#the universe fucking hates me and probably everyone else

[hxllhxund]

FUCKKKK!!!! Why do I have to ruin everything?!?!....♡

[sureuncertainty]

if i have to see one more post about disney from people who don't work here or at least live in the area i'm gonna lose it

[tardis--dreams]

I may have hit an all time low mental health wise but I'm being so chill about it

[nightprompts]

&. 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 (𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬?) 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬.

(  various  dialogue  prompts  to  send  to  your  worst  enemy  (affectionate).  feel  free  to  change  how  you  seem  fit.  )

❛ oh great, it's you again. ❜

❛ you? kill me? that's funny. ❜

❛ for being someone you hate, i'm sure on your mind a lot. ❜

❛ you're the last person i wanted to see, actually. ❜

❛ do us both a favor. stay away from me. ❜

❛ you really are an asshole, you know that? ❜

❛ i'm the asshole? what does that make you then? ❜

❛ sometimes i think you must hate me. ❜

❛ i thought you said you never wanted to see me again. ❜

❛ if you want me to go, then you have to tell me to leave. ❜

❛ well, someone's cranky today. ❜

❛ well, someone needs to shut the fuck up. ❜

❛ just stay out of my way. ❜

❛ of all the idiots in the world, i'm stuck with you. ❜

❛ what is it you want this time? ❜

❛ sometimes i wonder if you're in love with me. ❜

❛ do you honestly think this is easy for me? ❜

❛ why would i ever want to be friends with you? ❜

❛ can we please just talk? ❜

❛ there is nothing for us to talk about. ❜

❛ you can yell at me later. just let me help you. ❜

❛ touch me, and you're dead. ❜

❛ oh, so now you care? ❜

❛ there is something deeply wrong with you. ❜

❛ i know i'm the last person you probably want to see, but... ❜

❛ you don't think we could be friends, do you? ❜

❛ i'm tired of fighting against you. ❜

❛ don't pretend you give a shit about me. ❜

❛ you're an idiot, but... i trust you. ❜

❛ oh, don't be cute. ❜

❛ wait, did you just say that i'm cute? ❜

❛ we're not good for each other. ❜

❛ if i say yes, will you shut up? ❜

❛ don't you have to be stupid somewhere else? ❜

❛ maybe we should kiss just to break the tension. ❜

❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

❛ maybe there's a universe out there where we're friends. ❜

❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

❛ don't think this changes anything between us. ❜

❛ you look ridiculous in that outfit, by the way. ❜

❛ if you die, i'll kill you. ❜

❛ is that a challenge? ❜

❛ ah, so you're not heartless after all. ❜

❛ i don't think i've ever seen you smile. ❜

❛ you never cared about me, so why now? ❜

❛ why didn't you kill me when you had the chance? ❜

❛ i don't even remember why we started fighting. ❜

❛ i don't have time for distractions right now. ❜

❛ you're not as bad as everyone says you are. ❜

❛ enemies make the best lovers, you know. ❜

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[la2yn0va]

Self-aware Honkai Star rail characters opinion on you being a streamer.

Characters: Acheron, Jingliu, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio

————

Acheron

“How… irritating” she said her annoyance overtaking her entire mood and body language. Being forced to be on stage for people SHE didn’t nor about NOR care about.

Why must you make her suffer like this? She loves you, with all her being. But why are you airing her out to the world.. those ‘viewers’ of yours.

And that’s another thing. How do they get to watch you? You shouldn’t make yourself a fool for such unworthy humans. Have they even offered you a thing?

“Ayyy~ thanks for the bits and 20”

….you’d allow them your gaze for a mere 20 credits? (Money) either your benevolence shines brighter, or it’s blinding you.

“Chat what do we think of Acheron? I fuckin’ love this woman, she’s SOOO fuckin’ helpful for grinding and destroying the enemies… white bar health… yeah cause that’s what it’s called…please don’t clip that…”

Acheron could feel herself blushing, so she quickly performs her idle animation, leaning against her sword trying to hide the blush and smile slowly forming on her face.

Chatter—“She’s good, but she keeps taking your attention from us :,(”

Instantly her giddiness is sucked away and locked in a coffin as utter annoyance and disdain grips her with an iron fist “Storm's on the horizon, heading towards you”

“That was perfectly fucking timed… did that sound different to anyone else?” Despite acherons slip up, that hatefulness holds her tighter, refusing to let go.

In short, She loves you-she’s OBSESSED with you. But she WILL kill these ‘viewers’ if they stary your attention away from her one more time.

Jingliu

“What makes THEM so deserving of your gaze?”

Jingliu is similar to Acheron, but tripled. Unlike Acheron, she doesn’t bother to hide her hatred for those viewers.

Chat: Yo (Streamer Name) you should-

Jingliu: Your Ready for death.

She says it like a statement and not a question. She hates these creatures who take your gaze off of her, she hates how a measly 5 credits is enough to get your attention.

Your benevolence is your best quality, but also the one that’s easily manipulated, which simply makes her despise the fact that you’re TOO kind.

Jingliu hates the fact that your a streamer more then her not being able to ‘cut the stars’ with her sword. Why must you test her loyalty like this?

Is this even a test or a punishment for her crimes? Either way, this is too cruel. Being forced in the sidelines for a bunch of people who don’t offer you anything of value.

Is her crit damage/rate not good enough for you? Are her stellar jades not of the highest quality? Perhaps her blade needs more… BLOODSHED.

Unlike Acheron, jingliu would VERY MUCH commit crimes to gain your attention. Like breaking the fourth wall, taking an enemies or allies turn to attack, KILLING her allies so that your attention would be on her completely.

In short, she’s a much more blunt and unrestrained Acheron.

Aventurine

“Such Troublesome detractors…”

Out of everyone in the game, he’s definitely the most laid back about your occupation. Mostly due to his luck.

Course he’s annoyed that some no-named randoms are taking the attention from his god off of him for seconds, but it’s really nothing.

It’s extremely lucky that the characters haven’t killed him out of jealousy (see what I did there?) This fuckin’ Avgin gets the most attention thanks to his kit and luck.

Y/n: Thanks for the Dono-

Aventurine: Eyes on me~

Y/n: Ooo~ yes sir~

Aventurine has a UNIVERSAL shit-eating grin while others are glaring death incarcerated soul-sucking daggers into him.

Aventurine would probably join in on the thanks if a viewer sends you money/bits/cheers n’ shit.

Not much to really say here, he’s just laid back to the whole thing.

Dr. Veritas Ratio

“Stop this nonsense. Immediately”

Dr. Raito fuckin growls anytime everytime you boot up the game, cause he knows 99.9% of the time your going to be joined by those brainless viewers.

He’s completely baffled as to why a being such as yourself would degraded yourself to such… idiocy.

There’s only two possible reasons as to why you’d commit such acts. 1. Your benevolence blinds your logical reasoning, 2. You… enjoy it.

Dr. Ratio’s opinion on the viewers is that their brainless insects, he doesn’t even care enough to be annoyed by them, they’re just THAT low level of importance to him.

Y/n: Hey “Streamer Name” who’s your favorite character?

Dr. Ratio: Do you have answers?

Y/n: I- that was perfectly timed.. DO infact have answers. It’s (anyone that isn’t him)

Dr. Ratio: Fail… Get Out!

(If it is him)

Dr. Ratio: Perfect… Twenty Points.

————

What we thinking about this one chat?

[hoshifighting]

i'm BEGGING for a collegefling! jeonghan plzz

thank youuuu 💗 love your work <33

warnings: smut, teasing, flirting, fingering, penetrative sex, cock riding, semi-public sex, library sex, loud!jeonghan, jealousy, he's such a cutie too.

college fling!jeonghan who's not the type to play around with mixed signals. if he wants something, he’s pretty direct about it. likes games—just not the confusing kind. so, yeah, when you first met him, you kind of got what he was about from day one. freshman year was chaos. the university’s big events had everyone talking—water games, shirtless dudes, bikinis, everyone all bronzed and glowing under the sun. but jeonghan— he’s not about the whole "show off my body" thing. kept his shirt on, like he didn’t need to prove a damn thing. confident as hell, and you hated how much that got to you.

he was the one who came up to you first, of course. said something like, “my friend thinks you’re pretty.” such a casual opener, like it was no big deal. but then he took it further, all smooth with a teasing smile. “but i don’t really trust his taste, so i had to see for myself.”

you remember just rolling your eyes, thinking, this guy—but also trying not to let on that his vibe was doing things to your brain. when he went on to say, “so, are we making out now, or later?”—you laughed in his face, hard. hard as fuck, actually, and told him straight up that wasn’t happening, and his response? a smirk. that smirk that would become the smirk, the one you'd start seeing every time he spotted you from across campus, during parties, even in the quiet corner of the library when you thought you were safe.

after that day, it was like this... game, but not really a game. like, you’d be minding your business, trying to get through your classes, and boom—jeonghan would be there, casually sliding in with some flirty comment, always teetering on the line of too much. but never quite crossing it. like one time, you were sitting with your laptop, probably stressed over a deadline, and he just popped up with, “you look like you could use a distraction.” you shot back, “don’t you have someone else to annoy?” and of course, he answered, “nah, i’m committed to you.” committed. like it wasn’t just a stupid flirty thing.

and it kept going. year after year. no kissing, no hooking up—just this ridiculous back-and-forth, every time he saw you, making your stomach twist up in knots. it was frustrating as hell, ‘cause even though he flirted like it was second nature, he never actually pushed you to do anything more. he knew the game. he knew exactly how far to take it before pulling back, leaving you wanting more but hating that you even did.

one night, you were at some random house party, loud music, too many people, and of course, there he was. leaning against the kitchen counter, looking all too comfortable in a place that was way too crowded. he saw you first, waved you over with that lazy smile that you wanted to ignore but couldn’t. “you lost or just looking for me?” he asked, knowing damn well you weren’t looking for him.

“neither,” you lied, grabbing a drink from the counter just to have something to hold. but he wasn’t buying it, stepping a little closer, crowding your space just enough to make your breath catch.

“right,” he said, that teasing lilt in his voice. “so you’re not here just to finally kiss me?”

you laughed again, but this time, it didn’t feel as easy. “jeonghan, you’ve been trying for years. give it up.”

“noo sweetheart,” he pouted, voice smooth like honey. “i’m just playing the long game. i like it..”

the long game. because even though you never kissed, never took it past flirting, there was always this tension, simmering just below the surface. you’d catch yourself thinking about him sometimes when you weren’t even around him—wondering if he ever thought about you the same way.

but he never made it weird. never tried to make you feel like you owed him anything, which was maybe why you didn’t hate him for it. because at the end of the day, it was fun. infuriating, yes. but fun. he’d make a comment, you’d brush it off, but deep down? yeah, there was always a part of you that kinda wanted to see what would happen if you let the game go on a little longer.

and jeonghan... he was patient. too patient, if you were being honest.

there was something stupidly comforting about jeonghan always being around. like, even on your worst days—those days when you couldn’t even be bothered to try. oversized hoodie, messy hair, not a scrap of makeup. you were barely surviving, and there he was, still managing to make you feel noticed. he’d walk up, casual as hell, and say things like, “your hair smells nice today,” or he’d reach out, fingers grazing your hand, just to say, “new nails? they look cute.”

and then there was that one time, oh god—you remember it clear as day. you’d barely rolled out of bed and showed up to class, hoodie pulled tight around you, and jeonghan slides up beside you at the cantine, glancing down at your hand. “you know what would look cute wrapped in there?” he’d said, all casual. and for a split second, you didn’t catch on. you were about to ask what he meant, then it hit you—cock. he meant cock.

you felt your face heat up, your brain misfiring as you shot him a look, trying to figure out if anyone else had heard. your eyes scanned the tables, praying no one else had clocked his little comment, and when you finally turned back to him, there he was—smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “what?” he asked, all fake innocence, like you hadn’t just caught onto his bullshit. “i was talking about the energy drink can.” and he pointed at the one in your hand, the one you had just bought. “it matches your nails.”

you laughed. you couldn’t help it. he had this way of making everything lighter, even when you were convinced it was gonna be a trash day. and he smiled too, like your happiness was his mission for the day. it was always like that. jeonghan would flirt, you’d roll your eyes or laugh, and things would feel a little easier. it was comfortable. safe, even.

but then… spring party. fuck.

there was something so painfully uncomfortable about seeing him with her. it wasn’t even the fact that they were together—it was the way he smiled at her. the way his arm was casually around her shoulders, pulling her closer, and then the cheek kiss. you saw it, and it felt like something lodged itself in your chest. like, what the hell.

it hit you like a ton of bricks. you liked the game too much. you liked him too much, but you hadn’t taken the shot. you never thought it was serious enough to matter, but seeing him with someone else? it felt like you were watching something that should’ve been yours. the whole night was a blur after that. no amount of party energy could bring you back up after seeing that.

you left early. didn’t even bother sticking around when the lights got lower, the music got louder, and everyone else started to get more and more drunk. you just… left. walked back to your dorm, the sound of your flower crown jingling a little with each step, the one your friends had insisted you wear. it felt stupid now. why the hell did you even care?

and then, as if the universe had it out for you, you saw him. just walking out of the dorms. not just any dorms. the dorms. the girls’ dorms. and you knew. of course it was her. she was in there, probably waving him off after some perfect little goodnight, and here you were, walking around with jealousy you didn’t even want to admit you had.

he saw you before you could duck away. smiled at you like nothing was weird, like you hadn’t seen him with her just hours before. “mhmmm... who’s this princess, huh?” he wolf-whistled, because of course, of course, he would. his eyes twinkled when they landed on your flower crown, clearly amused.

you weren’t. “fuck off, jeonghan,” you muttered, trying to brush past him. but you knew it. he heard it. he caught the tone immediately because even when he got on your nerves before, you were never this cold.

“whoa, whoa,” he called after you, stepping in your path with that all-too-familiar smirk, though now it felt different. heavier. “where’s this coming from? what happened? don’t tell me the princess has had a rough night?”

“i’m not in the mood,” you snapped, making a beeline for your dorm. but he wasn’t letting it go. he blocked your way again, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes studying you like he was figuring out some kind of puzzle. you saw his eyes lighting up.

“wait a minute… are you jealous?”

the way he said it, like he was genuinely surprised and also deeply entertained by the thought. you didn’t even want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but your eyes flicked up anyway, glaring.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“i’m ridiculous?” he laughed, stepping a little closer. “so you saw me with her, huh?” he teased, and you could see the moment he clicked it all together. “oh my god. you are jealous.”

“shut up, jeonghan.”

but he didn’t. he was full-on laughing now, not even trying to hide how amused he was by the whole thing. “okay, okay. listen, that was my sister, y/n.”

you blinked. “what?”

he wiped at his eyes, still chuckling. “my sister. we had a family thing tonight, and she was visiting the campus for the spring party. she’s staying over, that’s why i was in the girls' dorms.”

you felt the embarrassment hit you like a wave. like, of course, you’d worked yourself up into a jealous mess over nothing. but still, the way he was looking at you, the way his laughter softened when he saw your expression change—it wasn’t like he was making fun of you. if anything, he looked… kinda pleased.

“you really thought i’d ditch you for someone else?” he asked, scrunching his nose. “after all these years?”

you wanted to hit him. and also kiss him. but mostly hit him. “shut up,” you mumbled, shoving past him to finally get to your door.

but as you fumbled with your keys, you heard him laugh again, this time lighter. “you know, if you want to kiss me that badly, you could just ask.”

"just ask?" you placed a hand on your hip, raising an eyebrow at him like you were calling his bluff. jeonghan just nodded, all nonchalant, like this wasn’t the moment of his life.

you took a step closer, the space between you two disappearing until your noses were nearly touching. you could see the way his eyes flickered from yours to your lips and back up, like he was trying to stay cool, but you knew better. underneath all that fake calm, he was freaking out.

you just smiled. you leaned in, just close enough for him to feel your breath on his lips, and whispered, “good night, jeonghan.”

you pulled back, turning on your heel, leaving him standing there. you didn’t need to look back to know the effect you had. you could feel the tension in the air, the way his posture faltered just slightly. when you reached your door, you glanced over your shoulder, catching his eyes one last time before you disappeared inside. he was still watching, a grin playing on his lips. as you leaned against the door inside, hand over your racing heart, you couldn’t help but smile too.

a few days later, you were at the library. it was one of those late afternoons where the campus was almost eerily quiet. most people were either at the football field, hanging out on the green, or already done for the day. you’d volunteered for this stupid school board vote thing, which meant you were stuck painting posters on cardboard, your hands covered in smudges of red and blue paint.

the library had this dim, cozy lighting, the blinds half-drawn so the soft glow of sunset was creeping in from the windows. but the table you were sitting at had this one bright, focused yellow lamp, shining right on your work as you dragged the wet paintbrush across the poster.

you were in your own world, humming softly, when you suddenly felt something… someone close. too close. a soft breath ghosted over your ear, so light you almost thought you were imagining it.

“boo!” a voice whispered, low and teasing, right by your ear.

you flinched hard, tensing up, your whole body jerking back so fast the paintbrush slipped in your hand. and of course, it was him. jeonghan stood there, barely an inch away, grinning like the asshole he was. his hands were shoved deep in his pockets, like he was trying to stop himself from reaching out and touching you.

“what the fuck,” you muttered, heart still racing from the scare, eyes glaring up at him. but he was having the time of his life, watching the way your body reacted, still all wound up.

“shhh,” he whispered, stepping even closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear this time. “we’re in a library.” the fake seriousness in his voice almost made you laugh, but you were too annoyed to let him win that easily.

“do you ever chill?” you asked, leaning back in your chair to give yourself a little space, but jeonghan wasn’t having it. he leaned down, resting his arms on the back of your chair like he was claiming it—and you.

“why would i, when scaring you is so much fun?” he shot back, his grin widening.

your heart was still pounding from the surprise, and now from him being so damn close, but you rolled your eyes, trying to act like you weren’t affected. “you’re annoying.”

“you love it,” he whispered, the teasing edge in his voice making you want to scream. but instead, you reached for your paintbrush again, ignoring him, or at least trying to. jeonghan, though, wasn’t going anywhere. he hovered over you, eyes scanning the half-finished poster on the table.

“what’s this?” he asked, gesturing to your work. “you painting a masterpiece?”

“just posters,” you mumbled, trying to focus on the brush strokes. but you could feel him there, his eyes practically burning into your skin. you hated how aware you were of him, of his warmth, of the way his breath still lingered on your ear.

“hmm,” he hummed, leaning a little closer again, his cheek almost brushing yours as he pretended to inspect the cardboard. “you missed a spot.”

“jeonghan,” you warned, glancing up at him through narrowed eyes. but all he did was flash you that familiar, maddening smirk.

“what? just trying to help.” he finally pulled back, standing up straight again, but not before letting his fingers brush lightly against your arm, just enough to send a spark through you.

you cursed under your breath, trying to focus on your work, but it was useless. his stupid little whisper and the way he hovered over you had already ruined any chance of concentration.

“you know,” he said casually, pulling out a chair next to you and sitting down like he had nowhere else to be. “you’re fun to mess with.”

“can you shut up for like, two seconds?” you shot at him, your voice carrying more frustration than you meant.

instead of taking the hint, he just wriggled his eyebrows at you, that shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. he never stops. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts, but the annoyance, the tension—it all bubbled up inside you, and before you could overthink it, you opened your eyes and leaned in, kissing him.

just a quick peck, a little “shut the hell up” moment, nothing more. but the second you pulled back and caught the look on his face, you almost regretted it. almost. jeonghan was stunned. like, full-on wide-eyed, frozen in place, like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

your cheeks immediately burned, but you kept your cool, clearing your throat before going back to the poster like nothing happened. “sit down and be quiet now,” you muttered, keeping your eyes on the cardboard.

for once, he actually listened. he sat down next to you, still staring, clearly trying to process what you just did. the silence that followed was awkward as hell, but it didn’t last long. because, of course, it didn’t.

he lasted about five seconds, max. then you felt his hand on your cheek, turning your face towards him. before you could react, his lips were on yours again, but this time, he didn’t hold back. it wasn’t some quick, shy kiss. no. his lips moved against yours, hungry, and then you felt it—his tongue pushing past your lips, invading your mouth like he had no patience left.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and before you knew it, you were completely lost in him. your body responded faster than your brain could keep up with, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab the edge of the table to steady yourself.

when he pulled back, just slightly, his breath was ragged, his lips hovering over yours as he whispered, “can i?” the neediness in his voice sent a jolt of heat straight through you.

you nodded, not trusting your voice. and that’s all he needed. his hand slipped down, fingers tracing the hem of your skirt before pushing it up just enough to get underneath. his fingertips brushed over your panties, teasing you, and you could feel yourself already getting wet.

jeonghan let out a soft chuckle, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re already soaked, cant wait to suck this pussy,” he whispered

you opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a shaky breath as he slid one finger under the fabric, barely grazing your folds. he was taking his time, dragging his fingers slowly, deliberately, over your wetness.

“so wet for me,” he whispered again, his lips brushing against your ear now. “you want me to keep going?”

you nodded again, your hand gripping the edge of the table tighter, and you heard him let out a small, pleased hum before he pressed a single finger inside you. the stretch was slow, his finger curling as he pushed in deeper, and the slick sound of your wetness filled the quiet library, pussy swallowing easily the long finger.

it was embarrassingly loud. the soft squelch of his finger moving inside you echoed in the stillness, and your head fell back, a quiet moan slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

“shhh,” jeonghan whispered, mockingly, his other hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat. “quiet, be quiet f'me okay??”

you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to stay quiet, but it was impossible when he was teasing you like this, his finger moving slowly in and out, curling in just the squishy spot. he was taking his time, dragging it out, the wet sounds growing louder with each shove of his finger.

“you like that?” he asked, his lips brushing against your neck now. “you like when i finger you slow like this?”

you could barely answer, your voice catching in your throat as he added a second finger, stretching you just a little more. the way your body responded was automatic—your legs spreading wider on instinct, your hips rocking forward to meet his hand.

jeonghan grinned, his fingers moving a little faster now, pushing deeper, the squishing sounds even louder than before. “fuck, you’re so tight,” he muttered.

your head fell back against his shoulder, your body giving in. you could feel every inch of his fingers moving inside you, every curl, every thrust, the knuckles, it was driving you insane. you reached out blindly, your free hand finding his thigh before sliding up to palm at the bulge in his pants.

he let out a soft groan, his hips shifting slightly as you pressed your hand harder against him. “you’re really trying to make me lose it, hmm?” he muttered, his voice strained as he continued to finger you, his pace quickening.

your hand fumbled with the zipper of his pants, trying to get him out, but it was hard to focus when he was fucking you with his fingers like this, your wetness dripping down onto his palm.

“shit,” he hissed when your hand finally slipped into his pants, your fingers wrapping around his length. he was hard—so fucking hard—and the way you gripped him made his head fall back, eyes rolling as he thrust his fingers even deeper into you.

“you like that, baby?” he asked. “you like when i fuck you with my fingers?”

you moaned softly, nodding as your hips bucked against his hand. your walls clenched around his fingers, and the wet squelching sounds got louder, filling the quiet library.

“fuck, you sound so good,” jeonghan groaned, pulling your panties to the side so he could spread your legs wider, giving himself better access. his fingers moved faster, pushing deeper, and you felt your body start to tremble, the pleasure building so quickly you could barely breathe.

“jeonghan,” you whimpered, your hand tightening around his length as your other hand gripped the table for dear life. your hips rocked against his fingers, desperate.

“that’s it, mhmm just like that baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear again. “cum for your hannie.. so nasty baby, letting me fuck this pussy with my fingers...what if someone see this hm?.”

before you could stop it, your body seized up, your walls clenched tight around his fingers, your back arching as you came, the wet sounds of your release echoing in the quiet library.

jeonghan groaned softly, his hand still moving, fingers still pumping in and out of you as you rode out your orgasm.

jeonghan watched as you giggled softly, in overstimulation, your head nestled into the crook of his neck, making him smile too. his arms wrapped around you tight, holding you against him.

a single line of slickness dripping down between your legs, a translucent trail of your release that shimmered against the dim library light and hit the floor with a quiet, inappropriate drip. he stared at it for a second, mesmerized by how fucking wet you were.

before you could even react, jeonghan slid his fingers from between your legs, sticky with your juices, and without hesitation, brought them to his lips. he sucked your wetness off them like it was nothing, like this was casual. but the way he moaned softly, like he was tasting something forbidden, made your cheeks burn.

“jeonghan!” you hissed, scolding him, giving him a little slap on the arm. “what the hell?”

he just shrugged, lips curved into that cocky smile. “couldn’t help it,” he muttered, the taste of you still lingering on his tongue. “you taste so fucking good.”

your face flushed even more, but you couldn’t hide the way your body still buzzed with need, even after he’d just made you come. your eyes flickered to the door—still shut, no one else around—and something wild sparked in you.

before you could second-guess it, you stood up from your chair and climbed onto his lap, straddling him fast. jeonghan’s eyes widened in shock, hands automatically flying to your hips, but not stopping you. “y/n,” he stammered, voice shaky, his breath catching in his throat, “n-no, we can’t—”

“why not?” you whined, rocking your hips forward just enough to brush his cock agasint your folds, and fuck, it felt good. you were still wet, soaked from your orgasm, and the friction was enough to make you both let out quiet, needy moans.

jeonghan’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep his composure. “fuck,” he muttered, biting down on his bottom lip hard, his whole body trembling beneath you. “because—shit—i can’t keep quiet.”

“please,” you begged, your voice dripping with desperation, leaning closer so your lips ghosted over his. “jeonghan, i’m so horny… been wanting you for years too.”

those words did something to him. years. and it hit him all at once—the weight of everything, of all those years of teasing, flirting, the back and forth that never went anywhere, the way he’d always kept it just at the edge, never crossing the line. and now, here you were, straddling him, begging for him like it was all too much to hold back anymore. he could feel it too—the years of tension, of watching you from a distance, making you smile just to hear that laugh, all leading up to this.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice strained as he watched you grind against him, his hands flexing on your hips. his eyes fluttered shut as the pressure built between you, your slick folds dragging against him. his body was wound so tight he felt like he could snap any second.

“jeonghan,” you whispered again, your breath hot against his lips, and then you reached down between you, a gasp escaping him when your hand wrapped around his length, teasing him.

“we can’t,” he whispered, but there was no conviction in his voice, not anymore. his hips bucked up into your hand, betraying how badly he wanted this. “we can’t do this here.”

“then be quiet,” you murmured, lips brushing over his as you guided the tip of his cock to your entrance. your wetness coated him, slick and hot, and jeonghan groaned, his head falling back against the chair as you slid him along your folds. he was so hard, so sensitive.

“fuck, y/n,” he gasped, his body trembling under your touch. his hands shot to your thighs, gripping them hard as you teased him, your slickness coating his cock, making everything feel too good, too intense.

“please,” you whispered again, pressing down just enough for his tip to catch at your entrance, and jeonghan’s whole body shuddered. “i need you.”

he bit down on his lip, his hands shaking as he tried to stop himself from completely losing control. “you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice rough with lust. “i won’t be able to stay quiet.”

but you didn’t care. you wanted him too badly, needed him too badly after all this time, all these years of unspoken tension finally coming to a head. you were practically shaking with need, your hips moving on their own as you slid his cock along your folds, teasing yourself with the tip.

jeonghan let out a low groan, his eyes rolling back as you rubbed against him, the wet sounds of your slickness filling the quiet space. “shit, baby,” he whispered, his hands trembling as they moved to grip your ass, pulling you even closer. “so fuckin good around me, fuck— i dont know if i will last.”

“then fuck me,” you whispered back, your voice desperate now, grinding down against him, your slick folds swallowing his cock inch by inch. you felt him twitch, felt how much he was holding back, and it only made you want him more.

he groaned, his head falling forward, his forehead resting against yours. “can’t keep quiet, can’t can’t—” he whispered again, his breath ragged, but the way his hips bucked up into you told you all you needed to know.

you let out a soft whimper as you finally sank down onto him, his cock stretching you so slowly, so perfectly. the feeling of him inside you after all this time was almost too much, and you moaned softly, your body trembling as he filled you up, inch by inch.

you started rocking your hips slowly, back and forth, barely pulling off him before sliding back down, letting him feel every inch of you. the way his cock filled you so perfectly made you clench around him, and you could hear jeonghan’s breath catch, a low groan slipping from his lips that he tried desperately to swallow.

his hands shot to your waist, gripping you tight as you moved. your rhythm was teasing, dragging your slick folds over him as his length stretched you with each motion. you knew what you were doing to him—the way his hips bucked up every time you slid down, his thighs tensing under your legs. he was struggling to hold it together, and you were reveling in every second of it.

you leaned forward, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “you’re so fucking hard for me hannie”

jeonghan let out a deep groan, his head falling back against the chair as he tried to keep quiet, his breath coming in short, desperate pants. “ngh—fuck—” he hissed, his grip on your waist tightening as he tried to control himself, but the way you were moving, so slow and deliberate, was killing him.

you smirked against his neck, pressing soft kisses to his skin before whispering again, your voice low. “you love how wet i am for you, hm? bet you’ve been thinking about this all of those years, huh?”

that did it. jeonghan’s whole body trembled, and he let out a strangled moan, “ahh—shit—” his fingers dug into your hips, trying to pull you down harder, but you kept the pace slow, teasing, letting him feel every second of it.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he threw his head back, his lips parted and eyes fluttering shut. “you—ngh—feel so fucking good.”

his reaction only fueled you more. you started grinding your hips a little faster, rolling them in circles. you leaned closer again, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered filth, your voice dripping with lust. “you’re such a good boy for me, letting me ride you like this..”

jeonghan let out another deep groan, “o-oh—fuck—” his hands slid under your skirt, gripping your ass as he helped guide your movements, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh. his eyes were half-lidded, mouth open, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, trying so hard to keep quiet, but every whisper from you had him moaning like he couldn’t control it.

“you’re such a dirty boy,” you whispered, “can feel how bad you want to cum inside me.”

“fuck—” he groaned again, louder this time, and you quickly leaned forward, pressing your lips to his to muffle the sound. the kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue immediately slipping into your mouth as he kissed you back hard, his hands pulling you down on him as you rocked your hips faster. you could feel him shaking, his control slipping with every thrust.

you pulled back, breathless, your lips hovering over his as you whispered again. “you gonna come for me, jeonghan? gonna fill me up like the good boy you are?”

his eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your ass even tighter as he thrust up into you, his cock twitching inside you. your fingers gripped the edge of the table to steady yourself, your nails digging into the wood as you rocked against him, feeling his cock throb inside you. his hands slid back up your hips, pulling you down gently as his cock twitched one last time inside you, the warmth of his release spreading through you.

you reached down between you, sliding your fingers through your own slickness and bringing them to his lips. “taste it,” you whispered, watching as his eyes fluttered open, still hazy with lust.

he groaned softly, but didn’t hesitate, his tongue slipping out to lick your fingers clean, tasting both of you mixed together. the sight of it made you shiver, and you couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as you watched him suck on your fingers, his eyes locked on yours.

you could feel the heat between your legs still burning, still aching for more, and without thinking, you started to move again, grinding your hips against his slowly. jeonghan’s eyes widened, his hands gripping your waist as he realized what you were doing.

“y/n—” he whispered, his voice shaky, “what the—we—fuck, we can’t—”

“shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing over his as you rocked your hips again, feeling his cock start to harden inside you. “just one more time.”

jeonghan let out a low groan, his hands sliding down to your ass again as he gave in, his body already reacting to the feeling of you moving on him again. “fuck,” he whispered, his voice rough with need. “you’re gonna kill me.”

you just smiled, pressing your lips to his as you whispered against his mouth, “then die happy.”

[shizucheese]

Hey guys, we need to talk. Because a certain little something in TMAGP 8 is causing what is genuinely the most toxic part of the Magpod fandom at large to once again rear its ugly head. So let's talk about podcast character appearance head canons, shall we?

I'm tagging this with the Magnus Archives, TMA and Magpod tags because I am absolutely calling all of you out, but if you don't want spoilers for The Magnus Protocol episode 8 then stop reading right now.

.

.

. Okay, so, Gerry exists in the TMAGP universe. He's happy (or at least acts cheerful). And some people have headcanoned this to mean that he is no longer goth, or at the very least isn't dying his hair black with bad box color. And other people have decided to get seriously agro over this. I have literally seen with my very own eyeballs someone call "un-gothing" Gerry a "hate crime" and calling the person they were talking to "gothphobic."

Let me make this absolutely clear for all of you: podcasts are a purely audio medium and unless a physical trait of theirs is explicitely stated, everyone's headcanon for how a character appears is valid. Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. But also

Rainbow Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid. Pastel Goth TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Not Goth At All TMAGP Gerry is valid.

Bald Gerry who has actually gotten his brain cancer diagnosed in time and is getting treated for it is valid. Somebody's headcanon of a character that has no canonical description to them, or whose headcanon matches the few crumbs of canonical description we have but otherwise doesn't look the way you imagine them to, is not going to take away from your own headcanon of what a character looks like. If someone imagining or drawing a character looking a different way from how you imagine them looking somehow takes away from your enjoyment of the fandom or otherwise makes you feel like you need to barge in and tell them that they're Wrong and need to conform to your headcanon or else, that is a reflection on you, not them.

And this problem way predates TMAGP, let alone TMAGP 8. The only description we have of John is that he is in his early 30's and has prematurely greying hair.

If someone thinks he looks like the pastiest motherfucker to ever dwell in a basement, an extra-in-the-Adam's Family or Tim Burtan protagonist of a man, let them.

What's that? You want to tell them that John is BROWN and if they don't headcanon him looking that way they're WRONG and RACIST? Back away from the keyboard and go outside.

(Ironically, as someone who started getting grey hairs in my hair in my 20's myself, I'm pretty sure everyone's headcanon of John, with tiny little whisps of grey in his hair, is wrong, because if he was so grey that people were surprised to learn he was "a child of the 90's," he was probably full on salt-and-pepper when he was in his 20's.)

The only description we have for Martin is that he (man who canonically has the self esteem of a used doormat) describes himself as "not the smallest guy", Not-Sasha called him "roomy", Melanie is skinner than him, and Jonny said he imagined him as a "bigger guy" who would beat Alex in a physical fight. If someone decides to take this information and conclude that it means he's tall, broad and has muscle, rather than that he's overweight, fucking let them. If your first instinct to this is to run to your keyboard and call them "fatphobic" or otherwise bash them for it, I once again urge you to back away from your keyboard and go outside.

Someone headcanons Basira not wearing a headscarf? We have exactly 0 canonical physical description of her and the people who headcanon her as having one are basing that purely off of her name alone. Fucking let them. Someone headcanons Melanie and/ or Georgie as a skin color you don't agree with or a hairstyle you don't like? Fucking let them. As long as someone's headcanon of a character's description doesn't contradict the few canonical descriptions we have of a character, why do you care? Them having a different headcanon from you doesn't take away your right to imagine the characters looking however you like, anymore than it should take away their right to do the same. Someone headcanoning John as white (or Black, or Asian, or Mixed, or whatever) isn't going to make all of the fanart of John as brown with long hair suddenly disappear, nor the fanfiction describing him as such (although I do often wonder if the opposite is not true; is the fact that John looks the same in so much of the fanart I see on here really because of fandom "consensus", or is it because people are absolutely awful to anyone who draws him Different?). Someone headcanoning Martin as not fat isn't going to make the mountains of fanart of him as a fluffy little marshmallow vanish into the void (although I do remember hearing about someone getting bullied off the internet for daring to draw Martin as not fat). And someone headcanoning Gerry in TMAGP as not being goth isn't going to take away your preciouse goth TMAGP Gerry headcanon. That should be part of the fun of it, shouldn't it? Seeing what different images people have conjured in their heads of these characters we only get to experience with our ears, and celebrating the differences as well as the similarities? Why are we bullying people into conforming to one appearance of a character when no actual canonical appearance of them exists?

[misserabella]

come over

abby anderson x fem! reader

pt2

summary; strangely enough, your number one enemy since kindergarten and captain of the basketball club of your college calls you up one night begging you to come over to her dorm room. after knocking on her door, things will take a turn that you would have never expected.

CW;; +18 content! minors dni!, cursing, dirty talk, nipple play, bullying and fights, teasing, oral sex (r receiving), strap on use (r receiving), abby calls the strap her cock, jealousy, possessiveness, dacryphilia, overstimulation, squirting, spanking, finger fucking, hair pulling, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms… MINORS DNI!!!

Please, under no circumstances, repost my work on any other sites. I do not consent to anyone taking my work and posting it as their own.

You were having a really bad day. Not bad, horrible.

First of all, your alarm didn’t go off for some stupid reason and caused you to 1. getting late to school and 2. getting your teacher to lower your grade just because he’s a goddamn asshole that hates you.

Second of all, you’d forgotten your lunch and your wallet, so you were now starving unable to buy anything to eat (thank god one of your friends had shared with you her sandwich or else you would be dead by now). And third of all…

��And what do we have here?”

Her.

You rolled your eyes, feeling your skin heating up and your insides turning with disgust and anger as you turned around to face the most annoying fucking person you’ve ever met.

“Give it back, Anderson.”

Abigail Anderson, the name that would appear on your worst nightmares, the monster under your bed, the last person you’d ever want to live through the end of the world with... Your enmity had been going strong since kindergarten, when she had picked on you for your looks since day one just because. Then, she started to tell her friends and those around you to not go near you or else they’d catch lice.

She needed to be on top of you all the time; if there was a race on P.E, she’d make you trip with her foot to get you on your knees and win (leaving you all bloody and injured), if there were presentations to be made in front of the whole class she’d crack up jokes to make everyone laugh at you, giving you quite the public anxiety and if you somewhat got to win her in anything (probably at grades) she’d go nuts and get so pissed that she’d make your life impossible for the next few months by trashing your locker, ‘accidentally’ throwing her drinks all over you, telling the teachers that she saw you cheating…

It only got worse when you found your best friend: Ellie Williams. You became inseparable in high school. And she made your life impossible.

You stapled a poster at the university’s ‘news wall’. It was Ellie’s, she was about to go on a tour and had asked you if it would be okay to hang some posters to let everyone know. Through the years, The Fireflies had gained fame and a lot of followers.

“The freak is going on a tour?” she scoffed, raising her eyebrows. “Disgusting. She really thinks she’s gonna become a superstar or some shit…”

You fisted your hands, your heart being squished under the nickname that your friend had had to grow up with just because she liked things the others didn’t.

“Don’t call her that.” you said, your eyes straight into hers.

“ ‘Freak’?” she teased you, swaying away the poster when you tried and take it back. “What do you want me to call her then, hm? Delusional, maybe.” she thought out loud, when she noticed your furious expression, she simply shrugged. “Just stating facts.” the people around you had gathered to listen to your bickering. It was a daily coincidence now, Anderson being always the one looking for trouble. Some of them laughed at her words… Jerks. Just like her.

“You know what, Anderson? Sure, call her whatever you want.” you said, ripping from his hands the poster. “But I assure you, that you’ll never be not an inch of a girl that she is. All that height and still no brains. ” that made the crowd burst out in laughter. You were filled with proudness when you noticed her jaw tightening and her body going stiff. You were no outcast now, you were popular to be honest, and everybody knew the two of you since Anderson was the basketball team captain and you the cheerleader team captain. It was hell on the games, each of you always fighting each other off. But your teammates had grown so accustomed to it that they just laughed at your little fights. “So go ahead and run your mouth, ‘cause I’m sure yours will never get to places hers have never been.” you leaned in. “And hold your tongue, ‘cause Ellie knows how to use hers really well.” you whispered inches away from her face, giving her a wink before stapling the poster to the board and leaving her behind with tightened fists and heated cheeks.

It was a big day for you and your team, and you didn’t have time for play dates.

—

“y/n!” your eyes shone when to your ears the familiar sound of your best friend’s voice ringed.

You turned around, with your pompoms in hand and high ponytail, your college’s cheerleader uniform shining due to the lights that lightened the whole basketball court.

“Els!” you smiled, so bright that almost blinded, running and jumping on your friend’s arms, who easily caught you and squeezed you in a tight hug. “You made it!” you laughed as she twirled you around.

“Of course I made it, it’s your big night after all. Although I still don’t get this basketball and cheering thing…” she left a sweet peck on your cheek. “But look at you all dolled up! Is it for me?” she winked, leaning just the slightest in, enough for her to whisper on your ear.

You laughed, playfully pushing at her chest. “Of course Ellie, you know I’m all yours.” you winked back, making her let out a quick laughter.

“I really need to put a ring on you, Ms. Williams.” she pointed at you as the music that let the public know that the match was about to start started to play through the speakers and she backed off to the stairs to sit and leave you to your cheerleading.

“I’ll be waiting on it, Ms. Williams!” she sent you a flying kiss that only made you giggle and roll your eyes. You loved Ellie, she always found a way to make you laugh and that’s something that you truly appreciated. She was the only one that truly got you.

You turned around to call for your teammates, your smile fading as fast as your eyes bumped against those blue ones that you do well knew at this rate.

Anderson looked at you with such a pissed expression… Water bottle tightly clutched in one of her hands, about to burst. She let it fall to the ground along with the towel that stood on her shoulders when her coach called out for her with his whistle, giving Ellie, who was on the first step on your back a death glare as she ran to the center of the court to shake hands with the other team captain.

What the…

“Girls come on!!” you called for the cheerleaders on your team as you still looked at the stiff body of your incarnated hell. What the fuck is wrong with her?

“Assume positions!”

Not my problem.

You shrugged it off and started to cheer for your team along with the public that had come to watch the match, most of them students from both colleges. And through all of it, you tried and ignore the harsh eyes that bore holes on the back of your neck, even if your skin felt like being on fire.

…

It was late at night in your dorm room, your roommate having left to stay at her girlfriend’s house since it was Friday. You were snacking on some candy and chips as you watched your favorite show, Teen Wolf, along with Ellie, who had sneaked to your bedroom, laying in your bed fully covered and with your pjs on. After the game, which you sadly had lost, you had watched as a very infuriated Abby walked out of the court and the gym, not without giving you and Ellie, who was hugging you and congratulating you for your efforts regardless of the result of the match, a pretty harsh glare that clearly said ‘fuck you two.’

Jeez, you didn’t know what has gotten her so riled up that afternoon but you surely hoped for her to go and drown her sorrows somewhere as quietly as possible and leave you alone.

“Hell yeah!” you cheered to the power couple as they shared their first kiss, almost jumping and throwing all your chips around and on your best friend when Isaac and Allison finally shared their first kiss.

“Ugh. Really Allison?! I was expecting better from you.” the auburn haired guitarist gasped, acting hurt at the ‘betrayal’. She was team Scott. Which was obviously stupid since he now liked Kira.

“What are you talking about?! Scott has moved on, doesn’t she have the right to do so too?” Ellie gave you a side glance as in a ‘no’, but she quickly laughed when you hit her shoulder with a ‘hey!’.

Your attention was completely on the screen when your phone started buzzing on your side table. You took a new bite at your candy as you reached for it, still not focusing on it as you took. the call. It was probably your roommate calling to check in.

“Hello?” you talked into the line, waiting for a few seconds for an answer that never came. You checked the screen, ‘Unknown number’ showing on its center. You furrowed your eyebrows “Hello? Who’s this?” Ellie paused the series and rose to sit up on your bed along with you, mouthing a ‘who’s it?’. You simply shrugged and mouthed back a ‘no idea’. The sudden appearance of a sharp and heavy breathing caught you off ward for a couple of seconds before you rolled your eyes.

“Are you serious?” you huffed, thinking it was a stupid phone call. “We're in college, how about we stop playing Scream and start being more matures?” you said, and just as you were about to hang up, a rather familiar voice croaked out:

“y/n."

You froze, your breath hitching as your brain tried to convince itself that you had heard right “Anderson?” you were in shock for a couple of seconds, Ellie furrowed his eyebrows and looked at you in utter disbelief. When the casual anger grew inside you with just the mention of her name appeared you snapped at her. “Do you know what hour it is… No. Why the fuck are you calling me in first place?” you rolled your eyes. For just a couple of hours that you were enjoying yourself with your best friend, of course she had to come and ruin it. She always does and always will.

She was silent for an instant before her voice breaks out in a whimper that makes your stomach flip.

“Please.”

“W…What?” your eyebrows were knitted together so hard it was painful. Ellie just hits you in the arm, silently asking you to tell her what’s going on. You just swatted her hand away and lift a finger to quiet her.

“Please.” she repeated.

“Are you drunk or something? You should-“ you started, but she was quick to cut you off.

“y/n…” that was something different. The way your name fell from her lips in such need, hunger… “Come over. Please come over. I need you so bad…”

“I-“

“y/n, what is it?” Ellie spoke up, and you could hear the tension from the other part of the line rise.

“Fuck. Is Williams there with you?” Abby affirmed more than asked.

“y/n!” Ellie asked again.

“y/n.” but the voice of Anderson on the other line had you too out of focus. The way you could hear the begging on her tone, the need…

You didn’t know what had gotten over you, but you found yourself quick on your feet to grab your dorm keys.

“Wait for me.”

Ellie stood up as well and watch you hang up and made your way out of your room after putting on a pair of shoes.

“Where are you going?” Ellie inquired, completely and utterly lost. “You’re leaving?”

“I’ll be right back, I promise. I think there’s something wrong with Anderson. You can continue with the serie and use my bed, alright?” you quickly muttered, and when you caught her stepping closer and raising her hand to say something and find out whatever the hell was going on, you closed the door on her face.

You made your way over to her room’s wing, having been there before to parties and so. And before you knew it, you had knocked on her door. You didn’t have to wait a long time before she appeared on its threshold, her normally perfectly combed and braided hair being a mess, shirtless and with only a pair of sweats and a sports bra on. She looked like a mess, with red cheeks, swollen bitten lips, glassed eyes and shaky breathing.

“Anderson, what the hell are you…” a scream almost got ripped out of you at the harsh yank that took place on your arm. Before you knew it you had been pulled inside and smashed against the now closed door of her room, her body towering over yours and her breath caressing your face.

Fuck. You’ve never been this close before.

“You’re driving me insane.” she said, one of her hands cupping your cheek, dark shiny eyes connecting with yours before they’d drift back to your lips. “I’ve been thinking about what you told me all day. Knowing that Williams got to touch you, taste you… Is killing me. And her being in your room? Having you in her arms? Thinking about her just touching you is… Fuck.” you chocked. You didn’t understand. Wasn’t she supposed to hate you? Despise you? Then why…? “I can’t stop imagining her kissing you, holding you…” her thumb pressed over your bottom lip, tugging on it, admiring. “You were supposed to pay attention to me. You were supposed to think about me.” your heart was thumping against your ribs, and you felt like dying when she harshly kissed you. It was fast, and angry. Her tongue was quick to push inside your mouth, your teeth clashing and your body being pulled against her. You whimpered, your hands finding her hair as you pulled her closer. You’d never felt this way. How your whole body seemed to combust, the shaking of your limbs, the thumping of your heart…

But what was going on? ‘Pay attention to her’? ‘Think of her’? What was that supposed to mean? Had Anderson always treat you badly to get your attention? To get under your skin one way or another?

You were burning, so badly that she felt like snow.

“Fuck.” she muttered as she pulled away. “Been dreaming of doing that since the first time you yelled at me.” you whimpered when her warm hands took a harsh hold of your waist, pulling you against her close and tight enough for you to feel her body heat, her hard nipples through her bra.

Her mouth was back on yours, and your whole world was spinning. Her hair on your hands, her gasps against your lips, her pine scent…

“Yeah, that’s right.” she muttered, a little smirk showing in her factions when she noticed your dazed and unfocused eyes. “Focus on me. Just me.” she whispered on your ear before her lips latched to your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough to mark you up. You moaned, her hands sneaking inside your pj’s shirt and slowly making its way upwards, towards your chest.

“Fuck, Anderson.” you gasped when her warm hands took your tits, massaging them and rolling your nipples in between her fingers as she pressed a leg in between your legs, making your aching pussy brush against the lean muscle of her thigh.

“Abby.” she corrected. “It’s Abby for you, baby.”

“Abby.” you moaned when she pushed upwards with her leg, helping you ride it.

“That’s right. But you need to say it a little bit louder, hm? Need to let everybody know that it’s me who you are moaning for.” you whimpered at her words, her large hands leaving your chest to take your hips and pick you up to make her way to her king size bed. She lifted you so easily it was dizzying, the muscles of her arms popping

You felt almost crushed against the duvet when she pinned you down to it underneath her weight. Almost, ‘cause right at that exact moment, you just wished she could be closer, she could be harsher, smush you against the bed and fuck you senseless ‘till you are nothing more than a babbling mess.

“That’s right.” she smirked when you pulled her closer, choked when her hands were once again pulling your top up slowly. “Fuck. You drive me insane.” she muttered when your chest was fully uncovered. “Fucking beautiful.” you moaned when her mouth left wet kisses on your chest. Her tongue circled your nipples as one of her hands made its way to the seam of your pajama pants and panties, which stood completely soaked in arousal.

“Abby.” you cried out when her fingers caressed you from over the lace of your underwear, chuckling at the wetness of them.

“You are so wet for me already, such a good girl…” you almost whimpered, your cheeks blushing at the praise, something that didn’t go unnoticed. “You liked that, hm? Like to be my good little girl?” you nodded, your legs shaking when she finally pushed down your underwear and pjs to touch you. You gasped when her rough and thick fingers pressed against your core, sliding through your folds, pooled in your arousal. “So fucking wet.” she cursed as she circled your clit, making you moan. Her touch was electrifying. “Is all of this for me?” you once again nodded. “I need to hear your pretty voice. Speak up for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes… It’s all for you.” you managed to sputter out.

“Mmh…” she hummed happily with the answer, smirking when you let out a loud moan as she pushed her middle finger inside of you, instantly hitting that spongy spot that could make you come over and over again. “Then I guess that if it’s all for me… I could have a taste. Isn’t that right?” your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you suddenly felt her tongue around your clit at the same time as she thrusted her finger in and out of you, slowly enough to have you gripping at her hair and bucking your hips in search of more.

She complied, starting to eat you out like a woman starved. And she kind of was, having been craving you for years and years… She craved you, needed you so badly that her composure had plummeted once you’ve told her that Ellie had touched you, kissed you, tasted you first…

She wanted you. Wanted you to be solely and completely hers.

“Ah, Abby, shit…” you were so sensitive. More than usually. Was it because Abby was too good at eating you out or because it was Abby who was eating you out?

“Louder, baby. I need you to be louder for me.” she said before going back to you, her tongue lapping up at your juices and adding another finger. Their thickness made you cry out her name loud enough for the whole floor to hear. You just hoped that there was no teacher doing the check-ins that night or you’d be screwed.

“Abby, I’m… I’m gonna…” your grip tightened on her hair.

“You’re gonna come? Gonna come on my face, hm?” she curved her fingers upwards, relentlessly hitting your g spot over and over again, pulling you closer to your orgasm. “Go ahead, come for me. Let me have it.”

She didn’t need to say it twice. With her tongue back circling your clit, you moaned as you came, harsh, on her tongue, her helping you to extend you climax by thrusting in and out her fingers whilst lapping at your release, drinking everything you had to offer in between moans and hums.

When she let go of you, licking her two fingers clean, you were a flustered mess; with your hair sticking everywhere, red cheeks, swollen lips and glossy eyes. And she wasn’t that different from you, with her chin and red puffy lips shiny with your juices, her cheeks were flushed and her hair a beautiful blonde mess that you had created in between tugs and caresses. She looked beautiful, so beautiful that you couldn’t help dragging her towards you to taste yourself off of her lips, one of your hands finding her aching pussy, soaking her panties. She groaned in your mouth, pulling from your hair to part ways.

“Abby…” you cried out, your eyes half-lidded with need, your pussy aching for her.

“What is it, hm?” oh but she already knew… “Haven’t you had enough already? I gave you my fingers and my mouth, is that not enough for you? What a needy slut…” you moaned at her harsh tone and degradation, the contrast with the recent praise making your skin burn and your body cry for her. You needed her so badly… So much that you swore you could die. “Want me to fuck you, hm? Want me to make you cum all over my cock? Have you all brainless as I use you?”

“Yes please Abby, please, I want it.”

“So pretty begging for me, do you want it that bad?” you nodded, squirming under her touch and whimpering when she gave your thigh a harsh slap. “Can’t hear you, beautiful.”

“Yes.” you cried out, loving how harsh she was treating you, loving the idea that she would use you just for her pleasure.

“Then say it. Beg me to fuck you.” another spank.

“Please Abby, I want you to make me cum all over your cock, please, please, please… I need it. I need you.” tears swelled in your eyes as you stuttered.

“Good girl. Wasn’t that hard, was it?” she said with a smirk, quickly shoving his sweats and underwear down her thighs to discard them aside and reach out for her drawers, pulling out her strap. You almost choked at the size. You couldn’t take that.

It was huge. So thick and large that you knew that she’d tear you apart, stretch you out so good that would leave you sobbing and drooling against her pillow as she fucked into you over and over again.

“What? Bigger than William’s?” she teased you as she towered over you, strapping it to her waist. You would have answered if you weren’t too focused on the pink of its head and on the veins of its sides. On her pussy too. “You’re staring, pretty girl.” you blushed, looking away and into her eyes.

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Abby.” you snapped, and she groaned, once again pinning you underneath her and kissing you feverishly. You parted your legs for her to position herself in between them.

“There it is. That fucking mouth of yours. How about I fuck the attitude out of you, hm?” you gasped on her mouth when you felt the head of the strap play with your cunt, slowly dragging up and down in between your slicked folds to lube it up, teasing you at your entrance, pushing just the slightest against it. You were so fucking wet… More than you had ever been before.

“Fuck Abby, please…” you whimpered, your hips thrusting against the tip of her cock. You needed it inside.

Your nails found her back as she finally, after hearing your pleads and begging, aligned herself and started to push the tip of her cock inside, leaving you breathless at the stretch.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” she hushed you as you whimpered with every inch. “You are gonna do good for me, isn't that right baby? You are gonna take it, gonna take my cock and cum on it over and over again, right?” you nodded, sinking your nails deeper in her skin, deep enough to make her bleed. But Abby didn’t care, ‘cause she was finally making you hers, and you were so goddamn tight she was losing her mind. She couldn’t even pull backwards at the clenching of your walls.

You were crying of pleasure and due to the overwhelming sensation of her huge cock when she finally had settled herself fully inside, the tip reaching places you’d never dreamed of, the girth stretching your walls so good it was almost painful. Almost.

"Fuck. Look at you. Already crying and I haven't begun to fuck you yet.” you moaned when she started to slowly fuck into you, so deep that you were going crazy. You needed more, so much more. “Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

“More. Please Abby, more.” you called out for her, your whimpers filling the room more and more as she started to move faster and faster.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fucking take it.” she groaned, lost on how good you felt. She never wanted to leave. Never wanted to stop feeling you this close. “Such a good girl.”

You moaned, your eyes turning white at the pleasure. This was like nothing you had experienced before.

“Tell me, did Williams fucked you this good, huh?” she asked, taking your cheeks with her right hand as she rolled your clit with her left to make you look at her. “Did she make you drool? Made you cry?”

You shook your head, but she wasn’t happy with that.

“Say it. Say that no one’s has fucked you like me. Say it, baby. Use that pretty mouth of yours.”

“No one has ever… ever fucked me like you.” you somehow achieved to say in between moans and gasps.

“That’s right. Look at you, your pussy is taking me so good… Sucking me in as if you don’t want me to leave.”

Suddenly you were in all fours, your chest against the mattress as she pounded inside of you harder and harder, so hard that you could feel her in your cervix, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” you cried out, drooling on her pillow, tears spilling due to how good she was making you feel.

Her hands found your hips, pulling you against her hips with every hard thrust, leaving you breathless.

You were a babbling and moaning mess, incapable to form any words, even her name.

“Look at you, so cock drunk you can’t even speak.” she said, and moaned when the strap rubbed perfectly her puffy clit. “Such a slut.” you whimpered when she gave you a harsh slap on your ass, her eyes focusing on how her dick disappeared in and out of your pussy, which now seemed to be molding around her and just her.

“Abby…” you dragged the ‘y’ as she sped up, fucking you brainless, calling her name over and over again.

She could feel the way you started to clench around the silicone. The wet noises of your juices and her thrusts filled the room with your high pitched moans. You were close. So fucking close…

“Abby, I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna…” your voice was so fucked up due to your screams that you swore you’d have a sore throat tomorrow morning, but you didn’t care.

“That’s alright sweetheart. Why don’t you come all over my dick, hm? Let me see you fall apart.” and you did. You came so hard you saw stars, your ears ringing as you squirted all over her bed sheets. “Fuck, good girl. Good. fucking. girl.” she groaned at the sight of your cunt gushing around her whole cock.

You were an incoherent mess as you came over and over again, drooling on her pillow and throwing her over the edge with a ‘fuck’.

And maybe and just maybe, you stopped hating Abby that much from now on.

‘Cause we all know what they say… From hatred to love there is only one step.

-

a/n; i hoped y’all liked this college abby!! love you!!!!🩵

REPOSTS AND COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!<33333

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 3

Pairing: Millionaire!Joel Miller x Female!Reader

Rating: E, 18+, Minors dni

Series Summary: After recently graduating from university, your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. It’s only temporary and a good way to save money for when you go back to get your law degree. That’s what you’re promised at least. Easy. Simple. Mundane. That is, until one of your clients is home and everything that you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You decide it's time to put yourself on Joel's radar.

CW: Age gap (Joel 45, Reader 22), dual POV. Specific warnings in small red below the cut, do not read to avoid spoilers.

WC: 10k. Sorry, grab a snack!

AN: I'm continuously surprised by the love, excitement and joy that this story brings anyone but me. That probably doesn't even make sense, I'm just lost for words, tbh. Forehead kisses to @mermaidgirl30, @littlevenicebitch69, @joelmillerisapunk, and @milla-frenchy for screaming with me or pre reading this for me. @lotusbxtch gets a forehead kiss and a tip of the nose kiss for deep dive beta reading this, she's solely responsible for every semi colon.

Series Masterlist || My Masterist

I no longer have a tag list, please follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates to be alerted for future chapters.

Content Warnings: Flirty, alcohol consumption, mentions of sexual acts, kissing, mutual pining, reader being pinned against a wall, sexual tension, touching. Reader does have some description so may be considered more of an OFC.

The week after Joel removed you from his club goes by in a well-scheduled blur. You work your usual three days, cleaning mansions of people who don’t tip as well as Mister Miller. You pour yourself over LSAT study guides, practicing insane logic questions. You enjoy a coffee date with Jamie who asks you what happened the night at the poker game. You tell her a practiced lie that feels like acid on your tongue as it leaves your lips. You hate lying to your friends, especially her. You can feel that lie sitting heavily on the top of your stomach the entire time you’re with her, but you simply cannot afford to get fired with three years of law school on the horizon. You spend an evening with your roommate, Odette, watching Netflix and eating dumplings from her favourite spot, the only spot in Austin that has those little white paper boxes with the red writing. 

If you decide not to lie to yourself, on top of everyone else, you also spend at least an hour a day watching videos of women tied up and dominated, thinking of Joel goddamn Miller the entire time. Since learning his full name, and the name of his club, the Google searches you swore you’d stop doing have been much more productive. You’ve found multiple blogs and Reddit posts, not just about kink, but also about Joel. It turns out that he’s well-known in the kink and BDSM communities around the world, but is essentially changing the face of kink in Austin. 

One night, you get lost in a Reddit wormhole of women in Texas, and one in Paris, who have been a submissive for a man that sounds a lot like Joel. They don’t actually mention him by name but there’s advice on what he likes and doesn’t like, and how he never actually has sex with any of his submissives. It also sounds like some of these women pay him to be their dom, and, based on the conversations in the comments of one thread, it seems like he has a few submissives at the moment, and majority of their interactions happen at the club. 

 The club. Fuck, Jamie wasn’t kidding when she said JMK was exclusive. Anyone can join, assuming you can pay the yearly membership fees that, according to Reddit, are around $80,000 per year. From the minimal, cryptic information you find, Joel Miller is the main owner and he has two business partners. One you assume is his brother that you served the other night, but the third you are unable to find any information about. 

Since everything you find online is up to interpretation, it’s hard to say what is and isn’t true. According to one disgruntled poster, once you become a member at JMKink, there are a lot of rules to follow. Everyone has to get tested monthly; it’s highly recommended that women are on birth control; and even if you’re married to the guest you bring, men must wear condoms. You can’t just bring anyone in with you: every member and their guest has an app, and the only way to get that app is from a QR code and an assigned activation code. According to another poster, the app is full of waivers and consent forms. You can’t stop the shy smile that crosses your face when you remember how concerned Joel was with your consent the first time you met. 

The Monday before your usual every-other-Tuesday shift at Joel’s, you find a blog post about becoming a submissive, and it’s like it was written just for you. The writer explains how she had a hard time shutting off her brain and how, by the end of the day, she was so exhausted from making decisions that all she wanted was someone to tell her what to do for once. This led to her and her husband exploring a sub/dom partnership. Now, she feels lighter and freer; they’ve both discovered new ways to get pleasure outside of the idea of sex that society feeds us. Being a submissive isn’t always about orgasms or pleasure; it’s helped her build confidence, and she’s found that as they progress, that little voice that tells her she isn't good enough has stopped being so loud. 

After reading through the post a few times, you shut your rose gold laptop and stare at the wall behind your desk. You feel seen, heard even though you didn’t speak. At first, you found yourself feeling ashamed of getting off to these videos, like there was something wrong with you for being turned on by it, but it’s really that ability to let go of control that you crave, the feeling of someone else making the decisions for once. You want that, but more so, you think you need that, and badly.

As a firm believer of ‘everything happens for a reason,’ it all comes together for you. You aren’t even nervous as the thought consumes you. If Joel shows up at his house, tomorrow I’m going to ask him to teach me. 

On Tuesday, you do as you always do, following Joel’s instructions to a tee while listening to a podcast. However, today you only wear one AirPod in hopes of hearing that familiar and comforting engine rev that signals him either coming or going. Every creak or pop of the house causes your heart to flutter, but it’s never him. Much to your chagrin, Joel doesn’t come home. 

Inside the envelope is that expensive matte black paper again, ‘Thanks -JM’ neatly written along it. 

Great, you think to yourself sarcastically, we are on initial terms again. 

Twelve hundred dollars is tucked into the envelope this time, you roll your eyes after thumbing the crisp green bills. The first tip you ever got from him felt sincere, but after walking in on him, and everything since then, it’s feeling more and more like apology money. You shouldn’t complain; people would kill to make this kind of money, but everything would be so much easier if he’d just fucking talk to you.

Your fingers run along the thick, rich paper that he uses as company letterhead. You can’t explain it, but the paper feels like Joel. It’s rough and thick, yet has a vulnerability to it, like you could easily destroy it with just a pinch of your fingers and a flick of your wrist. Your mind flashes back to his club the other night. He was literally begging you to leave, you can still hear it, the pleading in his voice as he said, “I’m sorry. I just can’t have you here, this is on me”. Your fingers trail across the golden ink of his neat handwriting and then open the paper the rest of the way. At the very bottom of the page, in shiny black print similar to the JMK logo at the top, is a phone number. Your heart slams against your ribcage as your eyes scan across the numbers.

  When you get home, you unfold the note on your kitchen counter and pace the three or four steps it takes to walk the length of your small kitchen, never taking your eyes off the paper, looking at it like it’s a live bomb or like it’s going to disappear if you let it out of your sight. This is it: you could call the office, make an appointment or something. You’d probably have to lie, but you just need to see him; you need to make a case for yourself. Your stomach lurches, throat tightening at the thought of being in the club with him again. You open the freezer and grab the bottle of tequila, taking a big swig right from the bottle. It’s a cold burn and you clench your eyes as you swallow it down. Your body shivers involuntarily.  

You dial before you can talk yourself out of it and before you know it you have an appointment under a fake name to speak to Joel tomorrow afternoon before your study group meets. You take two more large gulps of tequila after hanging up the phone. 

Fuck, this is really happening. You take another large sip of the frozen tequila for good measure, your nose scrunching up at the taste. 

Joel’s office isn’t attached to the club, it’s in a smaller building across the street and that has seemed to tamp some of the nerves that are vibrating your very core. Still, you can stop from nervously smoothing the wrinkles that have formed on the short, flowing skirt of your white sundress as you sit on the red velvet couch across from Joel’s receptionist. She is a small woman with a chin length bob, she’s probably in her late fifties and you wonder if her kids or grandkids know that she works for the owner of a kink club, or maybe she’s part of the community too. You’ve done copious amounts of research; kink isn’t just for young people, and you suppose Joel isn’t exactly young either. For all you know, she very well could be a dominatrix in her spare time. 

She says your fake name in a soothing tone as she stands and walks towards the tall black door, pulling it open effortlessly. “Go on in, sweetheart. Joel’s ready for you.”

You smile at her sweetly, tucking your hair behind your ear nervously as you walk over the threshold to try to convince the millionaire whose home you clean to dominate you. The air in his large, bright office feels heavy and thick. Blood rushes through your ears as he looks up at you from his seat. He slips off his 1950’s style black horn rimmed glasses and places them on his desk. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he assesses you. Your heart lurches, knees trembling as you take a few nervous steps towards his desk. As his eyes meet yours you feel it again, that exposed and naked feeling that only his gaze seems to be able to cast. Maybe you shouldn’t have worn such a short dress, but it’s an unseasonably warm March day and even before leaving your apartment you were sweating in a mix of nervousness and excitement. 

You see his lips move, but you can’t hear him over the pounding of your heart. You stop just past the door, then hear it click shut behind you. Joel’s silky lips move again and this time you hear your name followed by a calm, “What’re you doin’ here?”

The words come out before you even think about them, you practically yell them at him, “I want you to teach me.”

His hand waves to the chairs across his desk. When you don’t move he harshly says, “Sit.”

You rush across his expansive office, the plush carpet feels luxurious under your shoes. When you reach the black leather chair you sit on the very edge of the seat, your knee nervously bouncing up and down in time with your heart.

“You want me to do what?” He asks hesitantly, leaning forward in his chair. He looks absolutely beautiful in the late afternoon sun - orange hues reflecting off his tanned skin, the few greys along his temples glistening like the moon on the ocean. He’s in a black dress shirt again, his sleeves rolled to his elbows. You noticed today that he’s wearing a black watch and a gold ring on his right ring finger. Between his accessories and the veins that line his toned forearms your mouth goes dry.

“I - umm, I want you to teach me.”

The last word has barely passed your lips when he scoffs out, “No.”

Your face falls, “Joel, please. I’ve been doing research and I’ve decided that, well, that I want to be…that.”

He places his large palms on the desk, the square black diamond in his ring glittering in the sun, and pushes himself up. You crane your neck to look at him as he slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes already locked on yours. His intense eye contact wraps you up in a weighted blanket of safety and comfort, which is a dangerous and vulnerable place, a place that has the ability to rip you in half, much like you could do with that company letterhead he left you. He walks slowly to the other side of his desk. Once in front of you, he leans back onto it, keeping his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored black dress pants. 

“You can’t even say it.” He challenges. 

You furrow your brows, ready to confront him like you always seem to do. In the few interactions you’ve had with Joel, more often than not, it’s been him trying to tell you what to do, you fighting him over it, and then him ultimately winning. It’s infuriating, but not this time. No, this time you’re going to win. You have valid reasons to want this, and they’re all backed up by your research. You are leaving this office as his submissive. 

“I can too!” 

He shrugs his broad shoulders nonchalantly, “Say it then. You wanna learn how to do what, sweetheart?” 

You sit up tall on the edge of the chair, crossing your arms under your breasts, praying your cheeks don’t flush as you finally admit it out loud. “I want to learn how to be a submissive.”

“No.” One of his meaty hands comes out of his pocket, waving you off as he says it again.

“Please!” You plead, “I want to learn how to be a sub.” 

Joel actually squirms at the sound of you being so needy. He lets out a harsh ‘fuck’ under his breath and then whispers your name, “I can’t do this with you.”

Got him, you think to yourself, failing to fight the smirk as you lower your voice and sweetly beg, “Please, Mister Miller?” 

Joel ‘Your-Consent-is-Most-Important’ Miller is not a small man: his broad shoulders take up almost an entire door frame and he’s easily nearing six foot four, but at the sound of you calling him the one name he’s asked you not to, he moves faster than your brain can comprehend. You gasp as he lunges towards you, his hands landing on the arms of the chair, his wide shoulders pushing you back as he cages you in. Your exposed back hits the back of the chair, your short skirt riding up your thighs slightly. He is practically on top of you and for a second you can imagine that this is what having sex with him would look like. His knuckles blanch from gripping the arms of the chair so tightly, his eyes are practically black, and that familiar flush he gets when you challenge him paints his neck and cheeks.

His voice is deeper, thick with arousal, rattling your bones as he speaks slowly, “I said not to call me that. You can’t even…You can’t.” He shuts his eyes and takes a slow breath in through his nose. His tone softens as he opens his eyes, “No, I ain’t doin’ this with you, sweet girl.” 

You practically writhe in your chair. Sweet girl. He’s terrifying and commanding and so fucking beautiful like this. He obviously has a soft spot for when you beg, so you soften your eyes and stick out your velvety smooth bottom lip enticingly before whispering, “Please, Joel.” 

He lets out a groan as he pushes himself off the chair and walks towards the large wall of windows behind his desk, his hands resting on his tapered waist. He avoids your gaze as you sit up, squeezing your thighs together tightly to calm the need at your core. “Lemme set ya up with someone else. My brother Tommy. You were gettin’ him a drink at that poker game.”

“I remember,” you mumble, looking down at your hands like you always do when your lack of confidence gets the best of you. You can’t let that self-doubt creep in now, not when you’re this close. You look back towards his broad back. “But I really don’t want anyone else.”

“Why?” He spins towards you, the lighting behind him gives him an almost ethereal glow. There’s absolutely no denying it, Joel Miller is the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen.

You tuck your hands under your legs, simply stating, “I trust you.”

“You don’t even know me. I could be a horrible guy.”

You let out a sad laugh, shaking your head at him. He’s right, you don’t know him, but you have a feeling about him and you consider yourself pretty good at reading people. “You’ve never given me reason to think I couldn’t trust you. Even that first day. You were so calm and apologetic.”

Joel presses his lips in a thin line, eyes raking over you. You subconsciously slip your bottom lip between your teeth, and a muscle in his jaw flexes. “How old are you?”

“Twenty two,” you immediately regret lying; the avenue of trust is of utmost importance between a submissive and their dominant, so you quickly add, “Almost, I turn twenty two on Friday.”

 “I can’t do this.” He croaks and you can’t help but feel a little bad. You’ve put him in an uncomfortable position and his voice sounds defeated. 

“Please. I always felt I needed more but,” you stand up and take a few slow steps in his direction. “But…I didn’t know what more was and I - I think it’s this.” You audibly swallow pleading, “Please. I need you to help me. I want you to help me. Teach me.” 

He holds his hands up and steps back as you inch closer. A silent call that signals you to stop or that he doesn’t trust himself, not here, not with you. “Jus’ let me set ya up with Tommy. You’re his type.” 

Your heart sinks and an acidic taste lines your tongue. Of course. You aren’t that tall, slender icy blonde girl he had strapped to his desk. No, you have curves, and stretch marks along your hips, your boobs are a B cup on a good day. He can get whatever woman he wants, why would it be you? You look down at your hands, pushing back the nonexistent cuticle on your right thumb. This nervous habit of yours used to drive your mom crazy, ‘you’re going to have no skin left soon’ she’d lecture, but you can’t help it. The immediate result of the nail bed looking clean and perfect is like a dopamine hit. It leaves you with a feeling of accomplishment. The problem is, the initial confidence you had about this decision on Monday night has dwindled and you’ve been so anxious about this meeting that every single finger has a nicely pushed back cuticle. 

It’s silent in the room for a while, you shut your eyes as you sheepishly ask,  “Am I not attractive enough for you?”

“No!” He says insistently and without hesitation. His hand runs through his beard, a faint scratching sound fills the room drawing your eyes open and away from the skin of your thumb. As they land back on him you wonder what his patchy facial hair would feel like between your legs or along the soft skin of your stomach as he kissed you. His voice softens, “That’s not it. I just - I’m sorry. I jus’ can’t do this, sweetheart.”

You feel your chance to become the woman you want to be slipping through your fingers. Your plan is failing and for once in your life you don’t have a Plan B, this is the only plan that makes sense to you. Sadness creeps into your throat, “Why?” 

“‘S not a good idea, sweet girl,” he answers, his soft brown sugar flecked eyes reaching out to yours. 

His face and voice seem to be at war with his words. He’s saying no, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and a caring undertone to his voice. You’re not sure how you know it, but him calling you sweet girl means something to him. “Because I’m not your type?”

He shakes his head, that same curl falling into his eyes as it did in his foyer the other day. “That’s the problem, you’re exactly my type.”

Hearing that you’re this beautiful man's type should feel like you’ve won the lottery, but the way his shoulders slump as he says it only builds that lump in your throat. As you swallow the sadness down, his eyes travel to your neck, watching as the muscles flex and relax with the motion. “I - then why?”

He lets out a long breath and as he walks to the door he says, “I ain’t havin’ this conversation. I said no. And someone who is cut out to be a submissive would just take that answer for what it is.” 

“You’ve made it clear that I’m not a submissive,” you counter and walk towards the door. He cracks the door open and you step in close to him, unconsciously taking in his leather and ash scent before adding, “Have a nice night, Mister Miller.” 

Joel

The door feels like a feather behind his hand as he slams it shut - your body, warm and already vibrating, trapped between him and the solid piece of wood that separates the two of you from his receptionist. He made himself a promise in his rear view mirror the other week; he had to cut this off, create distance. He needed you to be just his house cleaner. Because everytime he looks into your eyes he feels the same way he felt at seventeen when he met Tiffany in that garage. Everything about you oozes sweetness and innocence, his sweetheart, his sweet girl. He didn’t think he was capable of feeling that way again. And he definitely should not feel this way for someone who is younger than his own daughter.

His large frame looms behind you, forcing your chest and forehead to rest against the door. He uses his foot to spread your legs wide. A breathy gasp passes your lips as your hands scramble for purchase against the wood grain of the door. He keeps pushing your legs apart, wide enough for your short white skirt to ride up your creamy thighs. Thighs he’s imagined wrapped tightly around his head as he makes you scream. 

Joel takes a small step forward, caging you completely, making it so you’re completely at his mercy. He can smell the sweet scent of your arousal growing between your thighs; he knows if he reaches a calloused finger to the gusset of your panties they’d be soaked through. His cock is hard as steel, pressing against the zipper of his pants and the small of your back. You’re practically panting and he fights to keep his breathing steady when really he wants to mirror the quick, uneven pace of your breath. This is much more serious and intimate than when he had you trapped in the chair. This is dangerous. This could lead to more.   

His strong fingers wrap around your dainty wrists. He loves the way you don’t fight him as he pulls them above your head, gathering both your wrists in one of his hands, pinning them to the door roughly. His free hand draws a slow line down your arm, then along the sensitive skin of your neck, and down your spine. Goosebumps break out over your skin and you instinctively arch your back into him, a desperate whine passes from your lips between laboured breaths, and that sound nearly buckles his knees.  

His lips come to the shell of your ear, his beard tickling you as he speaks in a slow and commanding tone. “Do you feel what you do to me when you call me that. I’ve asked you not to. Multiple times.”

Your mint and lavender scented shampoo fills his nose as he nudges at you to tilt open your throat to him. He revels in how easily you oblige, cocking your head to the side like the good little girl he knows you are. He continues, lips just a hair away from your pulse point; he’s sure if he pressed his lips to it he’d feel how hard your heart is racing. “But I don’t want you to stop. In fact, I fucking love that you haven’t stopped.” 

Your soft skin is warm against his rough fingers as they continue their trail down your body, running over the firm globe of one of your ass cheeks. He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and bites down hard, distracting himself from the urge to spank you for calling him Mister Miller yet again. Finally, his fingers find a home on one of your thighs. He brushes lightly against your soft inner thighs, small little touches jumping from one leg to the other. The little involuntary twitches of your body and the needy little gasps of air you suck through your teeth has his cock straining painfully against his zipper. He’s aching for you in a way he hasn’t felt for years. 

“You infuriate me with your insubordination and it makes me weak,” he mutters. “Makes me absolutely insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about what’s underneath those clothes, and after seeing your perfect breasts and your little pink nipples… fuuuuck, baby. All I can think about is how good they’d look with my handprints tattooed on them after I slap them while you orgasm. Can’t stop thinking about how wet your little pussy must get. How tight she would be around my fingers as I claim her as mine. How fucking delicious she must taste. How goddamn sexy your cries of pain and pleasure would sound.”

Your whole body shudders against his. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you and he knows he needs to stop before he crosses a line, but the way your body responds to him is precisely how he likes it: pliant and ready. His mind reels with all the naughty things he’d like to do to you. If he reaches just a little bit higher he could finally know how you sound when you come, how silky your cunt is, how you taste. He runs the tip of his hooked nose down your neck, the light citrus of your perfume replacing the scent of your shampoo. 

“That what you wanna hear?” Joel continues. “How fucking weak you make me? How desperate? I can’t do this because once I start…I ain’t gonna be able to let you go. Ain’t gonna be able to stop. Never gonna be able to have any other little play thing. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. If I start this, this is it for me.”

Joel releases your wrists with a growl and walks away, carding his fingers through his curls and looking out at the cityscape as the sun begins to dip behind the tall buildings. He doesn’t look back, he can’t look back or he’ll fucking crack. He’ll haul you over his shoulder and take you into his club. He’ll show you everything right now and he won’t stop. His eyes flutter closed as he takes controlled breaths to slow his heart rate, the unmistakable sound of his office door opening and closing behind him. 

You 

You yank the door open and walk as fast as your legs will take you, your mind swirling, every emotion trying to win for first place. You’re painfully turned on, you can feel how soaked your panties are. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. It’s like it’s been carved into your brain. Only you. You jam at the elevator close button as your lungs scream for fresh air, and as you step out into the warm spring night you suck in breath for what feels like the first time since you made this appointment last night. 

Your phone vibrates in the small purse you have across your body. He doesn’t have your number, you remind yourself as you reach for your phone. Jamie’s name across your slightly cracked screen. “Hey!” 

“Are you ok?” her voice is thick with concern.

Your chest feels tight, “Ya, why?”

“You sound like you're out of breath.” 

You laugh a little, “Oh. I was..” fuck, what was I doing. “I mean I am walking. Like on a walk.” 

Even a toddler wouldn’t be convinced by your lie, and Jamie isn’t either as she gasps loudly on the other end before whispering, “Were you having sex?”

“No! God no!” Your clit twitches at the thought of how close Joel was today. “I’m on the street, can’t you hear the cars.” 

“Ok. You do need some sex though,” she laughs. 

“Jamie,” you sigh, “I have to get to a study group. What’s up?” 

She giggles devilishly. “Wellll - It’s your birthday weekend. I want to throw you a party at this really amazing club on Friday.”

“Umm, ya. Sure. Nothing too crazy though, right?” 

“Promise you can keep your top on this time, prude.” She says teasingly and you laugh. “It’s called Mystique. The owner is an old family friend and she gave us a sweet VIP booth and bottle service, all completely free!”

You slide your key into the door of your SUV to unlock it, “Ok. Let’s do it.”

“Good, because I already invited the girls.” You sigh and your phone buzzes in your ear as Jamie’s computer dings on the other end. “Oh, weird. Your regular every other Tuesday clean just requested for you to go on Friday. Weren’t you just there yesterday?” 

Joel. You say dreamily in your mind. 

“That’s shitty,” Jamie continues, “That’s your birthday. The shift is only 4 hours, but I can offer it to someone else if you want.” 

“No!” It comes out too eager and you remind yourself to chill the fuck out as you put her on speaker phone and open the app. “I mean, no, that’s ok. I need the money and my calendar shows 11 to 3, lots of time to get ready!” 

“Text me when you’re done with your study group and we’ll hammer out the details for Friday night. We didn’t get to celebrate you turning twenty one with your insane schedule -”

“Hey!” You exclaim, pretending to be hurt.

“Ya ya, I know,” her voice an amused sarcasm as she continues, “The master plan to graduate early. Which you did. So can we please make this the best celebration yet?” Even without being able to see your best friend you know she’s dancing excitedly on the balls of her feet while giving big green doe eyes. 

Friday rolls around quickly, and you aren’t sure what you’re looking forward to more; a much needed night out with your girlfriends or the possibility of Joel being home today. You’ve tried not to think about how his body felt against yours, but every few hours you found yourself with your hand between your legs, rubbing tight little circles on your clit until you came to thoughts of him, whispering Mister Miller like a church prayer.  

Pulling up to his house today feels strange. He requested an extra clean this week just minutes after you asked him to teach you how to sub and after finding out that your birthday was today. You haul your stuff into his house, letting out a frustrated sigh when you find it quiet and empty. You click open your app and he’s asking you to dust and vacuum the basement, as well as wipe out the fridge. You look down at the app confused. He’s never asked you to clean the basement, and the fridge? He doesn’t cook. The eleven thousand dollar fridge is basically just a decoration to fill a gap in the countertops. 

You pop in your airpods and head downstairs. The cozy white carpet of the stairs feels like plush clouds under your Keds. As you round the corner of the stairs you see everything that makes someone's house a home. So this is where he keeps it all, you think to yourself. 

The short hallway from the stairs to the large open concept basement is covered in photos of Joel at all stages of his life. The first picture that catches your eye is a teenage baby faced Joel and a beautiful young woman sitting on a hospital bed, she’s smiling at the camera as Joel looks down at the tiny bundle of pink blankets in her arms. He looks so happy and soft, and it ignites a small flame of jealousy. Not at the woman, but at the happy little family.

As your eyes scan all the pictures you see that baby at all ages. There’s a picture of her holding a trophy as big as her with little cleats and shin guards on. In another, she and Joel are holding a big fish, her toothless smile bright and brilliant, while something in Joel’s eyes looks sad even though his plush lips are curved up in a sexy smile. 

Another picture is of the little girl sitting on her mom’s lap; the woman doesn’t seem as vibrant in this picture. The next one to catch your eye is her holding a cupcake with a candle in the shape of the number sixteen, then him in a pressed black suit and her in her high school cap and gown. The last picture is similar, except it’s a college graduation photo. 

As you peel yourself away from all the pictures you haven’t managed to look at yet, you face the main living area, a large open concept space. There’s a cozy grey sectional facing the big screen TV, shelves of DVDs surround it and you can only imagine all the movie nights the two of them had down here. There's a pool table along the far back right side of the room and to the left are a bunch of guitars, both acoustic and electric, hanging on the wall. You walk towards the guitars, there’s a stool and a small table beside the amp. An open notebook with lyrics lays on the table and as tempting as it is to read it, you look away. This space is who Joel is and he’s obviously trusting or testing you by sending you down here. He did tell you that you didn’t know him, and that he could be a bad guy, but everything here screams wholesome family man. 

You dust and vacuum, then fluff the couch cushions and fold the blankets nicely. There’s an empty glass on the side table, so you grab that and wash it at the small wet bar before placing it with the other glasses. You take one last longing look at the notebook, it’s tempting but decide you are right to not read it. It’s none of your business what he writes and sings about. You picture him there, dressed casually in sweat pants and t-shirt, his large fingers plucking with a practiced finesse at the strings, you wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the floor with a cup of coffee and a book. The two of you being independently together on a Sunday morning. 

Thoughts of the two of you like that are dangerous; being his submissive isn’t being his girlfriend. You’ve been very good at compartmentalizing, mostly as a coping mechanism to your past, so you find a metaphorical little box in the back of your mind to stuff all those feelings and thoughts into. As you gather your cleaning supplies, you take one last look around. maybe this was his way of showing you that you can’t have a future with him, that he’s done with the kids-and-marriage part of his life. None of that matters to you; you don’t want kids and marriage, you just want a partnership, and the support and comfort that comes with it. You want to become a lawyer, and eventually a judge, and one day sit on the supreme court and defend everyone's civil and human rights. That’s the goal, the only goal.  

From this point on, any feelings for Joel Miller go in that box. If he ever changes his mind, he is my dominant and nothing else. You push the lid on the feelings box and run through your life plan as you head up the stairs. Law school and lawyer, then a relationship before judge and supreme court. That’s the plan, it’s always been the plan.

Once you’re in the kitchen, you pop open the fridge to see a single red rose. You lose a fighting battle with your face, smiling huge from ear to ear. You grab it and close the now empty fridge, bringing the rose to your nose to breathe in the sweet and powdery scent. The black and red envelope sits on the shiny marble countertop. You place the rose down and pop open the envelope. You pull out fifteen hundred dollars and a black business card. Your brows knit together as you inspect the card, flipping it over. A QR code for the JMK app, an activation code, and a note that says “Happy Birthday, sweetheart.” 

You practically rip your phone from your back pocket and scan the QR code. You dance nervously on the balls of your feet as the app downloads. With shaky fingers you create a username and password, then type in the activation code. A bunch of permissions pop up, and while the baby lawyer inside of you screams that you need to read them, you’re too eager, so you hastily click accept on all of them. A profile with your newly appointed username splays across the screen. Right below your name it says “Beginner Submissive” and you roll your eyes. You upload the hottest selfie you can find of yourself to be your profile picture, smirking at what you imagine Joel’s reaction will be when he sees you in that tight fitting gold dress, a picture Jamie took of you on New Year’s Eve. 

On the top right of your screen are 3 little lines, you open the menu and have two options. ‘Assigned Dominant’ and ‘Limits and Waivers’. You are eager to fill out whatever Joel wants on this app, but none of this will feel real to you until you see his name as your Dom. You giggle as you click the first menu. Holy shit, you think as the new window loads, this is going to happen, he’s going to do it. 

Your heart freezes in your chest, and every ounce of excitement and happiness drains from you as you read ‘Assigned Dominant: Tommy Miller’.

When you get home, you open your JMK app again, looking at the assigned dominant screen in hopes you made a mistake. But there it is, clear as day, ‘Tommy Miller’. You lock your phone in frustration and toss it onto your unmade bed. Why would he do this? You’re sure that everything in the limits and waivers menu would have been a yes if Joel was your dom. But Tommy? Not that there’s anything physically wrong with Tommy. He’s definitely attractive, but he’s not Joel and you thought you made that perfectly clear. 

After you shower you've decided you’ve cooled off enough to continue in the app. Tommy is still not Joel, but you want this for yourself, right? And it’s not about pleasure or attraction, it’s about the escape, and more importantly, it’s about having someone to push you and help you grow.    

You click the ‘Limits and Waivers’ menu, a whole quiz comes up where you can rate your interest in different sexual and non sexual acts on a scale of one to five, and secondary checkmark if you’ve already done those things. You scroll through the list, this would be easy with Joel, all fives, all ‘highly interested’, or so you think. As you scroll through the list you get some real fetish level stuff - diapers, feet, scat play, being hung from hooks. You know enough not to kink shame anyone, but none of that interests you. As such, you rank them as a one, not at all interested.

You scroll back up to fill in all the stuff you’re more interested in. 

Spanking, five. 

Whips and Crops, five. 

Paddles, five. 

Nipple Clamps, five, fucking five hundred at this point. 

Bondage, another five hundred. Vibrators, five. 

Butt Plug, three - ya, that one surprised even yourself, but it’s Tommy, not Joel. 

The little box to click if you’ve done those things remains unchecked. You aren’t a virgin, but the small handful of college boys you’ve entertained had the same two or three moves, all of which left you unsatisfied. 

Odette bangs on your door, and you jump as your phone goes flying from your hand as she barges in. “Let’s get ready! Repeat twenty one, baby!”

You scramble off your bed to grab your phone before she does, one of your hands in a death grip on your towel, “Fuck, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Oh god, you were watching porn again weren’t you?” She laughs as your cheeks flush crimson. She wanders to your closet and opens the doors, “We gotta find you something real hot for tonight, you need to get laid.”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” you sing nonchalantly, wandering to your vanity to run a brush through your wet hair.

A few hours later and you’re all ready to go. Jamie and Laren came over to pre-drink and do their hair and make up. The four of you blasted nineties Shania Twain while drinking rosé and doing shots of cheap tequila. You pick a floor length black dress with a slit that goes almost to your hip and drips low between your breasts and leaves your back bare. You leave your hair down, curling it loosely before applying minimal makeup, flirty false lashes and a vibrant matte red lipstick. The packaging says that it's guaranteed not to smudge for up to twelve hours. 

“We’ll test that tonight on drinks and men,” Laren says as she steals it from your hand and puts it on her full, pouty lips.

Jamie surprises you with a limo. Before getting in you swipe your JMK app open and save your half-finished preferences. Tonight is not about Joel or Tommy; tonight is about you, and you deserve to be celebrated.

The table Jamie managed to secure for your birthday is perfect. You’re just off the dance floor, but raised up so that you can see the entire club. The music is loud and the room is dark, dimly lit with light pinks and purples. As you settle into the booth a young icy haired blonde girl in small black shorts and a lacy bra wanders in. “Hey babes! I’m Jade, let’s get these bottles going! Here’s the menu.”

Her eyes fall to you as she hands the bottle service menu and you both freeze. It’s her, the girl from Joel’s desk. The thump of the music fades and all you can hear is her moans and cries, the squelching of her pussy as Joel finger fucked her hard and deep. Shit, fuck, why me. She smiles at you, “Oh hey! Good to see you again.”

A chorus of, ‘again?’ and ‘how do you know each other?’ comes from your friends, all of their wide eyes staring at you.

“We don’t really,” you rush. “Just a mutual acquaintance really.”

Luckily, she gets the hint and just nods along. “What are we getting to drink ladies? I’ve heard it’s on the house so pick something expensive!”

You pick a bottle of Clase Azul tequila, Jade saying she can make different cocktails with it so you’re not all just doing shots. After a few rounds you find yourself alone in the booth while your friends go to the bathroom. Jade sits on the black leather seat beside you. 

“Look, I just want to say that I’m sorry for what you saw the other week. Joel sort of forbade me from seeking you out, but if you’re in my section at the club I work at then I’m not really breaking any rules.” She’s even more beautiful up close, no fucking wonder Joel wants to give you to Tommy. It’s just you, sweet girl, only you. But you see it now, why he’d pass you along. You can’t compete with a woman like her, and from the sounds of it Joel has more than one gorgeous, tall, slender blonde at his beck and call. 

“No, it’s ok. I’m actually learning to be a sub soon.” You smile at her, trying to tamp down the jealousy that’s threatening to choke you.

“No way! Joel is amazing, I only see him like once a month now but you’re going to love it.” Suddenly your entire body feels like an open wound, and the lime and salt left on your hands from tequila shots burns through you. The back of your eyes burn, frustration and jealousy don’t mix well with Rosé and tequila. You blink a few times to stop the tears. 

“He actually set me up with Tommy,” you croak, “Said I’m more his type.”

Just as she opens her perfect pink lips you hear the unmistakable opening to your all time favourite Shania Twain song, and as if your friends appeared from thin air the four of you yell, “Let’s go girls!”. The icy blonde pats the top of the table in your booth with one hand and holds her other hand out for yours. You climb up onto the table, your friends getting on the chairs. 

Every insecurity dissipates from your body as you sing loudly with your friends, swaying your hips to the music. You surrender yourself to the genius that was Shania Twain and Mutt Lange. As you break into the chorus for a second time, a glint of silver across the club catches your eye. Standing on the other side of the dancefloor, leaning against the bar top, is Joel Miller. 

His eyes are locked on yours; he’s wearing brown dress pants and a white short sleeved button up shirt, the top few buttons are left undone and it pulls at his biceps perfectly. He looks so sexy and casual, hair pushed back as he swirls the amber coloured whiskey around in its glass. He smiles devilishly, shaking his head jovially at you as you put on a show for him. As the song ends he crooks his pointer and middle fingers at you, silently calling you over. The simple motion of his fingers makes your pussy flutter, wetness slicking your thighs since you decided to forgo underwear tonight. Risky choice with the high slit of the skirt but suddenly it’s feeling like it’s the best decision you’ve ever made.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to your girlfriends as they help you off the table. They call for more shots and you refrain from all out sprinting to Joel. 

“Quite the show you put on up there,” he says, grabbing your bicep like he did at the poker game and pulling you gently along with him.

“You didn’t seem to mind.” You twist your arm out of his grasp and stumble. You’re definitely well on your way to being drunk, but you don’t want him to know that.

He grabs for your waist to steady you. “Careful, you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. And even if I was, I’m celebrating, so I’m allowed to be drunk. Not allowed to be your sub, but allowed to be drunk.” His eyes darken and you know you’ve crossed some sort of undrawn line, but you’re at that reckless sass point in your tipsiness and you really don’t care. A saccharine sweet smile crosses your face as you plant your hands on your hips.

“You sure you wanna play this game, sweetheart?” He practically growls.

“I’m not your sweetheart, I’m Tommy’s,” it comes out poutier than you expect. You spin on the balls of your feet and head back to the dance floor. As always, you can feel his eyes on you as you walk away. When you approach the dance floor you see a handsome man about your age looking at you. A quick glance over your shoulder confirms Joel is watching, you grab the hand of the stranger and say, “Let’s dance.”

As all young, drunk boys do, he obliges. You spin and press your back in this body, grinding your ass into him and keeping your eyes locked on Joel. How did he find you here? Why would he be out at this particular club, unless of course he’s keeping an eye on the icy blonde woman. She confirmed they only see each other once a month though, so why? Is he following you somehow?

The boy's hands move to your hips, traveling up your abdomen. You wink at Joel, pulling your hair to the side and tilting your head so the boy behind you has access to the same spot on your neck that he had in his office. Just as his lips start to lower Joel snaps. Got him, you think. He takes a few long strides onto the dance floor, pulling you away like you’re some sort of toy, like he’s a caveman coming to take what’s his. You let him pull you, yelling an apology to the boy on the dance floor.

Even though you’re happy to go with him, you can’t let him know that. “Joel, stop it. You can’t kick me out of here too.”

He takes you down a quiet, dark hallway, barely illuminated by the red glow of the EXIT sign. “I own half this place, baby. So I can.”

You twist your arm free from his grip, “You’re the bane of my existence, Joel Miller.”

“Why haven’t you filled out your app yet?”

You scoff, anger and annoyance starting to replace the happy feeling you had when he pulled you from the dance floor. “Are you stalking me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Doms can see where their subs are at all times if they accept the location tracker on the app.”

Shit, all those menus that you just clicked ‘Accept All’ to at the beginning. Of course your dom would be able to find you, depending on the relationship they can control everything you do. “You’re not my dom!” You state.

Joel rolls his eyes. “I know. Tommy told me you hadn’t filled it all out yet and where you were. So, why haven’t you filled out the app?”

You lean back on the railing along the wall and slide your feet from your heels, placing them on the cool tile of the floor to soothe the ache in your arches. Your hands come back to grip the railing. “It’s none of your business.”

“Sweet girl, in this case it literally is my business. The JM stands for Joel Miller.”

This time you roll your eyes and then mumble, “Because I don’t want Tommy. I don’t think I’m going to fill it out anymore.”

Joel leans back against the railing across the small hall from you, pinching the bridge of his noise in annoyance, “Please. For me, can you just fill it out?”

“For you? You made it clear you don't want me. I’m filling it out for Tommy.”

He crosses his arms, biceps bulging even more against the tight fabric of his short sleeved button up, if he’s not careful he’s going to go full incredible hulk on that shirt. Not that you’d mind.

“That’s not what I’m sayin’ and that’s also where you’re wrong. You’re fillin’ that out for you. If you’re fillin’ it out for anyone else, then you’re doing this for the wrong reasons.”

You let out an unimpressed sounding huff, “I’m not.”

His lips press into a tight line as he considers his words carefully; Joel is old enough to know not to argue with a twenty-one year old who’s had tequila. “Ok, you’re not. So then why do you want to be a sub?”

He watches as your whole body seems to deflate, there’s a shift, almost like desperation in your body. Sadness lines your eyes as they meet his and your voice comes out small and uncertain. “Because I’m exhausted, Joel. I - I spend all day making decisions, and studying, and learning about civil rights law. I’m always having to come up with a plan A, and B, all the way to plan Z sometimes. And then,” your head falls back to the wall as you continue speaking to the ceiling with your eyes closed, “Then I do it all over again the next day. I can’t shut it off, my brain. It just keeps going and going. It's so loud, so constant, so fucking overwhelming and there’s no escape.”

You fall silent and he steps forward, slipping his large hand behind your neck and bringing your gaze to his. You continue, fighting against the boulder that’s forming in your throat, “I don’t think I’m good enough. Or strong enough…Smart enough. I want to see for once that I am, want to see what I can overcome. For once,” you sigh heavily. “For once I just want someone to tell me how well I’m doing.”

Joel’s eyes fall to your lips, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Fill out the app.”

You take a deep breath. You feel lighter after finally getting to confessing all of that to him. That was your plan for his office the other day, but something about him flusters you and you were completely knocked off the rails by that special unknown thing Joel has over you. You whisper, “I don’t want to do this with Tommy. Please, Joel.”

Joel’s forehead comes to rest on yours, you can see the golden flecks in his dark eyes at this proximity. He smells like mint, and that same ash and leather from his office the other day. You should ask him right now why he let you in his basement today, but he speaks before you can. “Can you please, just for once, show me that you can listen?”

“Kiss me,” you hum, trailing your hands up his strong arms.

He stiffens under your touch. “What?” he asks dumbfoundedly.

“Kiss me and I’ll go home right now and fill out the app,” you whisper, inching your lips closer to his. 

“You’ll go home, fill out the app, and you will not touch yourself.” It’s not a question, it’s a deep command.

Now it’s your turn to be confused as you say, “What?”

He crowds his body closer to yours, pulling his face back slightly so he can take you all in. You’ve never seen this expression before, that flash of darkness from the first time you called him Mister Miller in your car has permanently etched itself into your mind, but it’s almost like he’s transitioned into full dominant Mister Miller now. “If you want to convince me to be your dom, it’s not going to be through just a kiss. So prove to me that you can listen, prove to me that you can be a good girl. ”

The wetness between your legs starts to coat your thighs at the sound of him asking you to be a good girl. You clench your thighs together as his forehead meets yours again.

He continues, his voice just as commanding, “If I give you this kiss, you’ll go home alone, you will not touch that dripping little cunt, and you will fill out the app.”

Your pussy is throbbing with need. You should have known better than to sass him so hard tonight. Someone as competent and experienced as Joel would know exactly how to punish his sub when they were acting up. You nod your head and hum in agreement to his demands.

“Ask me nicely.” He murmurs.

“P-please…kiss me, Joel.” Butterflies assault  the inside of your stomach.

You didn’t think it was possible, but he manages to crowd you even more, your entire body pressed firmly against his. Every skin cell is screaming for his attention, every nerve firing off signals making you hyper aware of anywhere he’s touching you.

“Ask me again using that name I told you not to call me,” He knows he’s playing with fire, but at this exact moment he doesn’t care, he fucking loves the way his preferred dom name sounds coming off your lips. 

“Kiss me, Mister Miller. Please?” It’s airy and desperate, your knees feel weak below you and it feels as if you can’t get a full breath in. The anticipation is killing you. 

“Why?” he growls. Growing up you were always afraid of dark spaces, but if there were any monsters in this hallway they’d be running scared at the timbre of his voice right now.

Your back arches instinctively into him. You’re safe here, Joel Miller is your safety. “Because I need you, Mister Miller. Please. Just one kiss…then I’ll do anything. I promise. P-please. I need to feel you on me, Mister Miller.”

Joel bends slightly, his hands come to the back of your thighs and he lifts you, slamming you against the wall. You squeal, arms flinging around his neck as your ankles hook around his waist. He pins you to the wall with his hips and lets go of your thighs. Both of you are practically panting, his cock is hard as steel, pressing against his zipper and your bare pussy. Your skirt is covering you from exposing yourself to him but something about the glint in his eye when your bodies connect makes you think he might know you don’t have any panties on. 

His hands peel your arms from around his neck and he pins them with one hand above your head like he did in his office. You whimper and grind your hips against him. His free hand wraps around your throat, holding it gently. 

“No,” he growls and it takes every ounce of self control you have to stop your hips. “Say it again.”

He watches your mouth hungrily as you lick your lips and you fight back a moan. He can feel your pulse firing rapidly under his calloused fingertips. A needy whisper passes your lips, filling the miniscule space left between your bodies. “I need you, Mister Miller. Please kiss me.”

With that he slams his lips against yours. It’s a desperate and heady mess of tongue and teeth, your moans being swallowed by his greedy mouth. You tilt your head to allow him in more. His tongue devours every inch that it can reach. He nips at your bottom lip before diving back in. He takes whatever he wants from you and you let him. For the first time in years your brain is quiet. No anxiety about the quickly approaching LSAT, no thinking of whatever practice question you’re stuck on. That nagging fear of being rejected from all the law schools you’ve applied to goes silent. The worrying voice that tells you you’re not good enough disappears. Everything you are is replaced by whatever Joel gives. 

You grind down onto him as you flick your tongue against his; he’s so rough yet so very soft. His tongue tastes like mint and whiskey. You can feel your orgasm building, it’s going to happen embarrassingly fast at this rate. You feel light headed from lack of oxygen and the slight push of his fingers into the side of your throat. More, more, more, you yell in your head.

Joel breaks the kiss and puts you down on your feet, holding you steady as you find your legs again. His lips are puffy and even though it’s not the time to be thinking of this, you realize there isn’t a single drop of red lipstick on his face, so it really will last twelve hours without smudging. 

His thumb comes to your face, swiping along your bottom lip gently, “Put your number in my phone, sweet girl.”

He holds his brand new iPhone Max out to you and you tap your number in with shaky fingers. He sends a quick text when you hand his phone back and then he kneels in front of you, helping you back into your heels. As he stands his hand trails from your ankle, all the way up the slit of your skirt to settle on your clothed hip. “Go get your stuff and go home now, baby. There’ll be a car waiting for you out front.”

He pats your bum gently as you walk on shaky legs back to your VIP booth. You feel like a newborn giraffe as you make your way to your table. 

“Where have you been?” Jamie proclaims, holding up a tequila shot for you.

You wave her off, “I think I’ve had too much. I’m gonna go but I want you girls to stay. Enjoy your night for me.”

It takes a few minutes but you convince your friends to stay and that you’ll be fine and already have a ride arranged. As you exit the club there’s a gorgeous blacked out town car parked in front. An older gentleman in a suit looks at you and nods, “Good Evening, Miss. Are you the young lady Joel Miller has asked me to escort home?”

You nod back, trying to act like this is an everyday occurrence and not the most outrageous thing that’s ever happened to you. As soon as you get home you change into your most unflattering set of pajamas, hoping that if you feel unsexy then it’ll stop that insistent throb between your thighs. Joel was so fucking close again, and this time there was no underwear in his way.

You slide open the app, Tommy Miller is still set as your dom, but you go through the preferences carefully and answer as honestly as possible as to what you want. You try to focus on the questions even though you can still feel Joel's throbbing cock pushing against you, and his warm hands around your wrists and throat. You can still taste him on your lips. You shake the ghost of him off of you and remind yourself again what you want from this, aside from mind-blowing orgasms. 

You fill out every section and then hit save. Just as you are about to lock your phone and try to fall asleep your phone vibrates, the JMK app as a notification.

‘Your Assigned Dominant has changed to Joel Miller’

Your heart pounds behind your rib cage as you stare at the notification, your head feels fuzzy, possibly from the booze, or that kiss, but you can’t believe your eyes. You close out of the app and go back in, staring at where Joel’s name has replaced Tommy’s. Just as it all starts to feel real you get a text message from a number you don’t have saved. You click on the message app.

“No coming until I say so, I know you weren’t wearing any panties tonight. Messy little pussy ruined my pants. Go to sleep now, my sweet girl.”

Next Chapter

[ncttytrack]

Valedictorian - l.hs (m)

He never knew that the nerdy-virgin thing you had going on would turn him on, but maybe it did. And he needed to do something about it. 

☆ Summary: Heeseung is your sworn enemy and you hate everything about him. You hate how he looks, you hate the fact that he gets better grades than you, and you hate the way he makes you cry. The problem however, is that you are his favorite plaything, and he couldn't get enough of you.

☆ Genre: Academicrival!Heeseung, Badboy!Heeseung, nerdy!reader, virgin!reader, SMUT

☆ Words: 5,2k+

☆ Warnings: Dacryphilia, a looot of crying, Dom!Heeseung, Sub!Reader, Manipulation, Heeseung is super mean, degradation (praising in the end though), chocking

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ───

You had always been at the top of your class, getting straight A’s throughout all of high school. You didn’t care that you never went to parties, never talked to boys, or the fact that everyone calls you ‘teachers pet’ behind your back. It’s you who are going to have the bright future you have always dreamt of, and not them. And, if you are at the top of your class at the end of high school, the valedictorian title would be yours, and the dream of attending a top university would be achieved. But it was one person that was ruining everything for you. 

Lee Heeseung. Even his name makes your blood boil. Lee Heeseung. Leeee. Heeeeseung. Urgh. He wasn’t always there, and oh you wish you could turn back time to freshman year when he wasn’t present in your life. When you first saw him, you didn’t think he was much more than a low-lifer like your other classmates. Black hair, eyeliner, tight black clothing? Ah so an emo then, probably too depressed to be good at school, spending all day rutting in his room listening to mcr. Or he was maybe a bad boy, spending all his weekends on parties and fucking girls without even knowing their name.

But you were so wrong.

You clearly remember the day when you realized Heeseung might even be smarter than you, which was also the first day you talked to him. You had just got back the result from a massive math test, and of course you got an A. You triumphantly look at your score, 96/100, not bad - you thought, could definitely be better, but surely no one else got as high of a score as you did. That’s what you thought until you squinted at Heeseungs table beside yours. 

Down on his desk you saw his exam paper, and you could not believe your eyes. To make sure you saw right, you adjusted your thick glasses. 100/100. What? How is that even possible? Was Heeseung a nerd?

Not realizing that your stare caught his eye, you get surprised when his voice interrupts your thoughts. “Jealous? People have told me a lot about you.” Wtf? You get startled by his dark voice, looking up at Heeseungs dark orbs with an irritated expression. You observe him. His body is tilted back against his chair, legs spread wide - as if he wants to show off his dominance. His ripped jeans and the shirt he was wearing was both black, which is the color he always wears. His black hair was peeking out from the same coloured bennie, and his ear was covered with silver piercings. You hate the fact that his bad-boy-emo persona makes your heart skip a quick beat. He is so annoyingly good looking that it hurts, hurts even more now that you know he is a smart asshole. 

“What the fuck did you say”, you say, trying to sound intimidating even while wearing your thick nerdy glasses. People have told things about me? What? His lips turn into a smirk, and with his elbow on the table in front of him, he leans his head down on his hand. His eyes look at you up and down to take in your appearance. You are wearing a neatly ironed shirt, paired with a pastel yellow thick sweater and a pleated skirt just above the knees. The skirt looks way too big for you, and way too long. How old were you, fifty? The tights that you were wearing were thick, making anyone unable to see your skin through the fabric, and your hair was far from styled - messy, as if you just woke up. Probably were up all night studying for the test he aced. You looked like a nerdy-virgin (which you were), and he couldn’t help but to imagine what you would look like under all that clothing. 

“Well, that you were supposed to be this wannabe smart-ass, and annoying, really…” Oh so he is not just a nerd, but also an asshole. In frustration you turn your whole body facing him, before standing up so you can look down on him - getting the upper hand. With a hand on your hip and another on your glasses, you really do look like a smart-ass. “So, what? Are you saying I'm not smart?” He chuckles at your attempt in challenging him and stands up, looking down at you. He tilts his head and pouts his lips at you. Fuck he is tall. Embarrassingly, you look down at your feet and begin to fiddle with the hem of your shirt. No boy has never been this close to you, especially someone like him, someone bad. 

“Maybe you are, but you are nothing compared to me, bunny”. Bunny. Ah hell nah. You quickly look up at him again with furrowed brows, oozing with anger. Did he just use a pet name on you? How dare he look down at you like this, and how dare he try to flirt with you. “Please, everyone knows that I am going to be valedictorian, dick” You say and cross your arms in front of your chest, puffing out air and looking to the side to avoid his gaze. What you don’t know however, is how your arms in front of your chest pushes your boobs up, making Heeseung able to look down your shirt. “Let’s see who gets that title, Sweetheart.” He bites his lips to hide the laugh he lets out, enjoying the state you are in right now. “By the way, cute bra. I love the color blue” he says and walks out of the classroom leaving you speechless. You look down. Fuck. You didn’t know that one of the buttons had opened up when you crossed your arms. You will never wear stupid this bra again.

This was just the beginning, and during the last years of high school Heeseung could not stop bothering you. And as the times passed, the hatred for Heeseung increased. The way he looked at you teasingly when you got something wrong in class makes you want to vomit, the way he would brag when he got a better grade, makes you want to punch him hard right in his face and the way he was watching you throughout class, making it impossible to concentrate, makes you want to scream in his face.

But that was not even the worst thing about him. He knew he was hot, and he knew that you thought so too. Therefore, at least once a day he would embarrass you, torment you, flirt with you. How could someone be this bad, this sinful disturbing a girl like you. He would always sit beside you in every class, even though you protested him not to. Occasionally you would feel his hand on your thigh sliding up and down, making you shiver. You would always immediately slap his hand away, ignoring him throughout the day. What was his deal? 

Another day you remember clearly, exactly a year after first talking to Heeseung. You were starting to get used by his daily torment, almost getting immune from his mean comments. I guess he wanted to step it up a notch, and decided to do it during a presentation in English. You were as prepared as you could be, wearing a neatly ironed blazer and a hair up in a ponytail to look professional during your speech. Your speech cards were decorated with blue paper, perfectly organized in order for you to ace the speech in front of your classmates. 

The teacher called up your name, you got to the front, and started talking. You were good, so good, and you could see the anticipation throughout the class. Your flow was on point, not showing a single sign of nervousness. That was until you met Heeseungs gaze in the back of the classroom. Heeseung hated to see you succeed, including this geeky english speech. He was even more annoyed when he saw what you were wearing. Again with the try-hard-good-girl clothing. The blazer? Too big. And could you not let your hair out for a single day? Nonetheless, he got bored doing nothing but listening to your nonsense, his speech was better anyways, but he couldn’t let you go away unbothered. 

With his legs wide apart, and a hand on his thigh he looked at you, smirking - licking his lips even. You begin to stutter with your words, losing the confidence you built up for the presentation over the last four days. You couldn’t look away, and continued to watch Heeseung grace his veiny hand up and down his leg. Everyone else noticed that there was something up with you - the top student stuttering during a graded speech? Still, you continued - and tried to calm yourself down, until you met his eyes once again. Now, he was sending you a wink, while biting his lips. You unwillingly let out a surprised gasp, his actions making you drop all your cards on the floor. In panic, you quickly let out a weak “sorry..”, before dropping down on your knees, picking up all the cards. 

The teacher looked at you concerned, “Are you sure you don’t want to do the speech again?” You looked down on your feet, too scared to look up knowing who is watching you. “No, it’s okay”, you say before storming out of the classroom. While you do so, you look back to see a laughing Heeseung.

Since then Heeseung could never stop bother you, he loved to see you so worked up. He loved the face you would make when seeing his result on a test, he loved how irritated you became when he talked loudly with his friends about how much better he was than you. But he also loved how quiet you would be when teasing you. Seeing your flushed face when being touchy, stuttering when he lowered his face towards your neck to whisper something in your ear, only for him to say how much of a loser you were - making you punch him away. He never knew that the nerdy-virgin thing you had going on would turn him on, but maybe it did. And he needed to do something about it. 

“Man, why are you always staring at her? Give her a break” Jake says, looking at Heeseung. He was sitting at a table eating lunch in the cafeteria with his closest friends. He had known all of them throughout high school, and they were even close now in senior year. They also knew his obsession with teasing, as Heesung himself likes to call you, his ‘loser classmate’. He looked at you, you were sitting alone reading a book - as always, eating a sandwich your mom probably made. You were wearing the same ugly skirt you always wore, with a blouse that was way too big. The thick glasses that were helping you read your boring history book, were resting low on your nose bridge. Sensing that someone was watching you, you looked up only to see Lee Heeseung staring at you. Urgh, Why does he always do this? He smirks when you look at him, biting his lips to make you nervous. As irritated it makes you - it works, making you look down at your History book you were reading for the massive test later the same week. 

Heeseung lets out a chuckle when Sunghoon punches his arm. “You sure love to tease her, why do you even do that anyways”. Heeseung looks at him and cocks an eyebrow, as if the answer to his question isn’t obvious. How can you resist making fun of something like that? “Because she is a loser, and the way she acts when I tease her is way too enjoyable for me to stop?” He says and takes a sip out of the cola in front of him, still staring at you. “Hmm, I don’t know Heeseung. Maybe she has a freaky side, all nerds do” Jay says and turns around to look back at you. Jay also staring at you is too much for you to bear, so you quickly gather your things and leave, looking back at Heeseungs table. That was when Heeseung got an idea, something that would sure really rile you up. 

“Of course she has a freaky side, Jay. Haven’t you heard?” He says and looks at the others. With wide eyes the boys look at each other, shaking their heads. “No, bro, what do you mean? '' Jake says with a curious expression, always a sucker for some high school gossip. Heesung signals them to lean in so he could whisper, and they do. “Last week y/n got a B on a super important math test - oh you should’ve seen her face, and because she was so desperate to get an A, she gave Mr.Park a blow job after the lesson in his office.” He lied, of course. He knew that you got an A from that test and would never suck off a teacher. But he can just imagine the look on your face when you find out about the nasty rumor. His friends let out a big gasp at his words, not believing that the school's good girl did something like that to get a better grade. “ No way dude, you are lying”, Jay says and punches Heeseungs chest. Heeseung brings his hands in front of his chest to defend himself. “No, trust me! I saw everything.” 

The rumor spread like wildfire, and It didn’t take long before everyone knew about it, including you. You already knew who would come up with something like this, and that’s why you are running towards the library to find him. He may have made everyone in school think that you went down on your teacher for a better grade, but oh but you were not going down without a fight. You hurriedly run down the hall towards the library.

With tears embarrassingly streaming down your face, you run up to Heeseung and his friends in the library. He looks up at you with a cocky expression, laughing when he sees your tears behind your thick glasses. He looks at Jake, “Do you see her? The way she cries? So embarrassing” You are now standing right infront of him. He continues, “What do you want? Do you want to suck me off too, bunny?” You swallow down your saliva, gaining courage to look deep into his eyes. “Stand up Heeseung” You say, your hands formed in fists. He looks around at his friends, laughing, before standing up crossing his arms in front of his chest. Heeseung looks down at you. You are wearing the same thing you wore the first day he talked to you, although now the sleeves on your shirt is wet from wiping your tears. Your face is red and puffy from crying, and small parts of your mascara are now under your eyes. He towered over you, making you feel small and fragile. But that was not going to stop you from standing up to yourself though.

“Why did you spread a rumor about me sucking off Mr.Park for a better grade?” You say, still looking at Heeseung. He lets out a chuckle and tilts his head to the side. He walks up to you, getting closer with any second. “Who said that was a rumor? What I know is that you went down on your fragile little knees and wrapped your dirty little mouth around Mr.Parks cock. I heard you were good too, really knowing how to use that soft tongue, and here I thought you were a virgin. Maybe you want to show me how you did it? Of coarse if you are even able to fit my massive cock in your mouth” 

Oh he was sooo dead. “What the fuck did you say to me?!” You scream at him, punching him in his stomach. He lets out a grunt from the pain. Right after, he grabs your wrist and lifts it up - almost making your feet leave the ground. You breath hitched, surprised by his sudden movement. His face is close to yours, making you feel his hot breath on your face. “Did you just fucking punch me?” If you thought Heeseung was scarry before, it was nothing compared to now. You immediately regretted punching him. Before the conflict could escalate any further, a teacher stormed into the library and separated both of you. “What is going on here? Y/n I thought higher of you, and Heeseung, why are you threatening another student! Detention, after school, both of you!” She says and storms away.

Detention. No way. You look up at Heeseung with tears in your eyes. “This is your fucking fault.” He only looks at you with a smirk on his face. “Let’s settle this in detention sweetheart” 

You were already crying when you walked to detention. You hate Heeseung. Hate the fact that he is so smart, even getting better results than you - probably making him earn the valedictorian title instead of you. You hate the way he looks. How can someone be so smart and look like that? Dressed in all black, eyes coated with black eyeliner, hair covered in a dirty beanie, his stupid piercing that made him look like a bad boy, stupid combat boots that would echo the halls when he stomped his feet on the ground, how stupid you felt for thinking he was hot, stupid, stupid, stupid! 

The classroom is completely quiet, the only people in detention being you, Heeseung and the teacher guarding you. You had brought your history book, still studying for the same history test - at least you were productive to keep your grades up. But still, this bothered you. Of course it was only you Heeseung in detention, wouldn't it be other students too? At least then you wouldn’t have to be alone with him. As if the devil heard you complain, the teacher suddenly stood up from her chair. “I’m just going down for a coffee break, don’t do anything stupid - I’ll be back in twenty minutes” She says and walks out, slamming the door after her. The classroom was at first completely quiet, before someone spoke up. 

“Twenty minutes?" That is a looong time”. You look besides you at Heeseung from across the classroom. His body is facing you and his hand is on his thigh, creeping up closer to his cock, the same way he did during your speech that one time. You were already weak, unable to look away from the thing you swore you hate. His tight ripped jeans hugging his thighs perfectly makes your mouth water, but the way he looks at you makes you want to run away. Stop it y/n! He is doing this on purpose! You were already trembling, your feet bouncing against the floor while biting your nails anxiously. You tried to read your book, tried to concentrate on the French revolution you were supposed to have a test on, but Heeseungs gaze was - something. 

Heeseung stands up from his chair, walking towards you until he is right beside you. You glance at him behind your glasses, still trying to concentrate on your studies, trying to ignore the weird feeling in your stomach. You really are a loser, only his presence makes you want to cry. “Look at me, bunny” He says and licks his lips. Oh, he loves this. Loves how he can see your bottom lip tremble. You didn’t look at him however, still reading your book. 

Irritated, he pokes the inside off his cheek with his tongue, and lets out a sigh before grabbing your chin, almost lifting up your entire body using his strength. The chair you were sitting on falls to the ground from his movement. Tears are already forming in your eyes, before sliding down your cheeks. Why is he so scary? “I said look at me? What is it in that demand that you don’t understand, sweetheart?” He says and backs you up, still holding your chin, making you sit on the desk behind you. You bite your lips trying to muffle your cries, but it was no use, Heeseung could still see how scared you were from your tears. “T-this is unfair!” you try to let out between hiccups, your thighs clenching together from being this close to your sworn enemy. Being this close to him, you are able to smell him - a mix of mens perfume and sweat filling up your nostrils. 

Heeseung looks down on you with furrowed eyebrows, he slides his thumb across your swollen lips. Damn you cry all the time, is it this easy to make you upset? “What is unfair, baby?” He says, trying to sound sweet, even though he is forcing you in this position, the thumb leaving your lip so he can wrap his hand around your neck. You let out a yelp, which makes him chuckle. Through sobs you try to let out an answer. “It’s unfair how much I've fought to be at the top of my class, only for you to barge in and be better than me. Not only that but you're so mean to me, using your strength to force me like this” 

First, he doesn’t answer, suddenly putting his hand on your thigh to spread them apart. You don’t even try to fight back anymore, lost in the way he looks at you. Heeseung grabs the end of your long skirt, and pushes it up to your thighs. “Mhm, using my strength to force you? Am I forcing you baby?” He says and bites his lips, his hand still playing with the hem of your ugly rolled up skirt. He tilts his head, and the hand leaves the front of your neck to pull out the ponytail you were wearing, letting your hair down. “I know how you look at me. Probably loving the idea of a bad-boy fucking the nerdy good girl up, making you sweat, making you tremble with my touch” The hand leaves your head and wraps around your neck again but from the back. His other hand is closing up towards your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to your core - the heavier your breathing gets. 

“That’s not true, I could never find someone as irritating, mean, annoying as you attractive. Even though your tal frame, your strength, and your black silhouette would make any other girl fall, I’m not like the others” He chuckles at your statement, you just exposed yourself by the way you described him. Suddenly, he leans down towards your neck, giving you kisses with his soft lips. The sudden contact, that you had never experienced before, makes you bring up your hands to Heeseungs chest to grab his shirt, trying to push him away. But he is too strong, and your grip loosens when you feel his other hand just above your core. 

You unwillingly let out a moan at the feeling. What is going on? “Oh, are you not? So you don’t like it when I touch you like this?” He says, pressing his fingers harder down against your clit, making your back arch. The humiliation is too much, and your entire face is wet from the crying. You hate how weak he makes you feel, and how much you know he can do to you, and how much you would let him. Your glasses are getting foggy, making Heeseung chuckle, before taking them off. The sight of your teary eyes without your glasses makes his cock twitch. “Aw, baby, don’t cry. I’m going to take care of you, bunny” 

You pathetically nod your head, before letting out a high-pitched moan at the feeling of his finger on your clit, making soft circles through the fabric. Only this could bring you over the edge, this being the first time someone touched you. Heeseung let out a chuckle when seeing how desperate you were, making him want to push you even further. Therefore, he stopped touching your clit to pull off your thighs under your skirt. “No- stop!” You say, trying to push him away for the last time, even though you secretly want him to continue. You can’t let someone like him touch you like this, your reputation would be ruined. 

“What baby, you want me to stop?” He says, while pulling off your panties and letting his finger come in contact with your bare skin. You don’t answer, too busy letting out sweet moans from his touch. God he was good at this. Your hand leaves his chest, and grabs his shoulders to keep yourself from falling back out of pleasure. Heeseungs other hand begins to button up your blouse, laughing when he sees the same blue bra you were wearing at your first encounter. 

“If you want me to continue, you have to actually beg for it bunny” Heeseung says, laughing in your face at the whine you let out when he stops touching your clit. Desperate to feel pleasure, desperate for his touch, desperate for him, you unwillingly get down on your knees in front of him. Heeseung gets surprised by this, thinking you would never do what he says. 

Through ugly cries, tears running down your cheeks in desperation, you clasp your hands together in front of your chest and look up at the man in front of you. Because of your open blouse, the tears from your eyes run down your neck, between your boobs, something that Heeseung can’t keep his eyes away from. He always adored your cries, definitely if it came because of him, definitely if it made you look like this. “Please Heeseung, please”

You sure knew how to beg like a bitch.  

“Don’t worry bunny, I’m going to take care of my nerd real good” He grabs the back of your hair and pulls you up to your feet- earning a loud whine from the pain you feel in your scalp. He flips you around so your back is against his chest and punches you down on the wooden desk, while throwing away your history book with his other hand. You let out a pathetic cough from the hard impact from the fall, feeling the air being pushed out from your chest. Knowing he does not have a lot of time to fuck you, Heeseung quickly wraps the hem of your skirt, dragging it down to your ankles. The sight of your bare skin makes him let out a groan, making you wet. He unbuttons his pants, pulling them down alongside with his boxers to let his hard cock free. He looks at the clock on the wall beside him, 10 minutes before the teacher gets back. 

The contact of his cock against your wet folds makes your knees buckle, only being able to stand up from the grip Heeseung have on your waist. The embarrassment you are feeling is still making you cry, feeling defeated with your bare ass up in the air in front of the biggest asshole you have ever met. Heeseung leaves his hand from your waist up to your mouth to cover your cries, he was maybe an asshole but he doesn’t want to get caught.  

Before you could protest any further, he pushes himself into you, making you cry out of pain and pleasure. He was massive, and if you weren't so wet already from his harsh words, then you would never be able to take all of him. “Shh, shh, bunny, I’m going to be careful alright? I know it’s your first time taking cock”, he says, while pushing in and out of you slowly. Everytime he pushes himself into you, your back arch, making Heeseung let out a chuckle from your pathetic movements.

The only sound coming from the classroom was your muffled cries alongside with wet slapping sounds from the way Heeseung fucks into you. But Heeseung can’t resist, he needs to hear more of you, so he removes his hand from your mouth so you can let out your moans free. When he does, he grabs your waist again, stabilize himself, before fucking harder into you - getting impatient by treating you like a fragile doll. 

His cock is hitting into you as deep as it could go, making you let out a loud cry. It's painful and you can’t feel more disgusting than what you already do, pushing back to make him go even deeper. He lets out a loud groan from your sudden movement. How did he turn this nerdy good girl into something so nasty? 

“You’re such a dirty girl, y/n” Heeseung says, not slowing down his pace. Too lost in the pleasure you agree, giving him a weak nod between moans. “Tell me you are dirty, say it!” He says, feeling how he gets closer and closer by any minute, looking at the clock between thrusts to make sure you don’t get caught. “Im a d-dirty girl, Heeseungie” The way you say his name could make him cum then and there, but for your sake he tries to hold back. 

He lets out a laugh at your response, realizing that he finally got you under his spell. “Say how much better I am than you, tell me that you are nothing, nothing more than my little nerdy loser to play with, say it bunny” Heeseung says, slapping your ass right after, making you cry even harder. The pain, the pleasure, the fury you feel inside of you is making your head fuzzy, not caring if the words you are about to say will make you look pathetic. “Yes! You are so much better than me, I’m nothing except yours Hee!”

The guilt you feel inside your chest is almost unbearable. Your worst enemy had just made you swallow your pride while fucking roughly into you over the schooldesk in an empty classroom. All this work to seem like a good girl, wasted, only to get dicked down by someone who makes you cry every night. He has taken everything from you, your virginity, your confidence, not to mention the dream to become valedictorian. Heeseung can feel the shame oozing out of you, and he hugs your body from behind to get a stronger grip so he can fuck into you harder. You feel his sweaty, muscular, chest against your back, and you lean your head back against his shoulder to feel some sort of comfort.

 “Fuck yes, your mine alright baby? Now cum all over my cock” He says, fastening his pace. You cum because of his words, his commands, and the feeling of your juices covering his cock brings him over the edge, making him cum as well. He doesn’t pull out however, fucking his cum into you for a few seconds before realizing that the teacher is back in any seconds. 

Heeseung pushes your body away from him, and you are too weak to stand so you fall down on the hard floor. Your whole body hurts, and you try to use your strength to stand back up, until you feel Heeseungs arms wrap around your body. He helps you to pull on your clothes, helping you sit down in your chair as he brushes your sweaty hair away from your red face. “You were so good baby, so good for me”. He says as he gives you your thick glasses, dirty from being on the floor. He gives you a kiss on the forehead, and rubs your cheek with his thumb. “You are mine now bunny, understand?” You give him a weak nod, before he walks away to his desk.

When the teacher got back, she had no idea that the schools ‘good girl’ finally got ruined by her worst nightmare.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ───

Finally another fic! Rebloggs are really appreciated :)

[bbluefllame]

I love your UA Touya so muchhhh!!! If you don’t mind, can you write down UA Touya HC’s!!!🤍🤍

U.A touya hcs !!

note: I was gonna save this till I finish all my other reqs but I decided why the fuck not 😭 also thank u for loving my ua touya!! he's officially my everything‼️ also also!!! this is a sugar spice and everything nice universe<3 everyone's okay here ‼️

- nepo baby I have nothing else to say, you've def went on multiple trips w him and his family (ur basically the 5th child for them). His bday gifts go so hard and he's like "yeah yeah whateverrrr" while blushing if u hug him!!

- he's a super heavy sleeper. Like normal touya is a menace while sleeping, ua touya is double that and it's scary I fear him. Sleepovers always end up with you going to sleep in the guest room cs the mf won't stop moving, kicking, snoring, and talking (and occasionally shouting)😭 instead of js "no I don't do that." he'd go "huh don't remember doing it so it didn't happen. 🤷‍♂️" obviously you don't remember you were sleeping mf.

- he gives his all in training (esp cs he has support gear), training w him is like a full-on battle it's a fucking struggle to hold him down, but also he'd be the best training partner you'd ever have. He would NEVER and I say NEVER take it easy unless you ask him to, if he gives it his all he wants you to give it your all.

- loves SWS and PTV, has been forced into piano by Rei as a child and kind of liked it, he probably likes classical music bcs Enji played it alot as well and it helps him focus while studying. OVERALL incredibly into music and could talk abt it for hours (you probably have listened to him rant abt music for 2 hrs straight before)

- is a failure in the kitchen no questions asked, he asked Fuyumi to teach him how to make soba once, 10 minutes in he starts scratching his head going "uh huhhh got it" (HE DOES NOT GET IT!!!!!)

- loves chemistry and math, don't ask why he just does also he gives off good at drawing without trying?? like he's a natural, all the art teachers adored him!!!!

- Shoto and Touya are so silly tg. Touya rolls his eyes and pouts, shoto copies his big brother even if he doesn't know what he's doing😭😭 Touya does something remotely cool and Shoto's looking up at Touya with sparkles in his eyes like "THATS MY BIG BROTHERRR!!!" while clapping (this is when shoto is a lot younger ofc not when he's 15‼️ he still adores his big brother at 15 tho)

- touya pretends he hates how close you and shoto are but the mf adores it and thinks it's adorable and sweet!!

- natsuo and touya are gossipers. Except Touya has all the dirt and Natsuo gasps while nodding his head, after all of that they RUN to Fuyumi who tells them "At the end of the day, we shouldn't talk about people." while sighing as if she isn't noting it down in her head to run and tell it to her bsf ‼️

- you can't tell me he's not putting his hand on his head whenever he's flirted with and going "WTF DO I DO!!" and if it's you (even if it's joking and through text) he's sitting on his bed giggling at 3 am and then panicking internally before acting nonchalant and texting "ew"

- he does get girls and guys tho, he's too pretty to not have bitches 😭 he just doesn't know what to do with the bitches ‼️‼️

- loves abandoned spots, he forces you to go with him even if ur scared while you're going "bro there's a ghost I'm telling you" he's like "what is it gonna do?? eat you??" While rolling his eyes or sumn😭

- you best believe if he feels sumn though he's running for his life, like he could be on par with Iida bcs of how fucking scared he'd get he's shooting his fire behind him and RUNNING!! in the end it's probably a spider or sumn and he's like "pfff I knew that!!!"

- has some sort of rivalry with Keigo even if he didn't do anything ALSO you showing interest in keigo just makes the hate 10× more intense he tweaks the second he sees you looking at keigo.

- he swears up and down left and right that he hates roblox but he LIESSSS!! you could find him 3 am on dress to impress arguing w kids about emo vs goth cs mfs don't know the difference

- on the topic of roblox, you, shoto, and him probably play it once a week tg (shoto chooses the game 99% of the time)

- whenever he's anxious or sumn he just goes "cool yeah coolcoolcool" cool is the most overused word in his dictionary trust (he just kinda reminds me of jake Peralta in the vocabulary department..)

- makes sure shoto memorizes the lyrics to hot and cold by Katy perry just bcs it's funny to him (it's so stupid), there's a dance number and everything TRUST!!!

- 4 am in the morning, rei has walked in on touya on his knees doing the emo hand move thing while singing with a comb.

- HE TURNS THT SHIT OFF SOOOO FAST WHILE COUGHING AND COVERING HIS FACE

- rant to him all you want, he might not understand but he'd listen ‼️‼️ (the second he hears of any mistreatment he tweaks)

- during the sports festival he's burned keigo's feathers multiple times (cough cough reference)

- sorry everyone but he IS one of those "Oh you like sws? name 5 songs." God forbid he sees a preppy nirvana t-shirt, he'd burn it in the store and run away

- he's actually pretty touchy when he's comfortable, like pinkies wrapped tg or hand around ur shoulder just has to have a hand on you at all times ‼️‼️

- overall awesome bsf, awesome brother, and would be an awesome bf!!

okay I'm done now it's 2 am and i gotta sleep hope u like this anon !!! 😔😔 (soz for making this so long)

[void-of-unparalled-chaos]

Star Shoes

"Things had been going so well for him lately. He should have expected the other shoe to drop. Or the metal pipe in this case."

In which Danny and his totally normal boyfriend who is definitely not Red Hood are abducted by cultists. Danny is super concussed, but he's got the spirit.

@deadonmayn Day 2: Jason Has Magic | Ritual | Danny and Jason are abducted by the same cult | "You were never monstrous to me."

AO3 Link

   One day! Danny had asked for just one day! One day free from ghosts and vigilante stuff! A single day off! Was that too much to ask?

    In retrospect, he should have known something bad would happen. Things had been going too well for him lately. 

   Six months ago he began his degree in astrophysics at Gotham University. Since moving to Gotham, Danny and his apartment had yet to be caught in any sort of rogue attack or crime. It was certainly odd considering he was living in the crime capital of the country, but Danny decided he would take it.

   Most of his classes were able to be taken online, which was much more accommodating for Danny’s schedule. Sometimes a baby ancient of space just had to stretch themselves out amongst the stars and let their form slip. Frostbite said it was important for his development. He even offered to write Danny a doctor's note, but something told him it wouldn’t go over well with the school. 

   Danny Fenton requires up to five days of star exposure per month or else he breaks out in fins and eyes that may cause you feelings of cosmic terror. Please excuse him from lecture.

   Yeah. That would work.

   He didn’t need a note if the lectures were online anyway.

   The online lectures were also easier for him on bad tremor days. Sometimes his legs would ache and shake and randomly lock too much for him to walk. It was so much easier to float on those days and just… let loose. His human visage had begun to feel too small and restricting. He could put up with it normally but it itched. It was harder to stay restrained when he also had to deal with the tremors. Luckily for him, the bad days had been decreasing lately.

    By far the best part of the past six months was Danny’s new boyfriend. Jason was great! Better than great! Jason was amazing! They had only been dating for a month but Danny swore if anything happened to Jason he would kill everyone in Gotham and then himself (again). He had a sharp way with words that never failed to make Danny laugh, and though he may seem rude and grumpy on the outside, he was secretly a big sweetheart. 

   Danny had once seen him cry because of a feral (possibly radioactive) Gotham rat that was “just too small”. 

   There’s really no repairing your facade after that.

   Truly, Jason was everything Danny could ask for in a boyfriend. Danny had worried that the questionable functionality of his legs would be a turn-off, but he had been pleasantly surprised. Jason never pushed him past his limits, in fact, he fought to keep Danny from doing so. On the bad days, Jason would make him soup and drape heating pads over his limbs. He would knead his knuckles into Danny’s muscles and press kisses to his trembling fingers. It didn’t make the bad days stop, but they became more bearable. 

   Danny was so lucky.

   So really, he should have expected the other shoe to drop.

   Or the metal pipe in this case.

   Groaning, Danny struggled to open his eyes. His head hurt like he had been doing shots for twelve straight hours and his mouth tasted like iron. He must have bitten his tongue. Or lost a tooth. They grew back so fast that it was honestly hard to tell. 

  “D…n..”

   Someone was talking.

   “Da…n…”

   Someone needed to shut up. Danny hated that name.

   “D…ny!”

   Ugh. 

   Vision swimming, Danny peeled open his eyelids. This… he was in a pawnshop? Why was he in a pawnshop?

   “Danny!”

   Oh. 

   Jason is here.

   Hi Jason!

   “Hey, baby,” Jason huffed in amusement.

   Did he say that out loud? Fuck. He probably has a concussion.

   “I’d be surprised if you didn’t with all the blood on your head.” 

   Blood? Danny tries to feel his face for it but instead finds his hands bound behind his back. He struggles to free them, not accomplishing much besides wiggling around on the carpet like a sad worm. He pauses once for breath and then resumes his wiggling in earnest.

   Now hypothetically, Danny could just phase out of the restraints. One issue…

   Jason was completely in the dark about the whole Phantom thing. They had only been dating for a month and like- how could Danny even bring that up? 

   Hey, just so you know I’ve died before and I’m technically still dead depending on how you think of it? Apparently I’m also a baby god which is news to me too so if that’s distressing for you imagine how I feel! And while we’re at it, I should let you know that your entire concept of the afterlife is probably wrong. Enjoy that crisis!

   Okay, so Danny wouldn’t use those words exactly but that’s the gist of it. It’s some world-changing information and people have been dumped for less. Danny doesn’t want to scare Jason off!

   And even if he was fine after that conversation, what about Danny’s other form? The one that Frostbite keeps calling his true form? It was… a lot, and he hadn’t been joking about the cosmic terror. If he were being honest, Danny barely felt human some days. 

   Danny allows his head to fall back to the floor with a thunk.

   “Careful, darlin’,” Jason sounded concerned from where he was bound adjacent to him, “I think it's stopped bleeding. Don’t want you to open it again.”

   “It’s fine. Worse than it looks.”

   “...Do you mean better than it looks?”

   “Yeah, that. Head wounds bleed a lot.”

   It really was better than it looked. With Danny’s healing, it was probably entirely gone by now. 

   Jason looks like he is about to say something else when the backdoor opens. 

   In comes the most stereotypical cultists Danny has ever seen in his life. Actually, they were stereotypical but worse. The robes they wore looked plasticy and the black was off with a gross yellow undertone. Overall it was giving purchased off some shitty cheap website vibes. Like Wish. 

   They circle around Danny and Jason so perfectly synchronized that Danny knows they had to have practiced this. He imagines them running through their steps as if they were practicing for a dance recital. Did they have a choreographer?

   “Why would we have a choreographer?”

   Oh, Danny is speaking out loud again. Did he say the stuff about the robes?

   “What’s wrong with our robes?!”

   “I love you, baby, but I need you to shut the fuck up.”

   Understandable. Have a nice day.

   Danny passes out.

   When he wakes up again they are in a different room. Jason is struggling against a cloak’s hold and cursing up a storm in true Jason fashion. The cultists look a little worse for wear. The one holding his boyfriend looks like he might have gotten into a fight with a weedwhacker. 

   “Touch one hair on his head and I’ll fucking kill you!” Jason snarls.

   He’s largely ignored by the cultists who continue with their preparations.

   Danny finally takes stock of where he’s at. He’s still on the floor, but the carpet feels slightly different. The room is bare compared to the one they were in before. A desk and office chair are pushed against the wall to make room for the summoning circle. A summoning circle that Danny was currently resting in. As an offering. Great.

   Flashing lights distract him from their predicament.

   The guy closest to Danny was wearing light-up sneakers. Danny didn’t even know they made those for adults. Neat!

   “Hey man, where did you get your shoes?”

   He can’t see the cultist’s face but he assumes he’s raised an eyebrow with the way the hood crooks to the side.

   Danny genuinely wants to know! The lights look like little stars blinking in the darkness. He has to have them.

   Danny is about to ask again but is cut off by a loud curse. 

   Jason? 

   Jason!

   Danny has to save Jason!

   He growls, eyes flashing for the briefest of moments before he can tone them down. Jason can’t know about Phantom. He’ll have to figure something else out. Actually, he might not need to figure anything out! Depending on who this circle summons this could be a nonissue. 

   Danny cranes his head to look at the circle. 

   Groaning, he allows his head to fall back against the floor for the third time that night. 

   This isn’t just any summoning circle. This is his summoning circle.

   He lifts his head again to double check and yup, these idiots are using him as an offering for himself. Great job. Gold star.

  This is both good and bad. Good because they are in no immediate danger outside of the world’s worst Grim Reaper cosplayers. Bad because Eldritch horror.

   If these yahoos actually go through with the ritual and summon Danny, he’ll be forced into his ancient form in front of Jason. Probably. Danny wasn’t entirely sure that the ritual would work in the first place what with him already being there.

   Danny spends too long thinking about the summoning logistics and not enough time actually stopping it. Before he can come up with a plan the cultists are chanting. He can feel the tug in his chest getting stronger and fins pushing against his skin. This was happening whether Danny wanted it to or not.

   “Jason, close your eyes!”

   “Danny!” Jason was still squirming in Weedwhacker’s hold and valiantly trying to get to Danny. His teeth snapped dangerously close to the cloak’s fingers. Ancients, Danny loved his boyfriend.

   “Trust me, Jason!” Danny yelled, choking down the mist trying to escape from between his shark-like teeth, “Close your eyes!”

   With one last glance to verify that his boyfriend’s eyes are squeezed shut, Danny lets go.

   His very being unravels.

   It feels good to be this big, no longer vacuum-sealed into a too-small bag. The fins along his tail flick, stretching now that they are no longer confined. The luminescent lights travel up and down them as if doing a calibration run. His body parts disappear into fine vapor whenever they move before reforming in their new positions. The very pulse of the universe thrums in his chest. He can feel so much. He can see so much. He lets out a cool, dead, misty breath.

   His eyes open.

   The screaming starts. 

   Danny grins, displaying his sharp teeth proudly. He flies through the air, knocking person after person to the ground. They fall like blades of wheat to a scythe, small and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Just a speck in the eye of a giant. 

   Jason’s eyes are still closed. Good.

   Danny plucks him from Weedwhacker, setting him gently to the side. He can’t stop himself from getting into Weewhacker's face and screeching. He watches with satisfaction as he crumples to the ground seizing.

   The screaming eventually stops, the cultists catatonic on the carpet. Jason’s eyes are tightly shut. He’s breathing heavily, unmoving from where Danny had placed him. 

   Softly, ever so softly, Danny covers Jason’s eyes with his hands, careful not to prick him with his claws. He winds himself up tight, shoving himself back into his body like clothing in an overpacked suitcase. Gradually his claws shrink back into normal human digits. 

   His fingers shake with familiar tremors, still covering his boyfriend's eyes. Danny breathes shakily as Jason’s hands slide over his own.

   “Danny?”

   “Yeah.” 

   “Can I open my eyes now?”

   He swallows hard, mentally preparing himself. Jason’s going to leave. Jason heard the screaming and felt his claws. He’ll see the cultists and know what he’s done. Jason knows what Danny truly is and he is going to leave.

   “...Yeah,” it already sounds heartbroken as it leaves his lips.

   Jason’s hands take Danny’s with care, removing them from over his eyes. He blinks, surveying the room and Danny knows this is it. He’s waiting for the look of horror or sneer of disgust he has become so achingly familiar with. 

   Jason’s eyes meet his own.

   “Hey baby,” He presses kisses to Danny’s quivering fingertips with careful affection. Just like on the bad days…

   Danny sniffles, turning away with watery eyes and grit teeth. He wasn’t expecting this last scrap of kindness from Jason. 

   “No no no,” Jason squeezes his hands with gentle pressure. Not enough to hurt, never enough to hurt. “Look at me, Danny. Please?”

   Danny’s head pounds, his vision is blurry, his skin itches, and his heart hurts. He just wants this night to be over. But he could never deny Jason. 

    Jason smiles at him, hands coming to rest on his cheeks. He wipes a stray tear away with his thumb, smudging some dried blood away with it. 

   “There you are, handsome.”

   More tears race down Danny’s face. His voice cracks, “I don’t… I don’t understand.”

   “What don’t you understand, baby?” Jason asks, checking his hair for a wound that’s probably already gone.

   “You’re still here.”

   Jason pauses his minstations, “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

   “I-” Danny stops, addled brain thinking. Jason waits patiently for him to form the words, “I’m wrong. I’m not supposed to be like this,” Danny’s not sure how much sense he actually makes between the persistent concussion and rampant emotions, “I’m a monster.”

   The look in Jason’s eyes turned steely, “You're not a monster, Danny.”

   “But-”

   “No buts. You're not a monster. You wanna know how I know?”

    Danny remained silent, swallowing around the lump in his throat. Jason considers him for a minute then continues anyway.

   “I’ve seen monsters before. Monsters do awful things with only themselves in mind. Monsters go out looking for someone to hurt just because they can.” 

   Danny turns to look away again. It doesn’t matter that the timeline is gone or if he’s trapped in a thermos, the very concept of Dan will always haunt Danny.

 “Danny,” Jason redirects his attention, gently turning his face back to him. Danny’s not prepared for the pure unbridled devotion in his eyes.

   “You are the most selfless person I’ve ever met. You go so far out of your way to help others even when it becomes an inconvenience to you. It doesn’t matter if they are a stranger or not. Sometimes I worry you're going to get yourself kidnapped.” 

  Like today goes unsaid. Jason looks like he’s on the verge of tears too.

   “You were never monstrous to me, and you never will be. How could you possibly be a monster?”

   Danny sniffles again, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch. Jason readily accepts him into his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

   “Sorry…” Danny finally mumbles into his… shirt? Whatever Jason is wearing feels hard against his cheek. Danny doesn’t really care. His head hurts too much to think about it, “I shoulda told you.”

    Jason quietly laughs, “Technically you still haven’t told me anything.”

   Danny nods solemnly, wiping the last of his tears away, “Complicated.”

   “Yeah, I get that,” he scoops Danny effortlessly into a bridal carry. 

   Danny yelps as the movement jostles his head. Jason makes a sound of apology.

   His boyfriend’s eyes scan the room again, “How about you explain it all to me when you're no longer concussed? Besides, I have some things I need to explain to you too.”

   “Sounds good,” Danny slurs as Jason walks them to the door.

   They are about to step over the threshold when Danny suddenly REMEMBERS.

   “WAIT!”

   Jason startles, looking around wildly, “What?! What is it?!”

   “The shoes!” 

   “The shoes?”

   “Yeah! The shoes! The star shoes!” 

   “...do you mean the light-up sneakers?”

   Danny pouts at him but nods anyway, “The star shoes.”

   “The star shoes, then,” Jason easily confirms, “What about them?”

   “I need to take em.”

    Jason grimaces, “...Why? I can just buy you your own pair.”

   “No! It’s not the same!” Danny whined, “They summoned me using me as an offering. I didn’t actually get anything!”

   “Okay, I’ll go get his shoes-”

   “My shoes.”

   Jason laughs, setting him down on the table just outside the door, “Wait here.”

   Danny waits. His vision is still swimming in a blur of colors. Colors. He’s pretty sure he can taste colors now. The dull brown carpet is disgusting. 

   Jason remerges victoriously with star shoes in hand. Danny cheers, immediately making grabby hands. Jason passes them over with a look of mild disgust.

   “You ready to go now?”

   Danny bats his eyelashes, throwing his arms (and shoes!) over Jason’s shoulders and around his neck. He presses in to rub his nose against his boyfriend’s, “Take me home?”

  “Of course.”

Danny had the best boyfriend.

[rikupid]

sloppy seconds (study buddies pt. 2)

wc: 4.7k

warnings: f!reader, threesome between you + doyoung + haechan, sub!haechan, switch!reader, dom!doyoung, cuckolding, degradation, humiliation, voyeurism, unprotected sex, cum play, breeding kink, dacryphilia, doyoung is shy at first then becomes mean, haechan gets ignored and cries a lot, everyone’s a bit perverted, haechan finds a new study buddy (sorry doyoung)

a/n: this is part 4 to me and @haetrack’s nerd!haechan series but can also be read as a standalone! our idea that finally made it out the dms can u believe it.. this is literally pure filth btw. part 3 (doyoung being added into this mess) can be read here on val’s account!

haechan lost. he made a stupid bet, too caught up in his own pride, and he lost.

it’s not like he failed his exam. he did great, sure, but he still lost. to make things even more humiliating, he lost by one point. you consoled him, telling him that it was okay, but even then he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he messed up.

he’s jealous, the feeling eating him up inside knowing that doyoung, who was his favorite study buddy, is probably up right now, gloating in his glory and imagining everything he’s gonna do when he gets his hands on you.

if this were under normal circumstances, haechan might not have minded inviting doyoung over to have a threesome with his girlfriend. he thinks of himself as someone who’s generous, one that's willing to share if the situation was right, and he’s close enough with doyoung that it wouldn’t necessarily be weird. but this isn’t under normal circumstances and haechan’s only sharing you because he lost a bet.

for once, haechan thinks that he might actually hate life. he decides that this is all probably just some sick joke the universe decided to play on him, and unfortunately for the universe, haechan doesn’t really find it funny.

frustration heavy on his mind, haechan pulls out his phone and opens up his messages with doyoung. if he was going to even consider going through with this bet, they needed to talk.

haechan: we need 2 talk

haechan: about the bet.

doyoung: oh?

haechan: ur lucky she even agreed

doyoung: didn’t you make the bet assuming that she would already? lol

haechan: whatever. just come over tmrw and we’ll talk

haechan: [address attached]

when doyoung comes over, it’s awkward.

you’re sitting on the couch with haechan next to you and the air in the room is tense with doyoung’s presence. he’s sitting across from you two, eyes darting around the room nervously. he realizes that in reality, meeting up with your friend to have a threesome with his girlfriend isn’t as easy as it sounds. is he supposed to look at you? make the first move? doyoung’s head hurts thinking about the situation.

it probably doesn’t help that haechan, your boyfriend, is staring hard at doyoung. you place a hand on his thigh, trying to comfort him while also trying to get him to stop.

“hi doyoung,” you greet, smiling warmly. if haechan wasn’t going to speak and doyoung was too nervous to even look at you, you had no option but to take the initiative.

doyoung falters, staring at you for a few moments before opening his mouth to respond. “hey, __,” he greets back. he gulps, nerves getting the best of him. he runs a hand through his hair, desperately trying to ignore how intensely haechan is staring at him from the corner of his eye.

“thanks for coming over to-”

“okay,” haechan cuts you off, “no more small talk!” he didn’t like the fact that you two were about to have a conversation about this without him. if he wasn’t going to get the first say, this wasn’t going to happen at all. sue him for being a bit possessive, but how else was he supposed to react knowing that right after this, doyoung was going to be fucking you? “there’s no need for,” he pauses, waving his hands around in gesture, “all this. i’m already humiliated enough, okay? let’s just get this over with.”

you side-eye him, noticing the growing blush on your boyfriend’s face. he’s embarrassed and almost as nervous as doyoung is.

“first of all, you can’t cum in her, okay? that’s.. that’s weird and she’s mine, so don’t get any stupid ideas. you should be grateful i’m even letting you touch her at all,” haechan mutters, suddenly avoiding eye contact with doyoung. this was so humiliating to talk about, especially with you right next to him.

doyoung runs a hand through his hair again, nodding. he glances at you, then haechan, then back to you. “is there anything else off limits?” he asks, his gaze subtly dropping down to your lips.

haechan catches this, huffing. “stop staring at her like that, man! you can.. you can kiss her, i guess. only if she wants! w-we’re not vanilla or anything like that, so that’s the only thing that’s off limits,” he frowns. the clarification was unnecessary, but he didn’t need doyoung getting any ideas about what their sex life was like.

“i don’t mind if you kiss me, doyoung,” you add in, squeezing haechan’s thigh. it was a warning, telling him to be nice.

“o-okay, yeah. i got it,” doyoung says, exhaling nervously. he runs a hand through his hair one more time. now that the rules were out there, it was awkward again. he still didn’t know how to approach this, his mind racing with different kinds of thoughts. he glances between you and haechan, uncertainty clear on his face.

a few moments pass and still, doyoung hasn’t moved. this only frustrates haechan because seriously? he gave doyoung the opportunity to touch his girlfriend and he wants to be nervous about it?

if doyoung won’t make a move, haechan will. he turns to you, leaning forward to kiss you. it’s rushed, messy, and bordering on desperate when he kisses you, hands immediately coming to grope at your skin. he’s eager, you can tell, trying to get doyoung to do something.

you pull away from the kiss, pushing haechan back by his chest. “s-slow down, babe,” you gasp out, just barely short of breath. he goes for your neck instead, leaving wet and sloppy kisses anywhere he can reach. you place a hand in his hair and yank him away from your neck, frowning. “you know your manners. doyoung’s our guest and we should welcome him properly.” haechan only whines at this, unhappy with the interruption.

doyoung, with his hands gripping his thighs, looks like he’s seen a ghost. this was weird and intruding on so many levels, yet he feels his dick growing harder as the seconds go by. you were so hot and he badly needed to be in haechan’s place, kissing and touching all over your body.

“come here, doyoung,” you call out to him, moving your attention away from haechan. you notice his bulge and giggle, the thought of having two men desperate to be all over you making you giddy.

doyoung gets up from his seat, slowly making his way to you as you beckon him over with a finger. with a newfound confidence and his dick doing the thinking for him, he leans down to connect his lips with yours.

kissing doyoung is different than kissing haechan, you note, closing your eyes. doyoung’s more controlling than haechan is, taking what he wants without asking. his hands cup your face, tilting your head upwards for a better angle. while haechan is pliant and submissive, letting you kiss him as you please, doyoung is demanding and forward.

you moan into the kiss when you feel his hands start to roam, touching and groping your body everywhere he can, as if trying familiarize himself with it. it’s so much and you feel dizzy from the way doyoung kisses you.

a loud whine breaks the moment and you pull away from doyoung, turning to look at haechan. he’s staring at you two, brows furrowed, and clearly upset. he wasn’t used to the attention being on somewhere other than him during sex, and quite frankly, he didn’t like it. not having your attention pains him, especially when it’s on doyoung instead of him. he may have lost a bet to him, but this? this wasn’t fair.

you shush haechan, telling him to be quiet, and ignore his whines of protest. haechan tries not to think about the way his dick twitches in his pants at the quick dismission.

doyoung, finding the whole situation amusing, laughs at how easily haechan folds because of you. his suspicions that haechan liked being pushed around in bed were true, and a fleeting thought about just how far he’ll go to please you crosses his mind. he puts a hand on your cheek, turning your face back to him and leans down to connect your lips in yet another heated kiss.

you cup doyoung through his sweatpants, feeling his bulge, and gasp into the kiss. doyoung is big, bigger than haechan, and the fact makes you smile. he breaks away, moaning against your neck as you palm him through his sweats. “fuck,” he moans, hips bucking into your hand. it’s good, overwhelmingly so, and he hasn’t even gotten to fuck you yet.

doyoung thinks that months of sad, heartwrenching sex with nobody but your ex will do that to a man. this is new, and good, and so fucking overwhelming.

“you’re so big,” you whisper into his ear, sliding your hand inside his pants and past his boxers, touching his cock. he groans at the contact, cursing once more.

“yeah?” he mumbles against your neck, grinding into your hand. “bet i’m bigger than haechan,” he adds on, “bet i’ll fuck you better than him too.”

you nod, the words making you throb in your panties.

haechan is quick to protest, frustrated with how he’s just been getting ignored. “that’s not–that’s not true!” he whines. doyoung was not going to fuck his own girlfriend better than him. it didn’t matter if his dick was bigger. he refused to let that to happen.

doyoung pushes you back against the couch, caging you in and sliding a hand down into your pants. he rubs at your clit through the fabric of your panties, making you moan.

“it is true, haechan,” he laughs, “i bet you can’t touch her properly either.” he connects your lips in another kiss, continuing his touch. you’re so wet, soaking through your panties, and it’s driving him crazy. between kisses, he asks, “he doesn’t know how to touch you the way you need it, hm? need me to do it cause he can’t?”

haechan’s humiliated hearing this, shaking his head even though neither of you are paying him any attention. this is so unfair, he thinks again. he does know how to please you and how to touch you. doyoung’s words were just stupid and untrue. what’s stupider is the way he’s so hard, cock straining against his pants while he’s watching doyoung touch you like he’s not even there.

“y-yeah,” you agree, throwing your head back with another moan, “so much better with you, doyoung, fuck.” his hand is inside your panties now, feeling your cunt and just how wet you truly are. his fingers tease along your folds before moving back to rub your clit. the touch is foreign, different than the way haechan touches you, yet you still can’t get enough of it.

haechan hates this. he hates everything about this situation and he’s embarrassed because he he likes it. he likes the humiliation and the way you two ignore him. it makes his stomach twist in unexplainable ways and his cock throbs in his pants every time you tell him to shush or to be quiet.

doyoung is kissing down your neck when you finally call haechan over, deciding to spare him just a little. he scurries to the other end of the couch, desperate for at least some kind of attention. his eyes are wide, silently begging, and he can’t help the whine that leaves his mouth as he gets closer to you.

he tries to ignore that doyoung is right there next to him, hands roaming freely inside your panties while haechan can’t even touch.

you grab him by his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. you love when he gets like this, so needy and desperate for your touch. breaking away, you ask, “you gonna be good and wait, hm? let doyoung have his turn while you sit–fuck–sit there and watch?” it’s difficult to focus with the way doyoung is touching you, his fingers hitting all the right spots.

dumbly, haechan nods. he’ll be good, he thinks, even if the image of doyoung fucking you makes him want to cry.

“good, baby,” you whisper, kissing him again. “take us to the bedroom so you can show doyoung just how good you are, okay?”

haechan watches from the corner of the bed as doyoung peels off your shirt.

you’re laughing, amused by the way doyoung’s eyes widen as he gropes at your chest. it’s experimental and slow, not familiar like the way haechan touches you.

haechan knows he can make you feel better faster than doyoung can. doyoung’s taking his time, learning what you like, but haechan knows. he knows what gets you going and what makes you moan the loudest. it’s frustrating to watch. he wishes he could just show doyoung how much better he is, but he promised to be good.

as doyoung’s hands roam across your bare skin, haechan can only watch as he lets his palm subtly grind against his clothed clock, taking off a little bit of the edge. his cock is so hard it hurts. he wishes he were touching you instead.

doyoung’s whispering words into your ear that are too soft for haechan to hear. it’s as if he’s not even there and doyoung’s your boyfriend instead.

haechan watches as you get manhandled by doyoung, placed prettily in his lap, and watches as he spreads your legs apart. you’re on display, cunt glistening right in front of haechan’s face, and all he can do is watch. he’s staring hard at your core, zeroing in on the way doyoung’s fingers start to carefully dip inside you. he starts with two, slowly starting to pump them in and out of you.

“god, you’re beautiful,” doyoung whispers against your skin. you’re dripping, clenching hard around his fingers as he fucks you. they’re so long, reaching deep inside you and curling just right against your sweet spot. “it’s a shame haechan didn’t share you sooner,” he continues, his free hand coming up to grope at your breasts again.

“doyoung–mmh–doyoung, please,” you gasp as he starts to pick up the pace, fingers pumping in and out of you quickly. a loud squelch sounds as does, your pussy sucking his fingers in even deeper. the sound is embarrassing and it makes you flush a bright red. “d-doyoung,” you moan, throwing your head back on his shoulder and trying again.

“hm?” he hums, smiling against your neck. he’s staring right into haechan’s eyes, a mean look in his eye.

doyoung wants to humiliate haechan and show him that no matter what he does, he’s still going to be better. haechan’s girlfriend is in his lap, cunt dripping around his fingers, and moaning out his name, not haechan’s.

haechan feels stuck when he stares back at doyoung.

you’re oblivious to the silent interaction, too caught up in the way doyoung’s fingers feel inside of you to notice. you moan as he slips in a third, stretching your hole and making you feel full. suddenly, all you can think about is how badly you want his cock inside you.

“you’re so fucking wet,” doyoung groans, looking away from haechan to kiss down your neck. “it’s all for me, isn’t it? not your boyfriend?” he asks, curling his fingers inside you again. the words make you whine and nod, overwhelmed by doyoung’s words and the way he touches you.

you know haechan’s watching, pathetically palming himself through his boxers, and you can’t help but play things up a little. “w-want your cock, doyoung,” you moan, “please, i need it!”

haechan whimpers, hips bucking up into his hand. he’s ashamed, cock twitching as he realizes just how turned on he is by his girlfriend moaning another man’s name. this is so wrong, he thinks. you’ve tuned him out completely, attention purely on doyoung, and yet he’s still so turned on.

doyoung pulls his fingers out of you, wiping them on the sheets, and quickly manhandles you onto your back. you whine at the loss of his fingers, clenching around nothing. you need him to fuck you now and the wait is driving you mad.

“c’mon, fuck me already,” you whine, rolling your hips.

he laughs, moving to kneel between your legs. “yeah? need my cock that badly?” he asks, hands teasing along your thighs. “beg me for it,” he whispers, “beg for my cock and maybe i’ll give it to you.”

doyoung’s doing this on purpose and you know it. you know he wants to humiliate haechan, wants to make you beg for another man’s cock that isn’t his. you know and you like it.

“fuck me, please,” you beg, spreading your legs wider. “want your cock, doyoung. fuck me like i deserve, please.”

“that’s it, baby,” doyoung groans, spitting into his hand and slowly starting to stroke his cock. his tip is bright red and leaking from how badly he wants you. “just a little more,” he beckons, “need to know you really want it.”

haechan wishes the ground would just swallow him whole. tears are starting to well up in his eyes as he listens to you beg and he wishes you would just look at him. doyoung isn’t that good. he can’t be, haechan thinks, trying to console himself.

doyoung teases the tip of his cock against your hole, just barely pushing in.

“please, doyoung,” you try again, wrapping your legs around his waist. he’s so close yet still so far.

without warning, doyoung pushes in, bottoming out in one go. a moan rips from your throat at the sudden intrusion, his cock stuffing you full.

“look at that,” he mumbles, eyes glued to the way you’re practically sucking him in, pussy clenching hard around his cock. “so fucking tight,” doyoung groans, lightly thrusting. he’s letting you adjust, hips barely moving, and it’s still so much. you squeeze your eyes shut and whimper from how big he feels inside you.

haechan reaches inside his boxers, pulling out his neglected cock with a cry. he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight of doyoung fucking you, no matter how much he claims to hate it.

you open your eyes, turning your head to look at your boyfriend and the teary look in his eye. “d-don’t you dare touch yourself, haechan. i told you to be good,” you say, ignoring how this makes him whine even more.

you turn back to doyoung, rolling your hips and begging for him to move.

doyoung grips your waist and slowly starts to thrust inside you, his thick cock dragging against your walls. you were so tight around him, making him moan as he starts to fuck you faster. his pace is relentless as his hips snap against yours, cock sinking deeper and deeper.

“s-shit,” he groans, the lewd sound of skin slapping filling the room. “you were made to take it, weren’t you? m-made to take my cock,” doyoung grunts, glasses starting to slip off his face from how hard he was fucking you.

“oh my g-god,” you moan, pussy clenching tightly around him. you can barely think, the pleasure and doyoung’s cock inside you making you lose your mind.

doyoung slows down, stopping his thrusts completely before bringing a hand up to fix his glasses. you whine as he stops, trying to get him to move again.

he turns to look at haechan, a mean smile on his face. he gently starts to thrust inside you again, all while keeping eye contact with him. “look at this, haechan,” doyoung calls, “look at how she’s sucking me in. let’s make a bet on who fucks her better, yeah? you’ll lose that too, won’t you haechan?”

doyoung’s words are mean and haechan’s not sure he can take it. he shakes his head, trying to defend himself. “that’s not–that’s not true, doyoung,” he whines, gripping the base of his cock so he doesn’t cum. he can’t even look at doyoung anymore.

“c’mon, doyoung,” you beg, wanting him to pick up the pace, “ignore him and fuck me, please.”

doyoung turns back to you, leaning down to kiss you. he slams his hips into you, fucking you fast and hard. you moan into his mouth and wrap your arms around his neck, hole twitching around his cock as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

his kisses trail down to your neck and his glasses are starting to fog up from how hot it is in the room. he moans against your skin every time you clench around him, thrusts starting to get more and more desperate. doyoung fucks you faster, pounding into your messy cunt as he feels himself getting close. he brings a hand down to rub your at clit in time with his thrusts, causing you to cry out.

“i’m c-close, fuck,” doyoung moans against your neck. you’re clinging onto his back, moans loud as you try to keep up with his pace. “tell me you’re close, baby,” he begs, grunting as your walls squeeze him impossibly tighter.

too overwhelmed to speak, you nod and your thighs start to shake. all it takes is one more deep thrust from doyoung before you’re cumming, shocks of pleasure washing over your body and your pussy spasming around his cock. “doyoung,” you moan out, hands flying to his hair.

“that’s it,” doyoung grunts, hips starting to lose their rhythm as he feels you cum around him. his dick twitches inside you, so close to cumming, before he quickly pulls out, leaving your hole gaping.

he sits back on his heels, quickly starting to jerk himself off. finally, he cums with a loud groan, dick twitching in his hand before he spills all over you, painting your stomach white. he’s panting, looking down at you with a dark look in his eye, almost as if he’s admiring his work.

you’re a mess, makeup smeared and hair all over the place, and it’s all because of doyoung. his cum paints your skin, and to him, it’s art.

doyoung turns to look at haechan, wanting to brag in his face. the sight is pathetic. haechan is stroking his cock, tip leaking, and all thoughts of waiting for permission to touch himself fly out the window. he just watched his girlfriend get fucked by another man and now he badly needs to cum.

coming back to your senses, you sit up against the headboard and turn your attention back to haechan. “don’t you even think about cumming, haechan. come here,” you demand, “you know what’s gonna happen if you cum without my permission.”

haechan full on sobs at this, pulling his hand away from his cock. his hips buck in the air and you hear doyoung laugh beside you, humiliating haechan even further. tears are rolling down his face as he desperately crawls across the bed to you, kneeling between your spread legs.

“l-let me touch you, please,” he begs, hiccuping. “i’ve been good, just please let me touch,” haechan goes on, babbling about how badly he needs you. his poor cock hangs heavy between his legs, neglected and leaking.

“shh,” you coo, wiping a tear from his eye. “you wanna touch me?”

haechan frantically nods, nearly knocking his glasses off his face.

“i’ll let you touch me, hyuckie,” you whisper, leaning back. “clean me up and i’ll let you touch, okay?” you ask, smiling.

haechan freezes, looking between you and the cum on your stomach. it’s doyoung’s cum that’s all over your body, not his. “clean.. clean that?”

“i thought you wanted to be good?” you ask, placing a hand in his hair and pulling his head down to your stomach. “are you gonna be good or not?”

doyoung’s eyes widen at the situation before he grins. the thought of just how far haechan will go to please you crosses his mind again.

haechan’s face crumples as he sticks out his tongue, licking up the first drop of doyoung’s cum. it’s gross, humiliating, and the taste is strange, but he wants to be good. he looks up at you, tongue traveling across your stomach as he licks up the rest of the cum.

your breath hitches as you watch him and you bite your lip, keeping a hand in his hair.

haechan whimpers as he finally licks up the last drop, a stray tear rolling down his cheek. you yank him up by his hair and connect your lips in a heated kiss. he’s needy, already forgetting about the fact that he just licked doyoung’s cum from your body and thinking only about how he needs to fuck you.

his hands are all over your body, touching anywhere and everywhere after being deprived for so long. he whines against your lips, pulling away to catch his breath.

“please let me fuck you,” he begs, too desperate to think clearly anymore. “please, baby, need to fuck you.”

you shush him, wrapping a hand around his aching cock. “you think you deserve it?” you ask, slowly starting to stroke him. haechan whimpers, hips bucking into your hand. he nods, trying not to cum on the spot.

you turn your head to doyoung who’s sitting right next to you, “should i let him?”

doyoung looks haechan up and down, taking in his pathetic state, and decides to be nice. “let him fuck you. he listened good enough, i think.”

haechan feels relief wash over him at doyoung’s answer, silently thanking him in his head. “come on, please,” he begs you again, leaning down to kiss you on the corner of your mouth. haechan thinks he might die if he doesn’t get to fuck you in the next five seconds.

you let go of his cock, spreading your legs further. “fuck me, baby. show me how much you need me.”

haechan wastes no time, grabbing the base of his cock and guiding it to your entrance, bottoming out in one thrust. he feels tears well up in his eyes again at the feeling of your warm walls around his cock. “f-fuck,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. being inside you is almost too much.

your hole spasms around his cock, still sensitive from the way doyoung fucked you before. “i want you to cum, hyuckie. you deserve it, don’t you think?”

haechan nods and starts to frantically snap his hips against yours, fucking you like his life depends on it. his thrusts are sloppy with no rhythm, driven purely by want and the need to cum. all he can think about is how he needs to fill you up and show doyoung that he’s the only one who can do this.

you throw your head back with a moan, caging haechan in with your legs. “t-that’s it, baby,” you praise, “cum for me.”

haechan cries out as he feels your walls tighten around him again, hips stuttering. he thrusts in one more time before finally letting go, spilling his cum deep inside you. you pull him down for another kiss, moaning into his mouth.

you pull away, caressing his face. he flops down against you, cock going soft and slipping out. his glasses are gone too, lost somewhere in the sheets and left behind in a fit of desperation. you giggle when you notice this, wrapping your arms around him.

“thank you,” he mumbles, face dropping down to hide in your neck. he’s exhausted and currently rethinking his life choices.

doyoung clears his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. “that was.. wow,” he says stupidly, looking between you two. he’s satisfied yet suddenly feeling like he’s intruding.

you giggle, running your fingers through haechan’s hair while you look at doyoung. “i almost want to say thank you for winning,” you teasingly say to him.

doyoung, suddenly shy, bites his lip and asks, “was it.. was it good? better than haechan, i mean?”

at this, haechan whips his head up, whining. “stop! that’s not–no! i’m never making another bet with you again after this, doyoung! this was the first and the last,” he grumbles, squinting at his study mate.

you and doyoung both laugh at his words. “i was kidding,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender. “i see why you two are together. you’re…” he pauses, flashbacks of everything replaying in his mind, “let’s just say you’re good for each other?” the laugh that follows is nervous, almost like he’s not sure how to explain.

haechan decides that he’s definitely opening up applications for a new study buddy after this.

a/n: umm.. hrts4doie first fic who else cheered!! i just want to say THAAANNNKKK YOU SOO MUCCHH to val aka @haetrack for coming up with this series with me and also helping me write parts of this!! im soooo excited to finally be posting this and completing the nerd!haechan series but i love nerd!doyoung so bad i just might write more of him. anyways i hope u guys enjoyed and lmk what u thought!!

tags: @haetrack @beidouvv

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 9 - Can't Cover It Up

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Alternate title for this chapter is : “I need him in a way that’s concerning to feminism”. Enjoy!! Chapter Title is from I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 20.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You start to work of Ben's PTSD. Everyone takes a little break. Usual warnings

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 8 - Chapter 10

“Ben.” Her voice dragged through Ben’s head, pulling him from a strange, dark peace. “Ben, wake up.”

He groaned, and She started poking him. “Fuck off,” he muttered, unwilling to entertain even the fucking idea of opening his eyes.

“Ben,” Her voice was muffled, and she was squirming against him in a way that made the Thing start to rise into his head. “Ben, you’re really fucking big.”

The Thing was fully awake now, and if She kept moving around like that Ben might have to throw her across the room. The world began to creep into attention, lifting him further from the mindless, perfectly fucking numb state he’d been under as it did. There was light pushing under his eyes, a linen blanket lying across his back, something soft against his face, and Her heartbeat below his.

“I can’t fucking breathe, Ben. If I die from asphyxiation it’s going to mean a lot of paperwork for you.”

Something that wasn’t the mattress, with a lot more lumps and sharp points, was under him. And She was still fucking rolling around against his chest, making it harder to focus on whatever the hell else was going on.

“I’m giving you five seconds before I’m no longer accountable for my actions.” Her voice rolled through him, and he grunted.

This was comfortable. Ben hadn’t been comfortable in far too fucking long. His brain wasn’t alert, the world was undisturbing against his chest, and everything was warm. Really fucking warm. More like hot, actually. Fucking burning.

By the time Ben realized what was happening, it was too late.

“Fuck!” He launched himself upwards, off the bed, away from the furnace beneath him. “Goddamn it, woman! I was sleeping!”

“Sorry!” She was already out of the bed herself, the apology called over her shoulder as she sprinted to the bathroom, door slamming in her wake.

Ben rubbed his chest, the warmth of where She’d burned him already fading. “You don’t sound fucking sorry,” he grumbled, glaring at the door as the toilet flushed.

She opened the door, walking back into the room with her tongue stuck out mockingly. “You were on top of me. You’re not a small guy, Pretty Boy, and I really needed to pee.” “You should’ve just fucking shook me awake-“

“I tried! For like, ten minutes!”

“Could’ve tried harder.” Ben snapped, and She rolled her eyes.

“You were out like a damn baby, Benjamin. It was either I piss on the bed and we both lie in it until your majesty deemed us fit to move, or I wake you up and we don’t have to do laundry a week early.”

She was—as She always fucking was because the universe hated him—right. And by the smug look on her stupid fucking perfect face, she knew it. The Thing was enjoying her pleased little smirk, transfixed on the way she was looking at Ben with small spark of satisfaction in her eyes, and it was making it really fucking difficult to fight with her.

“Next time you need someone to stop you from burning the damn house down, don’t expect me to fucking be there.” Ben’s low words sounded hollow to his own ears, and she just laughed. It was a damn unhelpful reaction, only making the Thing roll around inside him.

“But if I get locked up for arson, who will heat up your chicken tenders and oatmeal for you?” She teased. “Butcher will have to send you an old folks’ home, and it probably won’t be a nice one.”

“I can heat up my own fucking chicken tenders.” Ben scowled, and She giggled. 

“How very manly of you.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

She hummed, ignoring him. “You can’t do oatmeal, huh?”

“Oatmeal is for orphans, widows, and pussies.”

She smirked. “And old men.”

“I’m not fucking old, Sunshine.” He snapped, and Her smile grew.

“You’re over a hundred. The fact that you’re not on viagra is a straight act of God.”

Ben scoffed, even as the Thing stared roaring to just fucking grab her and wipe that taunting grin off her face as he proved how little fucking help he needed.

“Not an act of any fucking pussy god, brat, just me.” He winked, and the Thing rumbled, pushing against him as Her heart fluttered and she wrinkled her nose.

“Sure, cunt.” She rolled her eyes. “You and all the scientists who thought you’d use immortality for more than just sex.”

Ben shrugged. “You’re benefiting from it.”

“What?” She looked back at him quickly, and her heart picked up in time with the flush of her face.

Feeling his mouth curl into a smirk of his own as Her’s dropped, Ben winked. “If those pussy scientists didn’t make me immortal, I’d be long dead. And there would be nobody to save your ass all the time.”

“Oh,” She blinked, her heart slowing as she tilted her head. “Well. If they didn’t make you immortal, I probably wouldn’t need saving.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

She looked Ben up and down, her face scrunched in the way that he could fucking see her brain moving. 

But she only met his eyes, giving him a small smile paired with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it.”

He said Her name firmly, narrowing his eyes, but she just rolled her own and moved to the dresser. 

“Go get changed, Ben. And shower, you smell like shit.”

“Sunshine, what the hell were you-“

“Dining room in fifteen. I want to get training done early so we can get started.” She began rummaging through the drawers, a small crease between her eyes.

Ben frowned. “Get started?”

“Yep,” She looked up, giving him a teasing grin. “You made a big mistake, Pretty Boy. You agreed, out loud, to let me work on that fucked up little brain of yours. We’re starting today, before you pussy out.”

“I’m not going to ‘pussy out’.” He grunted. “I’m a man of my fucking word. Which means we don’t have to start right damn now.”

“Maybe.” She pulled out a pair of leggings, bundling them under her arms as she moved to a different drawer. “But we’re going to anyways.”

“Why? No one’s fucking forcing us-” 

“I am.” She turned to face Ben fully, crossing her arms against her chest with a glare. “So haul your fucking ass, Benjamin, before I make you.”

“I’d like to see you try, brat.”

She stuck her tongue out at him as her heart stuttered on cue. “Eat me, cunt.”

The Thing went damn feral, coming up with a lot of creative ways to eat her, many involving her tongue and her cunt and his tongue and her tits, and through the lingering haze of sleep Ben was finding painfully fucking hard to ignore its suggestions. 

Fucking literally, the Thing taunted, and Ben—through an impressive amount of sheer will—ignored it.

“Sunshine, we just fucking woke up-“

“You just woke up,” she shrugged. “I’ve been up for hours.”

“Hours?” Ben blinked. “What the fuck do you mean hours?”

“Well, you see time is measured in sixty-second increments, which are made into minutes. Those minutes are added up, also in-“

“No, you fucking brat.” He rolled his eyes, fighting the small smile threatening his lips. “You know goddamn well I’m asking-“

“I’d never seen you really sleep, okay?” She muttered. “I didn’t want to stop it just because I had to pee.”

Ben started a Her, probably looking like a slack-jawed pussy as the Thing started to buck around inside him. It wanted to touch her and feel her and hold her and keep her right next to him all the fucking time-

His voice felt like sandpaper as he spoke. “Sunshine-“

She cut him off, pointing sharply at the door. “Nope. Go get changed.” When Ben only stared at her, she gave him a soft smile. “Don’t get soft on me now, Pretty Boy.”

“I’m not fucking soft,” he grunted, the Thing still fucking pushing at him. She let out a small laugh, her whole fucking face so light and happy, and Ben smirked at her. “I could always prove it to you by-“

“Nope, no time.” She gestured at the door again. “Out.”

“No time?” Ben taunted, very quickly deciding that getting changed was now the least important thing in the world. “So after?”

She wrinkled her nose at him, taking a few steps forward with clothes still tucked under her arm to open the door for him. “Out, Ben. Now.”

Ben didn’t move, grinning widely at Her. “We’re having a fucking conversation. Don’t you know it’s not polite-“

He cut himself off as She hurled herself at him, underwear and leggings falling and abandoned on the floor. Ben watched in amusement as she grabbed his arm and started to pull him, only to immediately think better of it and move behind him in an equally vain attempt to push his body towards the door. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what are you made of, bricks?” Ben felt Her slam her full body weight against his back, and grinned widely.

“I’ve been hit by a train and lived, Sunshine. I don’t think you’re going to have any more damn luck than it did.”

She paused, breathing heavily. “Steam engine or bullet train?”

“What the fuck is a bullet train?”

Apparently that was an answer to Her, because she started throwing herself back into Ben, strained noises sounding from behind him. “Goddamn-“ Her knee hit his thigh. “Fucking-“ Elbow into his side. “Bigfoot-“ Head pushing his back. “Ass-“ Two flat palms against his shoulders. “Man-” She paused for a second, catching her breath as Ben laughed. “You’re a dick.”

He chuckled. “I’m aware.” There was suspicious silence from behind him, and Ben turned—a little concerned that She’d passed out—right in time to be hit by the full force of Her body as she took a running start. Her arms wrapped around his torso, face pressed into his chest as she planted her feet firmly into the ground. 

Ben didn’t even feel himself fucking stumble, but She was nothing if not dedicated. 

“I fucking hate you, stupid fucking V’ed up asshole, built like a fucking mammoth-“ Ben snorted as She descended into bitter muttering, not budging from her hold.

“This is becoming really fucking sad, Sunshine.” 

“I’ll show you fucking sad, Ben, I’ll make you fucking cry-“

He said Her name in huffed amusement, rolling his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m just as immortal as you, you fucking cunt-“ She paused, taking a deep breath through her nose as her brow rested against him. He looked down at her, and She raised her head to meet his gaze.

Her eyes were wide, dilated, and she was breathing heavily through puffed lips. The Thing started to riot inside him, and suddenly Ben was incredibly aware of how Her body was pressed into his, how her hands rested against his back and her chin was perched against his chest. How She was fucking leaning into him and he could feel the speed of her heartbeat, the warmth that radiated from her skin. The image of Her body, still smoking, utterly fucking bare, and just as insufferably perfect as the rest of Her flashed in his head, making the Thing start to bellow. Her hair was pressed against her forehead by sweat, and he wanted to run his hands through it. He wanted to move his hands to where Her neck was craning up a him, and pull her closer-

“That’s enough,” Ben grunted, and as he pulled Her off of his body she made a little yelp that the growing strain in his pants really fucking enjoyed. 

“Ben-“ She let little gasp as he tossed her back onto the bed, and the Thing fucking whined like a fucking pussy. “What the fuck-“

Turning roughly, Ben stomped to the door, picked up Her clothes from the floor, and threw them to her side. Ignoring the Thing scrapping against him to stay—because just fucking look at her, so fucking perfect, sitting on the bed with pretty eyes and soft lips and she just made another little sound when she caught the clothes—Ben forced himself to walk in controlled and even steps down the hall to his room. He closed the door firmly but without a slam, locked it like any fucker who was about to get changed probably would, and fucking caved.

The Thing was getting a lot more fucking specific about its fantasies. Before it had been flashes of images, blurry hypotheticals. Now, as Ben threw his pants to some unimportant corners of the room and chased some sort of goddamn relief in his hand, everything was clear.

She was pressed against him again, looking up at him with blown out pupils and her mouth just barely open. This time he let his hand move up, holding the back of her neck as his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her so tightly against his body she might as well be just another part of him. He leaned down, pressing his lips to hers, and She opened for him. Easily, like she’d done it a thousand times before. His tongue moved into her mouth and she fucking moaned, hands gripping his shirt in fists as she tried to tug him impossibly closer. He dropped the hand at her hips lower, pressing his palm against her ass before dragging it forward to rest right between her thighs.

She whined, starting to grind against him, and he pulled back, smirking down at her as she moved to frantically pull the front of his shirt, trying to bring his mouth back to hers. He just moved to cup her jaw, running his thumb over her swollen lower lip. 

“Ben,” she whimpered, breath heavy against his fingers as her hand gripped his wrist against her center, trying to make him move.

“What’s the matter, Sunshine? Need something?” 

“You fucking dick-“

“You want my fucking dick, don’t you?” She moaned, head falling forward into his chest. “Tell me you want my fucking dick, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Ben,” she keened again. “You cunt-“

“Your cunt, brat. That’s what we’re talking about.” She fucking whined again, and he chuckled. “You know what you have to do if you want this.”

“Fuck-“ She let out a small, desperate sound. “Fuck you-“

“You will. All you have to say is-“

“Please! Ben, please. Please fuck me, you fucking asshole-“

Ben felt the metal taste of blood in his mouth, and realized not only had he covered the whole room in white, he’d bitten clean through his tongue as he came. By the time he had changed and cleaned his room—he was getting really fucking efficient—it had almost entirely healed, and Ben decided to just fucking hope She wouldn’t notice any lisp or slur in his words.

He should’ve fucking know a lot damn better by now. 

When Ben entered the dining room, She was sitting cross-legged on one of the long abandoned chairs, holding a completely destroyed apple in one hand and her phone in the other. Her gaze was sharp as her eyes moved across the screen, a small frown on Her face. It took Ben clearing his throat loudly for Her to look up at him, and the Thing tensed at the drawn caution still lingering on her face.

“Took you long enough.” She paused, and her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t shower.”

“You don’t fucking know that-“

“Your hair is dry.” She said flatly.

“Maybe I just don’t want to shower two goddamn times in one morning?” Ben snapped. “You think of that, smartass?”

He’d expected Her to glare at him, or bite back with her usual snark, but her head only tilted at him, brow furrowing. “What happened to your voice?”

“What are you talking about,” Ben snapped, cursing himself for not just waiting the one extra fucking minute for his tongue to heal.

“Your words sound weird. Open your mouth.” She took a step closer, eyeing his mouth as if she expected a fucking snake to jump out of it and turning the apple core over in her hands.

“I’m not going to fucking ‘open my mouth’, Sunshine.” Ben angled his chin higher, trying to hide his tongue as he spoke. 

“Why?” She glared at him. “Got something to hide?”

Just a few more damn seconds. “I don’t have to do everything you fucking tell me to, brat.”

Heart-flutter. Scowl. Her arms crossing in front of her. “Are you pleading the fucking fifth, Ben?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, because I’m not damn guilty of any fucking shit.”

“That’s not how the fifth works.”

“Yes, it fucking is.” Ben turned his face down fully, feeling his tongue healed completely. “And I’m not hiding anything. My voice is fucking normal.”

She blinked, a surprised frown flashing across Her features. “You’re fucking impossible,” she mumbled, and Ben winked at Her.

“Can I hear an apology-“ Ben was cut off by the apple core hitting him square in the fucking face.

“No.” She looked him up and down. “It’s not my fault you were being weird.” She met his eyes again, a smirk playing on her lips. “And you were wrong about the fifth. Which is shocking given you were alive when it was written.”

He glared at her. “You know goddamn well I wasn’t.”

“Do I?” She said, fake innocence coating her voice as she gave him a wide-eyed stare. “You’d bet money on that Pretty Boy?”

“You think you’re fucking funny, huh?” 

“I’m a goddamn riot.” She moved to her defensive stance. “And I’m going to fucking kick your ass for whatever it is you’re hiding.”

Ben scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything, Sunshine.” He reached his arm out. “You can always just fucking check for yourself.”

“I can’t read minds, Ben. Unless you’re feeling guilty, doing that won’t help me at fucking all.”

“I’ve never felt guilty in my goddamn life.” The Thing started spinning around in Ben’s chest, tight against him. Suddenly Her touching him felt like a bad fucking idea.

“Yeah,” She rolled her eyes. “I fucking know. It’s an issue.”

He frowned. “I get shit done, Sunshine. I said I won’t fucking apologize for doing my goddamn job-“

“Not asking you to. That’s a battle I know I won’t win.” She said, flexing her fists. “Now let me beat you to a pulp, Ben.”

“You’re real mouthy this morning, brat.” He sneered, and She glared up at him. “You really think you’re laying one fucking hand on me?”

“Oh,” she gave a dry laugh. “This is going be so goddamn cathartic, cunt, you have no fucking idea.”

Ben decided he had at least some fucking idea, because the first punch She threw landed square across the jaw, and the second slammed right into his gut. It didn’t hurt, he barely even felt it, but the crazed focus in Her eyes, the fact that he could hear the grinding of her teeth, and the way Her heart had taken on a heavy and uncontrolled rhythm was telling him at least a little about what She was feeling.

“Christ on a fucking cross,” Ben grunted as her fifth punch connected with his nose. “I thought we weren’t fighting anymore.”

“We’re not,” she grunted, kicking his chest.

“Sure feels like we goddamn are.” He managed to block her fist from his neck, and She stumbled slightly. “If you’re still mad at me, just fucking tell me.”

“I’m not,” She snapped, and Ben rolled his eyes. “I’m fucking not!”

“Don’t lie to me, Sunshine, you’re better than that.”

“Oh piss off,” She scowled, and Ben didn’t like the shadow that flitted across her face. “I’m not fucking mad at you, I’m just stressed, ok?”

“About what?” Ben frowned, dodging another punch. The Thing started to scrape at him again, desperate to reach out and smooth the crease in Her brow. “Nothing’s fucking happening.”

She just grunted, not meeting his eyes. This time, when her fist flew to his face, Ben grabbed it, holding it firmly as he glared down at Her.

“What’s wrong with you.” He demanded, and She just blinked, looking between his glower and his hold on her hand.

“Nothing,” She said, though her voice wavered, and the Thing started rising to Ben’s throat. 

“Liar.” He lowered his hand, pulling Her arm with him. “What’s wrong.”

She rolled her eyes. “Nothing’s fucking wrong, Benjamin. I don’t need a single reason to be stressed, everything about our lives is fucking nightmare.”

“You’re being sloppy.” He watched Her carefully, listening for any change in her heart. “Our lives are nightmares every goddamn day. You’re never fucking sloppy.”

“I’m not sloppy, Pretty Boy.” She sneered. “I’ve landed almost every fucking punch.”

“In poor form.” Ben countered, not wavering. Something was fucking wrong with Her. The Thing was so damn loud in him, it needed to know, it need to make it better, make Her smile or laugh and just look less fucking tense. “If you’re still pissed at me, fucking spit it out.”

“Not everything is fucking about you, Ben!” She spat, trying to pry Her fist from his. “I’m just fucking stressed!”

“There’s nothing-“

“Are you stupid, or insane? Of course there’s shit to be stressed about! You met with Homelander and you didn’t even tell me what happened! We keep fucking fighting about stupid shit and I’m tired! We keep saying we won’t keep secrets but we both know we’re lying! Butcher is apparently watching us on cameras, and being just a fucking dick about-“ She took a deep, strained breath. “I just want to fucking have some sort of goddamn control over my fucking life, and sometimes that means punching someone I-“ She took a ragged breath. “I know can take it. Is that too much to fucking ask?”

He felt Her hand grow slack in his, her eyes growing cloudy. The Thing was pushing into him, and Ben wasn’t fucking strong enough to fight it. Not when She looked so goddamn exhausted, still somehow fucking perfect, and hollow in a way that made the Thing bloodthirsty.

He pulled Her hand forward, and as she stumbled into his chest, a small gasp escaping her, Ben wrapped his arms around her back and shoulders. He held Her tight against him, stroking her hair until her breathing steadied, and her body relaxed against his. Once it had, Her head resting against his chest and her heartbeat moving in time with his own, Ben pulled back slightly to look down at Her.

Fucking perfect.

“Go shower,” he said Her name firmly, and she blinked at him in surprise.

“But-“

“We don’t have to go for two hours every damn day, Sunshine. You’re going to go shower, we’re going to sit on the couch, and you’re going to get your fucking show on the road.”

“My show?” She frowned. “Do you mean-“

“The shell shock.” Ben grunted. “You’re going to try your little magic trick, I’ll tell you about the meeting, and we won’t fight.��

She sighed, watching him sadly. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” Ben tightened his grip on her body. “I fucking swear on it.”

For a long second, it looks like She might push him on it. Ben fucking meant it, they weren’t going to fight, even if it meant talking about stupid, vapid shit for the entire afternoon. She looked too goddamn exhausted, it would be like kicking a puppy. A perfect, sad, exhausted puppy that got on his every fucking nerve, but he would bite his tongue for. Part of Ben just wanted to pick Her up, carry her to bed, and hold her until she slept off the strain and anguish on Her face.

“Promise?” She breathed, and Ben didn’t feel any hesitation as he responded.

“Promise.”

She nodded slowly, and pried herself from his grip. “You better shower as well. I meant it when I said you smelled like shit.”

Ben snorted. “You’re not much better, Sunshine.” It was a fucking lie, she smelled like flower shampoo and salt and smoke, but the small smile on Her lips was more than worth the taunt. 

“Don’t make me force you to bathe, because I’ll fucking do it. Don’t test me.”

“I’m sure you will,” he muttered under his breath, trailing after Her as they moved up the stairs. She laughed, looking over Her shoulder at him with a wide, perfect smile covering Her face, and the Thing ached.

“See you in thirty, Ben.” She closed the door behind Her, and he was left in the hallway alone.

Ben did shower. Not because She fucking told him to, or because he realized she was right—he smelled like sweat and charcoal and grime—but because he had thirty minutes to kill and nothing to do except shower.

It didn’t fucking hurt that he got to imagine Her in the shower with him, that same perfect smile on Her face as the Thing created an image of her kneeling before him. Of Her mouth around him, of Ben’s hand in her hair as it had been only minutes ago, of Her moans running through his body as he thrusted his cock between her lips.

This time, it was a lot easier to clean up after himself.

She was already on the couch when he got back downstairs, hair damp and knees folded into Her chest as she tapped on her phone. Ben dropped down at Her side, and nudged her shoulder.

“Feeling better, brat?”

She stuck her tongue out as she dropped Her phone into her lap, and the Thing rumbled. “I’m gonna heal your brain so fucking hard, cunt, you won’t know what hit you.”

“Or nothing will happen, because I’m not a fucking shell shocked pussy, and the world’s going to owe me a big fucking apology.”

“You still don’t think you have PTSD?” She frowned. 

“No, because I fucking don’t.”

“Why are you letting me do this, then?” 

Ben shrugged. “Who am I to deprive you of a chance to touch me?”

She scoffed, face flushing slightly. “We touch all the time, Ben. Try again.”

The Thing was loud in his ears, both grumbling about how She was right—they did touch all the time—but it still wasn’t fucking enough, and trying to grab his tongue and force the words because you said I couldn’t fix you if you couldn’t fix me, and if you had kept fucking screaming and crying and breaking right in front of me it might have fucking killed me.

The Thing needed to shut the hell up.

“You wanted some control, Sunshine. Here it is.” When She didn’t look entirely convinced at his words, Ben leaned down to hold Her gaze at eye level and said Her name firmly. “No fighting, remember?”

She narrowed her eyes, and nodded. “Fine. You’re telling me about the meeting, though. No fucking take backs.”

“Deal.” He said, a smile pulling at his mouth. “What do you-“

He cut himself off as She reached up, dropping one leg down to carpet as she folded the other beneath her, and placed her hands against his head. The Thing made a lot of satisfied sounds, and Ben had to bite down a groan and Her fingers tangled slightly in his hair. 

“What the hell are you doing.” His voice was strained, a lot of fucking effort going into ignoring how She’d pulled him down further, so that her face was practically inches from his.

She wasn’t even fucking looking a him as she answered, attention trained on where she held him. “Can’t touch your brain. This is the closest I can get.”

“Should I be fucking feeling something?”

“Dunno,” She shrugged. “Never done this to myself, dummy.”

Ben grunted, and watched Her nose start to wrinkle, brows drawing into concentration. She somehow looked more perfect than before, when he could see glimpses of Her teeth as she chewed her lower lip, could look at every small movement of her eyes, could feel Her hot breath fan across his face. “Have you started-“

“Yeah.” She glanced down to meet his gaze, and something hot flashed across her face. “You can talk whenever.”

“Does it feel like anything?”

She shook her head, but Ben heard her foot start to tap on the carpet. “Do you feel anything?”

“No.”

Her eyes ran across his face, searching for something Ben didn’t have a clue about. She seemed to find Her answer though, and her focus returned to his forehead. “The meeting?” She prompted, and Ben sighed.

“What do you want to know?”

“All of it.” Her voice was firm. “Start from when you left, end when you got back.”

Ben frowned. “We took the van.”

“I figured.” She snarked, and he rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to hear about it or not?” She shot him a quick glare, and he continued. “The French Prick had gas. Fucking mustard and sleeping gas with agent orange.”

“Agent orange is illegal, it hasn’t been in production since, like, the 70s.” She said, and Ben scoffed.

“Asshole made his own. Carried it fucking everywhere like a pussy.”

She let out a huff of amusement. “Of course he did. You’re a scary guy.”

“I know.” He muttered, and something pulled at his lungs. Before he could think better of it, he was asking, “You scared of me, Sunshine?”

“Me?” She still didn’t look back at him, and Ben couldn’t fucking stand the seconds before she answered. “No.” She said it as if it was fucking obvious, and Ben wanted to know more, the Thing needed to know more, but before he could demand it She was looking into his eyes. “What else?”

“We went to the FSIB.” She frowned, and Ben knew his guess had been wrong. “Supe Bureau.” He said, before she could ask.

“Ah,” a small smile crossed her lips, gaze leaving his once more. “FBSA.”

“Sure, that.” He muttered, raising his voice after to continue. “Sage and Homelander were there,” Her grip on his head tightened slightly, and he had to fight the Thing trying to reach for Her. “Neuman too.” She opened her mouth, and Ben rolled his eyes. “Neuman as well. Butcher was pissed about it.”

She snorted. “Butcher’s always pissed about something. What did they want?”

“To know our plans. Sage fucking asked outright what they were.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Goddamn waste of time.”

“Hm.” She shook her head slightly, lips drawing in as she chewed at them. “You said Sage asked?”

Ben nodded. “Specifically about us. What Butcher was intending to use us for.”

“Sage asked that?” She glanced down at him again, frowning. “That sounds like something Homelander would ask, not Sage.”

“Maybe that pussy made her ask for him.”

She shook her head, voice slightly quieter. “Even if that’s true, Sage would have to see benefit in it. I don’t trust her to just give in to Homelander over something so plainly stupid. There’s something else. What-” She swallowed slightly, and Ben’s attention caught on the bob of Her throat. “What else was discussed?”

Feeling that She already knew the answer, Ben watched her carefully as he spoke. “You. A lot about you. Sage said you were a liability, which is fucking bullshit, and Homelander whined like a fucking pussy about you leaving him, about the food, about the V shot that didn’t take and how you wasted it, offered to trade you for Ryan-“

“He what?” Her eyes darted down, voice high.

“Asshole said he’d be willing to give Butcher his wife’s brat if Butcher gave you over.” Ben heard Her heart stumble. “We didn’t damn agree to it, Sunshine. If Butcher had even fucking considered it I’d have thrown him out the window.”

“But he offered it? To Butcher?”

Ben said Her name slowly. “I don’t think Butcher took it fucking seriously. Even that pussy knows Homelander would’ve just fucking taken you and kept Ryan.” He frowned as She nodded, blinking nervously before looking back up. “Sunshine.”

“Hm?” Her grip tightened again. 

“You’re hiding something.” 

“No, I’m not.” Her words were clipped, and Ben scoffed. 

“Yes, you fucking are. Are you really fucking worried that Butcher will take his offer? Because I was being fucking serious-”

“I’m not worried about the offer, Ben. I promise.”

Ben examined Her face. She was still looking intently at his forehead, but Her heart was controlled with her breathing again, and the tapping was gone. “Are you upset about the kid? Brian?”

“Ryan,” she corrected. “And no. He’s going to be fine.”

“Because of your plan.”

“Because of my plan.”

Ben said her name slowly. “What is your fucking plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s something fucking stupid, isn’t it.”

She frowned. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is.” He glared at Her perfect face, trying to find any sort of tell for whatever insane thing was running through Her goddamn head.

“Fuck off, Benjamin. How the hell would you know if it’s stupid.”

He glared at Her. “Because all your plans are fucking stupid and insane.”

“And they all fucking work, Pretty Boy.” Her voice was smug. “You’ve said so yourself.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not goddamn terrible. All of them involve you throwing yourself in front of a train and just fucking hoping you survive.”

“Only one of us has thrown themselves in front of a train, cunt, and it’s not me.”

“A fucking metaphorical train, brat. And I know your plan is fucking stupid because you and Butcher don’t seem too concerned about how it might not work.”

She rolled her eyes. “If anything that’s a sign that it’s an amazing plan.”

“No, it means it’s fucking insane and probably going to blow up in your fucking face.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m being fucking serious, Sunshine.” Ben reached, grabbing one of Her wrists. “If you’re planning something insane, you need to fucking tell me.”

She glowered at him, her words firm. “Good thing it’s not insane.”

“Then just tell me the damn plan.”

“No.”

“I’m trying to help you, brat.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Fucking hell,” Ben snapped Her name. “Can you just trust me about one goddamn thing-“

“No fighting, Ben.” She cut him off, voice rising. “And I’m not telling you, not because I don’t trust you, or because it’s stupid and insane.” She was talking faster and faster, with less breaths between words. “I’m not telling you because nobody knows but Butcher and I, and it needs to stay that way because it’s really fucking precarious, and it needs to go perfectly because if it doesn’t you won’t get the fucking shot at Homelander and this will have been for fucking nothing because you’ll go back under-“ Her grip was like iron around his head. “And we fucking promised we wouldn’t let each other go back so I can’t-“ 

Ben yanked Her hands from his head just before they began to smoke. “Sunshine-“

“I can’t, I can’t tell you, I fucking can’t-“

He raised his voice using Her name as he grabbed her face in his hands. “Fucking breathe.”

She stared at him, her own hands flying up to his arms. 

He repeated himself, lowering his volume, but keeping his words forceful. “Breathe.”

She nodded slowly, and Ben watched Her chest rise and fall, slowing in speed as her heart steadied. She was still watching him, eyes wide and lips parted, and Ben was suddenly incredibly fucking aware of how close they were. Closer than before. Her hands were still warm around him, keeping his hold on her face firm, a hold that had his fingers tangled in her hair and his thumbs so fucking close to her mouth. Her knee was pushed against his hips, dangerously close to the tightness in his pants, and he could fucking swear Her eyes had just fallen to his lips, her tongue running over her own-

Something buzzed, and Her head dropped down as she moved one hand to grab Her phone. 

“It’s Hughie.” Her brow wrinkled as she read the screen.

“Cocksucker?” 

“Hughie.” She corrected without missing a beat. “He says Annie is about to call, and not to say no to her, because it’ll be his ass if I do and she’s been trying to do this for a month.”

On perfect fucking cue, the phone started buzzing again, displaying a grainy photo what looked to be Starlight gloating over the French Prick’s body. Ben tried to read the words, which was harder than usual given that they were upside down, but his attention was pulled back to Her as she poked his leg with Her foot.

“Ben, I need to answer.” When he just raised his brows at Her—about to ask why the hell she was telling him instead of just fucking doing it—she looked pointedly at his hands, which were still gripping Her face. 

He rolled his eyes, but released her.

“Thanks,” She mumbled, raising the phone to her ear. “What’s wrong, Annie?”

Ben kept his face passive as he listened to Starlight’s voice, muffled through the static of the phone. “We’re going out.”

She raised Her brows, frowning at Ben as she spoke. “What?”

“We need a break,” Starlight’s voice was firm. “So we’re going out.”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Everyone. You, me, Hughie, Frenchie, Kimiko, MM, Butcher even if I have to physically drag him, and Soldier Boy because we can’t leave him alone.”

Ben scowled, and She rolled her eyes at him, giving him a glare of I know you’re listening Ben, but she doesn’t, so keep fucking quiet.

“Is this part of a plan?” She asked carefully. “Like a club full of supes that might have information-“

“No,” Starlight said Her name with a sigh. “We’re just going out, because if we don’t let off some steam we might explode.”

“Why do Ben and I have to come?” She said, and Ben could hear the gnawing of Her lip. “I mean, he’s still a fugitive, and everyone is going to think he’s kidnapped me-“

“Frenchie’s taking care of it.”

“Annie,” Her voice was flat. “I have no interest in going anywhere sponsored or endorsed by Frenchie.”

“Please,” Starlight said Her name in a desperate tone. “It’ll be safe, I promise. We all need this, and that includes you.”

“You don’t want me there, Annie.” The plain, factual way She says the words makes the Thing want to snap every member of Her team in half. “I might blow, it’s really not safe-“

“It’ll be fine, I promise.”

She sighed, and Ben could fucking visably see will begin to crumble “Annie, I don’t even have anything to wear-“

“Are your measurements the same from when we found you?”

“I mean, yeah, but-“

“I’ll buy you something this afternoon.”

“This after- Annie are we going today?”

“Yep. We’ll pick you up in a few hours.”

“Hours?” Her eyes were wide. “A few fucking hours?”

“Like three or four.”

“Annie-“

“See you then!” The hum of the line went dead, and She looked up at Ben with wide eyes. 

“You heard her, right?”

Ben frowned. “You didn’t tell her to get me clothes.”

She blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about? What are you going to wear?”

He shrugged. “I mean, there’s not fucking much else to worry about-“

“What about the fact that you are a wanted criminal? Or that I am technically your hostage?”

“Starlight said the French Prick would take care of it.”

“Ben-“

“The lady is right, Sunshine.” He said firmly. “You need a break. I need a break. She sounded like she needed a break.”

“But-“

Ben said Her name, nudging her leg with his own. “Even Butcher is going,” his tone was teasing, trying to pull the goddamn worry from Her face. “Are going to be more of a stick in the mud than fucking Butcher?”

She scowled. “I’m not a stick in the mud.”

He gave her a cocky grin. “Prove it.”

Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward. No anger, no stress, just pure focus on his challenge. “Prove it?”

“Fucking prove it. Let go. Have some fun for once in your damn life.”

“I’ve had fun. I’ve had a shit ton of fun.” Her lips were slightly pouted. And so fucking close.

“Like I said, brat. Prove it.”

She stood abruptly, and the Thing start fucking pussying about inside Ben that Her body was gone. She moved around the couch, marching to the stairs, before pausing to look back at Ben once. 

“I’m going have so much fucking fun, Pretty Boy. It’s going to blow your fucking mind.”

————

The thing about living in a CIA safe-house to babysit an allegedly dead hundred-year-old man—who you entirely and incorrectly anticipated hating with every fiber of your being for the duration of your time together—was that you didn’t spend a lot of time trying to look nice. Not for yourself, and certainly not for anyone else. 

Every member of your team had fully supported this blatant lack of effort. You brushed your teeth, showered, and combed out your hair enough that MM wouldn’t start yelling at you about basic hygiene, but nobody was about to start telling you that self-presentation was important to self-respect. You, like all of them, didn’t have the luxury of self-respect. You hardly had the luxury of respect. 

It was because of this that—looking back on it—hindsight was indeed a powerful thing. Hindsight would’ve been unbelievably helpful when Mallory’s bi-weekly grocery delivery had come a few nights ago, delivered with a grotesquely large box of makeup and hair products from Annie. You’d moved them into your bathroom—thankful that Ben was taking one of his long showers after training and wasn’t going to barge in asking questions—and read the note buried between hairspray and color corrector.

For later! I wasn’t sure what colors you liked, so I got all of them. - Annie.

A little heart had been drawn next to her name, and looking back at the box you realized she had, as promised, gotten all of them. The box was filled with a rainbow fortune of lipsticks, glosses, eyeshadow palettes, mascaras, liners—liquid, pencil and gel—highlighters, blushes, bronzers, contours, and at least at least twenty foundations and concealer in what you imagined was Annie’s best guess of your shade. That wasn’t even touching the sprays and gels and body glitter. 

You’d thought she’d lost it. Or gotten sick of her blood money from Vought and decided to buy you an entire makeup store. You’d pulled out your phone, found Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion, and been about to call her and ask if she was ok and what “for later” could have possibly meant when Ben had started banging on your door. You’d left your phone in the bathroom, shoving the box under the sink, and ran to answer him. You don’t really remember most of the conversation, because Ben’s hair had been damp and looked soft and you’d wanted to touch it, there had been ice cream stuck to his lower lip and you’d wanted to lick it, and the Feeling had been incredibly focus on the slight rasp in his voice but apparently not enough to really hear him. You remember how it had ended though. You putting away the groceries as Ben watched unhelpfully at the doorway, save for a whole tub of malt vanilla ice cream that Ben had decided was too close to melting and felt personally responsible to take matters into his own hands. You’d told him it had been out for less than an hour, and if it was really about his commitment to lowering food waste he wouldn’t have let the caramel ice cream just die like he had. He’d said caramel was a shitty flavor for pussies and the senile, you’d told him that malt vanilla wasn’t really the ice cream of the youth either, he’d called you “brat” again, and Annie’s box of insanity had been completely forgotten.

Hughie’s text had said that Annie had been planning this for a month. If it wasn’t for the box, you’d have thought she was being blackmailed, tricked, or at the very least mind-controlled. Annie wasn’t someone who “went out”, let alone enlisted Frenchie for aid in finding terrorist-appropriate nightlife. You stared at the box as you pulled it out from under the sink—it was more daunting than you remembered—unsure if you should just fully lean into Ben’s prove you’re not a stick in the mud challenge, or be genuinely concerned for Annie and her sudden personality switch. The Feeling was in strong favor of the first option, replaying every single second on the couch over and over, reminding you that Ben had never seen you actually try to have fun—or at least what he considered fun—and maybe if you proved you could he’d touch your face again. Maybe he’d look at you with that hungry glint in his eyes and actually mean it the way the Feeling wanted him to. 

He’d lose his mind. The Feeling protested. You’d prove you’re not a stick in the mud, and as a fun reward you’d get to see him lose his mind.

It was that exact train of thought that made you choose the second option, even as the Feeling whined about it. 

You pulled out your phone—pushing the Feeling deep into the back of your head where it couldn’t influence your decisions—and forced yourself to call Hughie.

“What’s up?” Hughie sounded tired, more tired than normal. 

“Is Annie okay?” You dove into the question headfirst, the words pushing the Feeling back further. This wasn’t about Ben, and how the Feeling hated the idea that he saw you as boring. This was about Annie, and if you needed to be worried about her.

“Yeah, um, I mean-“ Hughie stumbled over his words, and you could practically see the anxiety on his face. “She’s fine. Good. She’s good. Everything is fine and she’s good-“

“Hughie.” You said firmly. “I’m not an idiot.”

“I, uh, I didn’t say you were-“

“Do I need to be worried? Because you know just well, scratch that, you know better than I do that ‘going out’ is not regular Annie behavior.”

“I mean, it could be. Maybe it wasn’t regular Starlight behavior but it is regular Annie behavior. We don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me. You’re not good at it.”

Hughie mumbled your name. “It’s really not that much to be worried about.”

“Okay.” You sigh, glancing involuntarily towards the door to make sure Ben hasn’t suddenly appeared to ruin your bluff. “Then I guess it’s ok if Ben and I don’t go.”

“No!” You move the phone from your ear with a wince as Hughie yells the words. “You need to come, please, Annie will kill me-“

“Why, Hughie. Why will she kill you if it’s not something to be worried about?” Hughie was silent for a second, so you continued. “This is risky, you know this is risky. If you say it’s important to Annie I’ll do it, but I need to know that it’s actually important to her, and not something to be concerned about.”

“It is important to Annie,” Hughie’s voice was hushed. “You’re right, it’s not like her, but she’s still fighting with her mom, and Firecracker did a lot of damage-“ you wince at the mention of Firecracker, but remain silent. “And she just wants to do something kind of normal with the team. Something stupid that isn’t fucking life or death.”

“Okay.” You say, and you mean it. “Three hours?”

“Uh, yeah. Three hours.”

“See you then.” You hang up, and sigh at nothing.

Three hours. Three hours to remember how to look and act like the carefree, normal person you’d been three years ago. The person who had friends, and went out with those friends, and had simple, wild fun with those friends. You could do it again, even if those friends were now revenge fueled mercenaries. But you could have fun. You would have fun. For yourself. Not because the Feeling was starting to come up with all the ways in which you could prove that you weren’t a stick in the mud, and all the ways Ben’s jaw would drop when he was forced to eat his words.

You dump out the contents of Annie’s box—an immediate mistake, there was somehow more than there looked to be—and set to work. You tried all ten of the different perfumes, settled on a flowery one with an Italian label that you certainly butcher the pronunciation of, and took a shower. A long shower, that drowned out the Feeling reminding you of your last shower, where Ben’s sweat from training had been stuck to your body, and his touch had still been lingering on your skin, and his face was imprinted onto your eyes, and the sound of his voice was ringing in your ears-

You turned the shower knob until the water was freezing, and cursed slightly as the chill hit your body. 

After you’d dried yourself off—two hours left—you set to work. Makeup first, a full face of powders and shadows and colors. You started over three times—muscle memory was not your friend and the more you sorted through the pile of products the less satisfied you were with your previous choices—and by the time you were done and semi-pleased with your handiwork, you were down to an hour. Hair was faster���there were less choices to be made—and by the time you looked in the mirror ten minutes remained. Ten minutes to not dwell on Ben. Ten minutes to remind yourself that this wasn’t about him, because this was about Annie. Ten minutes for the Feeling to work up from where you’d buried it, and provide unhelpful fantasies of Ben smudging your lipstick and messing up your hair and looking at you with the same hooded gaze from earlier-

Your phone buzzed, a text from Butcher flashing across the screen. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

We’ll talk tonight. 

Cold ran through your body, steeling you as your breathing became controlled. Tonight. Butcher was ready, he’d texted you this morning about “all the bloody pieces in place”, and you were going to talk tonight. This wasn’t about the Feeling, because the Feeling didn’t matter. It was gripping onto Ben for safety, a luxury it would soon no longer have. This was about having fun, before everything went to hell. This was about the fact that all of this was so close to over, you might as well enjoy doing something stupid for your friend. You gave the mirror a glare, the foreign woman in it glaring right back. This was the last time she’d make an appearance, because Butcher was ready tonight.

You heard a light knock on your door, took a deep breath, and went to answer it. Annie stood on the other side, holding a plastic bag with a white-knuckled grip.

“Oh good, you’re ready.” She held out the bag, and you took it tentatively as she continued. “I wasn’t sure what you like, so I got a few different styles. Once you get changed, we’ll get going.”

You glance down, scanning Annie’s options. “Uh, where exactly are we going?” 

“Some sort of underground speak-easy type club.” Annie frowned slightly. “I don’t remember the name, Frenchie was talking really fast when he said it.”

You nod nervously, fighting the lump in your throat. “Okay, give me, like, five and I’ll be ready.” 

You were about to retreat into your room, starting to close the door, when Annie stopped you with a quick, nervous touch. You blink at her, trying to ignore the rush of anxiety and stress that buzzed through your body.

Annie said your name softly. “Thank you for doing this.”

You shrug. “Don’t.”

“I know you’d rather not leave-“

“Annie, seriously. It’s fine. You’re right, we all need a break.” You clear your throat, chasing off the grip that Butcher’s text had left on your lungs. “This will be fun.”

“You look nice,” Annie offers a smile. “Hot.”

You give her a half-forced, toothy grin. “You look hot as well. Hughie’s gonna lose his mind.” Maybe Ben will lose his for you, the Feeling said dreamily in your ear. You pushed it back into the corners of your brain, forcing yourself to focus on Annie.

“This will be fun.” Annie echo’s your sentiment, her voice firm. “I’ll see you when you’re ready?”

“In five.” You restate, nodding. This time, when you go to close the door, Annie doesn’t stop you.

Changing takes a little over five minutes, because even though you try to pick something fast, it’s impossible to ignore the Feeling as it tries to invent different scenarios about how that option will highlight one feature, but that option will highlight another, and Ben would probably like the third option because it’s green-

You pick the green option, because it shuts the Feeling up the easiest. 

When you get to the living room, MM and Butcher are standing stiffly at the door, Kimiko is rummaging through the bookshelf as Frenchie watches with an adorably affectionate expression, and Hughie and Annie are huddled on the couch, exchanging low words. You clear your throat, and hold yourself steady as attentions turn to where you stand at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m ready.” You mumble, giving the room another quick sweep. “Where’s Ben?”

“Asshole was in the shower when we got here.” MM grumbled. “Still hasn’t come down.”

You snort. “In that case we might be here all night. That man takes long showers, he might not be half-way done.”

“Fucking rude, Sunshine.” You jump, spinning on your heels to see Ben coming down the stairs, a crooked grin on his face. “I care about my hygiene, is that a goddamn crime?” “When it takes up all the hot water? Yeah, it is.” You avert your gaze as you snap at him, because the Feeling is starting to push up and up in your brain, almost consumes your thoughts about the fact that Ben looks good, really good, and he’s stopped right next to you, and you can feel the heat from his body-

Butcher’s voice snaps you away from the Feeling’s grip. “Well, don’t you two clean up well?” His tone is mocking, and when you look at his twisted smile and cold eyes, your whole body tenses.

“Wish I could say the same for you, you fucking pussy.” Ben drawls, seemingly unbothered. “You own any clothes that aren’t those ugly fucking Hawaiian shirts?”

“Nah,” Butcher winks. “Nothing else matches my thongs, Gov.”

Ben’s fists curl in your periphery, and you take a step forward. “Frenchie,” your voice is a little louder than probably needed, but it gets the job done. “How far is the club?”

Frenchie doesn’t look up from watching Kimiko as he responds. “An hour, Madame Anom-“ He cuts himself off, head shooting up to look nervously at Ben, and says your name instead. 

“Then let’s get a move on,” MM grunts from the door, and you barely here his mutter of, “Fucking hell, Frenchie, couldn’t chose a place in a reasonable distance, could you?” because you’re blinking at Frenchie, trying to figure out why he’s still looking at Ben in not quite fear, but certainly not comfort. 

Everyone filters out of the room—the air a little more tense than it probably should be for a group of people going clubbing—and you grab Ben’s arm before he can follow.

Mistake. Big mistake. The Feeling claws its way to the surface, because you’re fully looking at him and he’s fully looking at you, and everything is suddenly very sharp and very warm. Because, even if he was being a sardonic ass, Butcher was right. Ben cleaned up well. Really well. Unfairly well. The Feeling couldn’t pick a place to settle, because his hair was slightly mussed, and he’d shaved just enough for you to really see his lips, and his shirt was clinging to his chest in a way that you could see his muscles ripple as he breathed, and you were thirsty again, because your heart was rolling around inside your chest. Because he was looking you up and down, and the Feeling was so focused on trying to see if there was anything in the way he looked at you that you didn’t think you remembered how to breathe.

“You look good,” Ben’s voice is low and gruff, and does not help silence the Feeling at all. 

“Thanks.” You mumble, and hope you sound a little less pathetic and breathless than you feel. You manage to blink a few times, pulling your head into the game and ignoring the pounding in your chest and head. “Uh, what was that about?”

He frowns. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Frenchie looked at you like you were going to rip his head off.”

“They always look at me like that,” Ben shrugs. “So?”

“He didn’t call me ‘Madame Anomaly’, he used my name.”

“Yeah, maybe the prick finally realized that you’re no Madame,” his tone is mocking, but you can’t feel any malice or cruelty. Only the resolved protection wrapping around you. 

It made the Feeling feral. It made you struggle to focus. 

You must be looking as lost as you feel, because Ben’s eyes narrow, and he looks you up and down again. “Are you sure you want to do this, Sunshine?”

The Feeling wants to touch the lines of tension on his brow, run your fingers over them until they vanish, and you overpower it just enough to say, “What?” 

“If you really don’t, I can tell them you’re sick and to go without us.”

“I can’t get sick, Ben.” You say flatly, pulling yourself forcefully from the Feeling’s grasp.

“Then come up with a better lie. And we’ll stay here.”

You glare at him. “I said I was going to have fun, Benjamin, and I fucking meant it. We’re going, I’m going to blow your fucking brains out with how fun I am, and you’re going to admit that I’m no a stick in the mud.”

He coughs something that’s either a laugh or a choke, and your heart squeezes. “Fuck me for trying to be helpful, brat.”

“After you, cunt.” You make a sweeping gesture forward, releasing his arm. 

Ben rolls his eyes at you, grinning widely. “Ladies first, Sunshine.”

“I thought I was ‘no Madame’- hey!”

Ben loops his arm through yours, and before you know what’s happening he’s pulling you through the door and towards the van. The Feeling is dazed, crawling through you as everything becomes a very hazy cloud of warm and safe and Ben. He grumbles “don’t these pussies own any other goddamn cars,” and you can feel it hum through you.

You managed to detangle yourself from Ben long enough to haul yourself through the back doors alone, stumbling to sit down at Kimiko’s side as Ben follows you.

“Where’s Frenchie?” You ask her, signing as you nod at the empty spot where he’s usually found.

Butcher hates MapQuest Kimiko signs back with an eye roll. Frenchie has to give him manual directions.

You laugh, and feel the Feeling keen inside you as Ben drops next to you, his knee pushed into yours. 

“What’s funny?” He grunts, and when you turn to look at him, you feel your heart buck in your chest. His face is a lot closer than you expected, and his lips are very pink.

“Butcher’s being an ass,” you manage to say plainly, and Ben snorts. 

“I can fucking hear you, Love,” Butcher calls from the front, and you scoff. “We work for the bloody CIA, you should know better than to trust something with a GPS.”

“The phone has a GPS anyway, dumbass, you’re not combating a surveillance state by getting us lost.” 

Butcher is silent for a second after you respond, and you can see his scowl in the rearview mirror. “That true Hughie?” 

“Uh,” Hughie looks up, startled, from his place at Annie’s side. “Yeah? Most modern tech has some sort of GPS.”

“Huh.” Butcher grunts. “When we get back from this shit, you’re removing mine from my phone, got it?”

Hughie pales. “What?”

Before you can marvel at Butcher’s shockingly inept knowledge of how phones worked, the Feeling returns in a full, electric force, and you realize Ben is leaning into you. 

His voice is a grumble near your ear, and it makes the Feeling burn. “What the fuck is a GPS.”

“Wha-“ you turn to face him, and cut yourself off when you find his face only inches from yours, his eyes watching you with a intensity that makes the Feeling painful.

“GPS,” he grunts, his breath fanning your face. “Cocksucker mention it last time, but nobody will actually fucking explain it.”

You blink. “It’s like a compass? Or a tracker? It tells you where you are on a map with satellites or something.”

Ben smirks. “Did I finally find something you don’t have the answer to, Sunshine?”

“No,” you scowl. “It’s just hard to explain.”

“Sure,” his smile is so wide, so teasing and light, the Feeling wants to make him do that again, just for you, and it takes strained effort to really listen to him. “You’re not scared to admit you’re wrong, are you, brat?”

“I’m never fucking wrong, cunt.” You scowl. “You should know that by now.”

An almost painful craving feeling runs through your heart, and Ben winks. “Of course, Sunshine. I’m not in the business of disagreeing with terrifyingly beautiful women.”

This time, you’re certain you’ve forgotten how to breathe. It really doesn’t feel that vital right now, not when the Feeling is everything and everywhere and writhing around and consuming you, because what does that mean and why did he say it like that and why is he looking at you like that and would he please stop looking at you because it’s very distracting and actually, if he looks away from you your heart might stop working so he needs to stay right there-

Someone says your name, a few times, and you’re forced to find a way to look away from Ben and live with it.

Annie is watching you with a strange look as Hughie stands to talk to Butcher in the front—the GPS argument apparently nowhere close to settled—but she clears her throat and says your name one more time, likely trying to verify your attention.

“What’s up?” Your voice is a lot more hoarse than you’d like, and you chalk it up to not drinking enough water. 

“Butcher told us you could sing?” Annie’s voice is curious, and she doesn’t seem to notice how you tense at her words. “I mean, he seemed really mad about it for some reason, but he said you had a nice voice.”

You cough—feeling Ben’s protective, stone-like resolve run through you—and manage to answer in a steady voice. “I- I can. Kind of. It’s not a big deal-“

“She has the voice of the angels,” Frenchie calls from the front, and the fire starts to itch. “Like a bird song.”

“It’s really not-“

“Do not feel modesty,” oblivious to the edge of anxiety in your voice, Frenchie continues. “It is a rare gift, when we heard it-“

“We?” You cut him off, the itch running into your blood. “How many of you heard it, exactly?”

“Myself, Kimiko, Monsieur Butcher, and Soldier Boy.”

“You weren’t being quiet, Love.” Butcher says over Hughie’s low, exasperated explanation of how hardware works. “Not our fault we heard.”

“Not your fault?” You say incredulously. “Not your fault that you heard me over the cameras you didn’t tell me about?” The van is silent for a second as you glare around at your team, everyone avoiding your gaze. “Did you all know about them?”

“They’re just a precaution,” MM says your name tightly. “For your safety-“

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“It ain’t like we put them in the bloody bathrooms or bedrooms, Love,” Butcher snaps. “We use them to check on you and Soldier Boy once a week, make sure you haven’t bashed each other’s brains in, and that fuckin it.”

“It’s an invasion of fucking privacy!” 

“It’s a CIA safe house,” Butcher sneers. “You expect privacy? Go to a Holiday Inn.”

Ben’s hand finds your thigh right before you can stand from your seat and throw Butcher into oncoming traffic. When you turn to look at him, his own anger moving into yours, he’s giving you a small frown of I’m not fucking happy about it either Sunshine, but you can’t kill Butcher right now.

You glare back at him. Since when are you anti-murder in any circumstance?

He rolls his eyes. Since it would result in you being locked up for murder and me going back in the box. He nudges his leg against yours once more and you realize you can feel the anger, but no drums. Get through all this, and I’ll kill Butcher however you want.

You huff a small laugh, and realize everyone is still silent around you, watching you and Ben with varying looks of confusion. You clear your throat nervously, and make an attempt to divert the conversation. “Frenchie, what’s the name of the place?”

“The Renegade Room,” Frenchie says smugly. “It is a hidden establishment, for those of our discrete nature.”

MM frowns, his voice exasperated. “I keep asking you what ‘discreet nature’ fucking means, and you haven’t given me a straight answer yet.”

“Those who have just as much to lose as their neighbor,” though Frenchie’s tone implies that his answer is simple—obvious even—everyone’s matching expression of confusion tells you they’re as lost as you are.

“Frenchie,” Hughie voices everyone’s concerns with a slow voice. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

Butcher’s voice is stern, angry. “Am I going to have to turn this bloody car ‘round? Because someone going to be made to pay all the fucking gas-“

“Not a car,” Ben mutters from your side, and you roll your eyes. 

“Well, Gov.” Butcher sneers from the front. “Next time we’ll take the real car, and you can ride in the bloody trunk.”

“You try and shove me in a trunk, I’ll rip your fucking face off.”

You sigh. “Can someone figure out what Frenchie means before these two Alpha male each other to death?”

Kimiko nudges your side, and you stick your tongue out at Ben’s scowl before you turn to her.

He told me it’s other supes who have left Vought, other citizens who were burned by them, anyone in hiding. She glares over her shoulder at Frenchie as she signs. Don’t feel bad, he’s not good at explaining it.

You laugh, signing thank you to her before repeating her words aloud.

“Oh,” Hughie is the first to react. “That’s, that’s smart Frenchie.”

“Oui, Petite Hughie. Teach all you imbeciles to doubt me.”

Everyone slowly returns to their conversations, Hughie giving up on his argument with Butcher and joining Annie and MM’s discussion about acceptable club music, and Ben hanging over your shoulder as you turn back to Kimiko.

What did Annie do to get you here? You sign, and she gives you a smile.

She bought me a dress. She gestures proudly to her outfit. And makeup. With lots of glitter.

You laugh. I got a similar treatment. And you look very nice.

So do you. Kimiko glances at Ben, who’s attempting to both sit pressed against you—as if you might vanish into thin air—and look completely disinterested in you and Kimiko’s silent conversation. Did he tell you look nice?

You feel heat on your face, and you blink at her. No. I mean, kind of? Why?

Kimiko shrugs. Just curious.

For a second you consider mentioning the “terrifyingly beautiful” thing, but the van jerks to a stop, the engine shutting off as Butcher stands. 

“Alright, ground rules Boys. No one gets drunk enough to cause a scene. Everyone stays close in case we need to make a quick exit. Frenchie, no drug dealing, this ain’t a business trip. MM, no cleaning the space, it’s a bloody futile effort. Hughie, try and let loose, or at least pretend you enjoy this. Starlight, keep your head down, we don’t need your celebrity status bitin us in the arse again.” Butcher says your name, giving you a glare the others didn’t receive. “No touching people, no going postal, either you or Frenchie are with the Female all the time, and keep your fucking boy toy in line. Soldier Boy, stick with her, and no explosions. Actually,” Butcher gives everyone a sharp glare. “That goes for all you cunts.”

You can feel Ben tensing at your side, his tight anger pounding with your heart, and the Feeling proves once more to be unhelpful as it decides to focus purely on how close he is to you.

“Does he always give such stupid fucking pep talks before everything these pussies do?” Ben mutters in your ear, and you kick his shin, failing to suppress your snort.

“Yeah, he does.” You look up in surprise at MM, who had stood to exit the van and apparently heard Ben’s comment. He doesn’t spare either of you a look, grumbling something about the Spice Girls as he continues on his way.

“Let us get the show on the road, non?” Frenchie stops before you and Kimiko, offering a hand down. “Mon Coeur?”

Kimiko smiles at him as she takes his hand, looping her arm through his, and they follow MM out of the van. 

“Are they fucking?” Ben asks, watching them as they leave.

You frown. “I honestly don’t know.”

He snorts, standing up. “They look like they’re fucking.” You roll your eyes, ignoring the Feeling sulking at the loss of his touch. You’re about to give him a snarky comment—probably about how his perception skills don’t have a very high success rate, because for the first month you lived together he refused to hear that Hughie and Butcher weren’t married—but your words die in your throat when Ben extends his hand down, holding right before you.

You look up at him, blinking as Hughie stumbles past Ben in the background. What are you doing?

He glares at you. Don’t make a damn scene, Sunshine. Just fucking take my hand before Butcher yells at us for being too slow.

You wrinkle your nose at him, but take Ben’s hand slowly, yelping in surprise as he grips you firmly, pulling you to your feet. You fall right into his chest, and the Feeling is thirsty again, restless inside you, making everything feel very solid and secure and he smells good and his hand is rough around you and would it feel this nice against other parts of your body? What would you need to say to get him to touch other parts of your body? He looks hungry again, maybe if you just asked-

“Oi, we ain’t got all night!” Butcher calls from outside. “Some of us have shit we want to do.”

Even the Feeling, still desperate inside of you, falls silent at that. You have things to do. Butcher’s almost ready. 

“We’re coming!” You call out, and don’t bother to remove yourself fully from Ben—you’re not sure the Feeling would allow you to—choosing to just tug him after you. The night air is cold, the wind is biting, and Ben’s warmth at your back makes it a lot harder to get the Feeling to calm down. There’s a harsh, putrid smell in the air that is completely covered by pine trees and coffee and Ben, and you’re so consumed by it, by the Feeling, you almost don’t realize the van is parked at the edge of a junkyard.

At first glance, the “club” looks suspiciously like an abandoned Blockbuster. There’s yellow caution tape all over the building, the windows are boarded up, and a Danger! Biohazard: Infectious Waste sign is hung on the doors. Frenchie ignores it, pushing right into the building, and everyone follows with apprehensive steps. 

The inside doesn’t improve anyone’s faith. There’s dust, grime, mold, and cobwebs at every corner and turn, you hear a scratching sound beneath your feet, those are definitely cracks on the walls, and something smells like dead fish.

“Frenchie, you fucker,” MM looks like he’s about to vomit, and you don’t think you’re faring much better. “If this is a prank I with beat your ass so goddamn hard-“

“Have a little faith, mon amie,” Frenchie cuts MM off, ignoring the daggers MM continues to glare at his head. “It is just right-“ You jump as Frenchie topples one of the empty shelves to the ground with a loud thud. “Here. Mon Coeur?”

Kimiko rolls her eyes, but moves to pick up the shelf with ease and pulls it aside as Frenchie pushes at the wall, which swings open to reveal a staircase.

“This is some James Bond bullshit.” MM grunts.

“Take it or leave it, Mate.” Butcher peers down the staircase, where you can hear the deep sounds of a bass and see occasional flashes of light. “I, for one, am thrilled. Bloody good work, Frenchie.”

As you descend the poorly lit, steep staircase, you and Ben trail at the back, and it occurs to you around half-way down that he still has an iron-like grip on your hand, that the stone-like resolve hasn’t left him—left you—and may be the only thing keeping you upright at this point. You glance up at him, elbowing him lightly until he returns your gaze.

You raise your eyebrows at him, hoping he can still read your expression in the darkness. No drums?

He frowns slightly. No. How the fuck did you know about that?

Felt it. You squeeze his hand in reminder. I think that means my experiment is working.

He rolls his eyes. Or maybe I just don’t have shell shock, brat.

Or maybe I’m never fucking wrong, cunt. You stick your tongue out, and swear the shadows play a cruel trick where his eyes fall and linger on your mouth. 

He winks at you, and your heart flails in its usual perfect rhythm with the Feeling. Before you can read his face is trying to tell you, he tugs you back slightly—right into his side—and you realize you’d been about to run head-first into Hughie’s back.

“Welcome, my friends, to The Renegade Room.” Frenchie does a wide sweeping gesture to the scene before you and you step a little further back, caught only by Ben’s arm around you.

If someone had asked you in the van to describe your expectations, you would have been dead on the money. Colorful, strobing lights, casting a neon glow. Sweaty, bouncing bodies crowded in the center of the room. The beat of the music carving deep, deep into your chest and running across your bones. Your’e clinging to Ben, half because he’s making no effort to remove himself from you, and half because if he does decide to let go you’re pretty sure you’ll freeze in a very inconvenient place. The Feeling tries to pull your body closer to him, even though his arm is slung around your shoulders and you’re still gripping his hand where it rests near your neck. 

Frenchie leads the group to one of the velvet-seated booths, wrapped in a smoky haze and completed with a round table that has a few stains that cause MM to clasp his hand firmly in his lap, scowling at the surface. 

You scoot in after Hughie, Ben following right behind you, never letting go. Annie remains standing, looking around the club before shouting over the music.

“Frenchie! Drinks?!”

Frenchie gestures to follow him, disappearing with Annie and Kimiko into the crowd.

“None of those fuckers listened to my ’stay close’ shit?” Butcher grumbles, and you sneer at him.

“We’re not fucking gazelle, Butcher, we’re people. People are going to wander.”

He glares at you, eyes narrowing as he looks you over, Ben’s arm still around you. Butcher snorts, shaking his head, and whatever cruel comment had been about to escape his mouth is cut off by Hughie’s nervous shouting.

“Are all these people fugitives from Vaught?” He’s leaning up, scanning the crowd. “Even, like, the bartenders?”

MM shrugs. “Probably. It works in our favor, kid, don’t worry.”

Hughie gives a reluctant nod, but doesn’t stop eyeing the patrons wearily.  

“I’m getting a bloody drink.” Butcher stands, giving you own last scowl. “I'll see you lot later. MM?”

MM grunts, standing as well, and they disappear in the same direction the others went, leaving you, Ben, and Hughie alone at the table.

“Um,” Hughie looks between you nervously. “Thank you for doing this, I know it’s weird, but-“

“Hello. there” Hughie is cut off by a bright eyed woman appearing before you, smiling down sweetly. “You three are new. We don’t get a lot of new people.”

“Well, doll, let’s just say we know a guy.” Ben drawls, and the Feeling becomes tight and bitter. 

She laughs, and the sound is sweet like a bell and grinds in your brain. “How did we all get here, hm?” She leans down, giving everyone a perfect, white-toothed smile. “What’s our story?”

Ben looks at you, Hughie follows his lead, and—you’re not sure why—apparently you’ve been volunteered to answer.

“Supes,” you point between you and Ben. “That Vought doesn’t like very much. Dude,” you point at Hughie. “Whose girlfriend got collaterally-damaged.”

“Hm,” she tilts her head, hair falling in perfect waves. “What kind of supes? Would I have heard of you?”

You answer before Ben can, sensing his wave of indigence wash through you. “Nope. Vought didn’t really have interest in making us public. I’m not very charismatic and I can’t lie.” Ben snorts, and you jab an elbow into his gut. “And this guy pees when he gets attention. Side-effect of the V, not very marketable.”

The woman blinks, and Ben gives you a fucking really, Sunshine? glower.

You give him a fake, wide-eyed look of innocence. What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Did I say something?

He rolls his eyes. Brat.

Before you can give him a sickly-sweet smile of cunt, the woman is speaking again.

“I can deal with a little golden shower. You only fuck supes, Handsome? Or do mortals like me get a chance?” Ben blinks at her, and she leans forward, a sultry smile that feels like toxins in your body playing on her lips. “How about drugs? You do drugs?” 

Ben gives her a wide grin, something vile runs through your blood, and Hughie coughs.

“That’s my cue. I’m going to find Annie.” All but running from the table, Hughie vanishes into the fray as well, and it’s just you and Ben.

You, Ben, and the woman looking at Ben like he’s meat and she’s hungry.

“What’s on the menu?” Ben is smiling, and though it’s a colder smile than you’ve seen on his face in a while, it still makes the Feeling hiss inside you. 

The woman pulls out small bags from the top of her dress. “Whatever you want, darling.” The Feeling hates that more than handsome. Ben is handsome, that was just a factual statement. It haunted you how handsome he was, because it made it harder to dismiss the Feeling as just Ben is safe. It made the Feeling thirsty, and you violent. Her calling him darling was like a grip around your head, hot and brutal and constricting.

“Fucking hell, finally.” Ben grabs the bag with his free hand, and starts to examine it. “Coke?”

“Cut with a little something special,” the woman winks, and gives you a once over. “Your arm candy want some too?”

“As well,” Ben grunts, still looking at the baggie, and you feel a rush of amusement run through him. “And she’ll probably want to answer that herself.”

The woman looks at you fully, and you give a half-hearted shrug. 

“I think I’m good, thanks.” You shout, voice still hardly audible over the club. “I, uh, I’m not a huge coke person.”

She scoffs, turning her attention back to Ben. “You want some less uptight company, pretty boy?”

It’s not just the Feeling that hates that. Your teeth are clenched, you can feel your nails digging into your skin, you’re not sure if the smoke surrounding you is from you or just general club smoke. The Feeling is chanting something about throwing the woman across the room, punching out all her perfect teeth, and burning out her shining eyes. You’re on board with it.

“I’m good, doll.” Ben’s voice cuts through your gory fantasies, and his smile has returned down to you. “She’s plenty fun, aren’t you Sunshine?”

You blink stupidly, and make a weak sound of acknowledgment. The Feeling is still loud in your head, you can feel something shockingly strong running in your heart, and Ben is telling the woman he’s good but you can feel a hunger that doesn’t belong to the Feeling, a hunger you’ve only felt when the thirst had been unbearably strong. Lust. Ben was telling the woman he was good but he was feeling lust.

The woman just gives a simpering smile in your direction. “Whatever you say, pretty boy.”

Only Ben’s arm, still around your shoulder as he dumps out the contents of the bag, stops you from leaping over the table and killing her.

You look back at Ben, still the lust still lingering as the woman disappears, and watch his frustratingly attractive side-profile as he examines the white powder on the table. 

“Looks legit?” He grunts, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s a question.

“I mean, it looks like cocaine. But it could just be, like, drywall.” Ben snorts, and unwelcome pride rushes through you. “I don’t know why you’re asking me, I’m not exactly a drug expert, Pretty Boy.” You say the last words firmer than you mean to, likely because the Feeling needs to make sure he hears them.

He hums, glancing back at you. “You sure you don’t want some? I’m willing to share.”

“Aren’t you just a pillar of charity?” You mumble, and he gives you a flat look. “No, Ben, I don’t want cocaine that was given to me in a shady club by a random woman who was keeping it in her boobs.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “You always call it cocaine, Sunshine?”

“What else am I supposed to call it?” You frown, and Ben chuckles.

“Coke. Like every other fucker on the planet. Do you call meth “methamphetamine’?”

“So what if I do?” You snapped, and he just laughs, giving you a wink before removing his arm from around you and diving nose-first into the white pile. The Feeling whines from the loss of his touch, and your nails would probably have scarred your skin if you were still human.

He comes up, wiping the drugs from his face. “Shit, that’s good. You fucking sure you don’t want a hit, Sunshine? It won’t affect you now, not like any normal human pussy.”

“I like to keep a firm rule about the boob-drug thing. I’m good.”

Ben just shrugs, and you feel him press his thigh fully against yours. The Feeling is calmed by the action, and makes you watch him in a trance-like state as he leans back against the booth cushions. There’s still a little powder caught in his beard, and the Feeling wants to wipe it off and offer it to him on your fingers-

“I didn’t think of Starlight as a boob-drug club type.” He raises his brows at you. “What made her decide to be less of a prudish bitch?”

“She’s just stressed,” you answer nonchalantly. “There’s slim-pickings for venues we can all attend, and I’d hazard a guess that almost all of them would be clubs of the boob-drug variety.”

Ben laughs loudly, the one that always lingers in your chest and that the Feeling drinks like fuel. He takes another snort—thigh still firmly against yours—and looks like he’s going to say something when he comes back up, but his attention gets caught in front of you. 

You follow his gaze and find Annie, a lot more smiley than you’ve ever seen her, watching you with wide-eyes.

“Annie are you-“

She says your name, her voice a bright and bubbly tone you’ve ever heard on TV. “Come dance!”

You frown. “I’m not supposed to leave Ben.”

“Oh, come onnn.” Annie’s words are slightly slurred, her smile too bright. “Everyone’s breaking Butcher’s stupid rules, if MM can start organizing the bar and Frenchie can hand out bathroom-pills, you can leave Soldier Boy for one dance.”

Ben nudges your shoulder, looking at you in mock hurt. “One dance, Sunshine. Do you not think I can behave myself for one dance?” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. Unhelpful.

He gives you a teasing, lop-sided smile. You said you’d have so much fun it would blow my mind. 

So? You scowl.

Dance, Sunshine. Have some fun. He looks back at Annie. “She’s coming.”

Annie squeals, and—giving Ben a dirty look as you do—you shuffle out of the booth. “This is peer pressure.” You mutter under your breath, and catch Ben’s huff of amusement.

You look at him as you stand, just long enough to see his wink of have fun, brat before Annie is pulling you into the throes of the crowd. 

Everything turns into a flash of furious and lustful and mournful and guilty and elation as you’re rammed through the dance floor, and your skin becomes coated in stress, starting from where Annie grips your wrist.

She releases you when you stop at the bar, leaning over the counter to wave someone down. You rub where she’d been holding you, the anxiety still humming through you.

“Annie, if you need to talk-“

“What's going on with you and Soldier Boy?” She shouts over your attempt, giving you a dizzy smile. “Is Butcher right? Are you fucking?”

You stare at her. “Jesus Christ, no, Annie, we’re not fucking.”

“Do you want to fuck him?”

“No!” Your voice is high, and you ignore the Feeling spinning resentfully inside of you. “Annie, what is going on with you-“

“Hughie told me that you two keep making ‘heart-eyes’ at each other,” she pokes your shoulder, and the stress jolts through you. “And he was right! You totally make heart-eyes!”

“No, we don’t. Annie, you have to stop touching me, I think you keep forgetting-“

“I don’t keep ‘forgetting’,” her voice is exasperated as she says your name. “I just don’t care!” She giggles, and your concern grows. “And you’re trying to change the subject!”

“I’m not, I’m just worried-“

“Did he Stockholm synonym you? Is that it?”

“Stockholm syndrome,” you correct with a small frown. “And I think technically I Stockholmed Ben-“

“See!” Annie grabs your hands between hers. “You call him Ben. Like he’s a person!”

The Feeling doesn’t like that, and you tense defensively. “He is a person, Annie.”

She nods. “And you’re fucking him.”

“I’m not fucking him!” Your protests are growing weaker, and you chalk it up to Annie’s persistence. 

“You let him touch you!” She squeezed your hands. “Like, all the time.”

“Because he doesn’t care.” You say firmly. “If you weren’t seven-plus shots into the night, you wouldn’t be touching me, Annie. Because I can feel that there’s something wrong with you. Please just talk to me-“

“No!” She shouts, her grip on you becoming slightly painful. “I just want to have fun! I’ve never gotten to have fun! I’ve never had normal friends and had normal fun so can we please just dance?!” She says your name in a pleading tone. “I just want to dance with my friend.”

You blink. “I, um, I didn’t know we were friends.” You glance back at her hands, still around yours. “You’re kind of, you act like you’re afraid of me usually.”

Annie’s face falters for a second, and you feel her guilt rush through her. She says your name a little sadly, looking at you with big eyes. “Your powers are scary. Really, really scary. You’re kind of scary. But I still want to be your friend.”

Your chest squeezes. “I don’t think most of the others agree with that sentiment, Annie. I don’t want to ostracize you any more.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically. “You mean fucking Butcher? That asshole will get over it.”

“But-“

Annie says your name in the strongest tone you’ve heard her use since you arrived. “Everyone else is scared of you, because you’re scary.”

“Calling me scary isn’t a great way to tell me you want to be my friend-“

“But they don’t hate you. Kimiko loves you, Frenchie likes that Kimiko loves you, MM isn’t a huge fan of you and Soldier Boy fucking-“

“We’re not-“

She presses a finger to your lip. “But he still respects you. He thinks you’re okay. Hughie’s nervous because that man is always nervous-“ She sighs dreamily at nothing, words becoming slightly more slurred. “But he thinks you’re cool.”

You hum an acknowledgment through your lips, and Annie pulls back.

“Now can we please dance? Like normal people?”

You give her a smile, and it’s not forced. “Yeah, we can dance like normal people.”

Annie pulls you from the bar, right to the center of the dance floor, and starts dancing a little off-beat. Laughing, you grab her arms, moving her onto the rhythm of the song rolling through the club. Time turns into a blur, and you feel light. Everything is just the music and bubbly laughter and dancing in a way you haven’t in three years. You can’t sing, but you can move. Swaying and bouncing in time with the music, lost in the bass and the lights. You’re sweaty, and your hard work from the afternoon is probably ruined, and you’re a little breathless, but it feels just stupid and easy and fun. You’re not drunk—you can’t be anymore—but everything feels easy. The Feeling sneaks up on you, and suddenly you’re missing him again. You’re having fun, and the Feeling is suddenly painfully insistent that he be at your side, having fun with you.

You stumble away from Annie, stopping at the edge of the crowd as you look for Ben. It’s a little worrying how easy you find where he’s still sat, the white pile almost entirely gone from the table. Your brain is so full of the Feeling, repeating his name in a harmony of Ben, Ben, Ben, that you almost miss that he’s not alone. 

The lady with the sweet smile and bright eyes is next to him, where you had been. You can see the pearl of her smile from where you’re standing, imagine the honey-like drip of her voice. Ben’s arms aren’t around her, rested on the table as he speaks, but you can’t see his legs, and the Feeling is kicking at your gut.

You’re frozen for a second, and you hear a voice from somewhere to your side. 

“Ready for our chat, Love?"

You turn sharply, and see Butcher’s humorless, cold smile for only a second before he’s grabbing your arm, tugging you roughly away from Ben, past the crowd, and into a broom closet. He lets go like you’ve burned him—you’re certain you didn’t—and toss the rag he’d been using to the side.

“What the fuck, Butcher?!” You hiss as he shakes out his hand. “You couldn’t have just asked me to follow you?!”

“You were mooning over Soldier Boy like a damn puppy. Couldn’t risk him seeing us and asking stupid fucking questions.” Butcher gives you a smirk. “You two kiss and make up about your little lie?”

“None of your fucking business.”

“Boy, he was bloody pissed.” Butcher laughs mockingly. “Was real fucking worried about you, Love. Made us put on the cam audio cause he was so fuckin worried.” He sneers the last words, and you cross your arms across your chest, violating shutting down how Butcher’s words make the Feeling warm with images of Ben and the woman with the perfect smile.

“Our conversation about cameras isn’t fucking over, you asshole.” You snap, and Butcher scoffs.

“Please, it ain’t going to even fucking matter soon, is it now?” He meets your glare with another crude grin. “And you’re the forgiving type, Love, aren’t you. You forgave Soldier Boy for his little lie about the meeting.”

You grit your teeth. “Yeah, I did.”

“And he forgave you about the singing shit?”

“Yep.” You hold his gaze, the itch of heat under your skin starting to build.

Butcher smile is all teeth and cold mockery and bored hatred. “He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?”

You can see smoke curling around you. “Shut the fuck up, Butcher. Let’s just get this over with.”

He rolls his eyes, but his face falls into seriousness. “Fine, Love, suck all the fuckin fun out of it. It’ll be ready in nine days.”

“Nine days?” You take a deep, jagged breath and the fire crawls around your head. “And you’re sure it will work. We only get one fucking chance, Butcher, you have to be certain—“

“I am certain,” he hisses. “Everything is lined up perfectly. The opening is in nine days, I’ll take the Boys on a wild goose chase, and this will fucking work.”

You nod slowly, and the air feels like poison in your lungs. “What about Ben?”

“Well,” Butcher jeers. “It looks like the little bloody bond you two formed is going to work in our favor. And if it doesn’t we’ll lock him in the safe house and figure out some sort of gas-gun. It won’t be your fucking problem either way.”

“What if Ryan doesn’t listen?” You whisper in a futile attmept to keep the fear from your voice. “What it doesn’t work-“ “That boy loved his mother.” Butcher’s voice is firm, and there’s something distant in his glare. “He’ll listen.”

“He doesn’t know me-“

“You getting fucking cold feet? On your own fucking plan?”

“No,” you snap. “I just want to prepare for every fucking hurdle so I’m not throwing myself in front of a train just for you to fuck me, Butcher.”

“It’s going to fucking work.” Butcher says, jaw clenched. “Nine days.”

You pull yourself together with a too-long, too-heavy breath. “Nine days.”

Butcher exits the closet before you do, leaving the fire clawing through you, blurring the world. You close your eyes, desperate to regain some semblance of control. 

City lights. Music. City lights. Music. City lights. Music.

Ben.

Your eyes shoot open, and the Feeling starts the chew through the fire. City lights, music, Ben. The itch starts to wane, so you let the Feeling take over.

City lights, music, Ben. City lights, and music, and Ben.

Ben.

You’re grounded. Everything is clear, the fire is gone—you’ll deal with the implications of what did those things later—and so you exit the closet. You can’t go back to the booth—not if Ben and the woman are still there, because it might make something rotten wake up inside you—so you wander, looking for Annie. You find her clinging to Hughie in a corner, arms around him with her head in his chest, and decide to leave them be. A few minutes later you see Kimiko, standing vigilantly outside the toilets, and a relieved breath escapes you. You start to duck and weave through the crowd, making a beeline for the bathrooms, and are intercepted by Ben as you run head-first into his chest.

“Ow!” You try to push back from him, but he grabs your arm with a firm look. You peer at the expression on his face, a lot more stoic than you anticipated, and you feel that concrete concern of his, along with something hard in your chest. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been looking for you for fifteen goddamn minutes, Sunshine.” He snaps, ignoring your question. “Where the fuck did you go?”

You give a loose shrug, trying not to let the Feeling and it’s need for Ben to keep holding your arm distract you. “Bathroom.” You say lamely.

“Bullshit, you’re going towards the bathroom right now.”

“They were out of tampons, there was a girl who needed some.” 

He narrows his eyes at you as he scans your body, and it makes the Feeling feral. “Where are they then?”

“Huh?” The Feeling is starting to be a cognitive issue, because your brain feels fuzzy from Ben’s touch. “Where’s what.”

“The fucking tampons.”

“They were out. I’m going to tell her to do the toilet paper method.” You take a gamble that Ben’s prevalent disinterest in what he calls women shit will work in your favor. And it does.

Ben grunts, and though you feel the thing in your chest loosen, the concern prevails and he doesn’t release you. “Once you do that, we’re leaving.”

You blink at him in surprise. “What about boob-drugs?” Your voice is a little louder than it needs to be, and Ben just frowns with a shrug.

“Wasn’t interested,” he says gruffly, looking down at you. The intensity of his gaze, combined with this information, was not helpful to controlling the Feeling, which started to move in time with your heart once more. 

“Okay,” you sound breathless. “I’ll just, um, bathroom.” 

He nods sternly, and you clear your throat.

“Benjamin.”

“What.”

“You’re welcome to join me on my endeavor, but if you’re not interested in talking about the toilet-paper method with some random girl-“ You gesture pointedly to his hold on your arm. 

He gives you a blank look for a moment, and you watch the pieces fall into place in his head. He releases your arms mechanically, and gives you a tense nod. As you walk to the bathroom Ben trails at your side, posture more rigid than you’ve ever seen it. Kimiko smiles when she sees you approaching, signing a greeting. You smile back, offering one of your own.

Do you need to pee? She glanced up at Ben beside you. Does he need to pee? 

No, you glance at Ben watching you both intently. I just need to go in for like two minutes. I told Ben I was helping a girl that doesn’t exist.

She frowns. Why? 

He lost me in the crowd when he was doing drugs. Got weird about it. A half-truth, you reason, it better than an outright lie. I’ll just be in and out.

“What are you saying?” Ben grumbles, glaring between you. 

“Don’t worry about it, Pretty Boy.” You say aloud, signing damn man-baby to Kimiko, who giggles.

He scowls. “Is she going to let you go in or do I need to fucking move her?”

Kimiko flips him off, telling you just say I’m telling you it’s fine. You don’t want to go in there anyways, Frenchie’s doing drugs.She frowns. Or dealing drugs. Or both.

“Apparently someone already helped the girl, Kimiko saw her leave.” You give her a grateful nod, turning back to Ben. “We can go wait at the booth until everyone is ready-“

“No.” He snaps, and you blink in surprise. “We’re leaving now.”

“We all came here together, there’s only one car-“

“I don’t give a shit, Sunshine, we’re leaving. Even if we have to steal the shitty fucking pussy-Mobile to do it.”

You feel Kimiko whack your arm, signing when you turn to her. Do you want me to tell Frenchie to drive you home again? 

You shake your head. No, it’s fine. 

You can’t call a taxi, she signs your name with a frown. And he looks angry.

He’s being a child, he’ll be fine. As you sign to Kimiko, you say aloud to Ben, “we’re not stealing the van, Ben.”

“What about boob-drugs’ car?”

You look at him with a frown. “What?”

“She told me she had a blue Lexmus. We can take that.”

“Lexmus?” You tilt your head. “Do you mean a Lexus?”

“Is that a car?” You nod, and he shrugs. “Then fucking sure.”

“We’re not stealing a random ladies car either!” You protest. “And we can’t just leave-“

Kimiko grabs your attention again, signing I could cover for you, and I don’t think Butcher would care if you stole a car.

You wave her off, but Ben catches on. “She’s agreeing with me, isn’t she?”

“No, she isn’t.” Your insistence is immediately undermined by Kimiko nodding vigorously. What the hell? You sign, and she shrugs.

You look tired, and we might be a few more hours. Let Soldier Boy take you home. 

You sigh, rubbing your face as you look back at Ben. “If I agree to this, if, I’m driving.”

He nods. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Sunshine.” He extends his hand, you shake it reluctantly, and before you can pull back he’s pulling you through the crowd and up the stairs. 

It takes you shockingly little time to find boob-drugs’ Lexus, partially because it’s an electric-blue luxury car parked in a sea of sketchy vans and beaten down Honda Civics, partially because Ben says she parked it towards the back of the yard and is able to make a direct path to it. His hand is in yours the entirety of the walk, a fact that manages to push down the bitterness the Feeling has about him knowing where the car is parked. Ben removes his hand from yours only when you reach the car itself, and smashes through the glass on the window in one clean punch.

“Fucking christ, Ben, warn a lady!” You jump back as the glass flies through the air, the car alarm blaring through the night.

Ben leans through the window, gashes on his face and hands quickly healing as he unlocks the car. “Don’t be dramatic, brat.” He dismisses. “You heal just as fast as I do.”

You frown as he kneels down below the dashboard. “Are you sure you know how to do this? This isn’t some dogshit muscle car, this has like, actual security.”

“Looks the damn same,” he grunts. “I’ll figure it out, Sunshine. Don’t fucking worry.”

You rub your shoulders, looking around the junkyard anxiously. “Why do you know how to do this again?”

He just shrugs. “I’m from Philly.”

“That’s not a real explanation, Pretty Boy.”

“Wasn’t much to do for fun when I was a kid. We didn’t have all the shitty modern toys kids have today.”

“So you stole cars? Weren’t you rich?”

“That doesn’t fucking matter.”

“I mean, you could’ve just bought one-“

Ben looks up at you with a scowl. “You think my father would’ve given me money to buy a car?”

“No,” you mumble. “Sorry.”

He sighs. “Stop fucking apologizing all the damn time, Sunshine. Remember, you’re never wrong.” Though his voice is teasing, it’s not covered in a cold sarcasm, making the Feeling buzz. You’re about to push him for more answers when the engine hums to life, and Ben sits up, giving you a cocky wink. “Fucking told you. Never doubt me again, brat.”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, cunt. Get out of my seat.”

“No,” Ben settles into the driver’s seat, looking up at you smugly. “I think I’ll drive.”

“You dick, you fucking shook on it-“

“You’re tired,” Ben says your name with a bored voice, and very suddenly exhaustion hits you through your body. He really needs to stop doing that.

“No, I’m not.” You manage to fight the urge to yawn as you protest. “And you can’t drive.”

He glares at you. “Yes, I fucking can.”

“Not legally.”

“Nothing about this is fucking ‘legal’.”

“Benjamin, the last time you drove was the fucking 80s.”

“So?”

“Cars aren’t the same.”

He gives the interior of the car a frown. “Looks the fucking same to me.” He turns back to you. “And I’m not letting you behind the wheel, you look like you’re about to damn collapse.”

“Oh, fuck off Ben, you don’t give a shit about safe-driving.”

“Maybe.” He shrugs. “You’re still not fucking driving.”

“You’re just being an ass-“ You cut yourself off, the yawn fighting its way to the surface. At Ben’s smug look, you scowl. “Shut up.”

“Get in the car before I have to make you.”

The Feeling likes that idea, and in your exhaustion it’s harder to resist it. “You don’t even know how to get home.”

“You’ll help me.” Ben’s tone lacks any doubt, and you hate that he’s right. “Get in the fucking car.”

You glare at him, but stumble around to the passenger’s side, practically falling into the seat. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open long enough to pull up directions—especially as Ben’s hand finds your thigh as you fumble with your phone—and almost the second after you explain that all Ben has to do it listen to the robot lady’s voice, sleep starts to tug at the corners of your eyes. 

You hear a soft chuckle from Ben. “Sleep well, Sunshine.” And something soft runs through your body as his voice falls through your head.

Everything is covered in the smoking haze of the club, but there’s no music, no blinding lights, no one else in the area but you. You and Ben.

He’s grinning down at you, arm around you again, and you feel light-headed. Because all his attention is on you, and though there’s no one else in the club, you have a feeling it wouldn’t matter. He’d just keep looking at you.

“Terrifyingly beautiful.” His voice has an odd echo to it as he speaks. “Aren’t you, Sunshine.”

“You’re not so bad yourself, Pretty Boy.” Your voice is confident, silky, and his smile widens.

“Not so bad, huh? Not frustratingly handsome?”

“Maybe. Not sure yet.”

Ben’s mouth is suddenly hovering right over your own, and it looks soft, curving into a smirk. “Anything I can do to convince you?”

“What do you have in mind?”

His mouth crashes into yours, and it’s perfect. It fits like it was made to be there, it moves like it’s been there a thousand times. You moan his name, and he just pushes deeper in, pulling you onto his lap like you’re made of nothing.

“Perfect,” Ben groans against your lip. “Fucking perfect.”

You whimper, and he chuckles as you start to grind against his thigh. “Ben-“

“Needy thing, aren’t you?” He moves from your mouth, starting to kiss sloppily down your neck. “Gonna beg, Sunshine? Ask nicely for me to fuck you?”

“I hate you-“

“No you don’t,” he nips at your skin.

“Ben-“

“Say please, beautiful. Tell me you want me.”

“Fuck you-“

“That doesn’t sound like please.”

You gasp, because his hands are everywhere. Tangled in your hair, tracing along your skin, running over your ass. His thigh is pushed fully into your core, but he’s gripping you too firmly, stopping you from chasing release. “Please,” the words are choked with desire. “Please, Ben, please.”

He laughs, a deep, satisfied sound that echoes everywhere. “A little more.”

You moan, clinging to his arms desperately. “Ben, please. Fuck me, please fuck me.”

He pulls back from your neck, grinning widely down at you for only a second before crashing his mouth back into yours. “Good girl,” Ben grunts against your lips, and suddenly you’re not in the booth anymore. You’re at home, in your bed, and he’s fully naked above you, smirking down at your body as he takes it in.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, and you’re flying. Ben is everywhere, everything. Nothing has felt like this, nothing will feel like this ever again. It’s so painfully hazy, like a cloud is over the world and every single touch along your skin and kiss against your lips or neck or cunt is wiped away, but you’re so high. It’s just Ben, Ben, Ben, with groans and hands and safe and warm and Ben. His face is above yours, watching you with hooded, hungry eyes as you feel full, and holding so gently in contrast with every other movement of his body. He kisses you again, and it’s deep and heavy and Ben.

Ben. Ben. You’re not thirsty anymore, you’ll never be thirsty for the rest of your life, because this is everything. Ben.

Ben.

Light leaks into your vision, chasing away the haze. You don’t really know how, but you’ve woken in your own bed, sheets clinging to the sweat of your body and sleep running away from your brain. You feel Ben before you see him. He’s asleep at your side, arm hanging loosely across your body. His head is pressed into the pillow, hair falling across his face, and you want to run your hands through it. The remnants of your dream linger, pushing to the front of your head, and you feel your face flush as you fail to pull your gaze from him. The Feeling felt so peaceful, Ben smells good, and he’s right here. With you. And you can’t bring yourself to move.

You simply lay in bed for an immeasurable amount of time, and realize that both you and Ben are in the same clothes from last night. You manage to grope around your bedside table for your phone without disturbing Ben, and sighing wearily as you see a barrage of texts and missed calls. 

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever (4) missed calls. Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions (2) missed calls. Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy (3) missed calls.

Kimiko: Second Hottest Person on the Team

Told Frenchie

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

Frenchie said you and Soldier Boy left in a stolen car?

Are you safe?

Hughie Campbell: Not Allowed to Speak On Fall Out Boy

Can you tell Annie you’re home?

She’s losing her mind.

Also Butcher.

He’s mad.

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever 

You and Soldier Boy have a fun joyride?

Fucking call me.

MM and Hughie are heading over to the safe house. Someone’s looking for you.

You blink at the last message. Someone’s looking for you. You swipe the screen, trying to see the time Butcher sent the text, and panic runs through you as you read 9:45 AM.

It’s nearly noon. 

You poke Ben, and he grunts, arm around you tightening. 

“Ben.” You hiss, shaking him. “Wake up.”

“Fuck off, Sunshine.” He mumbles, and the Feeling is comfortable in your chest.

You push through it. “Benjamin, wake the fuck up.” Nothing. You raise your voice from a hushed whisper. “I’ll burn you again, Pretty Boy, I swear to God.” 

That gets him to open his eyes. “Will you never just fucking let me sleep?”

“I think MM and Hughie are downstairs.”

Ben frowns. “Why?”

“Because Butcher texted that they were coming over two hours ago.” You poke him with your foot, and it occurs to you that your legs are a little more tangled than you’d originally noticed. “Can you listen for them?”

“It’s too fucking early, Sunshine.”

“It’s noon.” When Ben only huffs, you give him a pleading look. “Please?”

He groans, closing his eyes. For a second you think he’s just going back to sleep, but he mutters, “Two people downstairs. Can’t tell who.”

“Thank you,” you mumble, and he makes a low sound from his chest that doesn’t aid your motivation to get up. “Ben, I need to move.”

“Why.” His voice is rough, and makes the Feeling flutter.

“I need to talk to Hughie and MM. They’ve probably been waiting a while.”

“Then they can wait a little fucking longer.”

“Please.” He doesn’t move, holding you tighter. “Ben, you don’t have to up get yourself. You can stay here.”

You feel something run through you—him—that’s taut and almost bitter. Your heart rumbles, and the Feeling wants to sooth the sleepy frown that flashes across Ben’s face, but before you can he’s rolling over, detaching his body from yours.

You hesitate to move, but your phone buzzes with another text that forces your body to roll off the bed.

Marvin Milk: Holder of Incorrect Dr. Dre Opinions

Get your ass up so me and Hughie can fucking leave.

You shuffle unsteadily out of your bedroom and down the stairs, and rubbing your sleep-puffed face in a desperate attempt to pull any lingering sleep from your head. MM and Hughie are sitting stiffly on the couch, looking remarkably uncomfortable as they wait. You clear your throat, and they shoot to their feet in attention.

“Finally,” MM glared at you. “We’ve been waiting for fucking hours.”

You give a guilty cringe, still wiping sleep from your eyes. “Sorry guys, I didn’t know you were here.”

“How did you get home?” Hughie asks tentatively, and you blink at him.

“Ben stole a car. I know I shouldn’t have let him, but-“

Hughie interrupts your apology. “A car?”

“Um. Yeah. Blue Lexus.” You look between their confused expressions. “Is it not outside?”

“No,” Hughie frowns. “Are you sure-“

“Kid, we don’t have time for this.” MM gives Hughie a firm look. “They both got home, no one died, how it happened ain’t our fucking concern right now.” Hughie gives a small nod, and the quiet anxiety on his face sparks concern in your chest.

“What’s going on?” You ask nervously. “Is everyone ok?”

MM sighs. “Everyone’s fine. And we were hoping you could tell us what’s going on.” 

You frown, but nod for him to continue. MM takes a large breath, looking at his phone as he speaks.

“Frenchie got a security alert at the Starlight Fund building early this morning. A lady had broken in, and was shouting at the security cams, demanding to speak to someone. We watched her on the cameras for a bit and it sounded like-“ MM clears his throat. “It sounded like she was looking for you.”

The fire starts in your throat, and you barely manage to whisper. “Me?”

“She called you by your name. Your full, legal name. Even got the last name right, not the bullshit one Vought’s been using for press about you and Homelander.”

The fire is against your teeth and under your nails as MM pushes on.

“Said she knew you. You you, not the Anomaly or your Vought persona. Wanted to talk to Starlight about it. Mentioned that Vought wouldn’t give her a straight answer, they kept insisting she had the wrong person, but she knew it had been you at the Firecracker rally.”

Hughie steps in, giving you a pitiful look. “She was really, um, aggressive.” He mumbles. “Made a lot of graphic threats.”

“Kind of sounded like you,” MM adds tightly, watching you carefully. “Looked like you too.”

Your voice is hoarse when you speak. “Do you- do you have a photo?”

MM nods, turning the screen of his phone to you. Your blood is white-hot as you stare at the photo on display. You knew that face. The last time you’d seen it there had been more baby-fat clinging to its cheeks, more light in its eyes, and the hair that had framed it had been longer, but you’d recognize it anywhere. It haunted you.

“Violet,” you breathe out. Your baby sister is frozen in the screen capture MM’s showing you, a crazed, furious expression on her features, teeth bared mid-shout.

MM coughs, and you tear your eyes from the screen. “So you know her?”

You nod heavily. “She’s my sister. Younger. I- I haven’t seen her since before.”

“She said you were dead.” Hughie said softly. “Said everyone thought you’d killed yourself, that they’d found a note but no body. That everyone thought she was going insane, but she knew it was you.”

“Homelander faked my death,” your voice is hoarse, the world is fuzzy and lined with cold something pushing into you. “I even have- Had a grave.”

MM catches your self-correction. “Had?”

“Butcher threw me into it the first night we all met.” You say flatly. “I don’t know if it ever got fixed.”

Both MM and Hughie look apologetic, but you don’t really care. Everything is painful, and you can’t breathe. “You-“ the words struggle out of you, driven by fear for Violet. “You said she talked to Vought?”

“Yeah, but they seemed to either screen her calls or insist she was just grief-stricken and looking for answers where there weren’t any.”

You nod to yourself at Hughie’s words, though they do little to alleviate the fire spreading into your bones and starting to curl in smoke around you. “What did- did you tell her anything?”

“Tell who anything.” Ben’s voice rumbles from behind you, and everything comes into a sharper focus as his arm is pushed into yours. “What the fuck’s going on.”

“This isn’t your problem, motherfucker,” MM snaps. “Piss right the hell off.”

Ben stiffens, and the stone-like protection runs through you.

“I- MM I need-“ You give a tight, strangled cough, not strong enough to fight the Feelings need to lean further into Ben. “Please let him stay.”

MM gives you a disbelieving look, like he might start to argue, but Hughie interjects.

“We haven’t talked to her yet. We wanted to see if you knew her.”

“Will someone tell me who the goddamn hell we’re talking about?” Ben snaps.

MM glowers at him. “Her sister,” he answers coldly. “Lady recognized her from the Firecracker incident. Want to make sure she’s safe.” The last words are sneered, and Ben’s arm wraps around you. 

“She is safe-“

MM ignores Ben, looking back at you. “Well?” He says your name in a firm, impatient tone. “What are we telling her?”

You take a deep, heavy breath. “Tell her I’m dead.”

“What?” Hughie stares at you. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am completely fucking serious.” You force your tone to be strong, devoid of emotion. “I’m dead. She should stop looking for me, because I killed myself three years ago.”

“But you didn’t-“

“Hughie.” You snap. “I’m dead. That’s it.”

Ben’s hold on you is almost painful. He’s silent, fingers digging into your side, and you feel his stare piercing through you, feel something strained running through him. 

Hughie says your name with forced gentleness, but MM cuts him off.

“You’re sure.”

You nod firmly. “Positive. I’m dead, MM. Please.” Your voice cracks at the end, and your heart starts to claw at your ribs.

“Fine, you’re dead. Let’s go, Hughie.”

“MM, you can’t be fucking serious.”

“Let’s go.” MM gives you one last, unreadable look before he walks into the hall.

Hughie stares at you, looking reluctant to leave, but MM shouts from the exit. 

“Hughie, if you don’t haul ass right fucking now, I’m leaving you here.”

Then they’re both gone, and Ben’s hold is the only thing keeping you upright. You stand in silence for a second, your heart roaring in pain, before you pry yourself from Ben and try to move back up the stairs.

You barely make it five steps before he’s grabbing your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“What the fuck was that.”

His voice is too cold, too angry. You’re so tired. “Please, Ben-“

“You’re not fucking dead, Sunshine. Your sister’s fucking looking for you, and you’re going to make those pussies tell her you’re dead?!”

“It’s for the best,” you say weakly, and he scoffs.

“Is this about your stupid fucking ‘protecting them’ shit? That why you’re fucking lying to them?”

“I can’t-”

“They need to know you’re fucking alive,” he says your name with fury lining his voice. “If they care so goddamn much to go looking for you, they fucking deserve it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think I fucking do, Sunshine. You did your goddamn hero bullshit, tried to keep your family safe,” Ben’s words are stabbing through your chest. “But it’s too fucking late, so just tell them-“

“No!” You scream, yanking your wrist from his grip. “Shut the fuck up, Ben! You have no fucking clue what I’m trying to do. I’m not on a goddamn fucking high horse about saving them, or any other hero shit! Just shut the fuck up!”

He’s yelling too now, and something is fracturing in your body. “They need to fucking know!” He takes a step forwards. “They fucking deserve-“

“Why do you care so fucking much about this? They’re not your fucking family! You don’t even fucking know them.”

“Because I would fucking want to know!” He roars. “I would go fucking insane and they probably are too!”

The thing isn’t fracturing in your body. It’s split apart, into a million bits and pieces, and your legs give out as all the air leaves your body. It’s too much, it’s all too much, and it’s too late to stop it. You hear Ben shout your name, feel his arms wrap around your body, and all your fury is just pain because you’re so angry at him, but as he carries you up the stairs, no part of you wants to fight him. 

Ben sits on the bed, making no attempt to let go. You hold onto him, clinging to his shirt, his smell, the feel of him, the sound of his voice as it hums a familiar tune, and breathing finds a way to no longer be an act of labor.

“I’m-“ you take a shaking breath. “I’m sorry-“

“Stop apologizing.” He snaps, before taking a heavy breath. “It’s me that should be-“ He coughs, and you pull your head from his chest. 

“I’m-“

“Stop, just-“ Ben frowns at nothing. “I need to-“ His jaw clenches, gaze falling to yours for only seconds before he’s glaring at the space above your head again. 

“Ben-“

“I’m sorry.” The words sound as if they’re falling out of him, and he's not looking at you. “I’m fucking sorry.”

You watch him glance back down at you, and you try and offer him a small smile. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s fucking not-“

“Please,” you whisper. “I don’t, I can’t fight. Please.”

He just grunts, but his hold on you tightens, and you decide that it’s victory.

“What-“ you take another, slower breath. “What happened to the car?”

You watch his lips turn down, and he looks at you from under his eyelashes. “The car?”

“The one we stole.”

Ben gives a dry laugh. “You didn’t do much stealing Sunshine, you just stood there looking pretty.”

You roll your eyes, pushing down the warmth running through you from Ben calling you pretty. “Don’t dodge the question, Benjamin. What did you do with the car.”

He shrugged. “Ditched it a few blocks away. Carried you to the house.”

“How-” you frown at him. “How did you get in the house by yourself?”

“I pay attention, brat. I’m not as fucking stupid as all you pussies think I am. I just damn copied what everyone else does.”

“Oh.” You know that you should probably tell MM or Butcher or Mallory that Ben knows how to work the safe-house entrance—and likely the exit as well—but you don’t want to. Some very stupid part of you, that’s not just the Feeling, trusts him.

“You were really fucking out of it, Sunshine,” he teases. “Clinging to me like a damn baby.”

You feel your face heat. “It was cold.”

“You have fire powers.” He snorts. “Try to lie a little better.”

You pinch him, and he shoots you a fake look of hurt. “Cunt.”

“Brat.” His voice is lighter, and as the room falls back into silence, neither of you make an attempt to let go over each other. He just holds you and when you lean your head onto his chest, you’re soothed by its steady rise and fall, the rhythmic thumping of his heart.

I would fucking want to know. His words echo in your ears. I would go fucking insane.

Guilt is eating you, because ringing over Ben’s shouts are Butcher’s cold words from last night. Nine days.

I would go fucking insane.

Nine days.

This is the right thing to do. It’s the only thing to do. But your sister’s face is etched against your eyes when you close them, and think the sound of Ben’s heart might start to haunt your dreams. 

Nine days. Butcher’s voice doesn’t stop there this time. He doesn’t know what he was really forgiving you for, does he?

I would go fucking insane.

The right thing. The only thing.

You hold Ben a little tighter, and if he notices, he doesn’t say anything, just holds you tighter back. As you listen to his breathing, feeling the gentle, satisfied hum in your heart, you pray to someone, something, anything at all, that his heart will stay with you the whole way through. That Ben will forgive you when this is over. You don’t think it’s just the Feeling that won’t survive if he doesn’t.

End Note: Me, writing this chapter: god these two really need to fuck (I am completely in charge of when they do and don’t fuck)

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

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

@fghj18

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

[shadamyheadcanons]

For me, Shadow and Amy's dynamic is basically two different types of touch starved in a person

((If any of the gifs on this post aren’t loading for you on mobile--like they aren’t for me--you can download them or check the sources listed. As for desktop, they play just fine, but they won’t line up next to each other like they do on mobile. Tumblr is a comedy of errors.))

Yes! Absolutely. I’ve seen tons of fans say Shadow is prickly and would respond badly to hugs, but canon says otherwise. This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic 06]

Whenever I feel like being sad, I wonder if Bad-Future-06 Silver has ever been hugged.

This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic Unleashed, gif source.]

And I shouldn’t have to say this, but...yeah. These are very bad reactions:

[Sonic X]

[Sonic Generations]

Yikes. I feel bad for both of them.

But this?

[Sonic Adventure 2, gif source.]

This is Shadow’s only canonical hug in the games, and aside from jumping slightly from being snuck up on, he seems to like it just fine.

Just look at that smile! He’s happy. He finds it endearing.

It was a hug from a complete stranger meant for someone else, but he still drank it in--and, given that he’d effectively just lost Maria, he really did need it. It’s the combination of Amy’s gentleness AND her speech that changed his mind. After all, if someone as sweet as her sees something in the humans, maybe they’re not so bad.

My buddy who runs @shadowxamyweek recently reblogged a post about this hug, and their tags sum it up perfectly:

[ID: A screenshot of tags on a post. The tags read:

#official art #4kids #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #YEAH 😭 #listen I read nothing that has happened with them in SA2 as shippy - and i ship them #THIS HUG? THR SPEECH ON THE ARK? #those are two lonely kids #those are two left behind kids #those are two kids so desperate for affection #for two vastly different reasons #Amy loves with her whole chest and will never stop doing so- no matter what happens #and Shadow does too- that is key to remember- Shadow loves... so fucking much... that it hurts #you are RIGHT op when you say this is probably the first time someone has been gentle with him in a long long time #he doesn't even run away #in the game- when Amy flees- he takes a step after her- a moment's hesitation- a 'wait' #this kid NEEDED a hug #and i firmly believe part of the reason Shadow listens to Amy in the end is BECAUSE she is the only person who showed him gentleness #softness and kindness and affection #if only for a moment #fjdodhdofjgor THIS is what i mean when i say 'be gentle- be kind' #it MATTERS #it FUCKING MATTERS

End ID]

Shadow doesn’t hate hugs inherently; it’s just that no one hugs him in the first place...

...aside from one person.

Amy’s easily the most affectionate character in the cast. It’s cute at first glance, but there’s a common thread to every instance that puts a damper on it.

She’s always, ALWAYS the initiator.

She puts more into each hug than anyone else does.

She’s always the last to pull away.

The most reciprocated Amy hug I know of in canon is this one:

[IDW Sonic issue #22]

Which is absolutely adorable...but Amy still initiated. Because it’s always her job. Even the characters who like affection don’t need it the way she does...with one exception.

And this tiny detail just killed me. The little, “wait, come back 😟”

It’s the only time I know of when someone has actually stepped after her like this. In a game where everyone left Amy behind, he wanted to follow her. Mister so-called-prickly didn’t want the hug to end.

Because he’s the only one who needs it as much as she does.

He wants to be held as much as she wants to hold someone else, and no one else is warm and sincere enough for it. Compare these instances:

[IDW issue #6]

Sonic thinks Shadow is wrong about something, so he grabs Shadow’s arm to stop him, and Shadow aggressively wrenches it away and leaves.

[Archie Sonic Universe #23]

But when Amy thinks Shadow is wrong about something and grabs his arm to stop him, he gently removes her hand and thinks about what she has to say.

Even when he doesn’t want to be touched, he makes the distinction between “don’t touch me” and “not right now, please.” These are from two different continuities, of course, but I think the point stands. Amy’s special. He’s gentler with her than he is with other people, and that’s consistent across all canons.

Side note: how often does Amy get to feel special like that? I actually really like that Sonic doesn’t place others in a hierarchy of importance, and I wouldn’t change that about him even if I could...

[IDW issue #2]

...but Amy does play favorites. I want her to feel like she’s someone else’s favorite, too. I want her to have someone who puts her first and likes her best. I think Shadow’s more than capable of that. I believe he craves clinginess like hers deep down, even if he hasn’t consciously figured that out yet.

I have an entire tag for these two being affectionate. My favorite is probably this one.

Of course, there may be those who say I’m reading too much into one (1) hug. And you know what? Maybe they’re right! We need a bigger sample size. Sega, make more characters hug Shadow, please. Let Rouge comfort him after he confides in her about something. Have Omega give him an awkward metal embrace because he read on the internet that organic beings like that kind of thing. Make Shadow himself pull Silver into a hug when he’s breaking down crying from the stress of always having to be a hero. Show Tails accidentally grab onto him out of fear when they’re trapped in a lightning storm, and when he gets embarrassed and pulls away, have Shadow hold him for the rest of the storm and admit he’s not fond of bright lights, either.

[Sonic Boom]

That scene where Shadow and Amy rescue Cream and Cheese from Cryptic Castle? That easily could’ve turned into a cute group hug.

[Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)]

And I have seen some absolutely adorable fanart where he holds Cream’s hand while he and Amy lead her through Cryptic Castle to make sure she doesn’t get lost 🥺

Have Knuckles give him an empathetic bro-pat on the shoulder when he finds out Shadow’s the last one of his race, too.

[Archie Sonic Universe #89]

Have Sonic try to hug him, and then when Shadow inevitably pushes him away and says he doesn’t do hugs, have Amy arrive and latch onto Shadow instead while he tries to stutter out an excuse as to why she’s allowed to and Sonic isn’t.

The most affection Shadow has in recent history is stuff like this...

[Sonic Prime season 2 episode 1]

...where Sonic tries to hug him and Shadow immediately pushes him away, knocks him over, and tries to punch him in the face. Kind of says it all. Amy stands out as the only one with a good track record here.

[IDW issue #36]

Especially when you have him look at her like this when someone else is on the receiving end of that affection.

So in the absence of further evidence, I have no choice but to interpret this in the most Shadamy way possible. Your move, Sega.