#jimmy toilet fuck jimmy

[chiis-archive]

had a dream during my nap about YIMMY getting really excited and thinking of "Jimmy John's" as though it was never created in that universe and the Tulpar crew make fun of him.

Curly: "Like...a toilet? Jimmy Toilet?"

he gets so upset and immediately crashes the ship lmao

[themouthwashes]

Can you draw jimmy urine as skibidi toilet? Pls and thank you! 😊 ❤️❤️❤️🔥🔥🔥🔥

Ask and you shall receive. (Also prob Swansea about to take the longest piss of his life)

[flebdoodle]

I made a TBHK/HermitCraft AU Pages from chapters 1 and 98, respectively

Who's who: Yashiro -> Mumbo Hanako -> Scar Kou -> Etho Mitsuba -> Bdubs Aoi -> Joel Akane -> Jimmy Lemon -> Scott Teru -> Grian Tiara -> Pearl Tsukasa -> Cub Sakura -> Impulse Natsuhiko -> Skizz Yako/No.2 -> Iskall Shijima/No. 4 -> Gem Tsuchigomori/No.5 -> Doc

[pokerfacekowalski]

CEL...I WILL QUITE LITERALLY FUCK YOU ALL NIGHT....

STOP SHITTING YOURSELF THIS IS TOOO GOOOD YOU ASSHOLEE???!!!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE OLDEST PEEPAW ARREOOUNDDDDD 🤗🤗🤗😝😝😜😜💯💯💯

plz wish @pokerfacekowalski a birthday and get #sminsexposed trending

[rimqueen]

trailer park trajectory

ft. jimmy x fem!reader

tags. daddy-daughter incest, smut, mention of vomit, mentions of pregnancy and abortion, anal, piv sex, creampie, daddy kink

note. not liking this but whatever who gaf! unedited per usual. feedback n rbs always appreciated :3

The year Jimmy spent with his high school girlfriend might’ve been the best year of his life. Man, he had it fucking cushty. He had a pierced ear and she had a bad boy fantasy, but Jimmy isn’t bad he is just a piece of fucking shit to be entirely honest. Columbine bad maybe. He’s sure any dentist would be delighted to drill the rot out of him, it goes deep.

She had lotion-smelling rich-girl skin and a velvet cunt, fit like a glove. All round and soft, shaped by a silver spoon. He liked her heated toilet and fluffy pillows and fuck-proof bed. He liked using her walk-in shower, body jets included, it felt nice to go to school not stinking of ammonia and wet dogs.

It was their senior year and he had never been particularly popular, maybe because of his shitty shoes and shittier attitude, but she liked him more than he ever liked her. He liked having something he couldn’t have. Jimmy liked that look on her dad’s face anytime he came over, somewhere between constipation and resignation. He had tried to talk it out with his daughter, but she was so hopelessly in love with Jimmy, stubbornly so, she seemed to take his flaws as a personal affront. It didn’t matter what clothes he wore, the bands he liked, his postcode—She loved him, trailer-trash scum and all.

Jimmy didn’t get it, but he wasn’t complaining.

Then she went and got knocked up. She spent prom night in the bathroom hacking up her guts. It was disgusting. She was disgusting; vomit caked around her pink mouth, face crumpled like a used tissue as she clung to the leg of that fancy tuxedo she got him. He couldn’t believe he had ever fucked her, wanted her, kissed her. 

Whether it was Jimmy’s or not it didn’t matter. She had something inside of her. He had fucked her and she had that thing growing, taking up space in her abdominal cavity like an alien parasite. He had fucked her and it was in there. At the time killing her crossed his mind, once or twice, thrice at the very most. Jimmy came over one day with a coat hanger and opioids from his mom’s makeshift pharmacy in the bathroom cabinet. He told her it was going to be okay, that she didn’t have to worry any longer. Unfortunately, that did not work out. She kicked and screamed and her parents came in and it was a big mess really. They found out with a little coaxing of course, as if the hanger wasn’t a big enough hint, and it was an even bigger mess really.

Paternal tests were taken so Jimmy couldn’t get out of it. He prayed every night to gods he didn’t even fucking believe in, took up Buddhism during the third trimester. Much to his dismay it wasn’t stillborn it was a fucking girl.

Before you were born, Curly had asked him several times if he was sure he wanted to be inside the delivery room. Obviously he fucking did not. Nobody wants to see their girlfriend’s fucking guts. No man should have to see a pussy that isn’t intact. But it felt like a dig at Jimmy, the implication being he wasn’t able to handle it.

(He threw up when he saw the epidural, passed out when she got split open in all the wrong ways.)

Her father pushed him out little by little, Jimmy was glad. Fresh out of the womb and you were living newborn life in circles Jimmy has never belonged, making connections with toddler oligarchs. You didn’t need him and he didn’t want you. What was the point of sticking around? Parenting is not his forte, children are not his niche, in fact Jimmy would prefer for them to be kept fifteen feet away from him at all times. They’re leeches - eat your food, drain your savings, complicate your sex life, and worst of all they cry.

Jimmy finds no point in pretending to be nice, but to you he is deliberately cruel. Precise like he is cutting into you with a scalpel, surgeon-steady hands tearing you a new one. He doesn’t think you remember what he told you growing up—I never wanted you, I never wanted you, I never wanted you—because your laughter is light like the world has never been cruel to you.

“You can’t even do this for me, James?” She is using his full name so he ignores her, but she continues looking at him expectantly, wanting something from his empty pockets.

After all these years, his ex has still got it, that’s what money can get you. Her tits are in the right place, high on her chest, like the two halves of an evenly sliced melon were stuffed down the front of her blouse. Her ass is tight courtesy of her newest doctor. It could’ve worked out if she had just got rid of you.

Jimmy is sitting at his dining table rolling cigarettes to light on the stove. The table is round and white like a giant bottle cap, foldable to make extra space inside his trailer. He eats breakfast, lunch and dinner here, there’s no room for two plates. There is no room for you here or anywhere, especially no room in his life.

“She’s not gonna like it here.” He shrugs, and he’s not wrong. You’re going to go running for the hills the minute you step foot in the trailer park. “I heard they got nice things to do in England for Christmas.” Jimmy doesn’t have a single clue on what goes down in England and whether they’re even that big on Christmas.

“There’s nice things to do everywhere, but you won’t be there.”

“Why does it matter if I’m there?” When has anybody ever wanted Jimmy to stick around for longer than absolutely necessary? When has she ever wanted him to stay? Everything was made clear to Jimmy when she decided to have you, she didn’t want him then so why does it matter now?

“Because you’re her dad? If I needed a babysitter I could drop her to Candy, but she’s an adult and she doesn’t need one, Jim.” All of her friends have stripper names, Jimmy had told her that once. “I am asking you to spend time with our daughter, your daughter just for a week and you can’t even do that for me?”

“She’s a big girl now, sure she can handle a week on her own.” Jimmy does not look up once, you’re simply not interesting to him.

Defeated, she lets out a laugh. It’s half-aborted and exhausted. “Fine. Fine. Whatever. She’s never going to speak to you again when she finds out about this, I’m serious.”

“Good,” Jimmy bites out, gritting his teeth so hard they feel as if they’ve come loose.

“Don’t say that, Jim.” The toilet flushes and Curly steps out of the bathroom wiping his hands on a tea towel. “You should let her come over, he’s spending Christmas at my place this year.”

Oh, fuck off.

Fucking Curly and his hard-on for good deeds.

“I didn’t know you were here, Curly.” Her eyes light up because Curly is the saviour of the masses, he is modern day Jesus fucking Christ and Jimmy is useless as tits on a nun. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude, it’s different if it’s just Jim, but…”

“Course not, kid’s like family to me.” He smiles, all bright and cheery, a burning ball of gas that is blinding and clearly noxious because he’s making Jimmy sick.

“That’s sweet.” She sighs, her voice taking on a dreamy tone, head tilted to the side as she smiles at Curly sweetly. Like she wants to fuck him. “You’re sweet. Thank you, I didn’t want to leave her alone, but dad’s going to be in hospital and I just need her to have fun, I mean it’s Christmas.”

“I get it.” Curly pats her on the shoulder, she side-hugs him and Jimmy watches like some sad sack of shit cuck. “See you soon, alright? You take care now.” He sees her off like a gentleman.

“If you want her so bad you take her.”

“Who, the kid or her?” He nudges Jimmy playfully. It’s a joke, but Jimmy does not take it as one. He knows that Curly is perfectly capable of doing both.

Jimmy scoffs. “The kid—She’s not a kid, y’know?”

Curly waves his hand dismissively. “C’mon, she is to me.” Swooping in like a saviour and he hasn’t even seen you since your sweet sixteenth. Curly doesn’t know that you zip around town in a shiny sports car now, it whizzes down the road like a bullet. He doesn’t know how you wear your hair, what clothes you wear, that you drink and smoke and fuck.

Jimmy knows.

“Are you kidding, she’s big as fuck, man.” Jimmy makes a motion with his hands, gesturing to his chest lewdly. “Like her mom.”

“Knock it off, Jim.”

“There’s no snow this year because of global warming, Uncle Curly.” You’re as dull-witted as ever this evening, helping yourself to the expensive wine you brought along. Nothing on your plate has been touched apart from a single grape and half a cracker. “The ice caps are melting, we should cut down on our meat consumption.”

Showed up at Curly’s doorstep decked out in your tightest cashmere sweater and smallest skirt, no holes in your stockings and one of those expensive scarves that don’t leave fibres all over the rest of your clothes. An American Girl doll all grown up, dabbling in cocaine and Saturday night DUIs, mouth painted red like a whore. He doesn’t know what part of you is him, that’s something to be glad about.

Jimmy looked through the peep-hole and double locked the door.

Curly let you in because of course he did.

“Is that so?” He’s such a phoney, pretending to care about what you say while he loads his plate with glazed ham, lamb and turkey. “Don’t know if I’ll be able to do that if I’m honest.”

“Everybody knows that, you don’t have to sound so interested.” It’s just a little bit ironic that they’re getting lectured at by a girl who’s luxury is polluting the ecosystem. Curly could cut down on meat and Jimmy could start cycling everywhere he goes but that still wouldn’t make a difference. Your million-dollar smile is shedding microplastics, and you have an arsenal of beauty products with enough chemicals to run a fucking meth lab, but sure Jimmy is supposed to pedal himself half to death and Curly is going to eat tofu till he gags all in the name of the environment that you are using as a playground.

“Jim.”

“Sorry,” says Jimmy, who is very unsorry. It’s less about remorse and more about keeping peace. He knows how Curly gets, that he likes to keep things rainbows and sunshine, he likes apologies. Treats them as a currency of sorts. “Weren’t you in Paris last week?”

“Yes, dad, I was really stressed out about finals.” Right. Right. Jet-setting is amazing for the planet of course. “Mental wellness is so important, that’s why mom still looks so young, she looks good, right?”

“Her doctor did great.”

“That’s not funny, dad.” You wag your manicured little finger at him. He wants to break it. The irony isn’t thick, it’s suffocating. Recycle, reuse, reduce all you want but somewhere in the world there’s a girl like you with a closet full of clothes you have worn once to show off online, taking last minute trips to tropical destinations for spa treatments you could get down the road. “You get it don’t you, Uncle Curly?”

“Oh yeah.” Curly smiles, blinding. “You only live once, gotta make the most of it.”

“Exactly!” Your chirp, leaning towards him as you smile, equally as blinding. “It’s a balance, you have to enjoy yourself in moderation and recycle.” Moderation says a girl who hasn’t worn the same pair of socks twice, a girl whose hands have never touched a vacuum, and neither have Jimmy’s but for different reasons. You’ve never had to. He’s just lazy. “Oh, you know, Uncle Curly, I thought you would be married by now.”

Sheepish, Curly shakes his head, messing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Not yet, not had any time really.”

“I think you’re a catch, Uncle Curly.” Little bit weird, but okay. Jimmy says nothing. “You have those big working-man hands.”

“Oh, I guess I do.” He laughs it off, but it’s taut, a faint tension in his square jaw.

“Yeah, they’re huge, Uncle Curly—Look!” You hold yours up, blinking at him expectantly to do the same, and Curly cannot say no. Not when it comes to Jimmy and not when it comes to you. “See!”

“I do.” Curly’s smile is doing its best not to fall.

“Mom always sets me up with, like, losers, I mean they don’t know how to do anything, I doubt they could screw a lightbulb in—I can’t screw a lightbulb in, but that’s not my job is it, Uncle Curly?”

“No, it’s not.” Your hands have intertwined, you’re giving him this smile that is making Curly uneasy, and Jimmy thinks for the first time that maybe you really are his.

“You turn forty next year, right?” You ask, a hidden intention behind your seemingly innocent question. Curly hums, nodding slowly. “We should get together if you don’t get a girlfriend by your birthday, Uncle Curly.”

Curly splutters, his words tangled in his throat, looking at Jimmy for help. “I don’t think—“

“No, really, I’m serious, Uncle Curly.” You squeeze his hand tightly, eyes sort of crazed. “I’ve got a thing for, like, blue-collar guys, and mom likes you and I mean your dad’s best friend so…” You’re a child who hasn’t been denied anything, you don’t know what limits are. “I just think it’s sexy, all that heavy-lifting and sweating, it’s so different.”

Jimmy snorts, the corner of his lip lifting in amusement. “You go right ahead, got my blessing for sure.”

“Jim,” he strains, jerking himself out of your grip, “I think you should get her home, had one too many drinks, didn’t you, sweetheart? It’s okay, happens to the best of us.”

“I’m fine actually, Uncle Curly, don’t worry about me—“

“Jim.”

Jimmy groans as he stretches, taking his time getting up and putting his boots on. “C’mon, we’re going home.”

“But dad—“ You’re pouting, that doesn’t work on him like it would your mother.

“We’re going home,” Jimmy tells you, making it clear there’s no room for any ands, ifs or buts.

“Are you going to murder me?” You blink rapidly as if trying to wake up from a nightmare. Jimmy’s rusty pick-up clunks and clanks down the narrow dirt path that leads home.

“Nah, not worth it.”

“Then why are you taking me here?” You take in the deconstructed metal structures, washing hung on lines that span the whole field. “This isn’t where you live is it, dad?”

See, this is why he used to babysit at your place. You’re a prissy piece of shit. He pulls up beside his trailer, undoing his seatbelt. Nails dig into his arm, you cling to him like you never have before. “Dad, I don’t want to sleep here!”

“Then sleep in the car.” Jimmy sighs deeply, inconvenienced by you like he has been his whole life, a faint vein throbbing in his forehead.

“Are you serious?” You hold onto him tighter. Fucking parasite. Ungrateful, good-for-nothing, la-di-da sorority girl. “What if get raped, dad? Do you want me to get raped, is that really what you want.”

Jimmy thinks on it, he smiles for the first time that night. “If it shuts you up, yes.”

“That’s awful! You’re awful!”

You end up following him inside, sniffling into the arm of his jacket and making little noises of disgust. “Can I sleep with you?”

“Will you be quiet?”

“I will, I swear, I won’t make a peep, dad.”

You do move a lot though so Jimmy traps you under his arm, it curls tight around your waist like a snake and you let out a soft whimper. “Stay still.”

“Sorry…” You whisper, and then you proceed to move again, the curve of your soft ass pressing against his crotch.

Women are either beautiful or not, and it might be bad to say—When has that ever stopped Jimmy before? You’re hot for a girl that’s supposed to be his daughter. Like Pornstar Barbie and Ken bumped plastic uglies to make you. It’s why he doesn’t fully believe it, you could be Curly’s for all he knows.

(The paternity test says otherwise. It says you are his. His baby, his parasite, his responsibility.)

“What are you trying, little girl?” Jimmy hisses in your ear, the hand on your waist slides up to grope your breast through the fabric of your silk nightie.

You don’t seem upset. Which is what a girl should be when her father touches her fucking tit. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Jimmy squeezes tighter, fat tit caged in by his fingers like netted meat. “You’re soaking your panties over some fucked up poverty fetish, you weird little bitch.” Just like your mom and her weird fucking trailer park princess fantasy. Look where that ended up. “What did you say to him? Working-man hands,” Jimmy recalls, and he can’t help but laugh, it’s so fucked up. What is wrong with rich girls? “Uncle Curly didn’t want to fuck you so you’re trying it out on your dad, hm? Is that what this is?”

“You’re my dad…” He thinks something normal is going to come out of your mouth for a split second, and then you say, “Of course you were my first choice.” Defying all expectations as usual.

“I never wanted you.”

“Do you want me now?” You take his hand and guide it between your thighs, his calloused hand gliding over your rich-girl skin. It feels like hers used to.

”No.” Jimmy cups your cunt, the heat coming through your panties.

“You do… I can feel you, dad.” You wriggle your ass, hard dick slotting perfectly between the two peachy cheeks. “You want me.”

“I don’t want you.” He’s never wanted you, and he won’t start now.

“Then why are you touching me?” You sound all smug, and he’s glad he can’t see your stupid face in the dark.

“Because.” You’re another hole to fuck, that can never do a guy any harm. Jimmy slides your panties to the side, two fingers on your stiff clit, rubbing it from side to side.

“I can feel you.” You whine in your whiny little voice, and he’s too taken by the faint sound of your squelching pussy soaking his fingers to be irritated.

“Yeah.” His breath comes out sharp, grinding his dick into your ass while he gets you off. “Dad started thinking about spoiled little pussies, think you could help him out?”

“If he asks nicely—Oh!” You yelp when Jimmy flattens you to the creaking bed.

This is what you wanted, so it’s what you’re going to get. No milky-soft, sappy rich boy shit. Jimmy isn’t going to kiss your ankles and tell you that you look beautiful tonight, he’s going to fuck you how you want to be fucked.

“Look at you, you’re asking for it.” Jimmy drags the neckline over the swell of your full breasts, they droop slightly when out of their confines and that’s how you know they’re real. Porn tits.

You nod, wide-eyed and pouty-lipped. “I’m asking for it, daddy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck. Daddy? God, he doesn’t even like being dad let alone daddy.

Beneath him, you shift, spreading your legs as far as they go and reaching down to part your plump pussy lips with your pink nails, it’s so soaked your fingers slip when you try to spread your labia. “I need you right here, daddy.

Jimmy’s cock throbs. Hard as a diamond. He fumbles to take off his boxers. Whatever you’re doing to him, fucking around with his brain like the little parasite you are, it’s downright wrong. He’s going to fuck right through you. A silvery strand of pre trickles down the underside of his shaft, his dick twitches, balls tightening the longer he watches your soft cunt flutter around nothing.

With your ankles behind your head you’re infinitely prettier. You part your whore lips and whine, still spreading yourself open for him, this time with the addition of your cute, bleached asshole. It’s puffy and tight and he wonders if you’ve ever let anybody in.

“Slut.” Jimmy spits on your cunt, it’s unneeded, but this is how real men fuck. His spit dribbles down your crack, wetting your tighter hole. “Is this what you wanted?” He asks, voice low and rough as he drags the head of his cock up and down your slit, swiftly sinking into your tight cunt. A single, fluid thrust and he’s buried to the hilt, pussy sucking him in because you’re greedy.

“Yes, yes—Yes, daddy.” Your fingers tremble as you hold yourself open for him, bottom lip jutting out as a moan builds in your throat. “I wanted it so bad, daddy—Needed you.”

You get everything you want. Of course you do. Here he is giving it to you, eating out the palm of your hand. Jimmy can’t think when you tighten around him, sweating like he’s in a fucking sauna. His mind blanks, driving his hips forward like nothing else matters, the mattress nags at him with each thrust, creaking noisily. Stupid rich-girl cunt taking every inch without hesitation, wet and warm and so fucking tight he can’t breathe.

Somewhere between each frantic, feverish thrust of his dick, Jimmy slips out and the fat head presses to your asshole. You don’t say anything. That’s like giving him the go-ahead. So when you are too busy whimpering about the loss of his cock in your stretched little cunt, Jimmy breaches your ass, the head pops in no problem. You’re dirty. You’ve been used over and over. So many dicks before him even in your tightest hole.

“You’re a slut,” Jimmy mumbles into your neck, hips jerking forward, pushing against the resistance your hole puts up until he is sheathed inside of you.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You like it. You like the burn as he forces his way in, breaking open your asshole so no one else will ever want to use it.

“No you’re not.” All you do is take and take and take. Parasite. Spoiled. Stupid whore. He fucks into you, riled up by your fucking audacity. His daughter is a slut. All because he didn’t stick around, you had to rely on your incompetent airhead of a mother.

The fat tip of Jimmy’s dick pops out of your hole, you cry out, begging him to put it back in. Give it to me, dad. Please, daddy. I want it, daddy. Dad. Dad. Dad. I want it now. Daddy. You don’t even know how to say please, he doesn’t think you’ve ever had to say it.

“Shut up,” Jimmy groans, face strained like he has a terrible headache, “shut up.”

You pout, that’s all you know how to do. Want. Want. Want. You’re holding yourself open for him still, he can see your insides. Jimmy guides his cock back up, slapping it against the puffy rim, watching your hole wink at him. “Fuck me,” you demand, whinging at him, brown drawn together in a scowl that’s almost his.

“Do it yourself.” He levels you with his glare. “Slut,” he adds for good measure, “c’mon, work for it.”

You must be a natural because Jimmy knows you have never worked a single day in your life. The way you work his cock, lifting your hips up and humping upwards, taking him deeper each time, it drives him crazy.

Absent-mindedly, Jimmy’s fingers find your clit, eyes trained on your asshole stretching open around his shaft, his hips have started to move again. He can’t help himself. He does it better. Faster. Harder. Makes you cry, cheeks wet as you sob for him.

Daddy, daddy, daddy.

Jimmy hates it, but he tunes you out, pinching your clit so hard you wail and swear to fucking god the whole park must hear it. Your cunt gushes all over his hand, dripping into the cupped palm of his hand while he pounds into your ass, the slap of his balls on your skin getting louder the closer he gets to his high.

With a strained noise deep in the back of his throat, Jimmy’s dick gives a few last thrusts into your hole, the wet click, click, click of your throughly fucked asshole drives him nuts. He spills his load inside of you, it dribbles out when his cock slips out.

Jimmy flops down beside you. “I never wanted you,” he mumbles, hoping you know where he stands on your existence, still one of his hands finds itself rubbing your hip tenderly.

“You do now.” He almost misses the cheeky smile on your face in the dark. You’re clearly satisfied, preening and cuddling into his chest like you’re his girlfriend, tingling from head to toe, draping yourself over him like he is a trophy he’s won.

“Go to bed.” He taps you sharply on the ass.

“Okay, daddy.” Jimmy feels you tracing hearts into his skin, soothing him to sleep. “I love you,” you say, pressing a kiss to his clavicle, you smell like your mom. Rich-girl skin. He pretends to be asleep.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 3 - You've Torn Your Dress

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: This one's the first of many doozies. I recommend you clock out now if you think the following will distress you: mentions of rape, but no scenes or explicit description. If not, read on! Chapter Title is from Rebel Rebel by David Bowie.

Word Count: 7.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Your first mission is delivered, and it goes about as expected. Contains usual tags, emphasis on mention of rape/non-con.

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

When your team stepped into the safe house, you could see the moment the smell hit their noses.

“Merde,” Frenchie was the first to speak, a poor omen within itself. “What the fuck am I smelling?”

“Uh, probably the milk and meat. They’re the strongest.”

Annie said your name carefully, watching your reaction as she spoke. “What happened.”

“He wouldn’t put away the groceries.” You said with a shrug. You were over it. It was like, ten bad things ago.

“So you just. Left them out?” Hughie said, seemingly baffled.

“Yeah.”

“Mallory said she delivered them on the first night.” Annie glanced between you and Hughie.

“She did.”

Hughie’s eyes widened further. “That was almost two weeks ago.” When you just nodded in agreement, he pushed further. “They’ve been out the whole time?”

You frowned. “He doesn’t get to win.”

“What are you, five?” 

You just sighed, giving Hughie a pleading look. “Don’t tell MM.”

“What?” Butcher taunted from the back of the group. “That he was right, and you can’t handle Soldier Boy?”

“I thought you were on my side about this.”

“I’m on the side of the truth, Love.”

Both you, Annie, and Frenchie let out huffs of amusement at that claim, with Hughie looking sheepishly amused.

“You can’t possibly believe that.” Annie gave Butcher a pointed look. He only winked in response, leaving her to turn back to you with an eye roll.

“Has it been like this,” Hughie gestured vaguely around him. “The whole time?”

“Nah. Worse.”

Really, hell would be a better word for it. After the knife incident, there had been the toilet paper incident, which you had won, the coffee incident, also your victory, the laundry incident, point Soldier Boy, the TV incident, point you, and the Lord of the Rings incident, another point Soldier Boy. The Elton John, Jimmy Carter, and Rockefeller Center incidents had ended in stalemates akin to the Cold War, but should those fuses reignite, you were sure you could take them home. Overall, you’d burned him seven times, he’d thrown two chairs at you, you tossed shit in his face once and threatened castration on fifteen separate occasions, and he had offered to sleep with you thirty-one times.

“He hasn’t, he hasn’t hurt you. Right?” Hughie wasn’t fully looking at you when he asked, his voice soft and nervous.

“No. I mean, he’s tried. Not in… that way, but I’ve had a few things thrown at me. All the physical violence died out around the laundry incident, though. Now we’re using psychological warfare.”

“Laundry incident?” Hughie said at the same time that Frenchie said, “Psychological warfare?”

“Don’t ask.” Was your response to both. You’d avoid revisiting the laundry incident in your mind for the rest of your life if you could help it, and the actual practice of your warfare was more childish than you’d like to admit.

“Well, as lovely as a reunion this has been, we need to talk to you both. Where’s the cunt,  anyway?" Butcher craned his neck to look down the hall.

“Probably moping around in his room.” You shrugged. “Let’s talk in the living room, standing at the door is weird.”

While the living room hadn’t taken even close to as much damage as the kitchen, it had not escaped you and Soldier Boy’s sparring unscathed. Books provided by the CIA, which were mostly stereotypical classics, had been upended from their shelves and strewn across the floor. The TV was still intact, as was the sofa, but the former was stuck on PBS, and the latter was, at this point, compromised of 70% trash.

“Holy shit,” Hughie muttered as he stepped over a copy of Catcher in the Rye. “You can’t plan on living like this the whole time?”

“Well, if America’s number one man-baby would stop moaning and bitching about his glory days, then maybe, yeah.”

Annie gave you a concerned look. “And if he doesn’t?”

“Then I’ll castrate him.” Though the threat had now been made sixteen times, it never satisfied you less to say it.

“I’ve told you, Sunshine, if you did that, you would only be hurting yourself.”

Everyone in the room fell silent, their eyes trained over you with tense gazes. You turned to find Soldier Boy almost directly behind you. “I’ve told you, by definition, I’d only be hurting you.”

He gave a mocking pout. “Wouldn’t that plague your perfect little conscious?”

“I’d live.”

“Bitch.”

“Cunt.”

“Prude.”

“Manwhore.”

“Whiny Brat.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of good pussy.”

“Waste of government money.”

“Waste of Compound V.”

“Pathetic, assfaced Dickwad.”

“Stuck up, pretentious Ice Queen.”

“Geriatric, entitled, blue-balled G.I. Joe Fuckdoll”

The room had practically vanished around you as you and Soldier Boy fell into your now well-tread path of insults. Your blood was burning with that feeling, aching to burst across the room as both of you glared hard enough to, fingers crossed, kill the other.

“Jesus Christ,” Hughie said, breaking you out of your own spell.

“What are they doing here?” Soilder Boy asked, somehow having only just clocked their presence. “Do I finally get to do my job and leave?”

“No,” Annie answered. “We have no way of knowing how long you’ll be here at this point.”

“That’s what I said,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to your team.

“Yeah,” Soldier Boy said at full volume. “And I don’t fucking trust you.”

“Will you get off my ass about it now?”

“I think you like me on your ass, Sunshine. My offer never leaves the table.”

“Cunt.”

“Bitch.”

“Helpless man-child.”

“Prissy tease.”

“Glorified propaganda poster-“

“No,” Annie cut it. “We’re not doing that again.”

“Party pooper,” Butcher grumbled. “I was hoping they’d kill each other this time. Then we could just go home.”

“Well, did you at least bring me drugs?” Soldier Boy seemed to search the room, as if a pile of weed and coke would miraculously appear on the floor amongst the mess of wrappers and fluid-filled paper towels.

“We’re not buying you drugs with government money.” Annie said, giving you a look of apology. “As I’m sure you’ve been told.”

“Many times,” you affirm under your breath. You’d had to hide the glue on day five, which had let to the toilet paper incident on day six. A day had not passed since where you didn’t catch him trying to turn a new household object into something to snort.

“I thought weed was fucking legal now.” Soldier Boy glared at you, as if you were personally responsible for the CIA not buying him blunts. “It’s a free fucking country. I should be able to smoke whenever I damn please.”

“Porn is legal,” you reply. “Doesn’t mean the federal government is going to bring you some.”

“If they brought me porn and weed, I’d be far more open to whatever shit you want from me.” He winked at you.

“We gave you that last time,” Hughie pointed out, shifting nervously. “It barely helped.”

“Will you be a good little supe if we come back with porn and weed? Because we can go and-“

“No, we need to do this now.” Annie spoke over Butcher, and you noticed a line of worry on her forehead, along with Hughie’s nervous fidgeting. Though Butcher didn’t seem plagued by an anxious tell, he relented to Annie faster than you’d ever seen, and alarm bells went off in your head.

“Annie,” you bit the bullet, asking softly. “What is the ‘this’ you need us for?”

She gave you an apologetic look. “Trial run.”

“Trial run?”

“We’re giving you a test, Love.” Butcher said with a smirk. “See if your little experiment is even viable. Maybe take out a player in the process. All depends on if you and him,” he jerked his head to Soldier Boy. “Do your jobs right.”

“I don’t need your little ‘test’ to know if I can do my job.” Soldier Boy snapped.

“Last time you failed,” Hughie muttered.

Frenchie nodded in agreement. “In a spectacular manner, yes.”

“Because that bitch and that pussy stopped me.” An angry scowl was thrown at Annie and Butcher, who returned it and grinned widely back respectively.

“You were going to kill a kid,” Annie said coldly.

“He shouldn’t have been in the line of fire.”

“The line of fire? Do you hear yourself? Do you really care about others so little that-“

“I’d do it again,” he snapped back, unbothered by Annie’s disgust. “You don’t get to ask me for help and get mad when I do.”

You gave Butcher a pointed look. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

Though all you got in response was a grunt from Butcher, Soldier Boy’s eyes shot to you. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

You returned his glare, steeling your own eyes to match his interrogating gaze. “We’re removing the ‘kill a kid’ option from your choices. You want to know why we’re stuck here? Because you fucked it last time, and we won’t let you fuck up again.”

“You won’t let me?” He sneered, leering at you coldly. “You don’t let me do anything, Sunshine.”

If the “Sunshine” thing continued to stick, you might have to throw yourself off a roof. But you didn’t flinch, just tilting your head mockingly. “You wouldn’t need a shock collar if you hadn’t bit the hand.”

“I wouldn’t bite the hand if it hadn’t tried to kill me.”

“Nobody tried to kill you, Mate.” Butcher interjected. Soldier Boy’s anger switched back to him with fists curling at his side, but Butcher kept talking with a bored drawl. “You shouldn’t have bloody fucked up.”

“And, like I said,” you shrugged. “It won’t happen again.”

“If I see the shot, I’ll take it. Whether you like it or not.”

Looking into his eyes, you believed him. No doubt fogged your brain that, given the opportunity, Soldier Boy wouldn’t hesitate to take out Ryan Butcher with Homelander. Part of you, the angry and bitter part still trapped underground, understood that. But you’d see Ryan once, from afar, and he had looked so young. You didn’t have to imagine his fear or touch him to understand what it was like. For your life to change abruptly and without reason, to have to sprint to keep up with your new one. Soldier Boy had volunteered for this life. Ryan hadn’t. You hadn’t.

So, holding Soldier Boy’s gaze, you made your voice clear and steady. “You don’t get to take the shot until it’s clear. Ryan will be out of the picture before you even see Homelander.” You turned to Annie. “What’s the test?”

“Head-popper.” Butcher answered for Annie with an odd look at you. His voice carried the usual light and oddly joyful tone he used when discussing murdering supes, but his eyes on yours were quieter, with less manic vengeance than you’d seen before. If you didn’t know better, you’d call them thankful.

“Head-popper?”

Hughie jumped in at your confused frown. “Neuman.”

“Oh,” you paused, looking over Hughie’s worried face. “We’re going after Neuman?”

“Who the fuck is Neuman?” Soldier Boy asked with a reluctant grumble. You had picked up on his consistent annoyance with new things after you’d found him screaming at the microwave three days ago, and not knowing new people didn’t seem to be any different.

“She’s a supe who can pop people’s heads like balloons.” Frenchie gestured in imitation for effect. “It’s disgusting.”

“And she’s the VP elect, which would put an ally of Homelander in the White House, one step from the Oval Office.” Annie said pointedly, giving Frenchie a look. You offered him a small smile over her head. Though the demonstration hadn’t been helpful, watching his hands fly around mimicking Neuman’s powers was undeniably entertaining.

“She's dangerous,” Hughie added. “But she’s not a bad person. We don’t want to kill her, just remove her powers.”

“What do we need her for then?” You didn’t have to look to know Soldier Boy’s accusation was directed at you. You bit your tongue, trying to ignore the way the words seeped into your skin.

Because he’s right. A cruel whisper said into your ear, and the itch on your skin began to feel like a rash. You were saved from the plague of your thoughts—the urgent feeling to fall prompted by almost nothing—by Butcher.

“If you think you’re going anywhere without her, Governor, you’d better get used to being wrong. She’s there for the same reason she’s here. So you don’t go postal.”

Soldier Boy gave you an unreadable look as the rush of your heart in your chest slowed from Butcher’s words. You turned away from him, but you could almost feel his eyes through your skull as you looked at Butcher with a blank face.

“What’s the plan?” You asked, praying it would be simple, with as few people as possible around and, ideally, in the middle of a desert filled exclusively with fire extinguishers.

“MM and Kimiko are doing recon on one of Bob Singer’s rallies. Frenchie will create a distraction for the secret service, and Neuman’s personal detail is going to suddenly disappear-“

“Disappear?” You interrupted Butcher with raised eyebrows.

“Keep your panties on, they’ve been bribed. Once she’s isolated, Soldier Boy’ll blast her, and we can all go home confident in your little gambit.”

You hesitated, trying to imagine the last political rally you’d seen. Group of people in tight groups, electrical wiring for microphones, speakers, and lights. Gates and closed doors, hallways leading out onto streets. “How are we going to isolate her?”

“Me and Butcher will work on that,” Annie said, almost reaching for you with a reassuring pat, but thinking better and jerking her arm back. She opened her mouth, an apology certainly on her, but you raised your hand to cut her off.

“How long until we leave?” You asked. Maybe they’d say ‘three hours’ and you’d get to talk to someone who didn’t think swing music was sonically viable for a bit.

Hughie checked his watch. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Ago?” Your eyes widened.

He gave you a sheepish look. “We thought it would take less time to get you.” He turned to Soldier Boy. “Your suit’s in the van. I can bring it out-“

“I can change on the way.” Soldier Boy grumbled, ignoring Hughie’s start of sputtering protests. “Let’s get this over with.”

———-

Much to his annoyance, they had forgotten Ben’s shield, and nobody would let him change in the van. He tried several times, only to be met by a chorus of groans, shouting, and swearing. He had listened to their complaints only because she had started giving him a look he recognized as a flag for a storm of uncontrolled fire. No hot disgust or sparks of rage, only a cold and quiet, almost glassy-eyed stare. Her heart steady but her breathing too fucking controlled to be natural, measured so equally that it sounded mechanical. So, because he figured she would only become more bitchy to live with if she incinerated her alleged “friends”, Ben stopped trying to pull his shirt over his head.

Once he did, the van fell insufferably silent. The edged pleasantries and conversation he’d overheard during Butcher and his band of Assholes arrival had ceased save for tense questions and hushed conversations. Ben didn’t fail to notice all the spineless avoidance and careful words directed at them both. She, even after the foggy look faded, remained curled into a corner, trading small and toothless smiles with her team. More timid than he’d seen her before, almost like a scolded child as she looked around the van nervously. Her eyes watched the shadows as though Homelander himself might jump from them, the chew of her lip giving Ben a headache. The only words she spoke were a jab at Ben when he’d said something about political rallies post-election being fucking pathetic—giving him a lecture about American politics now heavily depending on something called “going viral”—only to fall silent once more after. Her team looked at her like a glass bomb, as if she was a delicate statue looming over their heads and not the vulgar, violent woman who slept down the hall from him. That woman infuriated him, testing his patience every time she opened her mouth, but this paranoid, skittish pussy of a girl was so much worse. So when the van halted and Butcher’s team began to filter out, he called her name. When she ignored him, he reached out and grabbed her arm.

“What the fuck!” She pulled herself out of his grip in a second, staring at him with anger. She glanced down at her arms, a look he didn’t understand crossing her face, before returning her attention to him. “Do not touch me.”

“I barely touched you,” he glowered, annoyance quickly flooding him. He had only brushed skin, with a light grip she had thrown off, there was no need to be so dramatic. “When I touch you for real, you’ll fucking know, Sunshine. And you’ll fucking beg for it. I needed to make you listen, you were fucking ignoring me.”

Her brows knit, and he heard the chew of her teeth on her tongue. “I’m not going to beg for anything, and I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“I said your name, and you kept fucking walking.”

“I didn’t hear you.” She snapped, but didn’t relent. “Speak up next time.”

She knew just as well as Ben did that they were both far from quiet, pussy-voiced fuckers. And while he definitely hadn’t yelled for her attention, it shouldn’t have fucking mattered. He’d seen her pick up his grumbled insults and mocking comments just fine over the past two weeks. “Bitch.”

“What do you want?” She asked with a sigh, ignoring his jab and looking at him as if he exhausted her just by breathing. “We have to go, and you still need to change.”

“You shouldn’t let them treat you like that.” He said, not hiding the contempt from his voice. He wasn’t going to skirt around his thoughts, lining them gently to help her fucking feelings.

Her body tensed, her limbs looking as if they’d locked into place. “Like what?” Ben heard her swallow as she answered, her voice not lost enough to make her sound clueless to his words.

“Like you’re a child they have to coddle. A problem they have to deal with.”

She stared at him, her glassy-eyes returning. “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, cunt-face.”

Ben snorted. “They don’t treat you like the bitch you are. They always use that sweet, pussy voice, like they’re talking to a fucking puppy, when they say something to you. They’re always all fucking pouty when they look at you, pussyfooting around so they don’t make you sad.” He gave her a mocking grin, hoping the next words landed like a bullet. “They treat you like me.”

It had clearly worked, as the van had grown hot, and her eyes were clearing as her heart began to pick up. Ben felt an odd feeling cover him as he heard it, almost familiar and sparking pride in his chest. She wasn’t a jittery shell anymore, she was going to try and kill him. It made his grin grow genuine, and the van grew only more heated, the air waving around them.

Her mouth opened, and Ben hoped whatever came out of it would be vile and crude.

“Hey!” She turned her head and clenched her jaw as someone called her name from outside, the van rattling as a fist banged against it. “We need to go!”

The door opened to reveal the Cocksucker, whose face grew quickly red, a bead of sweat falling from his hairline, as he was blasted with a quickly dying wave of heat.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, turning from Ben as the heat dropped further. “Coming.”

Cocksucker gave her a worried look, his gaze flying quickly to Ben, but just nodded and stood aside for her to move past.

As the door closed and Ben began to change, he listened for their soft, tense words.

“Are you okay? Did he do anything to you?” Cocksucker’s voice was nervous and gentle, like being suffocated by one of those fucking fluffy blankets Ben had seen in the empty bedroom of the safe house.

“No, he just grabbed me to talk. And you don’t have to keep asking me that. I’m fine, and it’s not as helpful as you think it is.” Ben frowned at her voice, the malice from it drained entirely in only a few seconds, replaced with only a tired hollowness.

“Grabbed you?! Like, he touched you?”

Having anticipated Cocksucker being more interested in the “talk” part of her sentence, or the shit that sounded like it was about feelings, Ben's brain rattled over Cocksucker’s word, his tone of panic looping in Ben’s head. He spoke of Ben’s touch as though it were a plague, and not something many people would kill to feel. Ben almost burst out of the van to say just that, but froze when he heard her answer.

“It was fast, I didn’t feel much. Even if I did, it doesn’t matter. I can’t go the rest of my life without touching people.” Her voice had a finality to it, and Ben could almost picture her downturned lips and wrinkled brow.

“You touch us when you heal us.” Even Cocksucker’s voice didn’t sound sure of his response.

“It’s not the same, and you know that.”

There was a momentary stall in their words, and Ben took the opportunity to emerge, securing his belt as he walked to the door. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see, but Cocksucker looking pathetically around, anywhere but the woman as she curved into herself, wasn’t it. She held a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of her jacket, her thumb running up and down in small movements. They both turned to him as the door banged open, and Ben caught the empty look behind her eyes before her indifference slipped back into place.

“Did you hurry me just to sit around like pussies, or are we going to start fucking moving?” He asked, the air feeling too uncomfortable to sit in.

Cocksucker blinked, glancing at his watch. “We have a few minutes until they arrive, but I guess it can’t hurt to be vigilant-“

“Arrive?” The woman’s eyes widened, and Ben saw smoke curl from her hold on her jacket. “They’re coming here?”

Cocksucker nodded. “It’s a high-security escape exit-“

“It’s a fucking street, Hughie.”

“That’s used as a high-security escape exit.” After a moment of searching the area, Cocksucker pointed a few yards down, at a large door set against brick. “Neuman will come right out of there, and her guards will close her out here, where Soldier Boy will blast her.” He paused, glancing at Ben, before looking back at the door and taking small, cowardly steps away from his spot between them.

“It’s a public area, anyone could walk past! What the fuck were you thinking?!” Her voice was hushed and agitated, and Ben had never seen her face lose color at that speed before, had never heard her heart stutter and jump as if trying to escape her body.

“It’ll be fine,” Cocksucker’s voice wavered, giving them both a nervous look. “It should be fine. MM said it would be fine.”

“You heard him, Sunshine,” Ben gave her a wink, adding a half-cocked smile when she didn’t even return him with a dirty look. “MM said it would be fine. And have some fucking faith in me, I’m not a fucking monster. I won’t blast any running pussies except for this head-popper broad.”

“You don’t even know what she looks like.” Her tone wasn’t quite the vicious mockery he was used to, but it was better than the apathetic, empty voice she’d been using. She was rolling on the balls of her feet, speaking without looking at him, her eyes moving restlessly from the door to the end of the street. “And I don’t believe you.”

Ben just shrugged, allowing the silence to hang. The wind was picking up, whistling through the chill of winter air, making the heat around them, emitting from both Ben and the woman, all the more obvious. Despite the biting cold, Cocksucker had taken off his stupid puffy jacket, even stepping back further from where they stood, with Ben in the center of the street and the woman off to the left. Despite her slowly stepping further and further back, her back now almost against the wall, Ben could feel her watching him, hear her heart continue its new and erratic beat.

“How long now, Hughie?” Her voice was raised to carry over the wind, though it hadn’t lost that stupid fucking weakness. Cocksucker, thank fuck, didn’t get a chance to respond with pathetically comforting words, as only one skipping heartbeat after she spoke a shrill fire alarm sounded.

“I’m assuming that’s your stupid French fuck's plan?” Ben asked dryly. “Start a fucking fire? I thought you pussies were all about minimal damage.”

“He probably just pulled the alarm.” The Cocksucker’s answer lacked any confident assurance. “And I think we’re just against needless murder.”

Ben almost started to rant about their so-called needless murder being a mighty high horse for a group of people who had manipulated him just as much as Vought, who’d been willing to help him kill all those backstabbing pussies from Payback so he’d help them. About how their stupid fucking moral purity complex seemed to adjust perfectly to aid them, and maybe he wasn’t a fucking angel, but he was strong and powerful—something they fucking needed—man, and he wasn’t a pussyfaced liar about what he was, what he did. The words died on his tongue, though, as hundreds of frenzied footsteps reached his ears.

“Fuck!” he growled, turning around and pointing at Cocksucker. “You fucking pussy.”

Cocksucker gave him an idiotically confused stare. “Dude, uncalled for.”

“She,” Ben pointed to the woman, whose heart was beating impossibly fast and looking on with a bloodless face. “Was fucking right. This is a stupid plan, because unless your head-popper walks like a human centipede, it’s not going to be just her that I fucking hit when that door opens.”

Cocksucker only gaped at him like a fish as the footsteps grew louder, annoyingly unsure stutters  escaping him, and just as Ben decided it might be good to slap the idiot out of his daze, the woman stepped forward.

“We need to move, Hughie. Now.” Her voice wasn’t steady, her whole body was tensed and hyper, but it held a determination Ben almost admired. “We can’t be here.”

“He- he could be fucking lying, or wrong-“

“That’s not a risk we can afford to take.” She cut off Cocksucker’s doubts, and Ben found himself surprised at her defense of him, even if it could barely be called that. Her hands were smoking once more, but she had firmly planted herself in the middle of the road, eyes turning sharply to Ben. “If people see you, any element of surprise over Homelander would be lost. We need to fucking move, you need to get in the fucking van now-“

The door banged open, and the streets flooded as hoards of people in star and stripe-themed outfits flooded the road. Everything became so loud, and that rapt, snapping sound in Ben’s head started to spread through him, spurring the drum in his chest. They were finding rhythm so fast, everything fading as Ben tried to slow it. But there were screams and shouts, and everything was getting further and further away from him while carving into him all the same, so though Ben could hear the sounds of metal clanging and shouts of his supe name, he couldn’t think anything past the beat beat beat, until he lost it all at once.

As his vision grew clear with his head, Ben expected to see shattered bodies and bloody walls. Instead, all he saw was the woman and fire. Her face was flushed red, her eyes crazed, and her clothes had become charred with holes as the fire surged from her into a barrier, cutting them off from the crowd. Cocksucker was yelling her name, urging them both to return to the van and leave, but as Ben moved, he glanced back to see the woman frozen and heard her heart as if it were his own. The wall was growing wider and shooting high, Cocksucker wouldn’t shut the fuck up about moving, but her eyes had squeezed shut, unresponsive to anything but the growing flames.

“We need to fucking go, now!” Ben turned to see a large man he vaguely recognized barreling down their side of the street, his face twisted in anger. Butcher, Starlight, a small woman he remembered fighting, and that French prick followed him, all loading into the van as the large man stopped beside Cocksucker.

“I told you he’d fucking blow it,” the man said, giving Ben a disgusted look, so flawlessly revolted Ben wouldn’t be surprised if he’d fucking practiced in the mirror.

“Hey, I didn’t fucking blow it, you pussy-“

“You said that Neuman would come out of here, that it would just be her!” Cocksucker, much to Ben’s shock, cut him with a high voice and a wave at the wall of fire. “That’s way more than just her! Is she even there?!”

“No,” the man said gruffly. “Neuman saw Butcher and figured out something was up. She’s long gone.”

“Fuck!” Cocksucker yelled, running a hand through his hair.

“Oi, we can go over how MM fucked up later,” Butcher leaned out from the van. “We need to go before she sends Homelander.”

“How I fucked up? You’re the one who disobeyed me and blew our cover-“

“What’s wrong with Madame Anomaly?” The French Prick appeared at Butcher's side.

Cocksucker glanced at the woman, calling her name before turning to the large man Butcher had called MM. “She absorbed Soldier Boy’s blast. I think it got her stuck.”

“We don’t have time for this. Get Soldier Boy in the van, I’ll take care of the Anomaly.” MM repeated the French Prick’s words, and Ben realized they were, for the first time, using the woman’s supe name.

“You heard him, Gov. Get in the bloody van.” Butcher’s words were clearly directed at Ben, but as he climbed into the van Ben saw Butcher’s attention locked on the woman.

MM had moved closer to the woman, a move Ben deemed more fucking stupid than brave. If she had “absorbed his blast,” as Cocksucker said, he wouldn’t recommend any non-supe be anywhere near her. MM seemed to realize this himself at the last possible second, taking a pathetic, stumbling step back with a pause. He and Cocksucker exchanged a look, something passing between them that Ben didn’t understand, before Cocksucker leaned down to grab a pebble from the road. Ben watched as he shakily shook out his arms, wound up, and tossed the pebble at the woman.

It was a terrible fucking idea, Ben didn’t have to be Einstein to know that, but the chain reaction that played out still managed to go worse than he might have guessed.

The woman whirled around, her eyes blazing, with a roar sounding from her chest. Fire shot from the wall directly at Cocksucker. In almost slow motion, Ben watched her face become painted with horror as she recognized her target, a different, fearful sound leaving her. She reached an arm out, her heart seeming to falter, and barely redirected the flames before they hit Cocksucker in the chest. The blaze just grazed Cocksucker’s arm, passed the van clear of anyone else, and hit the building with a boom.

The moment the bricks caught fire and the ground began to shake as the building crumbled, the woman's wall of fire fell. The woman herself remained upright, but only barely as MM shouted her name and she started to stumble to the van. Cocksucker was hauled in by Starlight and the French Prick, the former fussing over his burnt arm—Ben had seen worse at Herogasm and nobody whined about it—and Cocksucker waved her off. The woman pulled herself in, ignoring Butcher’s outstretched hand, and the door closed behind her. MM appeared in the driver’s seat, and as the engine started everyone fell into a heavy-breathed silence.

Through the ride, Ben watched the woman open and close her mouth a million times, returned to her fetal position in the corner but watching Cocksucker with a strained face. Her hands tapped against her still-smoking jacket, reaching out hesitantly before she pulled them back into herself. No words were spoken, not even the anxious whispers of the ride there. Ben felt relief as the van stopped, MM climbing out and opening the doors to reveal the exterior of the safe house, grateful for any excuse to leave these stupid, sniffing pussies to wallow in their failure.

MM led Ben and the woman to the doors, opened them by leaning oddly at the doorbell, and gestured for them to walk through. The man followed them in, shutting the doors behind him with a rough push.

“If we failed the test, I am not doing that fucking shit again.” Ben grumbled as MM turned around from the now-shut entrance.

“Butcher told me about the fucking mess you and him made in here.” MM ignored Ben entirely, speaking to the woman as if he wasn’t even there. “A team cleaned it up while you were gone, and Mallory will send more groceries tomorrow night. I saw a picture, it was fucking gross. I’m only doing it once, because I don’t want a new disease to develop in here. You’re an adult, you should take care of this place by your goddamn self.”

The woman looked at her feet, humming a small acknowledgment. She didn’t look up as she spoke. “Is Hughie going to be okay?”

MM sighed. “The kid will live. I’ll look at him when we get back.”

“I could help-“

MM cut her off with her name. “He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

She gave another nervous hum, and Ben jumped in.

“Can you answer my fucking question-“

“We’ll let you know what our next steps are after we talk to Mallory and Singer. This wasn’t good, but it’s not the end of the damn world.” Once again, MM ignored Ben. It was starting to feel personal. Before Ben could push further, MM reached a hand out to rest on the woman’s shoulder, right over a hole in her sleeve. Her head shot up with her heart, but the panic in her seemed to evaporate just as soon as it appeared. Her name was gentle as MM spoke it, eyes locked with hers. “You didn’t fuck up. You did your job.” She nodded slowly. “It’ll be fine.” With those last words, he exited the building, leaving Ben and the woman in the hall.

“What’s his fucking problem?” Ben grunted, half directed at the woman, half to just say it.

She gave him a flat look. “You killed his family.” Before he could come up with a clever response, honest or dodging the annoying feeling of guilt forming in his throat, the woman turned from him and walked away.

———-

You were so tired. Your bones ached, oddly cold in a way you hadn’t felt in a while, your skin crawled with feverish chills, and when you closed your eyes, you could see the flames graze Hughie and the building turn to dust. As MM’s lingering calm he’d offered you faded, all you felt was tired. Worthless. A liability. You had fucked up, just as much as Soldier Boy. Maybe more so, because he had PTSD, even if he would deny being a “hung-up pussy”. He had lost control because he’d been tortured by Russians, you’d almost killed your friend and definitely destroyed a rec center because you’d been startled. You just wanted to sleep, to deal with the inevitable fight about groceries in the morning, running on more than quickly expiring adrenaline and caffeine pills stuck in your throat.

You made it to your room, changing into one of the pajama sets folded in your drawers, hoping someone mentioned that the allegedly fire-proof wardrobe you’d been given apparently wasn’t strong enough for the full force of your fire combined with Soldier Boy’s nuclear explosions. A shame, you’d liked the pants you’d chosen for the mission. You’d live without the jacket, though. You’d hardly pulled the shirt over your head when the door ripped open, a still suit-clad Soldier Boy standing at your door.

“What fucking happened to you?” His question was blunt and confusing as he entered your room, remaining near the door but over the threshold.

Your body was too heavy to fight with him right now. There was no tense prickling on the bridge of your nose, only the throbbing stab of a headache. “Go away, Soldier Boy.”

“All of you have a fucking thing. A weird, sad reason to whine around and pretend you’re better than me.” He didn’t budge, but rather leaned forward. “What’s yours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You said I killed MM’s family. Butcher’s always pussying around about Homelander stealing his girl. Cocksucker mentioned something about that fast asshole doing something as well. I’m not sure what the French Prick bitches about, but I’m sure it’s something.”

“First of all, you did kill MM’s family.” You really don’t want to do this right now, but maybe he’ll give up and fuck off. A fruitless wish, a small part of you knows, but you have nothing left to push back with. “And Homelander didn’t ‘steal Butcher’s wife’, he raped her.”

“Right.” Soldier Boy watched you, his expression unreadable in the shadowy room. “Those are all fucking things. So tell me what yours is.”

“I don’t have one,” even as you speak the insistence, it sounded fake and hollow.

He takes another step forward. “Yes, you do. I saw how you froze, nobody without a thing locks up like that. I heard Cocksucker ask you if I ‘hurt you’. Just for the record, Sunshine, I may not be a Boy Scout, but I’m no fucking rapist.”

“You’ve tried to sleep with me thirty-three times.”

“And I’ll blow your mind when you realize how much you’d love it, no sooner. What’s your fucking thing.”

You stare at him, the intensity in his voice throwing you off. He’s insistent, comfortable in your room but standing at his full height, attention fixed entirely on you. That impression of dissection has returned—the feeling as if he’s trying to pick you apart for him to play with. “Why do you even care?”

“Because maybe if you tell me, I can kill what supe fucked up your pretty little head and you’ll be less of a bitch.”

You can’t stop the snort that escapes you. “What a selfish fucking cunt reason.”

He shrugged in something that could’ve been an agreement. “Maybe.” He falls silent, but doesn't leave.

You collapse to sit on the edge of your bed, staring ahead as you rub your temple. “Please just go.”

“No.”

You look at him, not caring if he sees the desperation in your eyes. “Can this not wait six hours for the morning?”

“No.”

“Do you know any words but no?” You mutter under your breath.

You didn’t miss his annoyed humph. “Oh, just fucking tell me.”

“No.” It was your turn to snap. Your exhaustion was becoming lined with bitter childishness, and you didn’t care enough to try and suppress your urge to sneer at him.

“Why not?”

“Because you’re an idiotic, self-absorbed, sadist asshat who wouldn’t know empathy if it started sucking his dick.” You mocked.

He grinned. “Ok, now name my bad qualities.”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll start guessing,” he took another step forward, now almost directly before you. “Did that red-headed lesbian steal your puppy?

You frowned up at him. “Maeve was bisexual.”

“Did Noir take credit for a college project?” He ignored your comment, leaning down with a mocking smirk.

“Trust me, I got all my dues in college.”

“Did that gay-for-Jesus blond steal your boyfriend? Did the fast asshole that stole Cocksucker’s girl break up with you? Did water-boy eat your goldfish?”

“I’ve never met Ezekiel, A-Train actually murdered Hughie’s girlfriend, and The Deep famously doesn’t eat seafood, he fucks it. But by all means, keep going.”

Soldier Boy blinked. “He fucks it?”

“Yep. It’s gross.” You shrug. “Are you done?”

“Are you going to answer my question?”

You give a toothless smile. “Not until you get all your guesses out.”

“Oh?” There was unquestionable surprise in his voice at your relent, only making your fake cheer grow and your immature anger fully overtake you.

“I want you to feel like a real fucking asshole when I tell you.”

His face split open with a grin. “Well then, did the Twins kick you out of Herogasm? Did that bitch, Crimson Countess, overshadow your big debut? Did a Z-lister get more attention than you from the Vought pussies?”

You just raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms as Soldier Boy continued until the list of supes ran dry. As the last jeer left his mouth, he mirrored your face of cold amusement.

“Well?”

You leaned back, watching him closely as you spoke. “Homelander kidnapped me, kept me in a dungeon, raped me in an attempt to make more mini-Homelanders, and, after you returned, started experimenting on me to try and recreate the V used on you.”

A small shock rushed through you after you spoke. You hadn’t said any of that out loud, not fully, since you’d escaped. You danced around it with Butcher and his team, with Mallory and the CIA leaders, always picking and choosing parts to omit so nobody would look at you with pity and fear. It hadn’t worked, they did anyway, but there had still been control over it. Up until this moment, nobody had known why Homelander had done all those things to you. Everyone had seemed happy to chalk it up to him being a fucking psychopath, not anything deeper. Certainly not attempting to create a small army of additional Ryan Butchers. Small things were still yours, flashes of hunger and warped sounds remaining in your head, but everything else you had just told him.

Why did you do that? A voice hissed as the high from your petulance faded. Why did you let him win? Why did you give him a weapon to use that could hurt you?

But looking at him, he didn’t appear to be a portait of self-satisfaction and heartless triumph. He was staring at you, scanning you as though the scars Homelander left would be visible on your bare legs and arms. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t weak or coddling, but angry.

“He kept you locked up?”

You nod, part of you getting ready to fight him over something.

“He hurt you? To try and recreate me?” Your repeated nodding only seemed to inflate whatever was happening. “Did it hurt?”

Your arms and face started at that, an uncertain feeling spreading through you. There had been no reverent tone as Soldier Boy had asked the last question, no sadistic for affirmation. But you didn’t know what he wanted to hear. Why he even wanted to know. But an involuntarily honest answer escaped you. “Yes.”

He stared at you for another second before he opened his mouth, only to close it without making any sound. Abruptly, he whipped around and began to leave, giving you only one more indecipherable look as he closed the door behind him, leaving you on the edge of your bed, alone in your room.

You lay down slowly, half expecting him to storm back in at any moment, but minutes passed, quickly turning into a half hour, and your body sat at the edge of collapse once more. Soon it was unbearable, and you lay down, your racing mind being forced to a halt as sleep pulled you under.

Your sleep, as had been the case for a while now, was haunted by nightmares of blue eyes and yellow, fluorescent lights. You woke up in a cold sweat, and took a long, needlessly warm shower before forcing yourself to leave your room around 9:30. Despite your lingering fatigue, no part of you wasn’t restless as you walked down the stairs. Your body tense and ready to run, your head spinning with hypotheticals and lining up words you may need—that feeling under your skin creeping up your spine and fluttering in your gut. But Soldier Boy wasn’t in the living room or the hall. You poked your head in the dining room, hoping to avoid the minefield of the kitchen, but it was empty, the plastic chandelier lights off, the table occupied only by a vase of wilted flowers. You moved to the kitchen, ringing growing in your ears, but he wasn’t there. You turned to walk away, continue your search, but double-back as it hit you.

Nothing was in the kitchen. It was empty. Of Soldier Boy, and of the groceries MM said would be delivered.

You wandered in slowly, watching the counters as if they might start to glitch and flicker, revealing hidden produce and dirty dishes. But, leaning over the sink, there was a single plate, soaking in water that was dotted with crumbs. Slowly, you moved to the refrigerator, slowly opening it as you glanced around the room. Your eyes widened at the sight inside. Milk, drinks, and produce had been placed inside, disorganized and haphazardly. There was a jar of mayonnaise in the fresh drawer, along with a box of pasta on a side shelf, but the fridge was full. You moved quickly to the pantry, which had been sorted in a similar fashion, but filled. And when you opened the last cabinet, you saw a piece of paper stuck under a jar of peanut butter.

I know I did a shit job. Clean up if it bothers you, but don't bitch to me about it. And tell Mallory to get smooth peanut butter next time, or I’m not doing anything for her but killing Homelander - Ben

[cherriesformatt]

waiting || chris sturniolo

chrisxfem!reader

summary: when reader and chris are about to become parents

warnings: fluff

word count: 2k

a/n: My first story for Chris who cheers 🫢 I did not proof read yet! I hope you like it ❤️ Thank you for the request.

I was nervously checking the test every second sitting on a closed toilet seat. Chris was staring at it too while sitting on the bathtub edge. We had some scares before, but this one? This one felt a little too real.

We were in Boston for few days now and his mom made her famous shepherd's pie that I loved so much. But it just made me sick and I just have been feeling very weird lately and with my period late it just could mean one thing.

And let me tell you, both of us just looked like we saw a ghost. We have been laughing when Matt and Tilly had an accident - that oops great it wasn't us. Their daughter was born few weeks ago and we are here because they brought her to meet whole family.

But here we fucking go. Two red lines on both of the tests I was holding.

"Fuck...." I heavily breathed out.

I looked at Chris and he looked at me and also let the air out of his lungs as he held his breath for a little. He took his hat of to fix his hair and he put it back on. He put his hand on my thigh.

"I cannot believe this.. I wanna say it's karma but that would be a little mean" He said.

His tone was so calm that it actually made my crazy because I wanted to scream.

"We were teasing them for whole nine months so there we go hun.... our time to shine" I said and hid my face in my hands.

"y/n.... We got this, okay? I know I am a fucking big baby...and you had different plans but... we got this. Anything you decide to do....we got this" He hugged me tight to his body.

Of course I wanted to keep the baby. It was no other choices for me. We have been together for almost two year. I love Chris so much but we just came to the path that we were very happy just two of us. We had a rocky first year awith both of us having trust and commitment issues it wasn't easy and now I will have to share him with our baby.

"I know we do..." I said into his neck.

We didn't tell anyone on this trip because we waned this time to be only Matt's and Tilli's attention spot. But we did tell them right after we came back to LA. Jimmy and Marylou were with us because they wanted to help out with little Noa.

Me and Chris were both lazy souls and we were too overwhelmed to come up with like a cute idea to tell everyone. We just decided to do it.

"So...Noa is going to be a big cousin...surprise!" Chris said when we were all at the dinner table at Matt's house.

"What the fuck are you saying bro?" Matt looked at him with wide eyes.

'I am pregnant" I said looking at him and smiled a little.

"Was that like planned? Is it my turn too? What is this?" Nick laughed.

"Believe me it was not...."I said quietly.

"y/n honey... thats why you were so under the weather in Boston... sweats congratulations" Their mom hugged my tight.

Jimmy hugged Chis too and we just answered all the questions they had before Tilly took me and gave me all the advices and have me her pregnancy stuff she had packed to give away.

Other than the first few weeks the pregnancy was very easy on me. Chris was there for every appointment and he seemed to be really exited. I knew how he loved watching his brother becoming a father but I didn't know he is going to be that much happy about being one as well right now.

I was happy too, we made a space, we were stable, we could make the best for the baby. But we were also very young and that was just scary.

"Nick... I am not doing anything weird, can we just like.. go to the beach? On sunset... I do not need any dresses or flowers. I just need Chris and we should take Matt, Tilly and Noa for the photoshoot" I said to the oldest triplet.

"Okay, okay I knew you will going to say that.... You and Chris are just so basic... " He said.

I asked him to take our pregnancy photos, so we could have it for ourselves.

"If you would ask Chris I am pretty sure he would want our pregnancy photo shoot on Summer Smash stage with Lil Skies" I laughed.

He did as well because he knew I was right. Nick and I were alone at his house because Chris and Matt were gone to the festival. It took me and Tilly two weeks to convince them to go. They were very overprotecting of us. Matt said he would go when they will go to Chicago with him so Tilly did. But I had a lot of work to do here so I couldn't. So Chris said yes but only if I would stay over at Nick's so he will know I am safe.

"You are actually impossible you know?" He said when he walked in to our apartment and saw me painting walls in our son's room.

I was 7 months pregnant. My belly was really big already but I was feeling great. We just had a little gender reveal party for our friends and family. We waited for so long because we didn't know if we want to know but then both of us couldn't wait so we let Tilly organize one for us. We were going to have a boy. Chris was over the moon.

"I was bored and I am fine Chris" I said from the ladder..

"Get down here bro...I do not care you're giving me hart attack. I would you I will do it" He helped me down.

"I love you Chris but I am literally not made of glass" I hugged him and have him quick kiss.

"Yes you are...I missed you both today..." He put his hands on my belly and smiled.

"We missed you too" I said and smiled.

That night we were laying in bed reading. Yes, reading. Both of us were reading parenting books from Tilly.

"This is bullshit it is making me very anxious and I feel like the birth school is enough" He put the book down.

"Me too... honestly I have been thinking the same... everyone keeps telling us what to do and how... and it doesn't help. I mean, sure I take all the advice but in the same time I feel like we need to learn by ourself when he will be here" I said pitting book down.

"We should...You should rest and have the last months of this pregnancy for you...without any stress. And it is our last months just two of us...I wanna spend nice time with you without all of this" He took our books and put them down.

He took my hands into his and gave both of them a kiss.

"Come on a baby moon trip with me? Just two of us..." He asked looking at me and I smiled.

"Chris... this is so sweet" I said.

"Of course..." I aded and leaned in to kiss him.

We both decided that we felt the most comfortable and happy on Cape Cod in the cabin. That's also were we met so we wanted to go there. We rented our own cabin just in case his family wanted to use the other one. It was summer time so they were coming a lot. And also because we just really wanted to be alone. We spend everyday on the beach if it wasn't too hot for me. If it was we would just stay in and watch tv or play games together. I couldn't be more happier than I was with him there.

"You do cheesy sometimes...That I think my eyes are watering" I said when I saw him putting seashells in heart shape on my belly.

"Shut up.... it is cute" He said and made my pose to pictures.

"You're cute....youre such a dad already" I laughed looking at him.

"No I am not...youre just really beautiful" He laughed while laying down next to me on his stomach and on his the towel.

"Thank you Chris.... for that and for taking me here..." I said.

"Anytime mama" He kissed my nose and I scrunch it.

"Calling me mama is crazy" I laughed at him and he only wiggled his eyebrows at me.

And all the tiktoks about how you always thought your partner was hot but after seeing him carrying your baby home it is just something else? Well....seeing Chris with our son in his carseat on our way from the hospital to the car. I was ready to have another one right there.

He was so natural already. He was there for whole process panicking, but he was there. We both cried as hell when they put our baby on my chest. He cut the cord and he couldn't stop staring at our little man.

Our son was healthy and really loud. Thats how we knew Chris was the father. I am joking but for real little guy was a copy of Chris. He looked exactly like the triplets when they ere born.

We decided to name him Cali. We both were struggling with name and when we were watching tv one day someone used it as a name and we just looked at each other and we knew that this is going to be the name. I wanted it to start with C like Chris's name which he was happy about and said that if we have a daughter one day he wants her name to start with my initials.

As we brought Cali home he was a different baby. He was calm and we slept and ate well. I couldn't stop taking pictures of him and Chris. He was such a boy dad. All the stories he was telling him and they both napped together. He was doing everything equally with me. The changing, the feeding, bath time. Everything. I was very proud of how we handled it all.

Noa was Cali's biggest fan. She was almost one. She was walking already and every time they were over here she couldn't stop just sitting next to Cali. She was giving him her binky and just hugging him. We even took a picture where it looks like she is holding him by herself.

"Now tell me... isn't this the hotter thing ever?" Tilly asked me when we were watching Chris and Matt from the kitchen.

"Tilly...it fucking is I swear to god I am ready to have 5 more" I said and sat on the kitchen island next to her. We were having some wine and Chips.

Matt and Chris were playing on xbox while Cali was asleep on Chris's chest and Noa was asleep on Matt's. Nick wasn't here because he had some kind of event going on.

"Just bunch of dads" she laughed and took a sip from her glass.

"Dilfs if you ask me" I added and put my empty glass down.

"Alright... you know that we can hear you, right? I am going to confiscate the wine... I swear" Matt looked at us.

"Oh shut up you love it...."Tilly said and he just shook his head.

"Also 5 more is crazy baby...But I am fluttered" Chris looked at me. and winked.

I laughed and me and Tilly cleaned up a little and went to seat next to them.

I couldn't believe that we had two babies in the family and one of them was mine. I was a mother and it honestly was the best thing that happened to me. My missing piece.

My little family was all I needed right now.

[molter-writes]

little grey ridge interlude (as a treat)

originally a bare-bones cut snippet from ch. 8, pls enjoy this little nugget of hurt/comfort for your viewing pleasure—

for more of this, check out grey ridge (ríl liatroma).

and for something saucier—the very messy public divorce au (lies, sex, videotape, 2x03-coded) bodhrán beat .

*******

Rhaenyra cannot physically handle the sound of it.

It reminds her a bit of Alicent in the early years, maybe—that very slight panic she feels at the thought of it, and that look—allergic as ever still to her daughter’s tears; half-rushing in with arms open and that noise in her head like a drumbeat: fix it, fix it, fix it—

And she’s such a hypocrite, to boot. Used to always be the one always preaching self-sufficiency, self-confidence, let her try. Holding Alicent’s hand in folding chairs sat beneath a little primary school stage—watching her staring out at the audience in her little costume with apprehensive eyes almost but not filling with tears—putting a hand on Alicent’s knee going no, don’t get up, she’s got it—and with a pride she could never even express, with a triumph she couldn’t help but feel, how she’d been loud and clear, emotionless though it was, declaring (like a Targaryen, really) her one, her only, perfect line.

(And she’d scurried back to them, after; wings and facepaint and all—smiling small and wide, reaching for Rhaenyra to lift her proud and possessive (my very own girl) into her arms, wresting messy hands in the silk of her jacket going Mummy I said it perfect and smiling that secret smile as Rhaenyra rocked her soft back and forth amid the noise and said you did, you did indeed, my little princess.)

Later, when she’d been asleep under Rhaenyra’s suit jacket in the car—

(Alicent, with that small smile, that fond one. Your little princess?

Rhaenyra at the stoplight, braking slow. That’s absolutely right.)

But gods above, if Alicent couldn’t have travelled literally any other week—

(She’d know, Rhaenyra knows; she’d know what to do.)

“Sweetling?” She knocks again at the bathroom, tries to set that panic aside. “Sweetling, I need you to tell Mummy what’s wrong.”

We never lock doors. It was something Alicent insisted upon, when they were small—we never lock doors, we always knock, your space is your own, your space is safe—gods alive if she doesn’t want to jimmy the lock now.

(The sound of those tears, intolerable as always.)

Jace is at football practice, so no one would see her hammer the handle off its screws, at least—

“Blood.”

“What? Helaena, what?” Rhaenyra presses her ear up against the door, tries the knob again—knocks uselessly. “What blood, love?”

“There’s blood.”

And then fucking absolutely not—pushing off and making for the utility closet and right it’s coming off the hinges—

The lock unclicks.

Helaena’s seated on the toilet, lid closed, when she tears in; tear tracks down her face and blood on her hands, and on the front of her little blue nightgown, and the inside of her knee.

(And Rhaenyra’s rushing rushing rushing—kneeling and wiping her tears and show me, show me—putting her hand on her little knee, okay, my love, just gentle, to move it—)

And then she sees the colour.

Oh.

(Sweet seven above, this week of all weeks you’ve gone.)

“Right.” She leans up, kisses her little brow; lets Helaena knot her fingers in the shoulders of her sweater, brackets her knees with her arms, focuses her. “Helaena.” She murmurs; waits for her eyes. “This is your moonblood. Do you remember what that means?”

Helaena nods. And then wet eyes are somewhere else. “Mummy told about it.”

When did that happen? (Of course she did.)

(Thank the gods for you, my love, and curse them all for this timing—)

Helaena’s hands are blood-stained; she places them away from herself, like she no longer wants them. Rhaenyra takes them in her own. “It’s perfectly alright, my love, yes? Nothing’s wrong.”

Helaena doesn’t reply.

“Mummy has it, too. And me.”

But Helaena’s still off somewhere else. Rhaenyra wipes a fresh round of tears from her cheeks; watches her hands fidget and her fingers splay, terribly disgusted, terribly uncomfortable, sticky—right, of course, sticky—stamps another kiss to her forehead and retrieves the wet cloth by the basin and crouches again—takes her hands, one by one, and rubs.

Wipes the speck off her knee, then; moves them apart, just gentle, to rid that smear inside of her knee, her thigh, and Helaena bites her lip.

“Mummy is home tonight,” she whispers.

(Rhaenyra knows it’s a question—they’d had to get conservative about travel estimates, eventually, especially when she was little, back when she’d been up and down from Scotland—Friday is an expectation, not a rule, remember—her daughter had never particularly appreciated that particular flexibility.)

“Yes, my love.” And she turns the cloth over to the clean side; reaches, deposits it in the linens bin by the sink. “She should be—” She checks her watch. “Well, she’d ought to be coming off the airplane just now, I expect.” Thumbs her little cheek. “Does your tummy hurt?”

Helaena nods.

Rhaenyra raises her brows; thumbs her chin. “Would you like to know a very special secret?”

Helaena seems to consider, for a moment; she watches her lower lip worry again, those eyebrows ever slightly raise. Gods you’re adorable. My little egg. “Yes please.”

“When my tummy’s hurting, this way, I’ve got to have a very nice, very hot lavender bubble bath. And that always makes it feel better.” She adjusts Helaena’s nightgown, then, wrinkled and stained. “And we’ll give your nightie a wash, too, shall we?”

Helaena fixes her fingers along the hem. Her voice is thick. “It’s ruined.”

“No, my love,” she says, even though yes, almost certainly, and gods I’m not sure I remember how to run the wash, actually. “Nothing’s ruined.” She smooths her hair; leaves her eventually, only ten minutes later, with her novel, and her tea on the tray table, and silver hair half-wet against a little bath pillow, and her tears dry. “It’s going to be right as rain.”

***

Some nights when her wife comes home she’d like nothing more than to push her onto the counter with their vibrator in hand—

(Unfortunately for that, they’ve had babies, and those babies have become something of a priority, in fact.)

Rhaenyra watches, almost simply, as Alicent murmurs hello, my heart, presses a kiss to her lips and sets a paper bag of a boatload of something from the pharmacy onto the countertop and heads immediately, calmly and surely, toward the bath.

“Helaena?” It’s only a couple knocks before she goes, slowly—Rhaenyra watches in the open door, only silently, as Helaena rockets her arms out of the water and mumbles Mummy and reaches—clings as Alicent presses a kiss to her forehead and smooths back wet strands, and Rhaenyra can hear it, soft.

You’re having a nice bath time, are you? Yeah? Does your tummy feel better? Another kiss to her brow. You gave your mummy quite a scare, there, didn’t you, love.

“Let me see these, then.” Alicent’s lifting her hand up, gentle; examining little fingers. “You’re going to be our little prune, soon, I think.” Squeezes them gently. “Is your towel rail on?”

Helaena nods. “Mummy turned it on.”

“She did, did she?” Stamps a kiss to her head. “Right. Go on and finish your bath, love, and come and sit with me, please? In Mummy’s room? And you’ll let your mummy speak with you for a minute?” Helaena nods, then; loosens her fingers from Alicent’s sweater, just slow. “Good girl.”

And then when she stands and passes—with her sleeves wet with bathwater, and her eyes tired—shuts the door and nudges Rhaenyra’s hip, just a little, to follow her into the hall.

Looks up under long lashes, half-smile. “I don’t suppose you’d like to take this one.”

Rhaenyra dimples her chin; exhales through the mouth. “Not my area of expertise, really.”

Her wife’s smile grows wider. “Haven’t had your moonblood, have you?” Raises a brow. “Is that why I’ve got the pleasure of the episiotomy, then?”

“Right, yeah—no, I just.” She drums her fingers along her waist; sighs. “I got mine at—well it was late. Like, late. Fifteen.”

“I well remember. Alicent, call me, it’s everywhere—”

“Thanks.”

“Please please it’s obscene—”

“Right, thank you—"

“You know my father got to that voicemail first.”

Rhaenyra shuts her eyes, inhales through the nose. “I’d like a divorce.”

“I told you I didn’t have a phone.”

“I am not hearing this evil.”

“Right.” And Alicent leans up; presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I’ll start, then.” Takes her hands, just easy; rubs a little into her palms. “And maybe you could give us a few minutes? And then come join us?” Softer, then, with her eyes on their fingers. “You make her feel safe, you know.”

(Rhaenyra only nods.)

It’s when she pushes the door open, slow—to the lamplight, and the soft king bed, how it casts yellow on the silk.

Helaena’s tucked into her side, when she finds them; and Alicent, sitting with her legs folded. The paper bag’s on the ground.

(And before them, perhaps every single menstrual product invented by mankind—)

“And this one,” Alicent murmurs, gentle, hands something to her—Helaena takes it, ginger and gentle—“You use more than once. But you’ve got to clean it each time, and it’s got a special soap.”

Rhaenyra watches, for a moment, how methodically and easily and gently she moves through each one—and it’s got a sticky side, and you press it down, just like this—the way she tears plastic silent, the way she painstakingly never crinkles the paper—and this pushes just outward, just push right there—and this is just a little disc, love; it’s quite the same as the other—

And then it hits her, sort of from nowhere, sort of at once.

(You had to do this alone, didn’t you?)

She smooths Helaena’s hair, damp at the ends; adjusts her pyjama sleeve where it’s catching. “Does that all make sense, my love?”

And kisses her crown, again, gentle, before her eyes flicker upward—and that warmth, in sherry brown, same as always.

And that smile. “Ah, look who’s here.”

Helaena looks up—

And reaches, when Rhaenyra rests on the edge of the bed; captures two of her fingers, like she did when she was young.

Rhaenyra smiles, soft, as the owl hoos outside. “My little princess. You’ve been very brave today.” And looks up again; that brown, that auburn glow. “Got that from your mother, I think.”

***

When Helaena’s gone to sleep—when Rhaenyra’s hair’s wet and it’s the midnight hour, and the sky’s deep blue, and the moon amber—

Alicent’s bare in her arms; bare and smooth and silent—tracing circles on her chest.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, slow. “That you made it different.”

Alicent nods, again; almost as silent as the breeze.

“I’m never travelling again.”

(And Rhaenyra laughs, then, despite herself; there, together in the dark.)

[eisforeidolon]

So Misha originally told a story about flushing Jared's phone when he left the door unlocked to the airplane toilet and Jared took a picture of him in there when they were on a plane to the IOU podcast: [X]

Apparently at DC this weekend, the story changed to where his safety was endangered by a daredevil pilot while he was in the plane toilet at Jared's request and that was why he flushed the phone: [X]

Sure we could talk about how nonsensical the second version is, but I have a different point. This kind of shit is why I don't believe Misha just "has a bad memory", which is an excuse I've seen for why he's so inconsistent. His stories don't just change, they almost always pointedly escalate - either to make himself sound like more of a victim or to queerbait harder. If it was actually a memory issue, his stories wouldn't so routinely mutate to better match what his fans want to hear over time. Although the queerbaiting doesn't always escalate - it often differs most depending on who is at the convention or onstage with him. Which also does not remotely imply a memory issue so much as a being-a-cowardly-backstabbing-weasel issue.

A recap of some other highlights for emphasis:

I knew I was coming back in season 7 - no I didn't, I was out of work and sooooo stressed not knowing if I was coming back!

I was totally gonna be in the finale Roadhouse scene, but as Jimmy - no, Castiel was totally gonna be there and talk to Dean!

We horsed around on set and it was hilarious - actually Jared borderline sexually assaulted me and it was like a wildlife documentary seeing animals get eaten :( :( :(!

The CW has great representation and had no input on the ending of Supernatural in regards to D/C - if the network wasn't homophobic, they'd have been fucking lol!

[fennecfiree]

South park sleeping headcanons cuz I'm bored AF

Stan - he sleeps on his side, he rolls over a bit in his sleep and shit, doesn't really snore

Cartman - the most annoying little shit. He definitely hogs the blanket and takes up as much space as possible during sleepovers, and he probably sleeps on his back, snores a lot. Also sleeps with all his stuffed animals surrounding him

Kyle - sleeps on his back, snores a little bit, he moves around a lot in his sleep, like he'll be on his back with the blanket all on his body in the night, then in the morning he's on his side with the blanket fully off of him (based off of me LMAO)

Kenny - this fucking shit sleeps on his stomach, with his head in the pillow, he dies in his sleep a lot

Butters - sleeps on his side, he always has to hug something, a pillow, a stuffed animal, or a fucking human. Lmao. He also drools a bit

Tweek - can't even sleep

Craig - sleeps on his side, he talks in his sleep sometimes. Oh he also is a fucking weirdo and sleeps with no blanket

Clyde - similar to Kyle, Sleeps on his back, snores, moves around a lot

Jimmy - sleeps on his back, probably hugs something, usually a stuffed animal, I imagine it being something reallllyy stupid like a fucking skibidi toilet plushie

Tolkien - sleeps on his side, the most normal out these guys. He's just very peaceful

[jimmylovemail]

Christmas is fucking over. Pack up the jingle bells. Stop with the Jimmy Grinch Jokes. End the Happy Holidays music. It’s approaching the most important holiday: New Years, the only day you can get shitfaced and destroy your resolutions in one night only to wake up with a hangover January 2nd, puking your guts out and kissing the toilet, knowing for a fucking fact you are set in your ways and will never, ever become a better person. Happy New Year!

[frogemeat]

A small snippet from the first chapter of my better world au that’s Stan Pines centric because he’s my favorite character!! I would love some advice if anyone has any < 3

Stan has woken up to many different kinds of scenarios in his life. From waking up in an ice bath, to finding out the next morning that the woman he married for tax benefits was actually possessed by a Dybbuk, he’s had good to bad to horrible experiences. But if he were ever asked to rank them, he’d say waking up to the demon that’s been haunting him for over thirty years screaming his name in its final moments was one of the best ways to start his day. Glancing at the shitty analog clock next to him to see the blinking, bright green 3pm, he let out a loud groan. Then he let out an even louder, more frustrated groan when his phone started to vibrate wildly on the motel nightstand.

“Pines.” He grunted, tone flat as he sat up.

“Pinington, did you feel it?” Jimmy asked without missing a beat, the bikers usual gruff voice full of emotion Stan was too tired to figure out,

“Of course you did, anyone even remotely tangled up in the unnatural would have felt it. There’s no way you didn’t,” the other man almost sounded amused at the thought. “Did you really wake me up for this?” The words came out sharper than Stan intended, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care as he made his way around the room, eyes scanning lazily around, searching.

Where the fuck did he put it again? Ah, there it was.

Stuffed between the bullet ridden mirror and the toilet with questionable red stains sat a rather worn and unassuming black duffle.

Throwing open his bag of wonder and oddities he started to rummage through the random assortment of items as Jimmy continued, “Like you weren’t already awake, sweetheart.”

Rolling his eyes at the pet name, Stan let out a scoff. Sure, Snakes may have been right, but that doesn’t mean Stan was going to tell him that.

“I was sleeping like a baby, actually. Was having the most amazing dream where I wasn’t having to talk to a ghost rider rip-off.” Stan couldn’t help but smirk as Jimmy growled in annoyance. He could practically feel the anger radiating through the phone as the other man ground out the next few words. “Fuck you, Pinington. Just wanted to confirm with the thing’s special little boy that it was actually gone.”

“Have to call me something worse than that to piss me off, Jimmy.” Stan replied cheekily, knees protesting as he stood up. “If that’s all you wanted to do, then I’ll have to let you go. I’ve got a hot date that I can’t miss.” Jimmy let out a scoff, and man, it was still so easy to rile up the demon all these years later, “Yeah, whatever you say Pinington,”.

Shaking his head, he pocketed the phone before taking a brief glance into the mirror. Looking only mildly homeless, he deemed himself presentable. Not like the clothes were going to be worn after today, he mused as he made his way out the front door.

[drathym]

OH MY FUCKING GOD PLEASE ATOP IF U WANT SKIBIDI TOILET OF ANYONE ELSE GIVE ME MONEY I AM NOT DRAWING JIMMY URINE SKIBIDI TOILET

[violetmuses]

Roman Reigns + Correspondent!Reader 💫

Fandom: WWE

Character: Roman Reigns

Author's Note: Hi! Here's another request. Thank you so much for reading my work. - V. 💜

@episodes-ff 🏷

=====

2024

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” Working around the tunnel, one smooth voice reached your attention this morning and you looked over to see Roman stand near his private room.

“Make it quick. I'm busy…” Your heels clicked, but Roman nearly spun you around to close the door.

______

“I missed you. Had to wake up by myself this morning.” After locking down entry, Roman dwindled space for both paths and smiled against your lips, chuckling.

“I missed you too, but…” You tried moving away, but lovely kisses stopped your words.

“You're so pretty. Look.” Turning your body, Roman faced this mirror and lifted your chin using calloused yet gentle fingers. “See that?”

“What do you want?” Despite leaning against him, you played games.

“Too busy?” His Southern accent teased while Ro started loosening your clothes.

Glancing down, you realized that this man slowly unfastened your shirt and left the bra exposed, giving one peek to that mirror while kisses warmed your neck.

You can't think straight, especially when his front meets your ass to veil the clothed erection. Even those large palms would circle your breasts.

“Baby…” You ignored so many names and leaned against him once more just to stop your knees from buckling.

Just when your husband considered taking off sweatpants, someone rattled the doorknob and began knocking.

Shit!

“Open the door.” Jimmy and Jey Uso started fooling around.

“Hold on.” Fighting the urge to kiss you again, Roman nearly scrambled to help with your clothes.

Gathering essentials, you “tried” to look busy while staying in this room, but Jimmy caught everything.

“Ooh!” Jimmy covered his mouth first before Jey noticed what happened.

“What?” Jey turned the corner and gasped upon realization. “Oh, damn! Uh, you missed a few buttons.”

“Fuck.” Looking down, you realized the mistake of dressing quickly and turned away from your brothers, trying to look presentable. “Well, see you later.”

Given no other choice, you pulled yourself together and left the room without even saying goodbye.

Dramatic as you leave, Roman used his back-end strength just to slide down this rear wall and laid out on his back, watching that fluorescent ceiling.

“What's wrong with you?” Humored, Jimmy almost knelt in return.

“She's perfect.” Roman's Southern accent pulled forward again.

Good God! Roman thought.

*****

Sometime later, you woke up on the road and rushed away from bed, immediately vomiting in bathroom.

“I'm here. That sounded rough. You okay?” Ro's voice offered kindness as dim lights helped your situation.

“Yeah. I probably ate too fast or something tonight.” Calming down, you tried to settle whatever prompted sickness.

“All right.” Roman eased once more. “I bought a thermometer and our First-Aid kit just in case, though.”

“Thank you.” You nodded, feeling more exhausted than beforehand.

“We'll go back to sleep.” Ro just pointed backward for amoment. "If it happens again, I'm calling for help.”

“I'm fine, don't worry. We have work to do.” You're stubborn this time.

“Sweetheart?” Roman lifted his brow and crossed both tattooed arms.

“I'm fine.” You repeated this sentence and went back to sleep, keeping water by the nightstand.

Just like me.

*******

“What happened?” Wrestler Naomi picked up trouble.

Soon enough, you ended up feeling sick again and hid in the tunnel's bathroom space.

“I'm fine.” Calling to Naomi, you flushed the toilet and thoroughly washed both hands, checking the mirror as exhaustion would lined your face again.

“Uh-uh.” Dressed in some classic neon wardrobe to kick ass on screen, Naomi quickly shook her head while facing you. “That's just counting number 2. Don't lie.”

“Food poisoning?” You pulled emotions together once more.

“Can't be.” Naomi refused. “I'm definitely telling Roman.”

“No!” You gritted. “The show starts soon.”

"Stay aware. If anything goes wrong, come find us.” Naomi promised.

Nodding by your friend, you understood the emergency plan and headed out, ready to work.

*****

Everything jumbled out of nowhere during one of the first segments.

You fainted while observing Roman and quietly laughing over your brothers. The production team hurried, but Ro, Jimmy and Jey yelled for privacy.

“Stop filming!”

“Don't touch my sister, man!”

You only “remember” how Roman carried you out of that building.

******

You were pregnant.

Reality grounded everyone as the ultrasound beeped when your senses brightened once more.

“That's crazy.” Almost laughing, Jey watched imagery with professionals and Jimmy teared up from silent happiness in the corner.

Chairing your bedside, Roman just turned his head down and dodged feelings in public.

“Get out.” Roman stood from his place and warned both cousins.

“What? No.” Jimmy scrunched up his face in response.

“Hey, Jim. Not now.” Jey would signal their problems again. “Let's go. I found the vending machine anyway.”

______

“Why didn't you tell me this time?” Roman pulled the question once medical staff turned away.

“Y'all got enough problems to deal with. Even if I left, the show would keep moving.” You sat in bed to keep answering.

“We've talked about everything. You think I'll just wear this ring to look good?” Roman lifted his wedding ring on purpose. “I'd make anything happen for you.”

“I know, but…” You struggled.

“I love you, but lyin’ to me will never work.” Ro grounded the truth.

“Of course. I'm sorry.” Tears reached your face as Roman kissed your forehead.

“I forgive you. Ready?” Roman finally smiled toward the monitor.

“Always.” No matter what happens, you'll join parenthood with your best friend.

‘Princess’ Anoa'i would arrive soon.

[watarfallar]

Imagine if Jimmy wins the life series... Huh, what a thought. Anyway have some more incorrect quotes!

Pearl: Cleo, you're my best friend. Cleo: Best friend? BEST friend?! Bitch, I'm your only friend. Cleo: I'M THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF TOLERATING YOUR DUMB ASS!

Impulse: Your smile? It makes my day. Tango: Your happiness? I live for that. Joel: A room? Get one. BigB: Hotel? Trivago.

BigB: What's the most efficient way to burn calories? Martyn: Exercise more! Joel: Set yourself on fire. Tango: There are two kinds of people.

Impulse, to Jimmy: ...And I need you and Tango to help, and by "help" I mean "do everything."

Joel: Yes, I'm adopting Grian and you cowards can't tell me no!

Scott: Martyn said its my turn with the brain cell. Cleo: Square up.

Joel: You know what your problem is? Scar: I only have one?

Mumbo: That was the worst throw ever. Of all time. Gem: Not my fault. Somebody put a wall in the way.

Jimmy: I have a bad feeling about this, guys. Skizz: Oh don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Joel: Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen? Jimmy, being bailed out of jail the next morning: I hate you all.

Pearl: sSSSHIT- I BURNT MY LIP- Tango: ...Why the fuck would you even drink coffee with a METAL STRAW in the FIRST PLACE?? Pearl: BECAUSE WE WERE OUT OF THE PLASTIC ONES!

Lizzie: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything? Lizzie: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies. Joel: Socks are Feetie Heaties. Scott: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties. Impulse: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies. Pearl: Stamps are Lickie Stickies. Gem: I hate you guys so much.

*The Squad is at Home Depot* Impulse: *Fell in the cacti display while wandering around the garden section* Grian: *Shitting in the display toilets* Lizzie: *Tokyo Drifting one of those flatbed carts down the aisles* BigB: *Stealing paint chips for aesthetic purposes* Mumbo: *Just wanted some goddamn lightbulbs and everyone ruined it* Pearl: *In the car sleeping*

Ren: Would you take a bullet for me? Lizzie: ...yes? *Jimmy angrily burst into the room* Ren: *running away* Great, thanks!

Martyn: I love cooking breakfast. It makes the whole house smell like bacon. Jimmy: That’s true, but it also smells like fire and panic. Martyn: You and the smoke detector need to get off my case.

Ren: You three, explain right now! Bdubs: It was Etho. BigB: It was Etho. Scott: It was Etho. Etho: Etho: …fuck.

Skizz: I did it! I memorized everything in the book! I'm gonna ace this test! Ren: Ok, Skizz, I'll give you one more question before you go. What ended in 1918? Skizz: 1917. Ren: ...You're ready.

Skizz: Just be yourself. Say something nice. Bdubs: Which one? I can't do both.

Pearl: I need to dye my hair. Bdubs: ... Pearl: Or get another tattoo. Bdubs: ... Pearl: Or a new piercing. Bdubs: Why? Pearl: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.

Gem: I’ve been described as a ‘heartless villain’ and a 'little shit’, but I prefer… 'has alternative ways of having fun’.

Joel: You don’t deserve me. Jimmy: At your worst or your best? Joel: I don’t have a worst. Jimmy: Because you’re already at your worst?

Martyn: BigB! This soup is flaccid! BigB: LITERALLY WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS MEAN?!

Gem: Tell me, what you are mad at? Cleo: I paid twenty dollars for bottomless drinks. Impulse, in the background: They got to the bottom. Cleo: What is that? The bottom of the damn glass!

Grian: I wonder who’s ruining my life. Grian: *looks in the mirror* Grian: So we meet again.

[octopiys]

Omg imagine:

Price: Soap, tie your shoes please you'll fall

Soap: No! I'm a big boy I can do what I want. *proceeds to fall stright on his face on his first step*

It's not as funny as it was in my head but still🤭

~🐸

RAHHHH NEW ANON🐸‼️‼️‼️

Some more incorrect quotes (I'm bored at work)

-

Ghost: I feel like I can be myself around you.

Soap: You’re weird and quiet around me.

Ghost: Yes.

-

Gaz: Isn’t it a bit dangerous?

Soap: Gaz, please. We’ve in a lot of unexpected predicaments before and we always escape unhurt.

Gaz: ...

Soap: Okay, we sometimes escape unhurt.

Gaz: ...

Soap: Alright, we escaped unhurt once... Then we hurt ourselves on the way home.

Alejandro: Sorry I'm late, I was doing stuff.

Graves, coming into a meeting looking disheveled and 10 minutes late: YOU PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKING STAIRS!

-

Price: If I run and leap at Nikolai, he will most certainly catch me in his arms.

Price, running towards Nikolai: Coming in!

Nikolai: No! I’m holding coffee!

Nikolai: *Drops coffee and catches Price*

-

Price: Soap, please tie your shoes, you're gonna fall.

Soap: Price, I'm a big boy.

Soap: I can do whatever I want.

Soap: you're not my dad.

Price, unfazed: you done?

Soap: yeah.

Soap, turning away: *trips and falls*

-

Horangi, doing crossword: I need a long word for-

König: t-rex.

Horangi: ....what-

König: t-rex

König: but the long one.

-

Rodolfo: I ran into Alejandro in the kitchen at 1 AM last night and when I asked him what he was doing, he just shrugged, said “these are my roaming hours,” and wandered off

-

Roach: Last week, König tried to flush a live lobster down the toilet "because it worked for Nemo".

Gaz:

Gaz: oh my god.

-

Gaz: Would it be discrimination to only hire employees at my doughnut shop who have the same name?

Ghost: Legally, I don't believe that breaches any discrimination laws. Morally though... I don't know.

Gaz: I believe god is on my side when it comes to Duncans' Doughnuts.

Gaz: or Jimmy/John's.

Soap: hey

Price: hey

-

Ghost: If you kill me, my teeth only have a 2% drop rate.

Graves:

Graves: What?

Ghost: Good luck.

-

Ghost: You’re an idiot.

Soap, grinning: That’s the charm.

-

Soap: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Ghost: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

(Later)

Ghost: fuckin' hell, wait a minute-

-

Uh because I've seen it a lot recently here is your reminder that Gaz erasure is NOT welcome on this blog. I love him sm. Gaz appreciation :D