? The fuck is wrong with-“

You stop at the counter, turning back to face him. “Do you still have my racist grandpa list?” You ask, half joking with your brows raised.

He stills in the doorway, and you could swear he’s almost blushing. “Yes.”

“Oh,” you blink, having expected it to find its way to the trash weeks ago. Shaking your head slightly, you say, “Add ‘oriental’ to it.”

“It’s upstairs. I’m not going all the fucking way back upstairs just for a stupid damn list.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to actually use your brain for once,” you walk to where the cookbook—a few pages burnt and heavily beaten but still in one piece—is laying near the sink. “Think that old man memory can retain one word until you go upstairs again?”

“Brat.” Ben sits down at the counter, and you flip him off.

“Cunt.

“Any word from the pussy-squad?” He asks, and you throw your phone into his chest.

“Check yourself.” You sigh, turning back to push through the cabinets for flour and salt. “We should really just get you your own phone.”

“I’m fine using yours.” 

“Yeah, you’re really making a huge sacrifice, using my phone.” You turn around, watching him glare at the screen, tapping it aggressively with a single finger. “Need some help there, Pretty Boy?”

“This thing is fucking stupid,” he grunts, eyes scanning the screen. “And I’m doing damn well fine on my own, Sunshine.” He looks up at you with a cocky grin. “Starlight says they’ve got something.”

You tense, feeling air become tight around your body. “Something?”

“She says there’s a lead- goddamnit!”

You move forward, pulling the phone from Ben’s hand. “Oh, shove it up your ass.”

“I was using it-“

“My phone,” you snap. “I reserve the right to take it back whenever.”

“It’s fucking rude-“

You blow a raspberry at him, ignoring his indigent expression to read the message on the display.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

MM got a lead a few days ago from A-Train, Hughie just confirmed it. We’ll be over tonight, need to move fast.

You look up at Ben. “They’ve got a lead. They’ll be here tonight.”

“What time?”

You re-read the message. “Doesn’t say.”

“Assholes.” Ben grunts, standing up to walk to your side. “Do we have all the shit?”

 “What?”

“For the dumplings.” He says, voice bored as he scans the cookbook. “I’ve fucking starving.”

 “Aren’t you worried-“

“Worried is a little fucking dramatic. I’m vigilant, because I don’t trust those fuckers, or whatever goddamn ‘lead’ they have.” Ben looks over at you, eyes narrowed. “But we’re not about to whine and fret about it all day like pussies. We’re going to make shit-ass fucking dumplings, and you’re going to stay out of your own fucking head.”

“I wasn’t going to whine,” you grumble, even though he’s right. You’d already begun to spiral into what confirmed meant, and why the lead was from A-Train, or what about made you need to move fast.

“Sure, Sunshine.” Ben says dryly, nudging you with his shoulder. “Go get me some fucking rice wine.” He scowls at the page. “What the living fuck is rice wine.”

You lean over him, ignoring the rush of warmth when you touch him, and read where he’s pointing. “I’ll look it up. Can you start-“

Before you finish your sentence, Ben is roughly turning the oven dials, heating the front burner.

“Thanks,” you give him a smile, and he waves you off. As he walks past you to the fridge your arms brush, and your heart does a somersault into your stomach.

Rice wine, as it turns out, was an incredibly self-descriptive name for an alcohol that was fermented in rice. Given that the CIA hadn’t deemed it necessary to provide any and a grocery run wasn’t really in the cards, you made the executive call to use white wine instead. Ben supported your decision, informing you flatly that “booze is booze, Sunshine, and I'm not going to be a fucking pussy about it.”

In the week you and Ben had been trying to cook, this was the first time neither of you tried to break something in frustration. There was one close call, where Ben had failed to crimp the fifth dumpling in a row, but managed to restrain himself from smashing them all in vengeful fury. You offered him to take five—saying you were capable of doing this part yourself and he’d done more cabbage squeezing than you had—and though he’d taken a step back with a scowl, he didn’t leave the kitchen.

“I thought you could go set up the TV?” You look up at him, raising your brows. “I can do the rest myself.”

“Do you want me to go?” Ben says your name, eyes narrowed at where you were fixing the lines on one of his dumplings.

You shrug. “Doesn’t really make a difference. You just don’t have to stay here.”

He doesn’t respond, only leaning against the counter and watching you in a silence neither of you try to fill. You can feel Ben’s eyes following you, and trying to dissect what that means is more than enough to keep your mind off the lead.

When you turn to move the now-well-crimped dumplings into the skillet, you almost yelp when you find Ben—having moved impossibly quietly for a man of his size—right behind you. He silently takes the dumplings from your hands, dropping them into the skillet without a word and glaring at them as they cook.

“Plates,” he grunts, and you snap out of your state of mindlessly watching Ben to walk to the cabinets.

Setting them down next to the oven, you stand at Ben’s side with your arms crossed. “How’s the bomb?” You tap his chest, and he shrugs, eyes not moving from the dumplings.

“The fucking same.”

“Really?” You lean forwards slightly. “Because I can’t remember the last time it went off.”

“So?”

“It used to go off like, all the time. At least twice a week.”

Ben gives you a flat look from the corners of his eyes. “Say what you fucking mean.”

You give him a sweet smile. “I think you know what I mean.”

“Fuck you.”

“Uh huh,” you poke his shin with your foot. “Still not ready to admit I was right?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Ben drawls, picking up the skillet and turning away.

“It’s not that hard. You’ve even been sleeping better.”

“That has not a fucking thing to do with this.”

You frown at his back. “I mean, I’d say less PTSD induced nightmares is a pretty good sign-“

“Correlation isn’t fucking causation, ” Ben says your name in a mocking tone, and you huff.

“I fucking taught you that, you dick.”

Ben turns with your plate in his hands. “I’ve told you to stop teaching me shit, and you won’t fucking listen.”

“Shut up,” you grab your food, stuffing a dumpling in your mouth. “Maybe if you weren’t such a dumb-dumb I wouldn’t have to tell you everything.”

“Manners, brat. Don’t you know it’s not polite to eat with your mouth full?”

You stick your tongue out at him, and a large crumb falls from your mouth. “Cunt.” You swallow quickly. “And I still think the PTSD is getting better, no matter how much you bitch about it.”

“I’m not fucking bitching.”

“If you weren’t, you’d admit I was right.”

Ben takes a long, over dramatic sigh that ends with you receiving an impossibly strong death-stare. “Fine.”

“Fine?” You tease, even as a grin overtakes your own face. “That’s all I get? Fine? Not thank you, you queen among women. You were, as always, right, and I, Benjamin-“ you pause, frowning at him. “Do you have a last name?”

“Of course I have a fucking last name. And I’m not saying a goddamn word of that.”

You pout. “Rude.”

“Yep.” Ben starts to walk down the hall, and you follow behind, speaking through a mouthful of your second dumpling.

“Is it something embarrassing?”

 He glances back at you. “The fuck are you talking about.”

 “Your last name. Is it embarrassing?”

 “No.”

 “Is it long?”

 “No.”

 You fall back into the couch, kicking your feet up onto the cushions. “Are you not going to tell me?”

 “No.”

 “So you will tell me?”

 “No, I said-“ He pauses at your wide, cocky grin, rolling his eyes. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“Yep. Why won’t you tell me?”

“It hasn’t been my last name since the damn 40s. It died when Soldier Boy was born, and I don’t want a fucking thing to do with it.”

You tilt your head at him. “Cause of your dad?” He gives an annoyed, low sound of affirmation, so you nod. “Ok.”

He frowns. “That’s it? Just ok?”

“You don’t have to tell me, I was just curious.” You give him a half-smile. “I get it, if I had to carry my mom’s name everywhere, I’d hate it.”

“We’re both too good for them,” Ben grunts., and you wrinkle your nose in thought.

“Are we?”

“Yes, we fucking are.” He snaps. “My dad was a fucking pussy, and your mom sounds like a bitch. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy?” You finish, and your smile is full and toothy. “Does that mean I’m not a bitch?”

He scoffs. “Of course you’re not.”

“Say the full thing.”

“What?”

You lean forward. “Say the whole sentence. Say ‘you aren’t a bitch,’” you say your own name sweetly. “So I know that you mean it.”

Ben glares at you. “I fucking mean it, Sunshine. I’m not a-“ 

“Liar, I know.” You grin. “Prove it.”

With a deep sigh, impressive scowl, and laziest voice you’ve ever heard, Ben says your name. “You aren’t a bitch.”

“Was that so hard?”

“You’re lucky I put up with you, beautiful.” Ben mutters, and your heart feels warm and full.

“I could say the same for you.” You nudge him, forcing yourself to ignore the beautiful part because you’ll go insane trying to find reason in it. “You’ve been blessed with my infinite patience, Ben. Never forget that.”

Ben looks you up and down—like he’s trying to find a piece of you he’d missed before—and when he finally meets your eyes, his own are firm. “I’m going to say something, and you have to swear not to lose your damn mind.”

“No promises.”

“Sunshine.”

“Fine.” You grumble, placing your plate on the floor. “But you have to swear that it’s not something weird.”

“You didn’t want to see your sister because of your shit fucking plan.”

You wrap your arms around your body, holding yourself tightly. “Doesn’t-“

“If you say matter I will revoke all your favors right fucking now.”

“That’s not how it works.” You mutter, keeping your eyes firmly watching your lap.

“Fucking try me.” You feel Ben’s hand rest on your shin, and something that stings your heart rushes through your body. When you look up he’s frowning, but there’s no anger behind it, and his gaze is careful. “We’re not doing your plan. You should tell her you’re not dead. She needs to know.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” You say softly, nails digging into your skin. “What if the lead is a dead end and I-“

“If it’s a dead end, we’ll find another fucking lead. And another, until we find one that does something.” He squeezes his hand against you, and heat moves through your body. “You’re not going back. That’s fucking that.”

“Okay,” you breathe, and even after Ben nods sharply, neither of you look away. You swallow, forcing yourself to speak. “I’ll think about it. About telling her.”

Ben grunts, but still doesn’t turn back to the TV. “Once this is over, you’ll fucking have to if you want a damn life.”

“Not if I go with you.” The words fall out of you before you realize you’re saying them. Your heart stumbles around in your chest, mouth falling open, but Ben’s already speaking.

“You should still fucking tell them. They can come visit.”

You blink. “Visit?”

“They aren’t going to ship me off to fucking Mars, Sunshine.”

“Yeah, I got that. I just didn’t think you’d want visitors.”

“I don’t give a shit. They’re your family.”

“They think I’m dead.” You frown. “They think you’re a terrorist. They’ll have questions.���

“Then we’ll fucking answer them.”

“We don’t know where you’ll be going, what we’ll be doing-“

“Probably some shit-ass island,” Ben grunts “And I have money. We’ll be fucking fine.”

“Well,” you frown. “We don’t know what island, and all your money is gone-”

“The fuck do you mean gone.” Ben cuts you off, sitting up rigid.

“Everyone thought you were dead,” You say carefully. “Dead people don’t get money.”

“But I wasn’t fucking dead,” He snaps, scanning your face. “I was fucking alive.”

“I know that. But I’m not the government in the 1980s.” You frown. “Did you think all your money was just, sitting around and waiting for you?”

“I didn’t fucking think about it!” Ben looks remarkably distressed. “I didn’t think anyone had laid their pussy ass hands on it!”

“I mean, it’s been like 45 years.”

“So fucking what? It’s my goddamn money!”

“Ben,” you place your hand over where he’s still holding you. “Calm the hell down.”

“I’m fucking calm!” You try to hold your amusement as his voice raises, feeling his genuine anger and shock through your body.

“I can see that,” you say dryly, and Ben scowls at you.

“Get off your fucking high horse,” he snaps. “You’d be fucking angry-“

“If my death was faked and my life was taken away from me?” You give him a bored look. “Gee, I wonder what that’s like.”

He pauses, still glaring at you. “Smartass.”

“Yep.” You shrug. “You’ll be fine, Ben. Part of the CIA deal was livable compensation. And you could get a job.”

He glowers. “A job?”

You snort. “It’s this thing normal people do, where they provide service in exchange for money-“

“Shut the fuck up,” he squeezes his hand again, and you hope he doesn’t see the flush of your face. “I know what a job is.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Brat,” he grumbles. “What fucking job could I possibly get.”

“Well,” you tilt your head in mock thought. “With the forty year gap in your resume-“

He gives a huff, but you feel the amusement shooting through him. “Not funny.”

“A little funny,” you dismiss, continuing. “You could do construction, or be a bouncer. You’d kill it at any physical labor. You be an ok birthday clown if you weren’t such a grump-“

“I am not a grump-“

You talk over him. “Now, my personal vote is escort. And if I go with you, I think I’d be an amazing pimp. We could build an empire, earn all your money back.”

Ben snorts. “Why do I have to be the whore?”

“You’re doing it for free right now,” you try and keep your face straight, but are unable to hide the delight in your voice at his adorable frown. “And I’d be a terrible whore. We’d be out of business in a week.”

“You’d be a great whore,” Ben’s voice is shockingly indigent. “You’d make a fortune.”

You frown, unsure if it’s meant to be a compliment, or why you can feel his offense so strongly in your body. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome,” he grunts. “And I’d be a better fucking pimp anyway.”

“Holy shit,” you laugh. “You’d be a terrible pimp.”

“And what makes you think you’d be better, Sunshine?” He sneers, and you shrug with a smile.

“For one, I don’t call escorts whores. And I’ve read about your business endeavors in the 80s. I never would’ve tried to open a Soldier Boy themed bar and grill, and if I had I wouldn't've served green-dyed rocky road ice cream as the only desert option.”

Despite the annoyance you can feel through him–proven by the tick of his jaw and glare—Ben asks, “What would you have done.”

“Mint chocolate chip.” As you’re grinning at Ben’s scowl, you realize that he’s distracted you again. For a second you’re almost resentful—not loving how easily he flashed something shiny for you to ramble about and how fast you took the bait—and then you realize his hand is still on your shin, and that you’re not gripping at your arms or cutting into your skin anymore.

“You think you’re real clever,” he mutters, and your smile widens.

“Of course I do. I’m the brains, you’re the beauty. That’s what makes the business model work.”

Ben is giving you a cocky smirk, and you don’t hear your words until his rush of smug satisfaction hits you. “I’m the beauty?”

“Well, yeah.” You try to act bored, nonchalant. Like your heart isn’t fluttering and your body isn’t warm. “We’re both the brawn, you’re definitely not the brains, and I’m not the beauty, so we divide-“

His hand on your leg tightens its hold. “The fuck do you mean you’re not the beauty?”

“I mean, I’m not ugly.” You say passively. “But I’m not-“

“Not what?” He snaps, and you blink at him.

“I don’t know, Vought level.”

“Vought level?”

“Yeah. Sparkling, jaw-dropping, brand-worthy.”

“What makes you fucking think that?” He’s glaring at you, like you’ve personally offended him. You can feel something strong, something confusing, pounding through his chest. “You’re plenty jaw-dropping.”

“I’m not being self-deprecating,” you frown. “I’m stating fact-“

“That’s not a damn fact.”

“I’m not upset about it,” you frown at him. “I’ve got other good qualities-“

“Well, you’re still fucking wrong.”

His grip on you is so tight, you’d be worried about bruising if that was possible. You can still feel his anger, and though it’s not aimed at you it’s still powerful. Tight and loud.

“Ben-“

The entrance door bangs open, and you both look up to see MM entering the house, Hughie only a few steps behind.

“Good, you’re already dressed-“ MM cuts himself off as he passes the kitchen. “The fuck happened in there?”

“Cooking,” you say sheepishly, craning your neck to see if anyone else is coming through the door. “Is it just you guys?”

“Everyone else is in the car,” Hughie explains, and you frown.

“Everyone?”

“It’s all hands on deck,” MM says shortly, still glaring at the kitchen. “It looks like a bomb went off.”

“Several almost did.” You stand, Ben’s hand falling from your leg. “What’s going on? Annie said there was a lead-“

“We’ll explain on the way,” Hughie says nervously. “It’s a little time sensitive.”

“We’re not going fucking anywhere-“ Ben rises, glowering at Hughie. “Until you tell us the goddamn deal.”

MM pulls his gaze from the kitchen. “You’re going wherever the fuck we tell you.”

“The fuck we are-”

“We are,“ you whack Ben’s arm, giving him tense look of don’t be a fucking dick. “Time sensitive, Benjamin. They’ll explain.” 

Ben shoots MM and Hughie distrustful glares. “It might be fucking stupid-“

MM scoffs. “We’re not the ones who come up with stupid plans.”

“That feels targeted,” you mumble, and Hughie gives you an apologetic look.

“I promise it’s worth something,” he says, looking between you and Ben quickly. “We wouldn’t put you in danger,” Hughie says your name gently, and you shrug.

“I know.”

Ben snorts, muttering just loud enough for you to hear. “You do that enough by your fucking self, Sunshine.”

You stomp hard on his foot, giving MM and Hughie a smile. “Let’s roll then.” As they turn, slightly confused looks on their faces, you stick your tongue out at Ben.

“You’re so fucking mean,” he complains, following you out the door.

“Shut up,” you roll your eyes. “You love it.”

Ben grunts, and you walk a little faster so he doesn’t see the flush on your face or accidentally touch you. That might send you into cardiac arrest.

MM wasn’t lying. It’s all hands on deck. Frenchie and Kimiko look up from their silent conversation as the doors open, Annie’s jittering slows as Hughie takes his spot next to her, and Butcher is glaring at you as Ben helps you climb into the van.

“Well, aren’t I just tickled that America’s golden couple decided to join us,” he sneers, and you flip him off, waving to Kimiko.

I’m glad you’re here, she signs. This is a good plan, you’ll like it.

You smile. So I shouldn’t be worried?

Only the regular amount.

You laugh, and Ben nudges your shoulder.

“The fuck did she say,” he mutters in your ear.

You keep your response quiet, walking to sit along the edge of the wall. “That I’ll like the plan.”

“Are any of you pussies going to actually fucking tell us the plan?” Ben raises his voice, and you roll your eyes.

“Drama queen,” you say under your breath, and he subtly whacks your leg.

“Remember last week,” Annie starts, leaning forwards as she addresses you. “When MM asked you about where Homelander was holding you when he started the V?”

You take a heavy breath, nodding. You’d answered his text best you could—somewhere near the Hudson, south of Albany—but at the time you’d just ran. In any direction, as far as you could without collapsing. Eventually you’d found an interstate highway and followed it until you found somewhere to rest and take stock of your surroundings, but that was miles from where you’d started.

“Well,” she continues, voice a bit softer even as the van’s engine begins to rumble. “A-Train gave us some documents about Vought-owned spaces in the region, and Vought scientists who lived near them.”

“We don’t know if Homelander was even using a Vought building-“ You protest, but Annie shakes her head.

“He probably wasn’t. But he would’ve needed easy access to Vought supplies. And we found a warehouse in Climax, New York-“ 

You feel Ben stiffen next to you, and shoot him an I heard it too, but please shut up look.

He returns it with a fucking killjoy eye roll, but stays quiet.

Annie, oblivious to the exchange, continues. “That stored compound V, along with a lot of other experimental chemicals. There were also seven Vought chemists and biologists who lived in the area, all of whom died six months ago, and each one had a close-casket funeral.”

You swallow, bile that tastes like guilt rising in your throat. You’d burned them alive. There might not have even been bodies to bury. “If you- If you show me a photo-“ Ben leans into you slightly—hand finding your thigh—and you can speak without choking. “I could identify them. They were the only people I saw for the four months after Homelander moved me.”

You can feel something sharp shot through your ribs—Ben’s ribs—living a stinging trail in its wake.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” Hughie says, glancing at Annie. “We should’ve just done that.”

“What did you do instead?” You ask, frowning.

Hughie gives you an embarrassed look. “We kind of, uh…”

“Jesus, Lad, just bloody say it.” Butcher mutters before giving you a wolfish grin. “We visited the families. Asked ‘em about what fuckery their beloved spouses and children got up to.”

“You harassed families about this?” You ask just as Ben says, “And did they fucking tell you anything?”

Butcher ignores you, answering Ben instead. “Most told us to fuck off, but one said that her dear husband always seemed fuckin guilty about something. Said he’d come back haunted.”

You feel the fire under your skin. Haunted. He’d felt guilty, for what he was doing. To you. But he’d kept doing it.

Your voice is slightly cracked. “I don’t see how that’s a lead though-“

“We asked her if she knew where he had worked,” Hughie says. “Like what town or city, and she said he never told her because of the NDA Vought made him sign, but that he always came back with donuts from this one shop. We looked it up, and it was near the warehouse.”

“From there it was real bloody easy,” Butcher drawls. “Hughie worked his fucking little geek magic, and we checked finance statements of a few shops in the area. A few cunts who were buying donuts and coffee are currently six feet under after an accident six months ago. Terrible thing, all their faces exploded, like a bloody laser hit them. Wanna guess who they fuckin worked for?”

You shake your head, but Butcher isn’t waiting. “The one and only rich bastard, Tek Knight.”

“That could be a coincidence,“ you say nervously. “I don’t think it would hold up as evidence.”

“It ain’t fucking evidence,” Butcher grins. “It’s proof that someone who ain’t Homelander or bloody dead might’ve known about project Anomaly. It’s a solid fucking lead.”

“So we’re going…” You trail off, looking around the van for someone to explain. “Where?”

“Well, Love,” Butcher leans back. “I happen to know from a few informants that Tek Knight runs a gentlemen’s club in bloody Staten Island. Real classy joint, underground, need a password to get in type shit.”

“Informants?” You give Butcher a flat look, and he rolls his eyes.

“Had to do something with all the threats I made last week. I didn’t get fucking shot just to waste a perfectly good mole.”

Hughie stares at Butcher, agape. “You got shot?”

Butcher waves a dismissive hand. “I’m fine, it ain’t a big deal.”

“Well, yeah,” you frown. “Because I healed you. It was bad,” you say to Hughie. “Big shot, right on his chest.” 

“Got blood all of the fucking floor,” Ben mutters, and you scoff.

“You’re not the one who had to clean it up, Ben.”

“I offered-“

You glare at him. “You said ‘I’ll hold the bucket’. That’s not cleaning, it’s barely helping.”

Hughie coughs, returning your attention to him. “Um, the shot?”

“Oh, yeah. It was bad.” You shrug, tapping your leg as you look at Butcher. “You never actually said what happened.”

“I was getting your fucking plan ready,” Butcher over enunciates the your, glaring around the van as he does so. “Making sure Homelander would hear about you and not think twice of it. Had my own little double agents, took a shit ton of effort to get them, too. And like I said, I ain’t about to waste all my hard work.”

“So they told you about the club?” You ask, and Butcher smirks.

“They didn’t tell me just about the club. They told me the password, and that Tek Knight’s there, right fuckin now.”

“And that’s where we’re going,” MM called from the front. “Hopefully that motherfucker will have some answers.”

You almost ask but what if he doesn’t? What if there’s nothing? but Ben squeezes your leg, and you look up to find him watching you.

This will fucking work, his face says. And because you can feel his resolve, that protective concern wrapping around your body and through your blood, you nod.

You’d been to Staten Island once. The Senator had been attending a fundraiser in New York and insisted on taking you and your siblings to the National Lighthouse Museum, because he was the most boring man in the world. You’d asked to go to the Met, or the zoo, or at least the Empire State Building, but no. The National Lighthouse Museum. Now, years later, you were slightly taken about by how similar everything looked to your hazy childhood memory. Brick and stone and trash against the curb.

“Why Staten Island?” You ask, and Hughie shrugs.

“It’s cheap, I guess.”

“Isn’t Tek Knight a billionaire?” You point out. “That’s like, his whole thing.”

“Does not stop him from being cheap,” Frenchie mutters. “Every cheap man I have known holds millions of dollars behind his back.”

“Well, if it’s a high end club, you would think he’d want some modicum of luxury in his location.” 

Butcher snorts. “I think this ain’t the type of place that requires luxury, Love.”

“You said it was a gentlemen’s club-“

“It is. Of sorts.”

“Of sorts?” You snap, wide-eyed. “I swear to god-“ 

“It’s an indulgence. For rich pricks who need to get away from their wives and have some fucking fun.”

“Butcher,” Annie says slowly, coldly. “Are we going to a sex club?”

“No,” Butcher’s face is scornful. “They don’t do the sex in the club. That’s for after.”

“After?” You gape. “After what?”

“The performances. Bunch of classy broads whose daddies didn’t love ‘em enough, competing to get the richest cunt pay to take them home and do coke off their tits.” He winks at Ben. “You’ll fuckin love it, gov.”

Ben’s grip on you tightens, and you feel hot anger in his chest. “Fuck you.”

“Aren’t we sensitive,” Butcher jeers, “Gone soft, have we?”

You narrow your eyes at him as you cover Ben’s hand with yours, feeling his anger barreling towards fury. In a miracle of timing, the van comes to a stop right when you think Ben might punch a hole through Butcher’s chest.

As you exit the van, the alleyway around you is abandoned in the night, a few closed doors looking like they lead to very abandoned buildings.

“Are you sure this is it?” Annie voices your thoughts, looking at MM with concern.

“This is the address Butcher gave me, ask him.”

“This is right,” Butcher looks around, hands in pockets. “Frenchie, got the costumes?”

Hughie’s face pales. “Costumes?”

Butcher ignores him, shouting, “Frenchie?!”

“Oui, in the back.”

“Go bloody get them.”

Frenchie frowns, but disappears back into the van, Kimiko following after signing lazy asshole at Butcher.

“What do you mean costumes,” Hughie pushes further. “Like disguises?”

“On the money, Lad.”

“You said we had the password, Butcher,” MM glowers. “The fuck do we need disguises for.” 

“They ain’t gonna just let us in,” Butcher says. “Even if they don’t recognize us, Soldier Boy and Starlight together are a dead bloody giveaway that somethings shady. We’re goin through the back, passwords just a failsafe.”

“So why do we need costumes?” MM snaps.

“Blendin in, mate.” Butcher shrugs as Frenchie exits the van, with a set of folded outfits. “Let’s get fucking moving, we’ll change inside.”

After Butcher shatters a window that sits around knee-height, Kimiko drops through it with another glare and scowl. A few, stressful seconds later, one of the steel doors opens down the alley, and you follow the group down steep stairs and into one of the creepiest fluorescent lit hallways you’ve ever seen.

“You ever see The Shining?” Ben mutters in your ear, and you nod, glancing back at him.

“When I was thirteen, at a friend’s sleepover. I wanted Jennifer’s Body, but I got outvoted. Why?”

“This creepy fucking hallway reminded me of it.” You can hear the tone drop that means he’s frowning, feel his confusion as his hand brushes your arm. “What’s Jennifer’s Body?”

“Teen horror movie. Megan Fox gets possessed by a demon and murders a bunch of men about it. It’s hot.”

“Hot?”

You nod passively. “Her dress is kind of ugly at the end, but she’s so pretty it works. We’ll watch it later.”

There’s pause. “You like it?”

“The movie, or Megan Fox?”

“Both.” He says, and you hum an agreement.

“Megan Fox is objectively hot, and it’s a great movie. I mean, it’s trash, but that’s what makes it great. You’ll like it.”

“Fine.”

“Hot ladies and murder, Ben, it checks all your boxes.” You shoot him a grin over your shoulder as you follow the team into a side room, and he rolls his eyes.

“I’m already fucking sold, Sunshine.” He says, stopping at your side. “Calm the hell down.”

You wrinkle your nose at him as Butcher starts to direct everyone’s role in the plan.

“Me, MM, and Soldier Boy will be rich cunts. Try and squeeze some information out of these haughty fucking pricks.” Butcher points at each person as he speaks, and Frenchie passes them neatly folded and pressed suits.

“I’m not wearing a fucking suit,” Ben grunts, glaring at you for aid. You just shrug, half because you pick your battle carefully and know you’ll lose this one, half because you really want to see Ben in a suit.

“Don’t look at me, Pretty Boy. I’m not the one you have to convince.”

“And you don’t get to pick and choose this shit, motherfucker.” MM snaps. “You don’t get special treatment.”

“Aren’t I not allowed anywhere without-” Ben’s grumble of your name is cut off by Butcher’s snort.

“We’ve got enough of Frenchie’s Soldier Boy Special to knock out the whole bleedin state. You’re wearing the suit, Gov.”

You shrug half-heartedly, giving Ben an apologetic look you can feel his exasperation at through where his arm is brushing yours.

Fucking traitor. His frown says.

You grin. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Frenchie and Kimiko will be staff,” Butcher says. “Talk to some of the waiters and shit, see what they’re hearin.”

Nodding, Frenchie sets a stereotypical waiter’s uniform down on the floor for himself, and passes one to Kimiko.

Why are we staff? She signs at Frenchie with a frown, and he shrugs.

Because, you nudge Kimiko with your foot, signing when she looks. Your dick is too big for those insecure, money hungry assholes, they’ll start crying about it.

She grins, and you look back at Butcher in time to hear the last instructions.

“Starlight and Hughie will search the back courtesy of our very own songbird.” He turns to you with a smirk, saying your name. “I hope those pipes are warm and ready.”

You blink, speaking slowly as fire starts to itch in your throat. “What are you talking about.”

Butcher’s smile grows. “Figured we’d put your talent to use. You’re going on stage.”

Everything feels white-hot along your lungs and brain, and your mouth is dry. “What the fuck did you do.”

“Signed you up for the talent, Love.” Butcher's tone is passive, bored, and you might start screaming. “I hear exposure therapy works wonders.”

“Holy shit, Butcher.“ Annie gives him a look of disbelief. “What the hell is your problem?”

“We needed someone backstage, workin the girls.” Butcher shrugs. “She’s the easiest in.”

You take a deep, heavy breath, pushing the fire down and meeting Butcher eyes steadily. “Is this because we dropped the plan? Is that why you’re being such a fucking child?”

“I ain’t got a clue what you’re implying.”

“Butcher,” you say, slow and careful in your words. “I can’t do this. You don’t want me to do this.”

“Because of a little fuckin stage fright? You don’t get any exceptions either-”

“No,” you grip yourself tightly as you cut Butcher off. “I just need you, for once, to trust me. You don’t want this.”

“I think I’ll manage to live,” Butcher sneers, and something in you feels fraught.

“I can’t fucking do this,” you look desperately around the room. “Somebody else has to do this. Annie can sing, have her do it.”

“But she’s recognizable,” Hughie says sorry, his face a picture of guilt.

You whip around to MM, saying his name in a plea. “You can’t let him do this. It’s not just stage fright, I can’t sing in front of people.”

“They probably won’t put you on stage,” MM frowns. “And even though he’s being a fucking dick about it, he’s right. We need someone backstage.”

“No,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You don’t understand.”

“Look, we’ve all bloody heard you,” Butcher says lazily. “And MM’s right, you probably won’t even go onstage. We all gotta make fuckin sacrifices.”

“You don’t care about the sacrifices,” you hiss, the brittle thing in your body snapping in two. “You just hate me because I’m a supe and you can’t control me. I’m not scared to go onstage, I fucking can’t. I’ll-“ you choke over your words, pushing down the truth. They’d heard you sing. They hadn’t been in the room with you. They hadn’t seen what it did.

Ben's hand is on your back, and you feel the rage in him. Violent and bloody and making the world focused. From the corner of your eye, you see him glaring at your team, the look on his face murderous.

You take a deep breath, steady your heart into even beats, your world sharp and cold as your words become measured. “I don’t have words for how terrible an idea this is.”

Butcher shrugs. “Well-“

“But I’m going to power through and find them.” You sneer. “It’s a dogshit, idiotic, fucking insanely stupid idea, so much that I’m almost fucking impressed! It’s so batshit crazy that it makes my brain hurt, makes me wonder how fuck you’ve gotten away with not dying yet.” You take a rushed breath. “But I’m going to do it. I’ll do it, because I said I was going to do what it takes. But I will never,” you say every syllable long and clear. “Ever, fucking forgive this.”

Annie says your name apologetically, even as she takes a step back. “I’m sorry, but it’s the only way-“

“I know that,” you say, holding your ground. “And I know you don’t hate me. I know you’re afraid of me, and I get it. But you don’t trust me. I don’t know why, but none of you trust me. So I’ll do it, but you don’t get to be mad at me or disappointed in me when it goes sideways.”

You snatch the last thing Frenchie is holding, a dress, and don’t flinch as you hold their nervous, shameful expressions.

“Bathrooms are down the hall,” MM mutters, not meeting your eyes. “We’ll get changed and split up. Everyone keep their phones near them.” 

As everyone filters out, Ben holds you back. “We can fucking lea-“

“We’re not leaving,” you say flatly. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look like you’re about to damn explode,” He says your name with a frown, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t do that,” Ben growls. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not afraid of you, I trust you, and I came to terms with the fact that nobody can control you a long fucking time ago. It’s one of the things I like about you. So don’t fucking lie to me.”

You make yourself hold your eyes to his, but you can’t keep your voice controlled. “Ben, I have to tell you some-“

Hughie pushes the door open, looking between where you and Ben stand, close together with his hand on the small of your back. “Sorry,” he stumbles words over each other. “Annie and I just, uh, we can’t go without you.” He’s still not glancing at you for more than a second, even as he says your name. “So, whenever you’re ready.”

Forcing your head not to turn back to Ben, you nod. “I”m coming,” you say, and hate the bitter tone in your voice as you walk into the hall.

You find the bathrooms with ease, Annie leaning outside the door in the same clothes from before, and push past her through the swinging door.

Kimiko is there, sitting silently on the sink in her waiter uniform. You give her a small, joyless smile before pushing into one of the disgusting, grime covered stalls. The dress you’ve been given is short, low-cut, and feels like poison on your skin. When you walk back out, fully changed, Kimiko jumps down from the sink, moving to grab your hand firmly.

You blink at her, feeling the genuine guilt and sadness running through her, without any pity or fear.

“I’m not mad at you,” you say gently. “You couldn’t have done much.”

She shakes her head, releasing her grip to sign I’m still sorry. They shouldn’t have done that, even if it’s important.

“I’ll live. And I know they mean well.” Even if the words feel hollow, you say them anyway.

Doesn’t make it okay, she signs furiously. You’ve sacrificed.

“But-“

You have. Just as much as all of us. You didn’t choose to be this, just like me. It’s not your fault you’re a supe, you shouldn’t be punished for it.

“It’s different. They all trust you.”

They can hurt me with weapons. I heal, but they can hurt me. They can’t hurt you. So they do this instead.

You sigh. “This won’t hurt me. It’ll just be….” You watch your reflection in the mirror. “Bad.”

Why?

“Because,” you give her a sad smile. “They’re right not to trust me. I keep too many secrets.”

Secrets?

“The third V shot, it-“

For the second time, right before you can lift this weight off your chest, the door opens.

“We need to go,” Annie says. Just like Hughie, she won’t look at you either.

You nod, giving Kimiko a closed-lip, grimacing smile, and follow Annie out of the bathroom. Hughie’s waiting outside, foot tapping with his hands on his hips.

“Are we ready?” At Annie’s nod, Hughie gestures down the hall. “Butcher said he marked the door. I don’t know what that means.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Annie reassures him, and you follow them further down the hall. 

“They’ll have a different dress backstage for you, this is just to get you in the door.” You blink at Annie as she drops a step back to talk to you. “I’m really sor-“

“Save it,” you say flatly.

“If this works, it’ll be over soon. All of it.” Her voice is soft, like you’re fragile. “I know you said you can’t-“

“Annie.” You keep your eyes ahead, make your voice firm. “For both our sake, please just stop.”

“We’re here.” Hughie stops any further attempts to apologize from Annie as he points to a scratch mark on the frame of a red door. He says your name in that same, delicate tone Annie was using. “You’ll go first, Butcher said to find the ‘sleazy greased cunt’s office’. Just, uh, prop open the door or something and we’ll follow.”

You nod, and—without another look to either of them—walk through the door.

The difference is immediate. Lush, carpeted floors. Clean walls. Everything smells like smoke and spice and all the lights are a soft yellow. You walk carefully down the hall, and stop when you reach a door that’s been left slightly ajar, enough to fully see inside the room. There’s a middle aged man at a desk, wearing a gray suit and an egregious amount of hair mousse as he scrolls through something on the computer. Glancing back at the door—sporting a silver plaque reading Talent Office—you decide it’s more than an educated guess that he’s the sleazy greased cunt Butcher was referring to.

Steeling yourself, you knock.

The man looks up almost immediately, a crude smile crossing his face. “Well, hello there. How can I help you, sweetheart?”

“Are you in charge of the talent?” You ask, making your voice sweet, eyes doe-like, and expression naive and innocent. It takes an active effort to keep your lips from curling in disgust at the once over he gives you.

“Read the sign, gorgeous.” You want to wrap that too-big tie around his throat, even as you give him a simpering pout.

“Oh, sorry.” Breathy laugh, inflate his ego, don’t rip out his slimy hair. “My friend said he found me a job.”

“Your friend?” The man asks, frowning slightly. “Angry brit?”

“Yeah,” you silently curse Butcher, both for the situation he’s put you in and not giving you enough information about it. “I hope he didn’t give you enough of a problem? I can go-“

“No,” the man stands, moving from behind his desk. “You’re just fine where you are. Dude seemed protective, but seeing you, it makes sense.” He chuckles, and the sound crawls along your skin. 

“Oh, thank you.” This smile is making your cheeks hurt, and you move your hand behind your back so he doesn’t see your nails in your skin. Or that the marks don’t stay.

“Yeah, I’m liking what I’m seeing.” He winks at you, and you wonder how easy it is for eyes to burn. “I’m gonna get the big boss, you stay right here beautiful.”

You want to rip out his tongue. He doesn’t get to call you that. Nobody gets to, except-

“Oh,” you shake your head slightly, trying to seem shy while physically forcing the thoughts out of your head. “I’m sure you don’t have to bother him-“

“Nah, he’ll love to see you.” The man reaches up, rubbing your arms as he moves you slightly to the side. “Don’t go anywhere.”

With one last awful wink, he’s gone.

You feel your phone buzz in your hand.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

Are you in? 

Not yet, you text back. Butcher was right, Tek Knight is here.

Annie’s typing, but before she can send the text, you hear a voice coming and look up sharply. You barely manage to turn back into the terrible persona you’ve chosen for yourself before Mr. Talent returns, another suit-clad man at his side.

This one you recognize. Grossly expensive suit, short hair, wolf-like smile and cold eyes.

“Tek Knight,” you reach out your hand, making your voice soft and of wonder rather than fevered disgust. “It’s a honor, sir-“

“This her?” Tek Knight looks you up and down, slower than Mr. Talent had. “Nice.”

“Thank you,” you say, bowing your head instead of punching his.

He ignores you. “And someone vouched for her?”

Mr. Talent nods. “Yes, sir. Mean guy, sounded British over the phone. Said she sounded like an angel.”

“He your boyfriend?” Your mouth falls open when you realize you’re being addressed.

 “No, just a friend. Wanted to help me out, I haven’t had much luck finding a new job.” 

“Good,” Tek Knight’s nod makes your stomach churns, his eyes still scanning over your figure. “She’s got the looks. Smoking hot.” You have to physically bite your tongue. “Can you dance?” 

“Enough,” you say truthfully, even if the words are sugary. “I know how to put on a show.”

Tek Knight nods, speaking to Mr. Talent without looking away from you. “Put her on stage. Tonight. And tell me when she’s up.” 

You think the shock in your body might stop you from ever speaking again. You just stare, mouth open, as Tek Knight gives a click of his tongue and walks away. You don’t even have a mind to try and play it off as graceful shyness, or humble disbelief from being chosen. The fire is loud in your ears, time moving too fast. The world isn’t blurry, it’s too sharp, bright and far away. Mr. Talent is talking with a hand on your lower back, but you can barely feel it, and you can’t really hear him. All you can think is no. He’s guiding you down the hall, through another door, and all you can do is stumble where he pushes you forward.

“…and we’ll need your measurements, sweetheart.” Mr. Talent’s words manage to find their way into your head as he pushes you down into a chair, across from one of those dressing mirrors you’ve only seen in movies. “We can find a dress that fits fine until one of the girls will make you something special.”

“Oh, that's not necessary.” Your voice is quiet, and you’re not faking nervous humility anymore as you try to stand on shaky legs. “I can just-“

“All of our talent gets custom outfits,” Mr. Talent speaks over you, hands moving to your shoulders. Holding you in the seat. “We’ll figure out your sell, and you’ll get one too.”

“My sell?”

He winks at you in the mirror. “Your brand, darling.” You wish he would settle on one nickname. “Are you sour or sweet? Hot or pretty? Heartbreaker or girl-next-door? Gentle or a little spitfire? What’s your pitch? Why should they take you home?”

“I don’t-“

“Now usually, we’d wait a few shows before deciding. But I think the boss might want you to fit to him.” A painful lump is sitting in your throat. “And luckily, I know what he likes. Candy!”

You frown—confusion pushing through your clouding fear as you think you might be about be covered in whipped cream and chocolate—until a pink-haired, acrylic-nailed woman appears from seemingly nowhere at Mr. Talent’s side.

“What’s up, Mikey?” She’s talking to Mr. Talent, chewing gum loudly through her words, twisting a large and gaudy diamond ring on her finger.

“New girl. I’m putting her on in an hour, get her ready.”

Candy scans over you through the mirror, a pouting frown on her face. “She new new?” At Mr. Talent’s nod, she gives him a worried look. “Shouldn’t we wait-“

“No time for regular training, boss’s orders she’s on tonight.”

“Boss’s orders?” Candy's mouth falls open for a second, and Mr. Talent just shrugs. “Does that mean-“

“Full special. She’s singing, make sure it matches.”

Candy nods, and with that, Mr. Talent is gone.

“What’s your name, babe?” Candy asks, her nails combing gentle through your hair, holding your gaze in the mirror.

You tell her truthfully, and she hums.

“How’d you end up here?”

“My friend got me the job.”

“Friend? How’d she know about this?”

“He’s into shady shit.” Truth. “But he just wants what’s best for me.” Lie.

“He?” Candy makes a sour face, and when her hand falls to your shoulder you feel genuine concern running through her chest. “He ain’t your boyfriend, right?”

You shake your head. “You’re the second person to ask me that,” you say carefully. Her heart flips slightly, so you push forward. “Would it be a, like a problem if he was?”

“They don’t like us having those types of attachments,” she says flatly. “Makes the clients insecure.” You glance at the ring on her finger, and she chuckles slightly. “My wife don’t count to them. It’s exotic, sexy. Not a threat.”

“That sucks,” you mutter, and she just shrugs. 

“I get to keep her. Get to be happy. Most girls here don’t get that.”

You watch Candy reach to the side, pulling to her side a trolley of makeup and products that would put Annie’s to shame. “How long have you been here?”

“Almost ten years. Longer than anyone, even Mikey.” She examines lipsticks as she speaks, glancing between your reflection and the colors. “Been dancing twenty, ballet, but this pays better than any arts center.”

“So you know everyone?” You make your tone casual, curious. An innocent girl at a new job. “Even Tek Knight?”

Though her face is neutral, Candy’s hand brushing your hair from your face betrays something sour in her gut. “Most everyone. And he’s a fine boss, but that’s all I know about Tek Knight.”

“What about the other staff?”

“Lot of turnover,” she pulls your hair fully back with a clip. “Mikey said you’re singing?”

The stone in your gut and itch in your throat returns quickly. “I don’t know, I don’t have anything prepared.”

“They’ll take care of that.” Candy moves around to stand in front of you. “You just gotta put on the show they want.”

“Oh,” you swallow, and Candy must notice, because she gives you a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do great. Just play up whatever they tell you to by a hundred.” At your confused expression, she continues. “If they want us sweet, we make it sickly. If they want us hot, be the sun. Mysterious, be Agatha Christie.”

“I don’t know what they want from me though.”

“You’re getting the boss special.” Candy explains, holding your chin up as she begins her work. “He likes them gentle but fierce, cute but hot, a good chase but an easy catch. “

You try and keep your face still as you respond. “That doesn’t make any sense. Those words are oxymorons, you can’t be both at once, it’s a Madonna-whore complex-“ You cut yourself off at the amused look on Candy’s face.

“We know that.” She says. “But they don’t care. They want a toy, not a woman. Lucky for us, they pay a shit ton for toys.”

You give a small sound of acknowledgement, falling silent as Candy continues her work, and when she steps to the side your face is painted—lips red and eyes shimmering—with every strand of hair in a careful place.

“Gorgeous,” Candy smiles at you. “You’re up soon, feel free to warm up while I get your outfit.”

As she leaves the room, you watch yourself in the mirror, the person almost unrecognizable. You can’t do this. Not just because it will give everything away, because the secret you’ve buried too deeply and piously will be revealed. Because there’s no way to know what will happen. You don’t get to pick the song, they could give you one that sends you into a dreamscape or conjures fireworks, or one that sends you into childhood. Into the white room. You can’t do this. Even your team didn’t think it would come to this. It’s not too late to run. You could find Ben easily—you don’t think you could miss him in a crowd if you tried—and tell him the truth. He’d help you leave, he’d always help you leave. But no matter what, you need to find him. Tell him first. The last secret, he needs to know before anything else happens. You need to tell him, now-

Candy returns, holding a long, silky dress. Passing it into your hands, she gives you a kind smile.

“You’re going to do great, they’ll love you.” You don’t want them to love you, you need to find Ben. Before- “You’re next, I’d get changed now.” Candy squeezed your hand, and you feel genuine worry for you, paired with nervous hope. “Good luck.”

You’re rooted in place for a minute after she leaves. There has to be a way out of this, you heard the door’s lock click, but there has to be a way. You can’t do this, you have to go find Ben-

Only the buzzing of your phone pulls you from your head. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Starlight says you’re not answering her.

If you’re not dead, get your shit together.

You glare at the messages before dropping your phone next to the dress, running its material through your hands. It’s cool and smooth, and when you finally manage to make yourself change into it, it feels like a snake skin. Flowing around you, cold and slimy and wrong.

“You ready, gorgeous?” It’s Mr. Talent—Mikey, Candy called him—pushing through the door and letting out a bone-chilling whistle when he sees you. “Hot damn, yeah you are.”

“I, uh-“ You need to find a way, at least delay this. “I still don’t know what I’m singing.”

Mikey winks at you, holding out a sheet of printed paper. “I took care of that for you, beautiful.”

You force down the fire pinching at your nose and lining in your tongue, taking the paper and reading along the printed lyrics. Your chest starts to contract, lungs and heart pushing up against your ribs.

It’s a song about sex. You recognize it, you’ve heard it before, and it’s a song about sex. It’s not subtle or coded with innuendos. It’s just a song about sex. Plain and blatantly simple. And when you look up at Mikey, he’s smirking at your flushed expression.

“I don’t want to do this one,” you say, trying to sound docile and timid. You want to scream and burn, but that’s not an option. You need to play your hand, a naïve girl who is nervous to sing about sex.

“Bosses orders.” Mikey winks again. He should just sow his eye shut at this point. “We can put the lyrics on a teleprompter-“

“I know the song,” you shake your head, borderline frantic. “I just-“

“Of course you do, you little vixen.” Mikey looks you up and down again. “Oh, you’re going to kill it sweetheart. Just put some of that sweet honey on it.”

You don’t know what that means. You don’t get time to ask, though, because you’re herded further into the backstage area. You leave the mirror and makeup to stand behind a red curtain where you can hear applause and taunting laughter.

Mikey leaves your side for a heartbeat, and you hardly notice, too occupied fighting the coal-tasting fear in your mouth. He returns, ushering a large, bald man in an all-white suit along with him.

Mikey says your name twice, tone a little sharper the second time when the first only received a blank stare. “This is Mr. Great, he’ll be on piano for you.”

“Mr. Great?” You repeat, looking the newcomer up and down. His suit is somehow both too tight and too loose at once, he’s wearing round sunglasses that make him look like a dollar store Ray Charles, even as the high collar of his shirt and toothy smile give him an aura of Elton John.

“It’s my stage name, honey.” Mr. Great extends his hand, and when you shake it you feel almost inflated pride and grimy amusement. “You can call me Steve.”

You will not be calling him Steve.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Great,” you say his terrible alias kindly, an overly excited smile plastered on your face.

“Pleasures all mine,” Mr. Great says your name, the grime pulsing through his hand into you, and you hold down bile in your stomach. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”

Mikey’s tapping on his phone, glancing up as you pull your own hand from Mr. Greats grimy one. “All set, sweetheart?”

You nod. This is happening, now way out. Not as Mr. Great is smiling like a snake and Mikey is taking you in one last time. You still try, just one last time. “Are we sure I’m ready? You haven’t even heard me sing-“

“You’re ready,” Mikey dismisses. “And they,” you loathe the way he says that word, long and cold. “Don’t care how well you sing. You’ve already done the important part.”

“The important part?”

Mikey winks one last time, already turning away with a smirk. “Look like something they want.”

You watch him leave, giving a small start when you feel Mr. Great’s hand rubbing the small of your back.

“You’ll have them eating out of your hand, darlin.” He turns you around to face the velvet curtains. “Remember, it’s all in the hips and smile.”

“What does that-“ Mr. Great is gone before you can finish, ducking behind the far end of the curtain as applause sounds loudly from the other side. You really wish these people would stop talking in indecipherable and cryptic metaphors.

A blonde, curvy and full lipped woman opens the curtain before you, walking past you in a smooth strut that turns to a slouched, glowering stance once the audience is muffled once more.

She doesn’t look surprised to see you, pulling out a cigarette and addressing you wearily. “You new?”

You nod, words reduced to lumps in your throat.

“Good night to be new.” She hums thoughtfully. “Boss is here. Lots of good pickings for bidders. You a singer?”

“How did you know,” you manage to ask.

“Saw Steve. Good luck, new girl. Confidence is key.”

With that, she’s gone, and everything feels vile and sharp and bright.

You hear a voice that might be Candy, but cheerier and faster than you’d heard before, saying your name. Growing louder as wolf whistles and cheers start to sound.

Confidence is key. Hips and smile. Put sweet honey on it.

All the advice ringing in your head is pointless—this is going to hell and chaos no matter what kind of show you put on—but that doesn’t scratch the words from spinning through you.

The curtain opens to bright lights and shadow-cast bodies behind them. Candy’s gesturing you onto the stage, and your feet move of their own accord. She gives you a squeeze, gentle on your arm, and walks down stairs off the side, leaving you alone, elevated with a microphone and cold sweat in the spotlight.

You’re saved from trying to greet your audience, trying to find words that aren’t panicked or fearful by the first notes of the piano. It’s setting a rhythm—a little longer of an introduction than the song usually has—and you take the time to search the crowd. Tek Knight is watching in the back, behind a roped off, throne-like booth that he leans forward on. But your gaze is pulled away, because there is something you can feel, something angry that’s rioting against you. Something stone like watching you.

You lock eyes with Ben, his handsome face just barely visible from the back of the room, just before your cue hits, and you have to start the show.

The lyrics are pulled from your brain, sensual and explicit with flowing low notes that you force warm emotion into and belted high notes you make breathy. Time has become long, because the song is only vocals—no longer instrumental breaks—and you can’t control what’s happening. But you can’t look away from Ben either. It’s like his eyes are pulling you, removing you from your body to just watch your own show.

It starts almost deceptively simple. Hazy fairy lights floating through the room. Ocean-like mist against skin, everything smelling like pine trees and coffee and gunpowder. Gravity feels less powerful, the sky is opening up to stars and moons as everything is cast in a soft glow. And you still can’t look away from Ben, even as the room gasps, half-entranced and half-bemused. You can’t look away, not as the instrument accompaniment fills the room, drowning out Mr. Great’s piano but amplifying your voice. You can’t look away, not as the chorus hits and your singing seems to split into echoing harmonies, your body swaying in time with the music.

Then you’re yanked back into your body, because you feel someone behind you and when you turn—never missing a beat—it’s Ben. Not real Ben, still in the silently watching crowd. Fake Ben, smiling at you the way Real Ben would, eyes glimmering the way Real Ben’s do. Moving with you, hands on your hips and body pressed to yours. You can’t feel anything from him, no amusement or anger or desire, but you can’t stop. It’s like you’re under a spell, the rest of the world fading except for you, the imagined Ben before you, and the true Ben who you can still hauntingly feel.

The song starts to move too fast. Fire is spreading across the stage and you don’t know if it’s real or just another effect. Soft steam is rising, and the pine smell is growing stronger. You’re dancing with Fake Ben, his hands are tracing along your waist and resting on your hips and it feels so real. You reach up to touch his face—still holding the microphone in one hand—and even his smirk looks like Real Ben’s. His hands have all the same callous’ he moves the same way Real Ben does, and when he spins you—pressing your back to his chest—you can hear his heartbeat. It’s one second off from Real Ben’s.The song drops into a slower tempo, a rest before the finale, it’s all moving too fast away from you. Fake Ben falls to his knees, and when the high note comes he picks you up, spinning you around as the whole room becomes flooded with light. You feel high.

And you can still feel Real Ben.

In barely a second it’s over, and Fake Ben disappears into shining mist with the rest of the song. You’re in a dark club, alone on the stage, illuminated by the spotlight as the room hangs in silence.

The first person applauds, and everyone erupts. You look out into the crowd—you need to find Ben—and he’s right where he’d been before. His mouth is closed, stiller than a statue, and his shock and confusion and something hot and loud and powerful is coursing across the room into you. It’s his, you’re certain. It’s not yours, or Candy’s as she pulls you backstage, or Mr. Great’s as he claps your back. You know it’s Ben’s. You just do.

You’d bet the world on it. 

The blonde woman, Candy, and Mr. Great are all trying to talk to you, but you can’t hear them. They sound as if they’re speaking gibberish, and everything is so bright and you can’t feel anything but Ben. Almost on instinct you try to walk back onto the stage, to find Ben, but you barely push the curtain aside before Candy is yanking you back.

It’s enough though. All the world comes crashing back, violent and acidic, when—in those split seconds—you see it. 

Tek Knight is gone from his throne.

Like you’ve been re-animated, you turn to Candy, words harsh and fast. “I need to leave. Now. You need to pretend you’ve never met me, and get as far away from here as you can.”

“What was that, are you a supe?” Candy’s panicking, arms frantic.

“Yes. Kind of. Not really. I mean, Vought-” You stumble through the words quickly, shaking your head. “Look, there’s no time. You need to listen to me. You’re in danger.”

Candy yells your name. “You need to fucking explain-“

“I can’t. You need to go, get out, right fucking now, I can’t let more people die because of me-“

“Because of you?!” Candy’s voice is shrill, and you feel her panic as you try to herd her to the exit.

“You need to go, I’m so sorry, you need to-” You choke on the words when you see Mikey coming down the hall with anger in his eyes. You don’t look at Candy as you say “run”. 

Mikey barely has time to speak before you’re barreling past him, down the hall, trying to re-trace your step. Outside of your adrenaline consumed mind, you know going out onto the stage, where there was a crowd and you knew the team had been was the better idea. But all you can think is get away, far, far away. There’s no smoke filling your vision, everything feels frozen over in your body, so you just run.

You’re moving too fast to see the foot, stretched out to block your path.

Falling forwards, your hands don’t catch you on the ground before someone is grabbing your arm. You never hit the ground, being yanked back and pulled to the side. A door slams behind you, a white and flickering ceiling light turns on, and you’re in a storage room. Surrounded by dresses, costumes, feather fans, ribbons, and Tek Knight. Towering over you, hand still gripping your arm, pushing you back, back, back into a wall.

You try to burn him, but everything is so cold. All you can feel is your blood and his disgusting satisfaction. No matter how hard you try, you can’t feel any itch of flame below your skin. 

“It looks like I won the fucking lottery,” Tek Knight leers at you, arm pinned to your side, and says your name. Your full name. Your real, full name that’s carved into stone in Boston. “Sister Sage told me to look out for you, little girl. She was complaining about some sort of fucking security breach, told me to look for you.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir-“

Tek Knight’s laugh is a crude, over-enunciated cackle. “Don’t play stupid with me, Bitch. You’ve been giving me problems. I designed that fucking security system, and now Homelander and Sage won’t get off my ass about it-“

You drop any buttery, over-innocent persona. Jig is up, gloves off. “I thought your company designed that security system.” You sneer. “I read that fucking article about the lawsuit, asshole. All you did was take credit for someone’s work.”

“That scientist was a fucking liar,” Tek Knight hisses, slamming you back into wall, your head hitting concrete. “He was just jealous of me, because his wife wanted to sleep with me more than that blue-balled nerd.”

“I’m sure he was really jealous of your tiny dick,” you spit, almost relishing in the childish anger through Tek Knight’s body. “And your shit fucking business ideas. Did anyone even buy those Tek Knight phones, or did they see how it shrank your dick and-”

Tek Knight’s elbow presses into your throat, a too wide smile across his face as your words turn into a long wheeze. “I’m a genius,” he sneers. “I’m going to get the reward for finding you, giving you over to Homelander.” 

The fire is still gone, because the pain and fear and panic is freezing you alive. Biting into your brain and heart and lungs and limb to hold you down in place as Tek Knight taunts you.

“He’s going to beg me to join the Seven,” your eyes feel like icicles are moving through them. “I’ll kick that diversity hire bitch out,” your tongue feels numb in your mouth. “And while I’m at it, that fast boy out too,” you can’t move and everything is so heavy, something deep from the back of your head is trying to flee your body. “and I’m going to buy you, fucking own you, you weak fucking bitch-“

Tek Knight’s eyes grow wide, his grip becoming slack as his body locks up. You can’t feel him, you’re still filled with frost along your bones and mind. It feels bigger. Doubled, consuming, and never-ending. His arm is still against your air-pipe, leaning further into you as he loses balance. Something is moving behind you both, shouts and thumps and gunshots, but everything is just cold and your head feels like air.

The last thing you see before the world goes dark is Ben, pushing the door of the storage room open with a roar.

————

Butcher had noticed Tek Knight’s absence before Ben. The room was in a chaos, some rich pussies whining about being drugged, some trying to push backstage, most just fucking confused. But Ben was locked in his seat, rigid and reeling. He didn’t know what had just happened. She’d looked at him, and started singing—that same warm and clear voice that could move mountains and armies—and the whole world had unraveled. Lights and water and nature had taken over, and Ben had wondered if the French Prick had slipped him some sort of experimental psychedelic. Then he’d managed to see MM and Butcher from the corner of his eye, wearing matching shocked and spellbound expressions. 

It had felt like an enchantment had been cast over the room. Whatever trick She was pulling, those illusions she was somehow spinning felt so fucking real. Nobody could move, or look away from Her. And She wouldn’t look away from Ben.

The Thing had been so powerful—eating him and burning him and roaring in his chest—before it had even happened. Then the clone, an eerie fucking perfect replica of Ben, was at Her side. And dancing with her, and touching her, and she was looking at it the way she did in Ben’s fantasies, and the Thing became all Ben could feel. When she’d finished, all he needed to do was get to Her. His feet wouldn’t fucking move, he was locked in place, but Ben needed to fucking find Her.

“Frenchie says she ain’t backstage, and they can't find Tek Knight either.” Butcher’s words, loud over the mayhem of the room, finally sprang Ben into action. 

Danger, the Thing bellowed. She’s in danger.

He had pushed through the crowd, up onto the stage and through performers and club staff, ignoring MM and Butcher’s calls behind him. A guard had tried to stop him as he moved further, Ben had shoved him aside, and alarms had begun to go off. More guards had flooded the halls, gunshots going off around him, but Ben had just kept fucking moving. Looking for Her heartbeat, locking into it and following it to a closed, locked door labeled Performance Storage.

She’s falling, slumping against the wall with her eyes dropping just when Ben finally sees Her. Butcher and MM are still moving down the hall, Ben’s ripped the door off its hinges, and someone is shouting after him, but it doesn’t fucking matter. Not when he’s storming across the room, tossing a still-bodied Tek Knight to the side with little effort, and catching Her before she can hit the ground.

Ben held Her, cradling the back of her head as she remained limp against his chest. He’s half aware of Butcher and MM, now with the French Prick and Kimiko, entering the room. But he doesn’t look at them, the Thing becoming tighter in his chest the longer Her eyes stay closed. They should be open by now, they should’ve been open goddamn minutes ago. Why weren’t they fucking open, what if they didn’t fucking open. Ben could hear Her heart, but he couldn’t hear her breath. Where was her fucking breath. She can’t die, it’s not even a damn option on the table, so why couldn’t he hear her breath- 

Her body shook with a cough, and her eyes blinked open, meeting his. Her hands shoot up, one pressing into Ben’s chest as the other finds her throat, scraping along it in a clawed hand. Ben—still holding Her against him—drops his hold on her head, pulling her away from where she’s leaving quickly-fading red marks along her throat.

“Breathe,” he says Her name in a low but firm voice, twice when Her head shakes frantically. “You’re fine, it’s okay, breathe.”

She makes a choked sound. “Can’t- He said- reward-“

“You’re okay,” Ben brushes the hair clinging to her sweat-drenched forehead. “I’m right fucking here, nothing’s going to happen. I just need you to fucking breathe.”

She nodded, and though there were tears in her eyes and her breaths were still weak, but Her heart grew to an even rhythm as Ben rubbed small circles where he held her hand. He was aware of the movement behind him, MM and Kimiko dragging Tek Knight up from where Ben had thrown him, the French Prick rummaging through bins to find something to tie the asshole up. Butcher, moving behind Ben and saying Her name, cold and harsh.

“Care to explain what the fucking hell that was.” He growled, and Ben pulled Her up, holding her steady and they turned to face Butcher. 

“Now’s not the fucking time-“ Ben started to sneer at Butcher, but She squeezed his arm around her and shook her head slightly.

“It’s okay, I need to-“ another long breath, Her heart still slightly erratic as she spoke softly, the words vomiting out of Her. “It’s the third shot of V. Sensory manipulation. It only happens when I sing, and-“

“I’ve fucking heard you sing, Love,” Butcher snapped. “That shit didn’t-“

“You have to be in a certain range for it to work, I don’t know. I think it’s like a pheromone or something, I can’t control it, I didn’t think Homelander even knew about it, but he,” She pointed a shaky finger at Tek Knight. “Said that Sage was telling him to look for me.”

“Look for you?” MM looked up from where he stood, keeping gun pointed at Tek Knight’s unconscious head. “Why did they think you’d be here?”

“Security breach,” She looked nervously at Tek Knight, and Ben felt her body press closer to his own. “Sage must have seen that you got those records.”

“Well, he’ll tell us the whole bloody story when he wakes up, won’t he?” Butcher turned to the French Prick. “He ain’t dead, right? That’d be fucking annoying.” 

The French Prick looked up from where he was examining Tek Knight’s body, shaking his head with a frown. “He should wake up soonish, I do not see any burns or physical damage.”

Just then, a weak, pathetic groan escaped Tek Knight, and his eyes slowly opened. His eyes found Her first, his face twisting into a half-afraid, half-furious expression.

“What the fuck did you do to me, you fucking bitch.” His voice was hoarse, but filled with wrath. “How dare you lay a fucking hand on me-“

“I’d calm the hell down, Motherfucker.” MM pressed the gun into Tek Knight’s temple. “You don’t have any sort of upper hand right now.”

Even as the pussy falls silent, Tek Knight didn’ take his glare off Her, and Ben held her a little tighter.

“Good bloody work, Mate.” Butcher taunted, taking a step closer and bending down Tek Knight’s eye level. “Followin orders like a good little cunt.”

“Fuck you,” Tek Knight spat into Butcher’s eyes. “This is fucking bullshit, don’t you know who I am-“

“We know exactly who you are,” MM snapped. “And we’ve got some questions for you.”

“I’m not telling you fucking shit-“

“See, we ain’t asking.” Butcher gave a crude smirk. “You recognize him?” Tek Knight followed Butcher pointing finger to Ben, and his face fell pale as Butcher continued. “One word from us, and he flattens you like a pancake.” 

“Soldier Boy doesn’t fucking scare me,” his voice was shaky, and Ben just watched him coldly.

“You sure?” Butcher said, brows raised mockingly. “Cause from where I’m sat, it looks like you might be pissin yourself a little, Mate.”

“What do you want? Money?” Tek Knight looked around the room, voice growing higher. “I can give you fucking money. I can give you whatever the fuck you want.”

“We want answers,” MM clicked the safety off, and Tek Knight flinched. “And you’re going to give them to us. First off,” MM angled the gun to leave a mark on Tek Knight’s temple, pointing at Her, still silent against Ben’s side. “What do you know about the Anomaly?”

“I’m not telling you shit-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Butcher rolled his eyes. “Save us the whining and answer the fucking question.”

Tek Knight shook his head. “I don’t know what hell you’re talking about.”

“You said you knew about me,” She said, voice unsteady but loud. “You said you were going to turn me over to Homelander.”

“She’s making that shit up, trying to turn you against me.” Tek Knight snapped. “I never said any of that.”

“No, she’s not.” Ben growled, and Tek Knight scoffed.

“You really fucking believe this bitch? After all her fucking lies?” He laughed as Ben felt Her shrink backwards, heartbeat picking up pace once more. “That’s right, sweetheart. I know fucking everything. I know about all your little whore powers. I figured it out, your brain manipulation. Homelander came to me, begging for help, and I saw all the clues on the cam footage.”

“Cam footage?” MM snapped, and Tek Knight fell silent at his slip. “What fucking cam footage?”

“I told you, I’m not telling you fucking shit-“

“And we told you,” Ben hissed. “We’re not fucking asking.” He didn’t let Her go, letting her continue to lean against him as he threatened Tek Knight. “You tell us what you know, right fucking now, or I’ll break your pussy brain in half.”

“I don’t know anything-“

The French Prick snorted. “You just admitted you ‘figured it out’, no?”

“It was Sage, not me,” Tek Knight said frantically, folding in half like a fucking house of cards. “I don’t know anything, I’m a scapegoat, it’s a fucking witch hunt-“

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” MM muttered. “Answer the goddamn question.”

“I don’t know anything, they don’t tell me shit, I just help Homelander when he asks-“

“Help him with what?” Butcher snapped. “We want fucking specifics.”

“I dunno!” Ben could smell Tek Knight’s fucking sweat, coming in damn buckets. “He wants guards, I get him guards! Money, I get money! You would too, the dude is fucking terrifying. Insane!”

“Yeah, we’ve figured that out,” MM said dryly. “You keep a record of this shit?”

Tek Knight shook his head. “It’s all off the book. He doesn’t pay me, but I’m on the shortlist for the Seven-“

“Jesus bloody Christ,” Butcher gave a scornful laugh. “Your head is all the way up Homelander’s puckered ass, ain’t it?” 

“He’s going to fucking kill me,” Tek Knight was panicking, moving like a damn bobble-head. “I shouldn’t have told you anything, he’s going to kill me-“

“What about that cam footage?” MM asked. “The fuck was that about?”

“It’s gone, Sage erased it after the breach. Holy fuck, this and the breach, I’m fucking dead.” Tek Knight look around at them, desperate and fucking snot-nosed. “You have to help me, he’s going to kill me, I shouldn’t have fucking called him-“

“Called him?” MM glanced up at Butcher as he spoke, and She went rigid at Ben’s side. “The hell you mean, called him?”

“Homelander’s fucking coming, I told him about her,” his nods were aimed in Her direction, and her heart was moving so fast Ben thought it might explode. “And he’s going to kill all of us, you have to untie me, right now, please-“ 

“Nah, I think we’re good,” Butcher shrugged as he pulled out a gun, and Tek Knight’s eyes barely had time to widen before the shot went off. 

“Butcher!” Tek Knight slumped forward into MM’s gun, and MM gave Butcher a pissed scowl. “The fuck was that, we weren’t done-“

“Yeah, we were.” Butcher was turning away, watching the door with sharp eyes. “This was a shit fuckin dead end, and now we’re right back where we damn started.”

She let out a strangled gasp, and started tugging at Ben with hushed, frantic words. “He said Homelander-“ Her nails were pushing into his arm, but he just held her steady. “Homelander’s coming, he’s coming-“ 

“We heard him.” Butcher’s eyes didn’t leave the door as he loaded his gun. “Frenchie, look for any weapons that cunt might have, MM, tell Hughie to get the van ready, we have to move fast.”

The door burst open, and MM fired right at Starlight who had jumped in front of Cocksucker at the last second. 

“Oh shit!” Cocksucker yelled, catching Starlight as she stumbled backwards. “It’s us, it’s just us!” 

“Homelander,” Starlight’s breath was heavy, coughing as she spoke. “He’s here, just landed at the stage.” 

“Did he see you?” Butcher demanded, catching the rounds the French Prick was tossing to him.

Cocksucker shook his head. “I don’t think so, I mean he didn’t try to laser us so that’s a good sign, but it’s all I have to go off-“

“Kid,” MM said sternly. “Not the time for rambling. Did he see you, yes or no.”

“No?”

He on his way?”

“Probably?”

“Shit,” MM exchanged another look with Butcher. “The halls won’t be safe. There got to be a back exit-“

“That's how we got in,” Butcher grunted. “It’s our best fucking bet. Kimiko and Soldier Boy will have to lead-“

“The fuck I’m leading,” Ben interrupted Butcher with a glower, gesturing to Her. “She can’t fucking walk-“

“She’s gonna have to,” MM’s voice was apologetic as he said her name, and Ben didn’t give a shit. “She’s an adult, she’ll be fine. Butcher-“

Ben tuned out the continuing arguments and planning as he looked down at Her, with hands fisted on his sleeve and legs shaking. The strangled sounds had died from her throat minutes ago, and all she seemed to do was stare at the door with terror, breaths coming jagged and short. He said her name lowly, and she didn’t even flinch.

“We need to run,” he said Her name again. “I need you to fucking run.”

All he got in response was a shaking head.

Ben stalked over to the French Prick, holding Her slightly off the ground to move with him. “Give me a fucking gun.”

“Not in goddamn hell,” MM answered before the French Prick could.

Ben spat his words at no one in particular. “I’m only taking the lead if you give me a fucking gun.”

“Give it to him, Frenchie.” Butcher’s order was brisk as he looked Ben up and down, eyes resting on where She still clung to his side.

“Monsieur Butcher-“

“Now.” Butcher snapped, turning to face the hall.

“Butcher are you fucking insane-“

“We don’t have time for bloody useless arguments, MM, we’ve got to go, right fucking now.”

Ben snatched the gun offered weakly by the French Prick, not sparing him a fucking glance. As he lowered one arm to hold Her up—wrapping fully around her waist—Ben dropped his voice so only she could hear as he began to load his gun.

“I’m going to pick you up,” he grunted. “Because you can’t fucking run right now, and I’m not leaving you. Got it?” When she was only silent, Ben angled her face to his. “Sunshine, I need to you to nod. I’ve fucking got you, understood?” 

“Ben-“ Her voice was weak, tired, afraid. The Thing was stilled from rage in a second, needing to make it better. “I’m-“

“You’re going to be fine.” He hissed. “I swear on my goddamn life.”

With that, Ben tossed her over his shoulder like a perfect, beautiful, fear-frozen sack of fucking potatoes and walked to the door as she grew slack against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Soldier Boy,” MM grabbed his arm as they passed each other. “If you screw us, motherfucker-“

Ben yanked his arm away. “This is two way road, you fucking got that? If you pussies screw us,” Ben didn’t have to gesture to Her for MM’s eyes to glance between them. “You’re going to wish Homelander had killed you.” He turned to where Starlight stood at the door. “Now are we fucking ready?” 

“Whenever you are, Gov,” Butcher drawled, falling into his place in their shit formation at Cocksucker’s side. 

Ben paused for a half second, making sure She was secure around him, before walking—gun raised and braced for oncoming fire—into the hall. 

It was quiet. Too fucking quiet. The only heartbeats Ben could hear were Hers and the Pussy-Brigades behind him. Kimiko was keeping pace with Ben’s long, fast steps, and he didn’t miss the quick, worried looks she kept giving Her. She was still unmoving, breath almost mechanically steady, and smoke had begun to rise from her body. It didn’t cloud Ben’s vision, and She’d only grown warm without flame, so Ben kept fucking moving. They were so goddamn close to being out, and everywhere was still so fucking empty. Through the door, down the creepy as shit hallway. Up the stairs, into the still abandoned alleyway. The team filtered after him, weapons not lowering for a second. The door slammed behind MM and Starlight at the rear, and—in a vigilant silence—they loaded into the van. She didn’t let go of Ben as he sat against the wall, engine rumbling to life, and he didn’t try to make her. 

Something was wrong, this was too fucking easy. The Thing, still fully focused on Her, felt wired, on edge, like she might vanish from Ben’s hands. She still hadn’t spoken, and as Ben lowered her into his lap she moved her grip to the collar of his shirt. They were getting further and further away, but something still felt fucking off. Ben didn’t fucking trust it, some sort of other shoe was just waiting to fucking drop-

Her hands raised to Ben’s face, a frantic sound escaping her as she lowered his eyes to meet hers. “Ben-“ Her voice was barely audible, and Ben leaned forward until they were almost sharing a breath. “Something’s wrong.” 

“I know, Sunshine-“

“No, no, you-“ She tugged Ben closer in a tiny movement, hands pulling at his hair. “My phone, I left my phone-“

“Where.”

“The dressing room, before it happened, I forgot it, Ben I forgot it-“

She froze, head whipping towards the front of the van as a ring sounded through the van. 

“Hughie,” Butcher grunted, cocking his head towards where his phone rested on the console. “Get that, will you?”

“No,” She whispered as Cocksucker grabbed Butcher’s phone, frowning at the screen. “Ben, you have to-“

Cocksucker said Her name, glancing back at her and Ben. “It looks like you’re calling me?”

She gave a small, desperate sound, shaking her head. 

“She lost her phone,” Ben snapped at Cocksucker, wrapping Her hands into his own as they began to smoke against his head. “Left it back at that shit hole.” 

“Answer it, Lad.” Butcher ordered, and Ben pulled Her hands to rest between their bodies and she began to shake.

“No, no, Hughie don’t-“ 

Cocksucker put the phone to his ear, eyes darting around the van. “Hello?” 

“Hughie Campbell! What are you doing with William’s phone, hm?” 

Homelander’s pathetically fucking cheery voice was muffled through the phone. Ben tried to keep his face stoned and neutral—he wanted to see what Cocksucker would do—but She wrung her hands, still held between his. 

“What’s he saying? Ben.” Her voice was rising, and the Thing grew bloody with her panic. “Please, Ben, what-“ 

“Who is it,” Butcher muttered to Cocksucker, who had gone slack-jawed and pale. “Hughie,” Butcher glanced off the road with a frown. “Who’s on the fucking phone?”

“Go on, Hughie.” Homelander encouraged mockingly. “Answer the man, don’t let our conversation stop you.”

“It’s him,” Cocksucker’s voice was unsteady, and Ben heard a cold laugh through the phone. “Homelander.”

“Are you fucking serious?” MM hissed. “Kid, that’s not funny-“

 “Put me on speaker!” Homelander’s voice was manic. “Let me talk to the gang!” 

Cocksucker dropped the phone from his ear, hand shaking as Homelander’s voice grew louder through the speaker. 

“Is everyone here? Obviously Hughie, listening to orders so well as always. William, I heard you, you rascal, too big to pick up the phone, huh?” 

“Nah, just can’t be fucked, cunt.” Butcher drawled, even as Ben could hear the race of his heart and see his scowl in the rearview mirror. 

“Delightful as always. Who else, hm,” the van hung in silence as Homelander paused in fake thought. “Starlight, probably, she and Hughie are attached by Campbell’s dick. I think I heard Marvin, and of course I wouldn’t be able hear the fucking mute. She there too?”

“What do you want, Homelander?” Starlight called from across the van. “What’s your angle?”

“I’m wounded, Starlight. Can’t I call to catch up with old friends?”

“We ain’t friends, and if we were you’d know to text,” Butcher’s hands were white on the wheel. “Answer her bloody question.”

There was a silence, the line only humming static, before, Her name was said, tight and crude in Homelander’s voice. “Is she there? I know she was here, I found her phone,” Homelander laughed. “But you know that!”

“We’re not telling you shit-“

“Oh, don’t be like that, William. It’s an innocent question. It’s not like I’m asking who leaked those records to you, or which of you killed Tek Knight!” Homelander clicked his tongue. “Unbelievably annoying, by the way. Now I’m going to have to give a fucking press statement about it.”

Butcher’s lip was curled into a sneer. “How fuckin tragic for you.” 

“Thank you! You know, nobody ever thanks me for that, but it’s hard work! I’m going to have to say so much nice shit about this asshole, you have no idea. Now, stop trying to distract me, and answer my question.” Homelander’s voice dropped in a cruel, cold tone. “Is she fucking there?”

She was searing a hole into Ben’s shirt as she pressed further into him, all eyes falling to them. Ben held their gazes firmly, letting every bit of rage for Her in his body, from the Thing, fill his face. If one of them, any fucking one of these pussies, said a goddamn word, he’d rip their spines out.

“What about Soldier Boy?” Homelander asked, and Her face shot up from Ben’s chest to meet his eyes, her hands shaking in his. “I heard a lot of people saying their last words about him. Is he there?”

More silence. 

“If one of you doesn’t speak-“

“Homelander, we’re not going to answer your question,” Starlight snapped, and Ben respected her for the first time. “So tell us what you want.” 

“Can she hear me? If she’s there can she hear me-“ 

“Talk, cunt.” Butcher grunted, and Homelander gave a dramatic fucking pussy sigh. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I missed you this time, but I’m fucking onto you. Flipping my employees, stealing my property, trying to fuck me over-“

“You call just to whine, Twat?” Butcher cut Homelander off with a sneer. “Or is there fucking point.”

“Patience is a virtue, William.” Homelander gave a tsk. “And I want to make sure that you don’t think you’re ahead. I don’t know what your plan is, but it won’t work. I’m invincible. I’ll find the leak and plug it, I’ll figure out what you're doing and stop it, because I always win.” 

Butcher snatched the phone from Cocksucker’s hand, hissing into it. “That it?”

“Patience.” Homelander growled Her name, and the Thing became molten fury in Ben. “I don’t know if you’re there, because these weak, unworthy ants won’t fucking tell me. But I want you to know that, when you come home, which you will because I will find you, I can’t wait to hear you sing again. I can’t believe you hid what V did, it’s amazing, powerful, god-like, but I forgive you. I won’t lie, I’m wounded that you didn’t trust me, but I forgive you. And I’ll see you, all of you, soon.” 

The line clicked dead, and She went limp in Ben’s arms. Nobody spoke, they wouldn’t fucking dare, and Ben just held her. The Thing wanted Her closer, even with their skin pressed together, their air the same, and their hearts in time with each other. But Ben needed to be fucking mad at her. She’d had another secret, she’d had chances to tell him, everything he knew, everything he understood told Ben he needed to be mad at her. But the fear in Her eyes was imprinted on his brain, and the sound of her pleading his name, looking to him for comfort, would ring in his ears until she laughed again.

Ben should be fucking mad at Her, but Ben and the Thing were hardly even separated anymore, not when She was so close. Not when She mattered like this. Not when She was choosing to stay right here with him. Not when She, for some stupid fucking reason, kept choosing to hang to Ben’s side.

He had to be mad at Her, to find it in him some fucking where, but the performance was echoing in his head, feeding the Thing. Ben gave up—for now—trying to find reason with it or what it meant. What he meant to Her. Because She was shaking against him, and he was keeping her secure in his arms. And She wasn’t trying to run or fight, so Ben wouldn’t either. It was just them, even in the cold silence of the van. 

It was just them, so Ben stayed right there with Her.

End Note: Not to trash on my source material, but my version of Tek Knight is better and more interesting and makes me want to vomit less. Eric Kripke, you will pay for your crimes against my son, Hughie Campbell.

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

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

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

[m0chaminx]

Fifty-nine Days | Dylan Lenivy

*•.¸♡Request : No

*•.¸♡Prompt : none

*•.¸♡𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 : minor plot changes, reader is shorter than 6'0ft, slight angst, loys of fluff, cute Dylan, sexual implications, smut (comes in later), sex in a public place (no one sees), fingering (F receiving), hand job (M receiving), oral (F receiving), praise, Dylan and Reader are switches, cocky Dylan

*•.¸♡Paring : Dylan Lenivy x F!reader

*•.¸♡𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 : 59 days. It takes Dyaln Lenvi 59 days to fall for you and one moment to turn it to hell

*•.¸♡words : 5.4k words

*•.¸♡A/N : I did not expect this to turn out this long, but holy crap am I proud of it

*•.¸♡A/N 2 : I wrote Dylan as Bisexual, I don't know if he's Bi and only liked Ryan at camp or he is just gay, but I spent a VERY long time writing this and really don't want to change it so my apologies

❁ Day One; Meet Cute

Going to a summer camp to be a swimming coach and supervisor of kids and young teens was something different, and different is exciting but you couldn't help but feel nervous about walking to Mr H's office to confirm your attendance

Mr H was welcoming and made you feel comfortable until another camper came bursting in announcing the radio was continuing to 'shout' at him

"Mr H, the radio is shouting still," Dylan announced swinging the door open. "I have- Whoa." Dylan stopped realising he had interrupted a meeting.

"Ah hey Dylan," Mr H smiled, slightly shocked at his sudden entrance. Your heart pounded as if you were in the wrong for being in the office. "Dylan this is the new counsellor, Y/N." You waved slightly, the thumping still pounding in your chest.

"My bad," Dylan chuckled, smiling uncomfortably. "Hi there Y/N."

"Hi Dylan," You smiled, slightly intimidated by how tall he was.

"Just one sec," Mr H apologized. You nodded, looking away awkwardly. "Now what's the problem, Dylan?"

"The radio gear is making weird noises and I can't get it to work, like, at all," Dylan explained rocking on the balls of his feet.

"I can take a look," You said suddenly making the two look at you. "I uh, I majored in IT and robotics, working some radio gear out wouldn't be too hard." Dylan raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Only uh, if you- if that's y'know, okay."

"All up to you Y/N, it would give me some time to go over some more paperwork," Mr H nodded, taking a seat at his desk. "Dylan?"

"God please," Dylan joked and you couldn't help but laugh.

Dylan led you from Mr H's office and across to the radio shack. You took a seat at the radio gear and a teasing smile took over your face. "Hey Dylan, have you used a radio before?" You asked looking over your shoulder.

"Is that a trick question?" Dylan asked, watching your fingers tap at the desk. You motioned him over and he stood behind the chair resting a hand on the desk and back of the chair.

"This is a tuning knob, it's the thing that chooses the radio frequency," You started and Dylan nodded listing to your explanation. "But it needs to connect to something like this speaker, yeah? The speaker that is making the cracking noises." Dylan nodded watching you tap the old speaker. "But your problem is the speaker is on, but the radio itself isn't." Dylan's jaw dropped as you flicked a switch on the side of the radio from 'off' to 'on', the green light switching on.

"You're fucking with me right?" Dylan cursed turning his head to look at you.

"No, I am not fucking with you," You smile.

❁ Day Two; Early Morning Chats

Spending your first night alone in the middle of the woods with spooky noises freaked you out far more than you appreciated

Taking a stroll to the lake at four am to skip rocks on the water you did not expect to see Dylan in Buggs bunny pj's come to the water to do the same thing

"Oh hey, hey Y/N, "Dylan mumbled awkwardly trying to cover the cartoon rabbit on his blue shirt.

"Hey Buggs," You joked, picking up another rock and throwing it watching it hit the dark sparkling water and found across the top three times.

"Wow, you're pretty good at that," Dylan commented, dropping his arms to his side and walking to stand by you. You mumbled a thank you before doing the same thing again. "So uh... what are you doing out here? Perving on the fish?"

You giggled, shaking your hand and passing Dylan a rock. "I was going more for the woodland creatures but I won't pass up a good opportunity," You quipped, watching Dylan toss the rock in his palm. "Creepy woods, couldn't sleep properly."

"Same, plus Jacob snores louder than an earthquake," Dylan commented, trying to balance the rock on the tip of his finger. "Do you know how to skip a rock?"

"Skim," You spoke up, tossing another.

"I thought it was skip?" Dylan asked furrowing his eyebrows.

"Eh, well I've heard it both ways," You shrugged picking up another and skipping it.

"Ah, but no I've never skipped a rock," Dylan rock in his hand.

"Hand," You requested, holding yours out. Dylan rested his hand on top of yours watching you as you gently bent his fingers around the rock. His eyes moved up to watch your face but you caught him staring. "Focus."

"Yep," Dylan nodded looking back down at his hand curled around the rock.

"Your thumb supports it and creates the momentum and it will roll off your pointer making it spin," You explained, holding Dylan's waist and spinning Dylan's body to the side, his feet facing the water his torso spun to face you. "It will rest on your middle finger in the meantime. You just spin your body and flick your arm from the elbow, and hopefully, it will fling from your hand and bounce on the water."

Dylan nodded following your instructions. Spin the torso, flick from the elbow, spin off the finger and bounce on the water. "Ha, ha! Yeah!" Dylan yelled in victory as the rock bounced on the water before plopping into the water. You clapped as Dylan cheered. "See that, that was so cool!" 

❁ Day Ten; Blushing Red

Dylan was simply trying to help a kid carve Emma and Jacob forever into the tree trunk instead he interrupts your swimming lessons and turns, for lack of a better word, as red as a tomato

This starts the kids teasing of the crush developing between you both

"Are you sure Mr Hackett won't be mad at us?" The young camper Gabby asked as she watched Dylan carve the final letters.

"I'm positive, plus even if he finds out, whose to say lover boy Jacob didn't do it?" Dylan joked before putting the swiss army knife back in his pocket. "Now go, I think Chef Nick is cooking up some cookies." Gabby laughed before rushing for a group of campers that were heading for the lodge. 

Dylan turned, meaning to head back to the radio shack but he caught sight of a swimming lesson and figured to head over and tease you. "Dylan! Hi!" Another camper, Isaac, yelled, with an over-exaggerated wave.

"Hey champ, how's swimming?" Dylan asked, giving him a high five through the fence.

"So much fun, Y/N's an amazing teacher!"

"Isaac! You're up!" You yelled, waving the boy over. Dylan's sarcastic comment about you running all the fun at the sight of you in a red and black stripped bikini. And suddenly red is Dylan's favourite colour. "Hey, Dylan!"

"Uh- hey, hey Y/N," Dylan stuttered, already feeling the hot redness of a blush creeping up the back of his neck and over his cheeks, dusting them in light pink.

"Dylan's blushing!" A camper shouted and the others erupted in a fit of giggles and 'oohs'.

"All right, all right settle down!" You called, pulling the attention back to you, not that Dylan's ever left. "Half an hour splash around then we will continue with the rest of you guys's laps!" Immediately as the words left your mouth the kids rushed for the pool. "Be responsible, I will revoke your pool privileges if you act like idiots!"

You rolled your eyes and walked to the side gate, resting your hands against the brick wall it was built in. "Huh, you are red," You teased, tilting your head to watch Dylan's cheeks darken in colour.

"No, I uh, I mean-" Dylan stopped and took a breath, trying to look anywhere else than where the water decided to drip and roll down your skin. "I am going to stop talking now and go back to my shack."

"You know we could go to the river tonight, I could teach you, y'know a private lesson," You offered, watching Dylan's face go completely red.

"I can't tell if you're messing with me," Dylan mumbled, staring straight into your eyes. You laughed, and Dylan played with black cuffs on his writs.

"I'm messing with you, campfire's tonight," You smiled, ignoring the blush growing on your cheeks. "We'll just have to reschedule." You sent Dylan a playful wink before turning back to the campers. 

❁ Day Twenty-five; Tension and Rain

Dylan isn't trying to be dramatic, but my god is he dramatic

Rain is moving inwards and Dylan is trying to get your attention. But you are very stubborn but Dylan will do whatever to get your attention.

"Not to be, like, dramatic or anything, but I think it's gonna storm," Dylan stated, nudging your shoulder. You groaned half asleep as you and Dylan lay in the grass as the others ate lunch. Dylan huffed, poking your shoulder, "Y/N." You brushed him, resting your hands behind your head. Dylan squinted and poked your shoulder again, "Y/N..."

"Dylan, I am trying to sleep," You mumbled grabbing your jumper and tossing it at his face.

"Number one, this jumper is soft as baby pandas, number two..," Dylan rolled on top of you, straddling your stomach, putting all his pressure on top of you. "Y/N listen to me!"

"Okay okay!" You gasped, pressing your hands to Dylan's torso. "I'm listing! Dylan! Jesus, Dylan Lenivy! Get off!" Dylan lifted himself by his elbows, taking the pressure off of your stomach. Your hands still pressed to his stomach, your chest heaving. "You're like skinny as shit, why are so heavy?" Dylan went to lower his elbows but you pushed him harder. "Dylan I swear to god!"

"Okay okay, I'm done," Dylan laughed pushing himself up and resting on his knees. "Now-" A raindrop hit your forehead, then another, and another.

"Shit!" You cursed, Dylan stood up, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. You grabbed your jumper with your free hand as it started to pour with rain. Dylan held your hand as you both sprinted for the radio shack. Dylan threw the door open and pulled you in, throwing the door closed behind him. 

You shook your jumper out throwing it over your shoulders before plopping yourself in the office chair Dylan usually sat in. "Comfy?" Dylan questioned. You smiled and slid further into the chair. Dylan rolled his eyes and pulled the other chair in front of the radio equipment, holding down the Microphone button.

"Yo, yo, yo Hacketters, DJ Dylan here," Dylan started, and you giggled quietly to yourself. "Rain has moved over the quarry, so I'd move those butts inside and grab your stuff and head to the Hall. Just cause its raining doesn't mean we don't have fun stuff for you guys to do!" Dylan clicked the mic off and leaned back in his chair, spinning to look at you.

You sat on your phone, scrolling through your downloaded music.

"Hey quick Q," Dylan started, watching you spin in the office chair. You clicked on a song before resting your phone on the table, the music echoing around the small shack. "How did you get your phone back? Mr H was very strict about it."

"I didn't turn it in, and I bought portable charges so I am set," You explained, grabbing the armrest on Dylan's chair and stopping yourself from spinning anymore.

"You, Y/N L/N, are one sneaky and brilliant woman," Dylan smiled, grabbing your chair and pulling you closer, leaning his head on your shoulder, rubbing his face on your fluffy jumper.

"Why thank you, DJ Dylan," You laughed, brushing Dylan's hair back. "Are we staying in here forever or...?"

"I figured until the rain stops," Dylan mumbled finally lifting his head.

"Are we gonna talk about five minutes ago?" You asked, lifting your legs and resting them across Dylan's. Dylan hummed in confusion, resting his hands on your thighs. "You quite literally straddling me."

"I needed to get your attention," Dylan shrugged, tapping his fingers on your legs. 

❁ Day Thirty-seven; Heart To Heart and Coming Out

Dylan grabbed a few cokes and snacks and you both sat in the tree house, watching the sun go down

You started to open up to each other, learning about each other

"Well hopefully I get into something with Quantum physics," Dylan admitted, his legs swinging on the edge.

"Quantum physics," You repeated taking a sip from the glass coke bottle. Dylan nodded turning away, fiddling with his watch. "What's quantum physics?"

"Physics but quantumy," Dylan shrugged sipping his cola. You waited for him to keep talking but he just kicked his feet.

"And..." You encouraged.

"And?"

You laughed, brushing your hair back. "And...What is it really? And why do you like it? What made you want to study it?"

"Oh, you're actually interested," Dylan said in shock, looking at you surprised. You nodded, bringing your legs up and crossing them waiting for Dylan to keep talking. "Well quantum physics allows for particles to be in two states at the same time. It's focusing on what makes things at their fundamental level, like their property and nature." Dylan paused and sipped on his coke again. "I know I'm not very sciencey, but I was kinda nervous when I first got her so the jokey sociable side came out."

"So you're a smarty pants who is hiding his intelligence by covering it with jokes and quips?" You questioned putting the empty coke bottle to the side.

"Uh, yeah basically," Dylan nodded, messing with his watch again.

"I mean, I get it," You nodded stretching your legs back out.

"What do you mean?" Dylan asked.

"Hiding what you're really like cuz your nervous... or scared," You explained, taking Dylan's coke and sipping from it. 

"So what? You have a super-secret weird fetish or somethin'?" Dylan laughed, taking his coke back.

"Uh..."

"You don't have to tell me," Dylan offered, moving his hand to rest next to yours.

"No I want to," You nodded, moving your hand to sit on his. "You ever like someone and not been able to tell them because they wouldn't react the best?"

"Like they're already dating?"

"No..."

"Like... they're the same gender?" Dylan guessed again. You nodded softly and took the coke back. "Oh, yeah I get that." Dylan nodded, smiling softly. "Bi and ready to fly."

"You made that up," You sighed with a smile, finishing off the drink.

"Yes, but it was amazing wasn't it?" Dylan nudged your shoulder, smiling like a two-year-old that saw an ice cream truck.

"Sure, sure," You smiled nudging him back.

"So that's what you are? Bi?" Dylan asked in a serious tone.

"I don't really know, but I will say women are hot," You admitted, with a cocky smile.

"That is a very true statement, and men are very sexy," Dylan added, leaning back on his free hand.

"A-greed."  

❁ Day Forty-six; Almost

Jacobs's plan to prank Nick goes horribly wrong, most likely pulling something in his ankle

So unfortunately you and Dylan are forced to make the campers lunch

Dylan groaned, sighing as he leaned on the counter. "Stop complaining, you'll be fine," You teased as you put together a sandwich.

"But it's so boring," Dylan continued to groan.

"I'm on the last couple of sandwiches, then we can take a break," You offered, looking up at Dylan. Dylan sighed and nodded walking over to you and standing behind you, looking over your shoulder. "You're hovering."

"So? I am going to continue to annoy you until you're finished," Dylan shrugged, resting his head on your shoulder, and pressing a hand to the counter you were working on. "Why couldn't Mr H just do this?"

"Jesus, Dylan, you are right next to my ear," You said flinching away. "You do not need to be so loud," Dylan mumbled a sorry, resting his hand on his hip. "Mr H won't do this because this is what we need to do as counsellors."

"No, this is what Nick is meant to do," Dylan complained much quieter this time, his breath fanning over your neck. You chuckled, putting the sandwich on a paper plate. "Okay you're done," Dylan said grabbing your hips and trying to tug you along. You gripped the counter stopping Dylan from pulling you away.

"Dylan I have two more to make," You sighed spinning around to face Dylan. He huffed, letting you go and resting both his hands on the counter. "Do you really want to leave these kids hungry?"

"No... but I would like to have the rest of my free time not doing Nick's job," Dylan pointed out.

"Well, it's not his fault Jacob's stupid prank went wrong," You reminded him, resting against the counter. Dylan rolled his eyes, leaning closer to you.

"Please, Y/N..." Dylan begged, pouting his lip out.

You held the side of his cheeks pulling his face up in line with yours. You couldn't help but let your eyes flick to his lips for a second. "No," You huffed, trying to turn back to the food.

Dylan grabbed your hips again, locking you back in place on the counter. The sudden spin made you clutch on Dylan's shirt to steady himself. Dylan looked across your face his eyes pausing on your lips this time, you couldn't help but stare at his as well. Dylan brought a hand to your cheek, pulling you close.

"Are you losers done in here?!" Kaitlyn yelled, throwing the doors open. Dylan pushed himself back and you spun around to the sandwiches you were supposed to be making. "Oh-" Dylan's face was bright red as he looked around the kitchen for something to distract himself with.

"Were, uh, almost done here," You nodded, chewing on your bottom lip. Kaitlyn smiled, looking between you both.

"It's okay, I'll finish up with Dylan, Ryan needs help by the boat house cause you know... you are the swimmer," Kaitlyn explained with a sly smile. You nodded, sparing a glance at Dylan who was still red with embarrassment.

❁ Day Fifty-eight; Jealousy And Realisation

You and Ryan were cleaning up the boats after the double lesson for the final day you had with the kids

Dylan helps Kaitlyn find sticks and wood for the fire

Ryan helped you tug the final boat up the shore, you both exhausted from the campers. "God how do those kids have so much energy?" you joked, stretching your arms over your head. Ryan glanced up, watching your swimmers pull against you. 

"I know, they're a little crazy," Ryan chuckled pulling his swimming trunks up a bit. "There's a few life savers in the water, if you can grab those ill stack the boats."

"Yeah, just be careful though, those things are heavy," You commented, making your way back to the water. You dove under the water from the boat ramp, tugging the lifesavers from the rocks they were tied.

You brought them back to the ramp, tossing them up. "Do you need some help?" Ryan teased, watching you try and pull yourself up.

"Don't be a dick," you said rolling your eyes. Ryan laughed and reached down, grabbing your hand and tugging you up. "Holy crap, you're strong." Ryan grabbed your waist to steady you, making sure you didn't fall.

Dylan walked from the radio shack, Kaitlyn walking next to him. "So have you talked to her?" Kaitlyn asked, picking up sticks for the camp's final bonfire.

"Who? Y/N?" Dylan asked, pulling along a large tree branch and a bundle of smaller sticks in the other.

"Uh, yeah, obviously," Kaitlyn nodded, wiping her hand on her pants. "You two seemed pretty close in the kitchen." Kaitlyn grabbed another branch, resting it between her arm and stomach.

"Well we weren't, there was nothing to be close about," Dylan sighed with a sarcastic tone. "Just drop it."

"Sorry, sorry," Kaitlyn apologised with a teasing smile. "Well, maybe you still have a chance- oh shit."

The two stopped. Dylan watches Ryan pull you from the water, grabbing you by the waist to steady you. Kaitlyn watched Dylan clench his jaw and fists, accidentally snapping the sticks. "If there wasn't a moment to be close, why are you having a moment of jealousy?" Kaitlyn pointed out.

Dylan lifted his free hand, raking it through his hair. "Oh fuck me," Dylan cursed, feeling his heart tighten and his stomach twist.

"Let's get these back to Mr H," Kaitlyn encouraged, tugging Dylan along.

"Um, I just wanted to say," Ryan started, handing you a towel as you both stepped into the boat house. "That um you're super funny and cool and you're super hot, or uh, pretty-"

"Ryan," You called, calming Ryan down. "While I accept the compliments entirely and agree with the campers that you are very attractive, I just don't see you that way." Ryan nodded with a small disappointed smile.

"Nah, Nah, I get it, but y'know, got to shoot my shot," Ryan nodded. "Plus I know you had something with Dylan."

"What?" You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows.

"I thought you and Dylan..." Ryan trailed off, hanging his towel around his shoulders

"No, no, I mean yeah he's super smart and funny, and he's pretty cute-" You cut yourself off, sighing at how oblivious you were. "Oh fuck me, I like Dylan."

"It took you that long to figure it out?" Ryan said, laughing softy.

❁ Day Fifty-nine; Truth Or Dare, Kiss Me

Dylan's plan of truth or dare ends up in a different direction than what he was hoping for, but you will never catch him complaining

Ps, this is where the smut comes in

The moon had fully risen lighting the camp in a cool white glow. Jacob had supplied the group with beer, and watermelon and Kaitlyn had a bag of Peanut butter butter pops. You squished between Dylan and Kaitlyn, wanting the quickest access to the beer and Kaitlyn was sharing the butter pops with you.

Dylan clapped his hands, clearly bored with the conversations everyone was having. “Okay! New idea. Party game!” Dylan declared, setting his beer down. Some people groaned not wanting to stop their discussions. “Come on, people, we might never see each other again after tonight! Let’s make some memories!”

“Well, what do you have in mind?” Kaitlyn asked, holding the butter pops out for you.

“How about the ultimate game of secrets and lies,” Dylan suggested, sparing a glance your way. “Truth or Dare, but Dylan style. Okay, so house rules are, someone asks you a truth or dare. Then you choose, and then you pick the next person. There’s no ifs, ands, or buts.”

"Dylan, that's normal truth or dare," You chuckled, sipping on your beer.

Dylan stuttered, his face dusting pink, "Uh, yes."

“So... we can, like, make people kiss?" Kaitlyn asked, her eyes darting around, pausing on you for a second longer.

“If they choose dare, yeah. As long as everyone consents... of course,” Dylan confirmed.

“Cool beans," Kaitlyn shrugged trying to contain her smile.

“I mean, keep it in your pants until it’s your turn, but…” Dylan teased.

“I mean, who does get to go first?" Kaitlyn asked.

"Well it's house deals, so..." Dylan trailed off looking around the fireplace. Dylan clapped his hands together, turning to the other logs. "Abigail! Truth or dare?"

"Umm," Abigail thought. "Truth"

"Really dodged a bullet huh?" Dylan questioned. "Alright. Here goes. Have you ever slept with anyone?"

"Oh, uh... I..." Abigail trailed off.

"At this camp," You clarified.

"Hey, you cant-"

"Have you ever slept with anyone at this camp?" You repeated slapping your hand over Dylan's mouth.

"Ah, no! Nope. Sorry," Abi answered, shaking her hand. You removed your hand and took a sip from your beer.

"Alright Abi, it's your turn," Dylan continued, glancing back at you quickly.

"Alright okay, um..." Abi thought for a while with encouragement from Kaitlyn but Emma lost her patience and jumped in.

"Ugh! Ding, ding, ding, too late," Emma sighed. "My turn. Ryan truth or dare?"

"Dare, gimme what you got," Ryan said enthusiastically.

"Okay, Ryan. Your dare comes with a choice."

"Can she do that?"

"I can do whatever I want," Emma dismissed. "And I dare you... To kiss... Either Dylan... or Y/N."

"Wow... I mean... I guess 'both' is off the table?" Ryan questioned trying to get past the choosing part.

"Sorry- I don't make the rules," Emma shrugged holding her hands up in defence.

"I mean you literally just did, but okay, let's do this," Ryan sat for a moment, looking at the two. "Y/N shall we?" Ryan gave you a small wink. You sighed and walked to Ryan who placed his beer down before standing up as well.

He held the side of your face shielding your face. "I'll dare Dylan to kiss you," Ryan whispered, making you smile softly. You stepped back bringing your hair back and sat beside Dylan who looked slightly disappointed.

"Y/N!" Ryan shouted excitedly.

"Wait no dude, she just went," Jacob complained throwing his hands up.

"Nope, shut up!" Emma encouraged, seeing Ryan glance between you and Dylan.

"Dare," You stated, leaning forward slightly.

"I dare you..." Ryan paused dragging out the suspense. "...To hook up with Dylan already. Who might I add you've been pining over for the past two months."

"What!?" Nick shouted, bewildered at the new information. You stood up and Ryan tossed you the keys to the lodge. Dylan looked up at you, shocked but... excited. 

"Dylan," You said holding your hand out for him. "Shall we?" Dylan took your hand and tugged him up. "I give my go to Jacob!" You shouted, tugging Dylan quicker.

Dylan walked behind you, slightly stunned. "Just ah, so you know I didn't kiss Ryan, he told me he was gonna dare me to kiss you, not you know... hook up."

"Do you want to? Hook up I mean," Dylan asked as you reached the lodge.

"I mean yeah, do you?" You asked pushing the door open. 

Dylan pushed you inside holding your face as he bent down to kiss you. "God yes," Dylan rasped against your lips. Dylan kicked the door closed behind him, pushing you further in until you bumped into a table.

"Really the table?" You asked, pulling back, your hands draped around his shoulders.

"It this or Mr H's bed," Dylan shrugged, still staring at your lips. You nodded and pulled yourself onto the wooden table. Dylan moved close, standing between his legs as he moved back to kiss you again. 

You pulled back for a second to breathe and Dylan moved to leave marks and bites down your neck. "Fuck... Dylan," You sighed throwing your head back, your hands tugging at his hair. 

"Can I take your shirt off?" Dylan asked pulling back. You slipped your arms away, hooking your finger to the bottom of your shirt and peeling it off. Dylan gave a giddy smile before diving back in to kiss you again, "Jesus Christ you're gorgeous." You smiled against his lips, running your hands down the front of his chest, to the bottom of his shirt.

You slipped your hands under the grey material, feeling across his toned torso. You tugged it up and Dylan grabbed the back, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward your discarded shirt. "Shit, fuck your pretty-" You cut yourself off, kissing down his chest. 

"Is that a good thing?" Dylan asked, tilting his head back up to look at him.

"God yes," You mumbled, pulling him back to kiss you. You grabbed him through his belt loops, messily unbuckling his belt and tossing it away. You quickly kicked your shoes off as Dylan pulled back slipping your pants off. Dylan ran his hands up your thighs, his lips back on your throat. Moans slipped past your lips, very aware of Dylan's fingers drumming on your inner thigh. Dylan paused, making you look at him properly, "If you ever want to stop just say something, yeah?" You nodded, trying to pull Dylan back to you but he slid his hands along the table leaning as close as possible without touching you. "Y/N..."

"Let you know if I want you to stop," You repeated, resting a hand on his cheek.

Dylan smiled, quickly pecking your nose, "Sweet." You giggled and pulled him down to kiss you. Dylan moved his hands across your stomach, pulling the elastic of your underwear and letting it snap against your skin.

"Dylan..." You whined trying to get him to touch you. Dylan chuckled, letting his thumb run under the fabric. "Dylan please touch me."

Dylan nodded hooking his fingers under your underwear and you lifted your hips making it easier for him to pull them down. Dylan ran his fingers through your wetness, circling your clit. "Oh fuck."

You tugged at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them. Dylan reeled his hand back, making you whine softly. He quickly slipped his shoes off and stepped back letting you tug his pants off and he finished pulling them off completely. You tugged at his hips dragging him back to you and you pulled his boxers down enough that his dick sprung out. Dylan kissed you, small hisses and pants slipping past his lips as you pumped his cock, twisting your hand occasionally. Dylan dug his teeth into his lip trying to hold back a loud moan. "Jesus, are you trying to kill me?" Dylan chuckled, a moan taking over the end of his sentence. 

You smiled, pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. You tugged his boxers off completely and Dylan quickly stepped out of them, your hand never leaving his dick. You sped your hand up, sliding your thumb over his slit and Dylan's knees almost gave out. His hands shot to the table to steady himself and chuckled softly at him, kissing under his jaw and leaving a dark purple mark there.

"God if you keep doing that you're gonna make me cum," Dylan moaned, moving to hide his face in your neck, his teeth digging into his lip again You brought your other hand away from his hips, running your fingertips along the bottom of his cock and up to toy with his slit, the other hand still pumping him. 

"That's kinda the point," You giggled. You kissed his shoulder as he jerked his hips into your hand. You stroked him with a faster, harder rhythm, kissing back up his neck. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Dylan repeated, his thrusts chasing your hand movements. "I'm gonna cum, holy fuck! Y/N!" Dylan's hips rutted into your hand, his cum spilling into your palm. You kissed along his shoulder, using your clean hand to trace shapes on his back. Dylan pulled away from your neck, his lips red and swallow from biting them. 

You gently ran your thumb across his bottom lip, before moving to his jaw and then kissing him softly. Dylan moved his hands up your thighs, tugging at your underwear. You lifted your hips helping him pull them down. He moved to rest on his knees, kissing up your legs.

Dylan ran two of his fingers from your slit to your clit, circling it with quick movements. "Fuckin' hell," You hissed, falling back on your hands, not missing the cocky smile Dylan gave you. Dylan slipped his fingers back down your slit, teasing you slowly. "Dylan I swear-" Dylan suddenly leant forward, taking your clit in his mouth. A hand shot to his hair, tugging it as Dylan rolled your clit against his tongue. His hand gripped your hip keeping you pressed against the table, his other slowly pushing two fingers inside you. 

Moans and gasps slipped through your lips as Dylan steadily pumped his fingers into you, curling them at the knuckles making you clench around him. Dylan continued to assault your clit with his tongue, his thumb tracing circles into your hip. "Jesus, fuck me, holy- Fuck, feels so good," Your legs started to shake and Dylan pressed you harder into the wood table. "God Dylan, I'm gonna-"

Dylan moved his fingers in a beckoning motion, speeding up his movements. Dylan sucked harder on your clit and your orgasm washed over you. Your arms gave and your legs twitched as pleasure hushed through you. Dylan slowly pulled his fingers from you, working you through your orgasm.

Dylan pushed himself up, leaning over you and kissing you. His hands pressed beside your head, the other resting on your cheek. "Your so fucking gorgeous," Dylan whispered, pulling away from you ever so slightly. Your arms wrapped around his neck, Dylan helping you sit up. "Like god you're fucking perfect." You laughed softly, kissing Dylan again.

"Do you want to keep going-?" A shrill scream rang out, causing you both to jump slightly.

"What the fuck was that?" 

ﾟ°☆Page navigation

[vkelleyart]

Story Time: Get a load of what happened to me at Starbucks today.

There’s a running joke among people who know me personally that I unwittingly go out in public with a sign on my forehead stating “I Am Non-Threatening. Come Talk To Me.” Because if there’s a chance a bizarre conversation with a total stranger is going to happen, I’m typically the person it happens to.

Some context: I have been pretty darn sick this week. (It’s not Coronavirus, don’t worry.) Since the work in my queue for my day job is comprised entirely of audio narration right now, and I currently sound like a waterlogged Demi Moore, I haven’t been able to work these last couple of days. As a result, I’ve been using my down time to knock out as much of Manu’s redesign as possible. Today, to ensure I didn’t spend the day languishing in sinus misery, I medicated the crap out of myself and took Manu to the Starbucks down the block from my son’s day care.

I hit the bathroom, then picked an empty table, but as soon as I sat down with my venti Comfort Tea and started tweaking the inks on my iPad, I felt the eyes of the man next to me looking over my shoulder.

When I looked up, he had his phone out. “I’m sorry,” he said (in a thick accent I couldn’t place geographically), “I don’t want to disturb. I notice you art. You are artist!”

I tried to smile. “Yes, I’m... Well, I’m trying to be,” I croaked.

He leaned in, like he was sharing a secret.

“I am artist, too.”

He stuck out his hand.

I gently took it, grateful for the bathroom trip I just took in which I washed the scourge off of my fingers.

“Can I?” he asked, holding his phone up.

“Take a picture? Uh... sure,” I said. It’s not like he would be able to steal Manu out from under me or anything, I figured. The panel I was tweaking was magnified out to Guam.

“I am artist. Architect and Designer,” he clarified while he steadied his phone over my iPad. “I am Ilker. What is your name?”

“I’m Venessa” I said, trying to be polite. This, I thought warily, is precisely how I get myself into trouble. I’m too damn nice.

“You know, I come to America twenty years ago from Turkey...”

I put down my stylus. This was going to be a while.

“I like Turkey,” he explained. “I like the country and I like the people. But I am artist. I am not... religious man.”

I nodded.

“I told my wife I was going to go to America and she said, “what are you going to do? You don’t have job! You don’t have money! No Visa!” And I said, “I am artist and architect. I will paint and sell my paintings.

“So I come to America alone. To New York City. I sit outside, and I paint. And people, they liked my paintings. They bought them. This one for $30, that one for $50.

“One day, a man comes over to me and he say, “I like your painting. I see you are also architect.” And he gives me his number and asks me to go to meeting at his office. Because he wants to offer me a job. He starts to talk about a building contract.

“I tell him I don’t know anything about contracts. I have no Visa. I am not American citizen. But he says, “That’s okay. I will take care of everything. You will have nothing to worry about.” And this man, he gave me a job. $173,000 a year. And my wife, he gave her a job too. She was project assistant. I bring her and my two daughters over from Turkey.”

“Wow,” I said, not fully believing the veracity of what sounded like a full-on immigration fairy tale.

“Here,” said Ilker, unlocking his phone and opening up his Facebook app. “I show you my work.” He paused and looked up at me. “I am interrupting. You don’t mind?”

At this point, I was invested. I had to see. Because whatever he was about to show me would either prove or disprove this yarn he was spinning. “Please,” I said, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He opened his photos and my jaw dropped. His work... was UNREAL.

“This is building I designed on Madison Ave.... And this one in Chelsea...”

Holy crap. I had just been to Chelsea with my sister last month on a trip to see a broadway show. I had crossed the intersection of the building he was, at this moment, telling me he designed.

He flipped through more buildings. These, he’d designed in Washington, DC. In Bethesda. In Arlington. All beautiful, streamlined, modern structures I had visited and parked my car in front of. He told me he did much of his concept work freehand. That he worked exclusively in natural media. His preferred media was pen, ink, watercolors, and chalks.

Between photos of his wife and daughters, he went on to show me photos from the RUSSIAN EXHIBITION OF HIS ARCHITECTURE ARTWORK.

Y’all, I was stunned. I couldn’t believe the talent I was sitting next to. Scattered among these gloriously rendered images of some of the most beautiful building concepts I’d ever seen were paintings of scenes in Central Park, the National Mall, and nudes from a life-drawing session he attends from time to time.

When he was done flipping through his phone, he looked at me and smiled. “I hope you don’t mind that I interrupt you. I show you all this because what you are doing is very good. And you should be encouraged. To draw is to make beauty.”

I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Thank you,” I managed. “Your work is astonishing. I don’t even know what to say. What is your name again?”

He held out his hand once more. “Ilker Kocahan,” he said. “I am getting more coffee. Can I get you one?”

I looked at my still-full venti cup. “No thank you. But here, please take my card.”

He held my dinky business card like I’d handed him a treasure and thanked me.

Then Ilker got his coffee, and left the coffee shop.

At some point in his ramblings he talked about America as a place of dreams. How he credits this country with helping him rise to the top of his field where he is now able to sell his paintings for $800-$1000 a piece now that he’s retired. My heart ached to hear him talk about that, knowing how our leadership’s positions on immigrants have taken such a dark and horrifying turn.

Imagine the buildings and museums and public places that would never have been if a business man in the park hadn’t lifted up a Turkish painter who spoke little English.

And now that painter was paying it forward on me.

I still feel pretty darn sick. I’ve still got body aches and a nose that has taken the rest of my face hostage.

But today was a really good day. And I just wanted to share it with you in case you are looking for reasons to keep drawing/painting/dancing/writing. It all counts and it is all good.

If you would like to see Ilker Kocohan’s work, please click here.

[shangchiswife]

nwh villains and peter parker living with you and doing different things with you (4)

some people requested more of these so here you go! this one was specifically asked by someone btw so i hope you enjoyed

nwh villains x gn! reader x peter parker (tom)

warnings: none

2 stories in this!

...

Everyone being enamored by your singing

Y/N: *playing the piano because Flint asked them to*

Flint: *sitting in the corner with his eyes closed*

Peter: *springs out of his bedroom to hear them play* what are you playing?

Flint: *jumps because Peter low key jumpscared him* jeez Parker!

Y/N: nothing yet but who knows some taylor swift song will probably come in my head and I'll start playing it

Peter: *sits next to Flint on the beanbag and watches you play*

Norman: *comes in the room* I heard piano playing...oh Y/N you're playing

Y/N: is that really a shocker?

Norman: sort of

Y/N: well i play and sing

Norman *sits next to Peter* well i didn't know that

Y/N: not many people do so consider yourself lucky

Norman: ....

Y/N: *softly singing* vintage tee, brand new phone, high heels on cobblestones when you are young they assume you know nothing

Curt: what is everyone doing in here

Max: yeah i want to join in on the fun

Y/N: guys its not much fun I'm literally just playing piano

Peter: and possibly singing

Y/N: maybe

Max: Y/N singing? well I'd like to see that

Y/N: i said we'll sing

Flint: will everyone please shut up there's a reason why i asked Y/N in private to play for me

Curt: we want to see their talents as well!

Otto: *comes in the room all tired* what's with all the noise?

Peter: y/n's playing piano and might sing!

Otto: Y/N L/N singing?

Y/N: oh my god why is that such a shocker to all of you

Norman: well you're not exactly graceful

Y/N: *stands up and goes up to him and playfully slaps him*

Norman: see what i mean

Max: no let them play I'm curious to see what'll happen

Otto: yes i'd actually like to see this considering that you all interrupted my nap

Y/N: *sighs then goes back to the piano* i don't like peer pressure but here i go

Flint: yeah go y/n!

Y/N: But I knew you dancing in your Levi's drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you hand under my sweatshirt. Baby, kiss it better, I

Everyone: *jaws dropped except for Flint because he already knew that you had talent*

Y/N: And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed you put me on and said I was your favorite. A friend to all is a friend to none. Chase two girls, lose the one. When you are young, they assume you know nothing

Max: this was not what i was expecting

Peter: shh I'm watching my favorite sibling perform

Y/N: But I knew you playing hide-and-seek and giving me your weekends I, I knew you your heartbeat on the High Line once in twenty lifetimes, I

Otto: *still shocked and his jaw still dropped*

Peter: *pushes his jaw up* your welcome!

Y/N: And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

Y/N: anyways that was just a little-

Everyone: *rushes over to them*

Curt: y/n that was wonderful!

Max: HOLY CRAP

Norman: i am truly shocked

Y/N: alright alright keep the compliments coming

Everyone: *groans*

Otto: moment ruined due to your arrogance

Y/N: oh c'mon!

Peter: sorry y/n

Y/N: you know what everyone piss off except for Flint because he's the most unproblematic compared to the rest of you

Flint: I'm honored

Peter: what about me!!

Y/N: fine but only because you're giving me that puppy dog look

Y/N: *starts playing again*

Peter: *falls asleep on Flint*

Flint: this is nice

....

Norman cooking for everyone

Y/N: oh my god what is that amazing smell??

Peter: could it be coming from our kitchen?

Y/N: wait i actually think it is

Y/N and Peter: *go to the kitchen and find Norman cooking*

Norman: oh hi

Peter: what are you doing in the kitchen

Norman: cooking

Y/N: well we can see that but WHY are you cooking we could've just done takeout

Norman: i like to cook it's no problem

Otto: *coming out of nowhere* no problem huh? what if you burn down the apartment down

Norman: that's not going to happen

Max: how do you know

Norman: it just wont

Max: exactly so you don't know

Y/N: I've got the fire department on speed dial

Curt: oh my god there's a fire?!

Flint: not yet but Norman's about to make one

Norman: *angry* there's going to be no fire because I'm a good cook!

Y/N: are you sure because there are flames coming out of there

Norman: Y/N I just turned on the stove...

Later after the food is done...

Otto: you know this food isn't half bad

Peter: it's amazing!

Norman *smug look on his face* i know

Y/N: could use a little salt to be honest

Curt: i agree, shame on you, Norman

Norman: i hate you, lizard

[sunrisefairy]

My muse

Pairing: Art student!Sirius x reader Warning: NSFW! MDNI 18+, swearing, fingering, unprotected sex, if I’ve forgotten anything please let me know! Summary: Sirius is struggling with an art assignment until he finds inspiration in his girlfriend. Or the one when Sirius and reader bang on a canvas.  A/N: wrote this for @anxiousblanketqueen writing challenge, I had a lot of fun with this one Jill so I hope you enjoy it too. Based of the prompt Art Sex. This article is helpful with visualising the art work!

Taglist: if you’re crossed out i couldn’t tag you @theweasleyslut​ @anxiousblanketqueen​ @accioweaslcy​ @widowdays​ @inglourious-imagines​ @garbdump​ @star-sunshine-sage​ @weelittleweasley​ @a-dusty-emerald​ @starlightkell​ @omghufflepuff​ @weasleysprincess​ @j-amespotter​ @gryffindorgirl To be added to the taglist click here 

“Oh my god this is fucking bullshit!” Sirius groans before throwing his paint brush, it landing with a clatter on the hardwood floor of his art studio.

You hear all the commotion from the kitchen and decided to check in on your boyfriend. It was nearing the end of the term and Sirius had been very agitated and snappy from all the stress.

“You okay babe?” you poke your head through the door to see Sirius standing in the middle of the room, practically death staring a half-finished painting resting on one of his wooden easels.

“Fucking bullshit,” your boyfriend mumbles, clenching and unclenching his paint stained hands.

You slowly walk up to him and wind your arms around his waist and kissing his back through his white cotton t-shirt, “wanna talk to me about it?” you whisper.

Sirius twists in your grip until he’s facing you allowing you to get a good look at him; his shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched tightly from the pressure of school and his eyebrows are furrowed which has become a regular facial expression of him the past few weeks. You reach your hand up and delicately trace the worry lines in his forehead. Sirius immediately relaxes at your touch; his faces becomes more natural and his shoulders slump. Since dating Sirius you’ve come to understand how much he struggles to talk about his feelings. He doesn’t like dumping his problems on those around him as it makes him feel like a burden. So you try your best to be patient with him and always remind him you’ll be here no matter what.

“Just stressed about school,” Sirius murmurs his eyes looking down at the floor between your bodies.

You let your hand fall down to his shoulders, lightly squeezing, “yeah? What about school?”

Sirius’ hands find their way under the t-shirt you’re wearing which evidently is one of his that you’ve stolen, he lets his fingers trace patterns on your warm skin. “Just this one assignment is making me go insane. Can’t seem to get it right.” He gestures to the canvas sitting in the middle of the room.

If you’re being honest, anything Sirius paints leaves you memorised and evokes numerous emotions from you. You are constantly telling your boyfriend how talented he is and every time he’ll roll his eyes at your compliment. “I think it looks amazing babe,” you state truthfully.

To no surprise, Sirius rolls his eyes at your comment. “yes, well you have to say that ‘cos you’re my girlfriend.”

Sirius leaves your embrace and walks back over to the painting, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning so intensely you think laser beam might shoot from his eyes and through this artwork. He starts mumbling again, irritation is laced thickly on his words, “representation of raw love,” he mocks, “what a load of utter crap. My professor is so pretentious, the only instruction he gives us for this stupid bloody assignment is ‘make a piece which represents raw love’ what does that even mean? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s fucking bullshit.”

You shuffle closer to Sirius so you’re standing at his side, both staring at his current piece. You’re not really sure how to help, you’re no artist but you hate seeing Sirius so worked up. “What are other people in your class doing for the assignment? Maybe you can gather inspiration from them?”

Sirius shrugs and stuffs his hands in his dark jeans which are covered in paint splatters, “Kirra’s doing a photography piece of her husband and kids, Gage is making some sculpture of his dog.”

“Alright,” you pause for a brief moment “well maybe think of ways people show love or how you show love, like real emotional love ya’know?” you feel like you’re grasping at straws here and making up some bullshit.

You glance over at Sirius, he’s biting his bottom lip deep in thought, you stay silent not really knowing what else to say to assist him. Slowly a look of realisation washes over your boyfriend’s face, eyes wide and a grin gracing his lips. “Holy shit baby, you’re a genius!”

Butterflies erupt deep in your belly from the praise and you giggle when Sirius starts peppering your face with tiny kisses to show his gratitude. Eventually he connects your lips together in what you thought would be a short but sweet kiss. However, you squeak in surprise when Sirius quickly deepens the kiss, his hands gripping tightly at your waist before slowly moving them down to grope at your arse.

“You should probably get working on your project then Sirius,” you breathe against his mouth, disappointed to stop things before they get too heated but you know Sirius’ inspiration comes and goes in waves and if you wait until after the two of you get off, then he might fall back into feeling unmotivated again.

“I am working on it,” you pull away confusion all over your face.

“What do you mean?” you query.

Sirius chuckles and moves away from you to move the canvas and easel to the edge of the room out of the way, he starts laying out a large piece of cream canvas fabric on the floor. “Think about it, what’s a way people show love?” he asks you, squirting numerous colours of paint carelessly onto the fabric.

“Babe there’s a lot of way people show love,” you answer puzzled, what did making out with you have to do with his piece? And why was he now squirting colours onto a blank canvas.

Sirius continues, “yes I know that but what about a raw, emotional way people show love? a primal way to show love so to speak?”

When you finally look back up at Sirius’ face you’re met with a cheeky smirk that you know all too well. It’s not until he removes his shirt do you connect the dots. “Sirius I’m not letting you fuck me on this canvas for a university project for god’s sake.”

The raven-haired boy’s grin only widens as he slowly moves closer to you, his eyes burning into your skin. You feel hot and vulnerable under his gaze, it’s like he’s stalking his prey. Your breath hitches in your throat when Sirius’ body is pressed flush against your own and you can feel his hot breath fanning your face as he speaks in a low, hushed tone, “I’m not going to fuck you,” his voice drops an octave like it does when he’s feeling horny. Just the tone of his voice alone causes a wetness to pool in your panties. “Wanna make love to you baby. Wanna show you how much I love you, can I do that darlin’?”

You bite your lip trying to swallow the moan that is threatening to spill from your mouth when Sirius starts leaving sloppy kisses on your neck. Damn Sirius Black for knowing all your weak spots.

“Just want to make you feel good baby girl,” he tugs the off t-shirt your body. “Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?”

You close your eyes and focus on Sirius’ large hands cupping and massaging your breasts tenderly, you always were putty in his hands. Fuck it you thought. “Yes, please make love to me Sirius.”

The boy grins and whispers a thank you against your skin. He takes no time in removing both of your clothes until you’re standing in front of each other naked. You and Sirius take the opportunity to study each other. You gaze over all the curves and lines on Sirius’ body, the way his muscle flex and move, the freckle on his hip bone, the tiny scar on his left shoulder, the coarse hair of his happy trail. He was beautiful, stunning, breathtaking. And he was all yours.

Sirius helps you lay down against the canvas, you gasp at the cold, squishy feeling of the paint beneath you. It feels foreign but not unwelcoming, you wriggle a little, enjoying the way the substance slides around. Sirius kneels between your legs, relishing in the way your chest is already rising and falling frantically from arousal, “so gorgeous darlin,” he traces a finger down from your collar bone all the way to your core finding it soaked already.

You squirm when Sirius teases your entrance with his finger, the cold paint moving and mixing into the canvas under you. A quiet whine escapes your lips the moment Sirius pushes his index finger inside you and starts pumping it steadily.

“Need you to be loud for me baby, want to know how good I make you feel ‘kay?” Sirius commands trying to get into a comfortable position in between your spread legs, his body sliding slighting from the paint.

You answer him with a loud moan. Soon Sirius has added 2 more fingers into the mix causing you to wriggle and rock your hips into his hand, “so good Sirius, fuck.”

With his free hand, Sirius grips your thigh trying to keep you still, blue paint smears against the soft flesh of your thigh and Sirius is captured by how striking you look laying here right now, chest flushed, and eyes closed. The way your body is squirming from pleasure is causing the paint on the canvas to blend and mix together. Sirius scoops up some red paint from the fabric and swipes it across your breasts and over your nipples, “so pretty.” He mumbles tugging and pinching your nipples.

“Sirius,” you pant desperately, “please. Need more.”

Sirius withdraws his fingers earning a whine from you and strokes his cock a few times before lining it up with your entrance, “shh darlin’. M’here to make you feel good, yeah? Want me to make you feel good?”

You wrap your legs around him urging him to finally push into you. You needed it, needed to feel Sirius stretch you out and fill you up with his cock, needed to hear Sirius gasp and groan into your ear, needed to feel him rock his hips into yours, “please Sirius.”

With a low groan escapes from both of you when Sirius finally pushes into you, Sirius begins thrusting his hips deep and slow into yours, both of your relishing in the feeling and sensation coursing your bodies. Hands around running along the others body, squeezing, tugging, scratching at skin, leaving traces of paint in its wake. Sirius has buried his head in the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your cheek, mumbling how beautiful you look spread out for him.

Deeper, you need it deeper. Wrapping your legs tightly around your boyfriend, you manage to roll the two of you over, Sirius underneath you with you straddling his waist, allowing you to bounce of his cock. From this angle, he reaches deeper inside of you, his hard cock prodding at that sponging spot inside of you. The pure affection and love the two of you feel for each other was unmistakeable in this moment. The tenderness and intimacy of this act made your toes tingle and heart warm in your chest.

Continuing to bounce up and down on Sirius cock, you take a second to watch the boy below you, the only word seemingly fitting to describe him was angelic. His dark locks are sprawled out around the canvas, a mixture of red, blue and purple paint framing his body as well as splotches on his skin. His eyes are trained on yours, a look set in them that you’ve come to be familiar with, undying love.

You lower your head to connect your lips together, wanting-no needing to feel close, to feel connected.

“I love you,” you mumble breathlessly against Sirius’ pink lips. You feel that familiar euphoric sensation creeping up on you, Sirius’ cock hitting your g-spot every time you lower your body.

Sirius’ grips your waist tight and firmly, his own hips slamming up into you, “I love you too baby, so much.” He can feel your pussy clenching around him, he watches the way your breasts bounce between your bodies, he reaches his head forward to latch his mouth onto your nipple, sucking and licking on the sensitive bud. The noises slipping from your mouth makes his cock twitch.

“Sirius,” you pant threading your fingers through his dark hair to keep him close to your body.

Your body feels like it’s on fire and ready to combust, your legs trembling, and you know you won’t last much longer with the way Sirius is suckling at your nipple and he knows it.

“Want you to cum for me darlin, be my good girl and cum on my cock,” he groans into your breast, sucking and licking at your salty skin.

The coil in the pit of your belly snaps and with a load high pitched whine you’re releasing all over Sirius’ cock, your pussy clenching and legs shaking from the stimulation. After your release, it only takes Sirius a few more thrusts until he’s following suit, his load shooting and filling you up, a string of I love you’s tumbling from both of your mouths.

You collapse onto Sirius’ chest, neither of you make any effort to move even once your breathing has settled. Laying here with Sirius made you feel safe and protected. The way his index finger was trailing up and down your spine made you shiver, and you could feel him kissing your scalp gently. Undeniably, there was love radiating from his body, you could feel it and you only hope he could feel it radiating from yours too.

~~~

“Hey guys, that painting hanging up in the bedroom is new, yeah?” James questions, traipsing back into the living room where the rest of the group was.

You feel a heat rise in your cheeks when you realise which painting the bespectacled boy is referring too. Sirius nods pulling you tighter into his side.

“Did you paint that one Pads?” Remus asks. Most, if not all the artwork displayed in yours and Sirius’ home was created by him. It normally took a bit of persuading Sirius to let you hang up his work, he didn’t like to come across as cocky. But as soon as this canvas was dried and stretched onto a frame Sirius wasted no time in mounting it; above your shared bed, him claiming it ‘gets him in the mood whenever he looks at it’ (and he really wasn’t lying).

The boy beside you grins and plants a sloppy kiss against your cheek, “me and Y/N painted that one,” he says teasingly.

You shoot him a death glare warning him to keep his big mouth shut. “Don’t,” you mouth.

“That’s so cool! Didn’t know you were so artistic Y/N!” James exclaims excitedly, clearly impressed by the painting.

Sirius chuckles loudly pinching your side making you yelp, “oh she’s very talented when he comes to that type of stuff. I think we might need to make another piece together babe, what do you think?”

[ilyasorokinn]

to sign or not to sign , elias pettersson

note, i've been waiting for this day for a while, so here it is bitches! here's my fic because i'm overjoyed by the fact that elias pettersson signed the damn deal! also, shoutout to @2manytabsopen. we manifested this happening literally the night before he resigned. pair, elias pettersson x reader summary, elias, after months of waiting, stress, and anxiety, finally resigns. wanings, none word count, 917 words

(gif not mine)

One of the fun parts of being married to a hockey player was feeling all the anxiety and stress in your stomach whenever they wouldn't sign.

That was your life right now.

It wasn't that you didn't want to move, it was that Elias was getting anxious about it as well. Of course, signing takes a lot of bargaining, so bargaining is what he did.

“You can say "yes" whenever you want." You reminded him like you always did.

"I know." He sighed, dropping his head in his hands.

"Okay, take a deep breath." You told him, running a hand down his back, "It's gonna be okay." He nodded, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to it before squeezing it.

-

You woke up on a warm day in late August. You reached over for Elias, only to find his spot empty. You sighed but smiled when you felt your dog Matcha take over Elias' spot.

You heard his voice in the other room but were too tired to try and listen in. You were half-conscious when he walked back into the room. He scooted Matcha over and got back into bed.

"Deal or no deal?" You asked.

"No deal." He responded, pressing a kiss to your head, "Any day, bebe." He whispered, wrapping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your head.

-

Your parents had invited you over to dinner, so that's where you found yourselves on a Friday in early September.

"So, Elias...?" Your father began as he cut into his chicken, "How's re-signing coming?" He asked.

"Um..." Elias wracked his brain for an answer, "It's going good." He nodded, shoving chicken and rice into his mouth.

"The season's right around the corner." Your father reminded.

"Dad, stop." You spoke up.

"What? I'm just saying." He shrugged. Your mother shot him a dirty look.

"No, it's fine. I haven't resigned yet, but I am very close." Right as he said that, his phone rang. He glanced down at it, and quickly stood to answer it, "Excuse me." He walked out of the dining room and into the living room for more privacy.

"Dad." You glared.

"What? I was just asking a question." He defended.

"No, it sounded like you were interrogating him." Your mother jumped in.

"Yes, thank you." You nodded.

"I'm just asking him if he's gonna resign."

"Look, he's already stressed about resigning, let's not stress him out more." You spoke in a quieter tone.

"Fine." He raised his hands in surrender and went back to eating his food.

Elias eventually walked back into the room and made eye contact with you. You offered him a hopeful smile, to which he simply shook his head.

-

You were at home, playing with Matcha and watching Twilight (as one would) when Elias barreled through the front door, "Hi—oh." You let out a surprised noise when Elias rushed over to you and picked you up.

"I take it you had a good day." You chuckled when he set you on the ground.

"I did it." He told you.

"Did what?" You asked.

"Resigned." It took a moment for his words to come together in your brain, but when they did you were wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.

"Elias!" You cheered, "That's amazing." You pulled away to see his face, "Only took you three months." You joked.

He rolled his eyes, "Three years. $7.35 million." Your jaw dropped.

"Holy crap. That's a lot." Your eyes widened.

"Well, now we can get Matcha a sibling." He suggested.

"We'll see."

-

First game of the season for Elias and you were sitting front and center. He made sure you were sitting in right front of the glass so that he could see you.

You watched as he skated around the ice with all the other guys. He skated over to you a few times. He tossed you a puck, one of which you had given to a kid sitting next to you.

The Canucks had a PP and towards the end were using it for their advantage. The puck flew around the net a few times and went around the boards.

It was passed between a few guys before Elias got his hands on it, and shot it when he had the chance. You watched as it missed, then bounced off someone's skate then made it into the net.

You were on your feet with the rest of the arena as he was patted on the head by the rest of his teammates. He skated past you and blew you a kiss and sent you a wink.

You smiled and blew him a kiss back, then watched him skate down the bench, all of them giving him a hi-five as he went.

-

You waited in the tunnel with the rest of the girls, scrolling through the messages your friends had sent to congratulate Elias. The guys came out, all of them giving you hi-fives or patting you on the back or patting you on the back as they went.

When Elias came out, you dropped everything and wrapped your arms around him. You were aware of all the eyes on you, but the only thing that mattered were you and him.

"I'm so proud of you." You told him. His smile only got bigger and he set you down.

"It feels good to be back." He announced, everyone else cheering in agreement, ready and pumped for the upcoming season.

-

my taglist: @brandtsclarke @jackydrury @joelsfarabees @puckinrightschicagoo @calgarycanuck @besthockeyfics @boqvistsbabe @joshsandersons @stars-canucks @josthours @iwantahockeyhimbo @blondiekook @2manytabsopen @lady-laura-speaks @spinning-beyblade @youngbeezer @maximoff-xmen @nightmareonspookystreet @heatherawoowoo @hockeyunits @nilspettersson @123happyllama @mattyskies @ggggmoneyyyy @voidohanax @4ambagelbites @lovethepreds @ashleymarine @colecauliflower @peteysimp @eve132 @wherethedinonuggies @ciziikas @monamourthings-blog @x-a-v20x @satanxklaus @himbobimboeater @brandonbagel @pasta88love @paintlavillered @itssophlouise

add yourself to my taglist!

okay, this happened in early october and it's almost the end of the october. let's just disregard that part. anyways, sorry this took so long and sorry it's kind of short. i literally had no idea what to write.

[street-smarts00]

Eavesdropping

Midoriya x f!reader

Summary: Y/n had just realized that she has a crush on her best friend, Izuku Midoriya. She confides in Mina while they were walking to class. However, someone just so happens to overhear their conversation.

Word count: 1.9k

Fluff with ⚠️language

This is my first time writing, enjoy!

“I still can’t believe it took you that long to realize it,” Mina joked.

Mina had once again brought up this embarrassing topic. God forbid you mention anything about crushes, it’s all she wants to talk about. But then again you are a bit of a gossip too, you just didn’t like when the topic of conversation was yourself.

“I've been single for the past 16 years, you really expect me to know how my feelings work,” you mumbled while the two of you walked to heroics.

It was exhausting talking about your new found feelings for one of your best friends, Izuku Midoriya. The two of you have known each other for over a year now and had just started second year; and only a few days ago did you realize that you had fallen head over heels for the guy.

“So when are you gonna tell him?” Mina smirked. “What? Mina I can’t tell him that I like him it will ruin our friendship” you replied as your cheeks turned pink.

“Why do you think it’s gonna ruin your friendship?”

You sighed, “Because it’s gonna make everything awkward. I won’t know how to act around him once he knows and it’s not like he likes me back.”

Your friendship with Midoriya was more important than some silly crush. He was always there for you, giving you tips on how to improve your quirk or fighting style, helping you study, and whenever you were in a shitty mood he always knew what to do to lift your spirits.

“Oh please that’s a load of bull shit”

“MINA!” You exclaimed.

“What? You really think he doesn’t like you? You guys are super cuddly and touchy and you two always have to be touching whether your holding hands or your arms are linked.” Mina explained.

You shook your head, “No Mina that doesn’t mean he likes me, he’s just a touchy person,”

She smirked, “oh really, well I’m friends with him and he isn’t cuddly with me. Or even some of his other best friends, like Iida or Ochako, has he ever cuddled with them during movie night?”

You opened your mouth to respond but no words came out. She was right. You thought that he was just a touchy person. You had never noticed that the only person he was physically affectionate with,was you. The constant hand holding, and arms linked or draped across the others shoulders, the cuddling on the couch during movie night. It was only you, no one else.

“And, it’s not just the physical affection, he also goes out of his way to help you, like all the time. More so then the rest of the class. And remember when you sprained your ankle during training a few weeks ago, he freaked out and offered to carry you to recovery girls office, and when you did get there he refused to leave until you were all patched up”

You were speechless. You thought all of that stuff was just his normal helpful personality. He’s always trying to help others. Did he really give you more attention?

“Holy shit,” you whispered. Your heart was beating a mile a minute. It felt like you were frozen in place even though we’re you still walking to heroics.

“Awww now you have to tell him! Come on it will be so cute. You’ll confess your feelings, you’ll start dating and then you’ll be in love, and then soon I’m gonna have to start calling you y/n Midoriya.” Mina giggled.

“Mina!” You hissed, and she replied giggling.

In the middle of your rage, you didn’t notice Shinsou pass by the both of you.

“Hey Shinsou!” Mina said cheered. You looked up and mumbled “hey.” He glanced over looking exhausted as always and replied “Hey guys.”

He walked passed the two of you and always out of your line of sight. However, right afterwards you heard him say “Hey Midoriya”

Wait what?

Did he just say? Nope he didn’t, he did not just say Midoriya. He did not just say the name of the boy you and Mina had an ENTIRE conversation about.

It felt like the world was spinning. Your hands became sweaty and you almost dropped the case with your hero outfit.

You glanced towards Mina and she had the same expression as you, eyes wide, jaw dropped and face pale. The two of you turned our heads and unfortunately there he was. Your best friend, green messy hair, worn out old red shoes, and an almost identical facial expression as you. Except instead of all the color draining from his face, it turned bright red.

He awkwardly smiled and waved his trembling hand. You reverted your head and stared at the floor; you couldn’t look anyone in the eyes.

How long was he behind you? How much did he hear? You didn’t want to ask, you were too mortified to find out.

In your grief you didn’t realize that you had reached the girls locker room. You and Mina quickly ran inside and you sighed the tiniest bit of relief now that Midoriya was gone.

——————————————————————

Heroics class was starting and you had barely spoken to anyone since the incident. Your mind hadn’t stopped racing. You played over what happened on the way here over and over again, trying to figure out how much he might have heard.

The only way you were safe from dying of embarrassment was if he only heard that last bit of the conversation where Mina had replaced your last name for his. If anything you could just play that off as Mina joking around or something.

You couldn’t gain the courage to go over and ask him cause there was a pretty high chance he heard EVERYTHING. He however, did have the courage to go over to you. You noticed him walking towards you and your insides felt like they are about to explode.

“Hey y/n” he said as he played with one of the gloves of his costume. You were surprised he wasn’t the same shade as a tomato right now. You on the other hand, we’re the shade of a tomato.

“H-hi Midoriya” you studdered.

He continued to fidget with his glove, “So about what happened earlier”

NO! No no no no! You were not ready for this. You did not want to talk about this right now.

“About what you said to Ashido, I . . “

“How much did you hear?” You had to know, it was eating you alive.

“Um well, a lot of it”

SHIT! Red alert! He knows, I repeat, he knows you like him.

“Oh yea right” you awkwardly giggled. “That was um, just uh. . . “

“All right class, let’s get started” All might interrupted.

“Today we will be working on close combat. You will all be in groups of two and we will take turns one at a time, so your classmates can observe and critique your work.”

——————————————————————

Thankfully Heroics went by smoothly after your little, but very awkward, conversation with Izuku.

You didn’t speak to him the next day at school either. You didn’t know what to say and you were terrified of what he would say about what he heard. Others had noticed too, it was odd that you two weren’t holding hands or had your arms linked let alone not looked at each other.

Once you headed back to the dorms you spent the entire afternoon in your room just like the day before. Midoriya even tried to talk to you. He knocked on the door and asked if he could come in but you said you were in the middle of an assignment. Which was a lie and he knew it because you had finished all your work during free period. You were just too scared to even look at him let alone talk to him.

You didn’t leave your room until Sero came and practically dragged you downstairs for movie night.

You heard a knock on your door and prayed it wasn’t Izuku. “Hey y/n, it’s Sero”

You sighed and got up from your bed to open the door, “Hey.” He saw your tired eyes, “are you ok?”

You realized he saw right through you and replied “yea I’m good just kinda freaked out about something,” His face fell and filled with worry, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, its kinda personal and embarrassing, you replied.

Sero knew not to push you. You tended to have a hard time opening up and if he kept asking you would end up never telling him, or anyone at all. “Oh ok, but if you ever wanna talk I’m all ears,” he sympathized. “Wait, I almost forgot the whole reason I came up here. We’re gonna start the movie soon.”

Crap. You completely forgot it was Friday, and Friday was movie night. Where everyone sits in the common room and watches a movie. The movie night where you cuddled with your best friend on the couch every week. The best friend that you have a crush on. The same best friend that now knows that you like him, and might like you back but you're still not sure because there is no proof.

“Ummm ya know I don’t think I can make it to movie night I have a lot of work to do” you lied.

“But didn’t you finish all your work during your free period? Remember you put your feet on the desk when you were done and Iida scolded you for descracing school property.” He replied.

Damn, he was there for that?

“Oh Yea, so I guess I am free,” you said with a fake cheery attitude as you fumbled with your bracelets. You grabbed your phone, turned off the lights and followed Sero down to the common room.

Once you two reached the living room you noticed that everyone was seated ready to play the film. There were two empty spaces to sit. One of them was right between Midoryia and Jiro. You couldn’t sit next to him and cuddle for the next two hours without your brain exploding. You tried to go to the other vacant seat but sadly, Sero beat you to it.

You had no other choice. You slowly made your way to the couch and plopped down in the empty spot as the movie started. You crisscrossed your legs and played with your bracelets again. Midoryia took note of this, he knew you always played with your jewelry when you were scared or anxious. He leaned to your ear and whispered “Hey, are you ok?”

You didn’t look him in the eye. “Yea I’m good”

You hated lying to him but you couldn’t gain the courage to talk to him.

He leaned over to whisper in your ear again. “By the way, Mina was right. I do like you back.”

This was now the second time today that you felt your heart stop. You turned your head to face him. You were inches apart. “Promise?” You asked.

“I Promise.”

You both smiled as your cheeks turned pink. You leaned into him and wrapped your arms around his waist as he put his arm around you and pulled your closer.

He kissed the top of your head, “I missed this.” It may sound cheesy, but your insides felt like they were filled with butterflies.

“I missed this too”

Over on the other side of the couch a smug looking Mina whispered to Jiro, “I knew it.”

[foxy-pawsy]

Retaking it outta curiosity:

Queerbait

Honestly, the only people who see you as queer are people who are too invested. You're probably just really pretty and talk to another pretty person? But good for you on being hot!

Have you ever wondered whether or not you’d be canonically queer if your life was a story? Look no further. This quiz will tell you your canon queer status.