#After I've finished my series of drawings

[amethystina]

Hi, I hope you're doing better! I was wondering what your take would be on Yohan's reaction to Ga On if he slipped into a coma after a serious attack or something. Because obviously there would be some abyss shenanigans, but do you think he'd be split into wanting to hover and protect Ga On while he's asleep or just getting revenge? Which do you think he'd prioritise and what do you think he'd be thinking?

I also just wanted to let you know that I find your work amazing, especially Who Holds the Devil and The Gentle Light. You mention how you're worried about letting us down with it, but I think you forget how much you've already given. It's not that we're expecting something and that you could disappoint us, but it is what you do that makes us love it more. The way you think and write are incredible, as is your perspective on the characters and their interactions. Thank you so much for all your hard work and effort!

Oooooh! That's a really interesting question! I think my answer, at least when it comes to the finer nuances, would depend on a) when this happens (i.e. during or post canon), b) if they know who might be behind it (because during canon it would be easy to assume it's Jung Sun Ah or the like) and c) what their relationship is at the time (i.e. are they still just coworkers or are they in a romantic relationship).

But, in broad strokes, I think Yo Han would prioritise getting revenge. Not because he doesn't feel a need to hover — he definitely would — but because he's a pragmatic, efficient, and goal-oriented person down to his core. Meaning that as soon as it's established that Ga On is in a coma and that there's nothing Yo Han can do to help him, Yo Han will admit that his time is best spent elsewhere.

After making sure that Ga On has the best care money can buy and bodyguards to protect him, of course.

The thing about Yo Han is that he can look past his own emotions and focus on what needs to be done in a way — and on a level — that few are capable of. Which at times makes him look rather unsympathetic, sure, but is honestly one of the ways he shows concern. Like, to him, just sitting there waiting for Ga On to wake up would probably feel like an insult to Ga On and Yo Han's devotion to him. Yo Han's instincts would tell him to DO something about it instead but, since he's not a doctor, his presence in Ga On's hospital room makes no difference whatsoever. Which means he'd decide it's better for him to focus on trying to catch and punish those who hurt Ga On.

That's not to say that he also won't spend as much time as possible hovering — especially if they're in a romantic relationship. This also depends a little on where Elijah is, but I wouldn't put it past Yo Han to — after a long day of chasing the culprit — make a habit of sleeping in Ga On's hospital room instead of going back to the house. Because Yo Han HAS to sleep eventually and so he might as well do it where he has Ga On close by.

What little time he doesn't spend chasing leads and making plans, he'd spend with Ga On.

And yes, this definitely means Yo Han wouldn't really be taking all that good care of himself, neither physically nor mentally. Like, if this is post-canon and he and Ga On are in some kind of relationship? Just IMAGINE how lost Yo Han would feel. It's clear, even in the drama, that Ga On's presence reminds Yo Han to be kinder and gentler, not just to those around him but also himself. Ga On often mentions how much Yo Han grounds him in Who Holds the Devil, but he doesn't seem to realise that it's the same for Yo Han. The only difference is the way they need to be grounded and what behaviour that grounding is preventing.

And a post-canon, lovestruck Yo Han who suddenly finds himself without Ga On's gentleness and kindness to soothe and calm him?

Yeah, that won't go well.

Not in a way that Yo Han would necessarily care about, though. Or, maybe more accurately, he'd decide it's worth the sacrifice to find whoever hurt Ga On. Even if he, deep down, would know that, no, Ga On would NOT agree with that. Ga On wouldn't want him to put himself or his humanity at risk. But that's not the same as actually having Ga On there to tell him to stop.

Like, to be honest with you, I think Yo Han might even end up being extra reckless and violent because some part of him hopes that means Ga On will come back to him sooner. As if he can force Ga On to wake up simply by doing the thing he knows Ga On hates. Maybe he's even punishing Ga On a little?

"Look at what you made me do, Ga On-ah, when you're not here to stop me."

"If you don't wake up soon, I'll do something even worse."

"This is what happens when you leave me."

Which isn't reasonable (or healthy) by any means — especially for such a calm and collected person as Yo Han — but he's also a frightened, abused child who never got to develop his emotions and social skills in a good way.

He's never been in love before.

He'd be so scared.

And desperation makes us unreasonable, especially when we're afraid we might lose someone we love. He'd grasp for whatever stability he can, especially since his usual anchor isn't there anymore. He'd look fine on the outside but, on the inside, he'd be a mess. There would be fear and pain and anger and helplessness and sorrow and hope and longing. And he wouldn't really know how to deal with all of that since, at that point, he's probably gotten used to processing most of his feelings with Ga On's — knowing and unknowing — help.

Yo Han, like many children with his history, is very adept at regulating his own emotions, mainly because he had to as a survival tactic. He probably learned from a young age which ones he was allowed to show and all the other ones were suppressed until he was out of his father's reach. He's also good at reading a room since that, too, is necessary for survival in a violent household. Granted that Yo Han now mostly uses those skills to manipulate and intimidate people, but he is well aware of emotions, how to curb them, how to influence them, and how to use them to his advantage.

What he doesn't know is how to process them in a normal and healthy way. But, in the drama, we see him begin to test the waters when it comes to using Ga On as a sounding board. He says things, sees how Ga On reacts, and gets clues on how a more well-adjusted person would process that information. And I think that's something Yo Han would continue doing, bouncing his emotions off of Ga On to see what's actually a reasonable reaction.

But, more importantly, to get validation. To see, with his own eyes, that his fear, hurt, anger, pain etc. is valid. Ga On feels it too, just from hearing of Yo Han's trauma so, clearly, it mustn't be wrong for Yo Han to feel that, too. It doesn't make him weak. He's allowed to feel that way.

I think that Ga On would become Yo Han's emotional lodestar. Which I wouldn't call healthy, exactly, but what about their relationship is? x'D

ANYWAY. The delicious consequence of this is, of course, that Yo Han is left directionless and adrift, with no way to properly handle all the very intense emotions he's feeling. And that probably means that when Ga On finally wakes up again (be it weeks or months later) Yo Han will be in such a state that the moment Ga On hugs him, he'll break.

Or, well, as close to breaking as you can get when you're Kang Yo Han.

All the emotions will come rushing to the surface since his brain just recognised that the person who usually helps him deal with all of that is back and so now it's safe to let it out, right?

Yo Han vehemently disagrees, I'm sure, because he's got a reputation to uphold! And he can't just suddenly break down in his sugar baby's arms! Especially since said sugar baby just woke from a coma and is still weak! This is so inconvenient!

Unfortunately, he doesn't have much of a choice.

Sucks to be you, Yo Han.

But at least he has Ga On there to hold him, kiss him, and make it better?

SO YEAH. Something like that, I guess? I think Yo Han would be HELLA worried but is also too goal-oriented not to choose to focus on revenge. He'd probably become incredibly restless if he didn't.

Thank you so much for your kind words 💜 To be honest with you, I often forget what I've already written. Not literally (I remember it with surprising accuracy a lot of the time) but it's sometimes difficult to remember that I've already written 400k when I always have to focus on posting the next chapter and then the next chapter and then the next chapter. I rarely get the time to sit down and just revel in what I've already written? Especially since I want the story to continue just as much as the rest of you.

And while the majority of the comments are absolutely lovely, I do sometimes get ones demanding new chapters or ones questioning the choices I make in the story (especially the length). They're definitely in a minority so far, but that doesn't stop the fear that, sooner or later, they'll become the majority.

And, more than anything, I fear the moment when I'll write a bad chapter. I don't even know what would constitute a bad chapter or what I would have to do for it to become one, but I'm still afraid of it.

Which probably isn't reasonable, but since when are our anxiety brains reasonable?

So I try my best not to think about it, and receiving such kind messages as yours definitely helps. Thank you 💜 I'm so very glad to hear that you like my works, especially my takes on the characters since that is (perhaps not so surprisingly) something I put a lot of effort into and take a lot of pride in, too. I LOVE these characters and want to do them justice by writing them as best I can, even if that means the fic ends up being the behemoth it now is because they cannot move faster than a glacier x'D

So yeah. Thank you so, so much. Both for the fun question and the encouragement. It means a lot to me :)

[neeseeart]

Today it's been 2 years since I played Atelier Ryza for the first time!! I love these games so much... I never expected them to take over my life the way they have, but here we are. 🥺💛💙

This summer has been hectic so I haven't had time to finish anything big, but here's a quick sketchbook doodle to commemorate this occasion.

[chayscribbles]

as democratically decreed, have Azami with her hypothetical pomeranian, Cappuccino 🐶💖

andromeda rogue wip intro | art tag | instagram

[stardestroyer81]

Y'all want a Paper Mario-styled drawing of Micah Koopa? 💖✨⭐

[kira-light0]

The prettiest princess

[paintedpawz]

Oh my, how sweet! Resident darling of this dark and spooky little cul-de-sac wants to go trick 'r treat with you. Just beware, neighbor... not all the residents are as friendly as he is. 😈

Little quick redesign of Imp Wally inspired by @killertoons design, since my old design just wasn't as cute and I personally feel I've gotten better at drawing Wally! I had to of course add Home, or rather Monster House inspired home and I had a lot of fun experimenting with a more detailed background in a doodle that turned into a thought out sketch. My reference actually, was this piece of Sam merch I WANT SO BAD......

[bluemoon-fever]

needy

pairing: steve rogers x fem!reader

summary: steve rogers is a very needy man.

word count: 2.45k

warnings: fluff, smut, dub-con (reader is tipsy, but not drunk), unprotected sex, possessive steve, allusions to DD/lg (but not really), D/s undertones, daddy kink, soft!dom!steve, begging, hand job, oral (male and female receiving), rough sex, fingering, light choking, spitting, dacryphilia, praise kink, grinding, mention of safe words, nipple/breast play, cum play, creampie, aftercare, it's filth, but it's also fluffy MINORS DNI

a/n: so i've been having this in my head for over a week, and i'm excited to finally share. i also have something else planned with steve (maybe a mini series or something. i'm still planning). while all can read, i do write with black/poc readers in mind! i hope you all enjoy! Reblogs, comments, and likes are much appreciated! <3

not edited.

DO NOT COPY OR STEAL THIS POST. I do not give permission for my work to be posted on another site.

A symphony of giggles and clumsy steps lets Steve know that you’ve just arrived home. He’s at his desk, working on a new art piece. It’s a drawing of you sleeping soundly in your shared bed based on an image he snapped a few days ago. He goes to hide the drawing, wanting it to be a surprise for you when he’s done.

He hears you fumble with your phone and tell your friend through a fit of giggles that you made it home safe. Then, Steve hears the sound of you taking off your heels and walking into the kitchen. He sighs, waiting for you to finally finish up whatever you were doing and come back to him. It had been about three hours since he last saw you, and he had missed you.

On his days off, Steve cherishes your time together. It’s very rare that he gets days to be home, draw, and just relax, but when you told him you had plans to go to brunch with your friends, his mood soured a bit. He didn’t want to keep you from his friends, but he was feeling very selfish over you. He wanted you all to himself. This morning, he tried to convince you to stay in bed, but after about an extra 15 minutes of cuddles, you told him you had to get ready. He threw a pout at you that made you giggle, and you kissed his cheek all sweet before you got up to get ready. He watched as you got dressed and put makeup on which he constantly told you, “You don’t need it.”

“Thanks, babe, but I just wanted to be dolled up. It’s been forever since I’ve gone out.” Steve winces at your words. He had just gotten off a long mission, and since he had been back, he had been more focused on relaxing than taking you out on dates. Even though you never complained about it, he knew you were in need of a fun outing. That’s why he couldn’t be too mad that you were so quick to agree to brunch with your best friends. You knew he wasn’t in the mood to be out and about, and he didn’t want you to sacrifice your need for socialization just for him.

Well, he did, but he would never ask you to do that. Not when you’re his perfectly sweet, beautiful girlfriend.

Steve volunteered to drive you to brunch, but you said you already agreed to a carpool. When he volunteered to bring you back home, you shot that down (unintentionally). One of your friends agreed to be the designated driver. Steve held in a grunt, but his frustration dissipated slightly when you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek and lips. “I love you! I’ll be back before you know it.”

And here you were, but what was taking you so damn long?

Steve was about to rise until he heard you slightly stumble towards the room. Your cheeks were flushed red, a sign of the bottomless mimosas he knows you downed at brunch. Your lipstick was long gone, leaving a slight pink tint on your lips. The rest of your makeup looked fine, and you were actually glowing. Your outfit, a black mid-length, bodycon dress, clung to your curves perfectly. Steve felt his dick start to stir. 

God, he wanted needed you so bad.

“Hi, baby,” you said. You held a bottle of water in your hand and took a sip as you walked in the room. You weren’t drunk, but he could tell you were tipsy. You threw a playful smirk as you sauntered towards him. “I missed you.”

For some reason, Steve didn’t want to give into your sweetness. While he had missed you and missed your body, he wanted you just as needy as he was. He wanted you to need him so bad you were begging for it. While his exterior remained stoic, something feral bloomed inside of him that he had to stifle his own smirk.

You moved directly in front of him and leaned down to give him a kiss. When you didn’t feel him return it, your face flashed concern. Did you do something wrong? Was he mad at you? You began to feel nervous under his gaze. Rather than say anything, you moved to straddle him and began to burrow into his lap. You faced him directly and wrapped your arms around his neck. When his expression didn’t budge, you buried your face into his neck and inhaled his scent.

God, you needed him so bad.

As you shrunk yourself in his lap, Steve gave a small smile. Seeing you become so little was making him harder. He knew after one drink that you were affectionate and needy. At events, you’d seek him out, attaching yourself to his side or finding some way to touch him. He had you right where he wanted you. You had mumbled something into his neck that took him from his own thoughts.

“What was that?” he asked, keeping his voice firm.

“How was your day?” you said softly, almost at a whisper. You turned your face and looked up into his sparkling blue eyes. You were so damn sweet he felt he was getting a cavity. “Are you enjoying being off?”

“It was fine,” he said, telling the truth. It was just fine. If you were with him all day, laying naked next to him, it would have been everything he needed. But seeing you concerned about him, being so sweet and kind, made him want to just pick you up and make sweet love to you in his bed. But a strong part of him didn’t want that; he wanted to ruin you and make you more pliant. “How was brunch?”

“It was nice,” you began, playing with the hairs in his beard. “But I really missed you, Daddy.” 

Fuck, he thought. Here you were, his perfect girl, wrapped up perfectly in his lap and pliant. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He gripped your face in his large hands and began to kiss you passionately. You didn’t even try to keep up, letting him push his tongue past your lips and claim your mouth. You began to whine, and Steve felt you begin to grind against his hard-on. He shifted his hands to your neck and pulled you back.

“If you missed me so much, baby girl, then show me.” Your eyes were blown wide with lust. Your lips swollen and pink. You nodded and began to pull his dick out of his sweatpants. You began stroking him, creating a steady rhythm that made Steve catch his breath. “Fuck angel.”

You shifted off his lap and moved his rolling chair back. You settled yourself between his legs. You began giving kitten licks to the tip of his cock before staring up at him with the kindest eyes; Steve had to fight the urge to blow a load on your face. You teased him a bit more with the licks before swallowing his own length down. Steve gripped the back of your head, pushing his length further down your throat. You struggled to take all of him, and the sensation of it made him pulse a bit down your throat. He pulled you off of him and took in your state. Your eyes began watering, your mascara starting to smudge under your eyes. Your mouth was wet with saliva. Steve wishes he could take a picture of you, seeing you ruined made further awakened a beast within him.

You reached for his cock, moving your mouth back on him. He watched in amazement as you tried to deep throat him on your own. You began looking up at him, your eyes looking as big as possible. How you managed to make yourself still look innocent while sucking his dick was something.

“Look at my pretty girl, sucking her Daddy’s cock. You’re doing so good.” You keened over his praise. He watched as you attempted to move your hand under your dress to gain some relief, but he grabbed both of your hands and held them above you. He removed your mouth off of him as gently as he could. You stared up at him waiting for his next words.

“Get on the bed.” He let your hands go and watched as you moved quickly to kneel on the bed. Steve didn’t even bother making it, leaving your bed sheets at the foot of your mattress. You placed your hands in your lap. He got up and cupped your face in his hand. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before his hand moved to pull the thin strap of your dress down. “How are we feeling?”

“Green,” you told him. You gave a small smile. “I need you.”

“I know. Be patient, baby.” If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black…

He pushed your shoulders back as a sign for you to lay back on the bed. He moved to pull your dress off, you lifting your hips to help him. You were left in just a lacy pink thong and strapless bra. You moved to pull the bra off and placed it on the floor next to your bed. You grabbed his hand and placed it on his chest. You were so desperate for some sort of relief.

Steve began massaging your breast, his fingers pulling at your nipple. You let out a breathy moan from the sensation, happy to finally feel something. Steve’s eyes darkened when he saw your hand slip inside your panties, and you began to play with yourself.

“How bad do you need me? How bad do you need your Daddy?” he asked, almost mockingly.

“I need you s-so bad,” you cried out. “I’ve missed you so much. Thought about you the whole time at brunch. Please, I need you.”

Steve removed his hands, causing you to whine. When you looked up at him, you saw him frantically stripping out of his sweatpants and white tank top. He didn’t even bother with underwear, secretly praying that you came home exactly like this, and he would have easy access.

His mouth began an assault on your neck. He pulled your hand out and roughly pulled your panties down, flinging them somewhere in the room. He kissed down your body, spending precious time kneading and kissing on your breasts before he found himself in between your legs. Without asking, you opened yourself up to him. “Please, please, please,” you whined.

Steve dove in, essentially making out with your pussy. You cried out, and he placed his left hand on your stomach to hold you down. His other hand began to push into your core, finding that spongy spot that instantly had your hips bucking. He looked up at you through his thick lashes, watching your face contort into pure ecstasy. He found your bundle of nerves and began to suck while continuing to play with you like you were his favorite instrument (you were). You immediately began singing out, a sign you were close. It was music to Steve’s ears, your incoherent cries.

Steve lifted up, removed his fingers from your core, and watched as your face fell in betrayal. “If you’re going to come, it’s going to be on my dick,” he spat at you. “Open.”

You opened your mouth, and Steve spit down your throat. He captured into another filthy kiss, you grabbing onto his back to pull you into him, trying to become one. He lined up himself at your entrance before pressing in quickly, filling you up quickly. You broke the kiss to moan, tears spilling from your eyes from the pressure. Steve felt himself grow harder as he began to lick at your tears. You felt so defiled, so nasty, and you couldn’t get enough. You began scratching at his back, desperate for him to move, for him to finally let you come.

“D-daddy, please. Please move. Please!” you begged. “Please, I need it. I need to cum. Please let me cum!” Tears began to spill from your eyes. Your face was so utterly fucked out that Steve could have came right then in there. But you were giving him everything he wanted, and now, he finally could oblige.

He began roughly fucking into you, pulling your legs into his arm to change his angle. Your back arched off the bed, and your moans grew louder. Normally, Steve would cover your mouth, not wanting to face your neighbors after this, but he didn’t care. He wanted the whole world to hear him fucking his perfect, sweet girlfriend on this beautiful Saturday afternoon. You grabbed at your breast and Steve brought his face down to one, popping one of your hard nipples into his mouth. You clenched harder around him.

“Steve, I’m s-so close. May I cum? Please, may I cum?” you asked so nicely. 

“Yes.” You came with a cry, your body shaking as Steve continued to fuck into you. Seeing you fall apart gave him a second wind and he kept fucking into you. You fell into a second orgasm, your eyes beginning to close in exhaustion, but Steve didn’t relent. He pulled out and turned you on your side like a ragdoll as you laid limp on the bed. He immediately rutted back into you, his pace relentless. His release was building up. “Come on, baby. Come with Daddy. Just give me one more.”

Steve came with a roar. He looked down at your coated juices on his dick and fucked it back into you. He couldn’t wait to see himself leaking out of you. Honestly, if you gave him a minute, he could go again and have you filled with him for days. The idea of you filled with him, possibly making his child made him cumming again.

He collapsed on top of you, softly kissing your face. You started giggling before turning and grabbing his face in your hand. You captured his lips in a long, soft kiss. You whined as he pulled out of you, and Steve shifted next to you. Looking down at your legs, his eyes darkened seeing his spend leak out of you. He gathered it and pushed it back inside of you. You winced at how sensitive you were, but Steve knew you loved when he’d play with your mixed releases. 

Steve rose and grabbed your water bottle, making you drink a considerable amount before placing it on the nightstand on his side of the bed. He lifted you up and placed both of you under the covers of your shared bed. He pulled you into his chest as you lazily rubbed circles into his chest and him on your shoulders.

“I love you,” you whispered before softly kissing at his chest and closing your eyes.

“I love you too.” Steve was happy. His perfect girl was finally in his arms, just like he needed.

[introverted-monkey-noises]

"a million dreams for the world we're gonna make" - a million dreams, from the greatest showman

HEYYY GUYS I'M BACK !!! ap exams are finally over and i'm pretty sure i flunked ap physics but i sat down to draw stuff the day i finished after a whole lot of karaoke with my friends. i had a sketch of this going on but it has always been lying around unfinished so i really wanted to get this done for you guys last night

BUT HERE'S A NEZHA APPEARANCE i know a lot of you have been asking for him and multiple ppl have suggested that he be the critic from the movie, and you're right it totally suits him,,, bro can be a harsh but necessary critic. and i've always wanted to draw that specific scene of wukong lifting macaque in that a million dreams dance sequence. so here you go !! the critic isn't frequent in the movie but he's a necessary character so if you guys want to see more of nezha in this au just let me know !!

other stuff that i've been wanting to draw contain mei, sandy, etc. the rest of the crew as the performers and a lot more shadowpeach and spicynoodles (some asked for that specific scene where time slows as redson and mk's eyes meet with the trapeze performance thing so that'd be cool to include for the next part of this series) and i definitely do want to draw macaque in his trapeze artist at one point, he'd be gorgeous.

also let me know if you want to see any specific scene or characters from this au !! i'm not done cooking and i have so many things i want to draw for it but as you know i can't satisfy everybody... so i'm gonna need your help narrowing it all down. this movie is a piece of art and i'm so ready to combine it with lmk and actively draw until s5 comes out. so excited for this summer !!!

as always, thank youuu for reading this (if anybody does !!!!!)

[reiderwriter]

♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence. 

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried. 

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly. 

“But I'm not a woman.” 

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again. 

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.” 

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter. 

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down. 

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again. 

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter. 

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise. 

“And your name is?” 

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.” 

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body. 

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?” 

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up. 

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub. 

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could  bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason. 

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest. 

“Good observation, Spencer.” 

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head. 

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor. 

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again. 

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him. 

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that. 

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours. 

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election. 

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace. 

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.” 

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you. 

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together. 

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet. 

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway. 

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him. 

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin. 

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him. 

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-” 

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?” 

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape. 

“I-I'm not a student, and-” 

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.” 

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist. 

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex. 

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you,  desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you. 

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper. 

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him. 

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley. 

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?” 

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him. 

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.” 

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin. 

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation  had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched. 

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him. 

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth  grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust. 

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin. 

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock. 

“Did it hurt?” 

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.” 

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving. 

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for. 

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to. 

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him. 

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure. 

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.” 

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier. 

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you. 

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there. 

You weren't. 

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?” 

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today. 

There was always tomorrow. 

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed. 

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder. 

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there. 

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up. 

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.” 

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words. 

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs. 

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?” 

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely. 

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened. 

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs. 

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head. 

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch. 

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out. 

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug. 

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.” 

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer. 

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.” 

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him. 

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.” 

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal. 

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake. 

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.” 

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts. 

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?” 

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be. 

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?” 

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there. 

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?” 

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct. 

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer. 

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again. 

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning. 

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?” 

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.” 

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest. 

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled. 

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.” 

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again. 

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his. 

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.” 

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?” 

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans. 

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.” 

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit. 

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut. 

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly. 

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.” 

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him. 

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?” 

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue. 

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?” 

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them. 

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper. 

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth. 

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.” 

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry. 

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again. 

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock. 

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock. 

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so. 

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time. 

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair. 

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.” 

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for. 

[bluepeachstudios]

So. Cass' Apocalyptic Series by @somerandomdudelmao just ended.

I have many emotions none of which I can properly convey through words or anything. CAS itself has been a continuing beacon of creative light that's been lovely to see progress, and has inspired me through so many things, and I could go on about it but I cannot get into it without crying so I won't, I hope the sentiment comes across.

Cass did fanart of Ghost in the Shell HERE. It was like. I dunno. The third or fourth drawing of GitS I'd gotten from someone else? And the fact that Cass of all people had done it was like, wild to me at the time. I was still kind of reeling from the fact that people even liked my work at all? But Cass said it was good and I was like "oh damn must be good then" and kept writing. She also did THIS animation of Ghost which I still cry at whenever I watch it it's fine.

THEN THE PEEPAW POLLS HAPPENED. OH LORD. I made so many friends. I met so many people through that. I've never. In my life had this many people I could just talk to at any time. I never knew what to say either so I ended up just hanging out and getting dragged wherever the wind took me. It got me into doing polls in general!

Ghost made it to the FINAL ROUND??? Still confused about that. Then Uncle Tello won and Cass did a comic and I wrote something and I cried when I read the comic and I was still kind of processing so I ended up drawing something as well.

Then the next time GitS and CAS met was at the TMNT AU competition. It happened. Like almost DIRECTLY after Uncle Tello died in CAS so I was processing again and I do that through Ghost apparently so I drew a lil comic and wrote a lil somethin.

And then they never met again! But I like to think that some version of Ghost somewhere got to see the end.

GitS Part 2 has been kinda hard for me to write. I had to take a big break from it due to health stuff, and getting back into writing it wasn't as easy as before. And even after Part 2 is over, I still have the movie to do. My interest in TMNT is never going away, even after GitS I have other projects I want to finish, and that I've wanted to work on while writing GitS, but. y'know.

I'm determined to finish it. Drawing an x on my wrist. I really want to give Ghost the ending I've been imagining. And Cass has been someone really cool to look up to while I've been working on that.

So. Yeah. If Cass can get to the good ending, maybe I can do it too.

Love you Cass. Thanks for everything!

[pia-nor481]

She…What? Part Seven

Oscar Piastri, Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris x reader

Oscar admits to her that he’s not particularly experienced in the world of sex, yet he doesn’t feel as ashamed about it as he expected. Lando and Daniel have their usual hotel chat in which Lando reminds his friends of his impeding bedtime. Although the Australian would rather spend an evening with her

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She pulled back slightly, remaining in his lap. "What do you mean, Oscar?" She whispered, eyes wide as her hands slid up his arms slowly. "I'm not really experienced with this kind of thing." The Australian's eyes were closed, hiding his embarrassment. "Ever? Or in terms of a contract relationship?" She questioned with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. Oscar's hands would have made dents in her skin if he was training any harder. "Well I've done some stuff. Just not all the way." A blush rose to his cheeks as she was finally able to see his eyes. 

She slowly moved behind Oscar, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's okay. Usually I'd be a bit of a tease and and walk away from you right now, leave you high and dry. But I don't have to tease you too much." She giggled resting her chin on top of his head, making his hair impossibly messier. "There's no need to be mean." He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest in disgust. "Hey. I'm not trying to be mean." She gasped in false offence, squeezing his arms playfully. "I'm just informing you of what you're getting involved with." She smiled, pulling away and standing up. "Then we can just talk for a while. Perhaps we can get to know each other better in that time, more than that you're a voyeur." She giggled, taking a small sip of wine, lifting the bottle up slightly. "I don't drink wine." Oscar started, getting up from the bed. "I can only have hard liquor, otherwise my trainer will complain." He finished, reaching for the bottle of whisky. "So you don't drink beer or cider either. Just the the stuff that will get you drunk quicker?" She asked in disbelief. 

Oscar shook his head before speaking. "I hardly drink actually." He turned watching her slowly drink the red liquid, not once looking away from him. "That's going to change soon. Not just because you're winning races now." She smiled, moving through the room gracefully, noticing Oscar's lingering gaze. "You can speak you're mind, I wont judge you." He was finally pulled out of his gaze by her words. "I'm just taken aback." Oscar's filter slowly dissolving after a few sips of the drink. "You're gorgeous." He whispered once he was closer, reaching out to brush his fingers over her face.

Oscar was shocked with how forward he was being, yet he felt so draw in, and he didn't want to be let go. "How sweet of you Oscar." She smiled, pulling him in close, waiting for his reaction. The Australian could feel the blood pumping harshly through his body as his hands came up to cup her cheeks. He groaned quietly, finally feeling his lips against her, the level of relief he felt was unprecedented. Oscar pushed her down slowly, feeling his knee slip between her legs. He didn't know what came over him in that moment, his neurons were clearly delayed to his central nervous system. Oscar pulled back with a quiet 'sorry' before moving to the end of the bed, annoyed with himself, he wasn't one to wear his emotions on his sleeve and so sat there with a straight face, battling his thoughts. "Oscar." She repeated, trying to pull him out of the trance. "I know we said we would only talk, but that doesn't mean I'm upset with you." She reasoned, reaching for his drink and taking a small sip. He raised an eyebrow at her action but didn't move to stop her, if anything he wanted her to continue. He wanted her to completely consume him. 

"What did you want to talk about?" Oscar struggled to get out, his nerves coming through. "What you like, what you want. Anything." She brought the whiskey up to his lips, waiting for him to finish the glass. He was definitely out of his depth here, almost alarmingly so. But Oscar would do anything she asked. "Okay then...I want to know more about how this relationship works, at least in your words." Oscar was always straight to the point she soon came to realise. "Well, it's really whatever you want it to be." She brought her hand up to his hair, running her fingers through the messy strands. "So what is it to Daniel and Lando?" He questioned, focusing on her lips, mainly the colour of the gloss. "You may have to ask them. But from my point of view it feels almost like friends with benefits, at least in a way. It's difficult to describe. But I've know Daniel much longer than Lando so it's a little bit different."

"In what way?" Oscar quizzed, he was clearly a person who liked research. "I suppose it's a bit more romantic with Daniel, at least in a way. He sorts out hotels, flights, holidays and so on. He's much more involved in my personal life than Lando. Not that either of them mind, it's what they want." Oscar was slightly overwhelmed with the information being fed to him, some was left up to his interpretation. "And if i wanted to be more involved with your personal life?" Oscar's eyes fell to his lap momentarily, as if he was preparing himself for the worst. "If that's what you want, then yes." A weight was lifted from the Australian's shoulders and a small smile adorned his face.

A small sigh escaped Oscar's lips before he spoke. "Okay, then how does this work logistically?" She stood up slowly, walking towards the open bottle of wine. "It depends, we all have to talk about certain things, but mostly just call or text me and we go from there. If I'm honest i wouldn't suggest waltzing into this, or any, hotel room. Then again, you like that so." She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm never hearing the end of that, am I?" She giggled and shook her head turning back towards him. "So, what do you like, or at least what do you want to try?" A wave of worry washed over him when her words finally registered, too focused on the way the robe presented her tits. "If I'm being completely honest, I've only done oral, both giving and receiving, but not a whole lot. So I'm not very good at it." Oscar's shame was apparent, he didn't think that he should be as inexperienced as he was, especially at his age. "That's not world ending, you can learn, you can experiment and find out what you like too. There's nothing wrong with that." She tried reassuring him, rubbing her hands over his arms softly. "I don't really know what I want to try." 

At the same time, in Lando's hotel room, Daniel and Lando were discussing the ins and outs of the current relationship. "So, how do you feel about Oscar?" Lando questioned, jumping onto the bed in a childlike manner. "He's alright, we've had a proper chat so, I think it's all good now." Daniel started before placing himself on the end of the bed. "I was being bitter, he wanted the seat and he was concerned about me before signing so it's alright. I think if i drove that third year at McLaren it would have been a career ender for me, I don't even think RB would have me. So maybe Oscar signing was good for me. I don't know." Daniel trailed off looking at the ceiling, this was the first time he'd said such a thing out loud, and it felt good. "And how do you think he's gonna handle her?" Lando continued, rolling onto his stomach. "I think he'll be okay. She won't be as hard on him. She know's he wont be able to handle that level of teasing, I made sure of that." Daniel smirked, turning to see Lando's face. 

"Oh really, it only took a few days to end her teasing."  Lando stated, looking up as if he was imagining the first time he was with her. "You had it easy. Seven months of back and forth flirting before I even had the chance to go out with her. Trust me, you're lucky." The Australian confirmed, pulling his jumper off. "So what? Oscar's gonna get her tomorrow?" Daniel laughed at his friend almost mockingly. "Oh no. She'll make him wait, tease Oscar enough to have him begging for her. It's what she does well. You know that. You just broke before I did." Daniel pulled his phone out of his pocket quickly, looking at the messages she had sent him. "That's not very nice." Lando's hand came up to his heart, clenching the shirt, trying to feign offence. "Don't be dramatic. The amount of times I got blue balls was unreal." Daniel sighed, shaking his head at the painful thought. "I didn't need to know that." Lando groaned, running his fingers through his hair. "Oh please, you've heard worse." He rolled his eyes, locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. "Going to bed? That's good, you don't need RB to give you a bedtime." Lando joked, lifting his head up. "No actually, I know what toys she brought so..." Daniel smirked, closing the door before he left. 

Daniel hummed while walking through the hallway of the hotel, looking for room 609. He knocked loudly, excited to see her. "Hey Darling." He said in a husky voice, leaning against the doorframe. "Smooth." She laughed, pulling him into the room by the collar of his shirt. "So what did you learn?" Daniel's excitement was radiating from him as he walked towards her suitcase. "A few things, mostly that he's not that experienced." She stated, climbing on the bed, looking over at Daniel, who seemed to be in a very difficult internal debate. "Of course, both me and Lando are sluts. How could I forget." Daniel joked, walking back towards the bed. "You've got qualifying tomorrow, you need rest." She reasoned. Daniel had spent so much time and effort getting back into the sport, and she didn't want to be the reason he couldn't get a top seat. "It's fine Darling, it's not even late." Daniel emphasise his point by showing her his watch. She rolled her eyes playfully, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I can't believe you. Lando really is blind." Daniel laughed, stripping of his clothes. "You know I had to explain to him how long you were teasing me for. He didn't believe it." She stood up, slowly undoing the belt of the robe, letting it fall to the ground slowly, revealing lace underwear. She bent over slightly, reaching for the waistband before Daniel spoke. "I don't think so. Come here." He lifted his hand up, pulling her down. "And you complain about me teasing." She joked, reaching up to tug on his hair lightly. "Don't start with me, not tonight. And you were the one complaining about sleep, look at you now." Daniel hands came to rest behind her knees and he shifted his body slightly. His right hand traveled from her knee up to her thing, feather light touches teasing her. His fingers danced over her skin and his eyes shifted up, looking for a reaction. "Daniel." She scolded. "Oh government name. I really must be in trouble." Daniel's hands finally made it to her pelvis, toying with the lace before tugging on the waistband. Soon the sound of vibrating met her ears. "Danny." Her gasp bounced off the walls as her hands grasped the bedsheets. "Careful. Don't want Oscar to hear." Daniel's playful tone didn't go unnoticed. Daniel pressed the red vibrator onto her clit harshly, enjoying the look on her face. Daniel lifted the toy away from her before placing in back, teasing as much as he could. "That's it." He whispered, lifting her leg up higher, needing to get closer. She could feel the vibrations coursing through her whole body, sending goosebumps up her arms and pulling quiet moans form her lips. "Stop teasing me Danny." She spoke though gasps, eyes wide open, noticing the smirk adorning his face. "Oh but you like teasing" 

Daniel was quick to push the lace to the side and line his cock up with her cunt, rubbing the tip over her clit lightly. "Always making me wait. Lucky I don't do the same to you." He uttered, slowly pushing his cock in, inch by inch. Her legs wrapped around Daniel's waist quicky, pulling him in closer. "That's it." She whispered as Daniel began to rock his hips, slowly to start, before he connected their lips. There was a level of almost unknown passion, almost as if she had manifested it. They both knew that there was a romantic aspect to their relationship, but even now, they were surprised. Daniel's hands didn't move from her skin. He wanted to be close to her, he didn't want her to ever leave him, he needed her with him. Daniel's groans and grunts filled the room as he got closer, her voice only edging him closer. "So close, Darling." The Australian gasps, pushing into her cunt fast, desperate to finish. "Gonna cum. Fuck." Daniel painted her stomach white with a loud groan, his head fell into the curve of her neck, panting loudly.

"So good to me, Darling." Daniel whispered into her skin, although those were the only coherent words the only ones she could understand. She threaded her hands through his hair, playing with his curls. "So pretty." The Australian had is eyes closed, thinking about their time together, from when they first met to six months ago. He focused on her, no matter if they were in a hotel or a beach, it was all her.

They laid on the bed in comfortable silence, just enjoying the feeling of each other. "We can shower in the morning, I just want to stay here." She whispered, pulling Daniel impossibly closer. He nodded into her skin before speaking, "Come here...Just want to stay with you." They shifted so they were covered with the quilt, Daniel's arms circled her middle, keeping her close. "What's the plan for tomorrow then?" She asked, looking up at Daniel with a sweet smile. "We'll go get some food and take a nice track walk before free practice." She nodded wordlessly, resting her head on his chest. Darkness filled the room as her eyes closed, feeling Daniel's fingers draw shapes mindlessly on her back. Just as sleep began to overtake her she felt Daniel kiss her cheek before she heard his words. "I love you, Darling."

[sumeriasmith]

At long last after much delay, I figured out how I wanted to handle the butterflies and what was bothering me about the lanterns, and I have finished the latest entry in my (not abandoned) MXTX Major Arcana tarot project, Hua Cheng as Death. I've departed pretty far from the traditional iconography on this one - Death is usually mounted, but I didn't want to draw him on a horse, and there are generally skeletons, but I don't like drawing skulls. So this time, I went with Vibes. He's standing in an ocean of blood, it's fine.

Next up in this series will be Lan Wangji as the Hermit (I know I usually do a poll, but the polls so far have resulted in five of the six main characters, so I'm gonna finish the set), but I might work on something non-mxtx before I dive into that one.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 6 - I've Been Searching for a Fortified Defense

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: As we begin our first 5-digit word count chapter (I can’t be stopped, someone take away my keyboard) and I find a stride of about two chapters per week, I want to say that: A) I fully intend on finishing this story. I plotted out the whole thing before I started, have made a few adjustments given the pacing I’ve done so far, and with how it’s broken down right now we’ll reach the end in 2-3 months. B) Thank y’all from the bottom of my heart for reading! If you have theories or thoughts or feedback please don’t hesitate to share them! I love hearing what you think of the plot and the characters, and every interaction means the world to me. Whether you’re only reading or leaving comments as well, thank you so damn much. I’ll see you next chapter (it’s gonna be a doozy) <3

Chapter Title from Bells in Santa Fe by Halsey.

Word Count: 11.2k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You throw a punch, and Phase One: Operation Quick and Bald goes. Not well, but it goes. Contains usual tags.

Read on A03!

Chapter 5 - Chapter 7

Taglist: @lordofthunderthr @kritara

Want to be tagged? Just ask!

Ben dodged the third punch in a row, grinning widely right up until the fourth one landed on his face.

“Ha!” She yelled, drawing back to shake her first out. “Take that, you weirdly fast man.”

Ben rolled his eyes, rubbing his face lightly. It hadn’t hurt—he’d barely even felt it—but She was being real fucking smug for someone who’d only just landed a hit after a damn week of attempting to do so.

“Yeah, sure, Sunshine. Keep it the fuck up, and at this rate it’ll only take you another couple thousand years to surpass Muhammad Ali.”

She raised her brows at Ben, pausing with a tilt of her head. “You were a fan of Muhammad Ali?”

He nodded, giving her a scrunched look of annoyance. “I’m a fucking American, and there ain’t nothing more red-blooded American than punching commies like that son of a bitch did.”

“What?”

“When he fought the Russian, and won. That’s fucking American.”

“Ben, you’re thinking of the plot of Rocky IV.”

“No, Muhammad Ali fought that Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass.”

“No, Sylvester Stallone fought the Russian pussy and kicked his fucking ass. In a movie.” She laughed to herself. “I’m shocked you even saw Rocky IV, let alone were so impacted by it to let the plot override your knowledge of a real life person.”

“Shut up,” Ben grunted, moving his hands back to a defensive stance. She fucking always won these stupid arguments, and Ben couldn’t actually prove it, but he knew She was changing the fucking internet she loved so damn much to match her claims. “Go again.”

“Someone missed nap time.” She muttered under her breath, even though she knew Ben could fucking hear her, but put her fists up anyways. “Can this be the last one? I’m hungry.”

Instead of answering, Ben just launched himself at her, and She jumped to the side with a yelp.

“What the fuck, Ben!”

He turned and threw another punch, feeling pleased at the smooth way she ducked away and met it with a punch of her own. Her face had lost the pissy shock, laser-sharp concentration replacing it. Her eyes were narrowed, darting across Ben as he moved, her bobbing and weaving wasn’t entirely shit, and her heart was controlled with her breathing. She landed her second punch, this one on his shoulder, and Ben laughed, delivering one of his own.

“Christ, Sunshine, you’re fucking weak.” He laughed, examining Her carefully for any loss of control.

“I’ll kill you with my bare hands, Bitch.” She growled, lunging forward and grunting in frustration as Ben dodged with ease.

“That’s my line.” He taunted. “And you couldn’t even kill a man with an assault rifle if he was a fucking foot away from you.”

“Blow me.”

“I’ve been fucking trying- Fuck!” She landed her third punch, and it burned. Ben reached to touch where she’d hit and felt the skin mending across his jaw.

She was grinning in a wide, toothy, satisfied way. “Suck on that, cunt.”

“Bitch,” he muttered, looking down at his hand to see it raw and red from the contact with his face, with some of his fucking hair stuck to it.

“Did you burn off my fucking beard!” His head shot up to see a half-sheepish, half-amused look on her face, lips curled and eyes wide.

“Oops.”

He yelled her name, and she had the fucking nerve to giggle. “We said no fucking powers!”

“I forgot.” She said lamely, her face less and less apologetic by the second, giggling again as she offered some of the most insincere comfort Ben had ever heard. “It’s not even that noticeable! You look just as good as before!”

His anger faded, and he gave Her a cocky smirk, raising his brows. “You think I look good, Sunshine?”

“I’m being nice. Don’t ruin it.” She muttered, her face adorably flushed, and Ben didn’t miss the skip of her heart.

“Whatever keeps you up at night.”

“That’s not the phrase.”

He winked. “I know.”

She scoffed and turned away, but not before Ben could see the slight smile on her lips. “I’m going to shower, I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen. If you’re not there, with food, I’m eating the TV.”

Ben frowned, calling after Her figure moving down the hall. “Has the TV been edible this whole fucking time and you didn’t fucking tell me?!”

Her laughter echoed back down the hall. "You're real fucking gullible, grampa!"

“You know I can’t fucking tell when you’re joking about that shit, you bitch!”

“Fourteen minutes, cunt!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to make food in fourteen minutes?!”

“You’re a big boy, you’ll figure it out!”

Grumbling a string of cusses Ben hoped She could fucking feel, Ben grabbed a cup of instant noodles and threw them in the microwave, wondering if She would notice if he spit in hers. After pulling them out, grabbing two spoons from the counter that he almost immediately bent, spilling one of the cups as he noticed the damaged utensils, spilling the other when he noticed the first spill, and having to start the whole damned fucking thing over, Ben made his way to drop on the couch next to where She sat, wet hair clinging to her pretty face.

“Heard a lot of swearing, Pretty Boy, everything ok?”

He grunted, shoving Her noodles against her chest and letting go, not giving a fuck if she had a grip on them. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Just asking a question,” he could hear her shit-eating grin. “Thought it was a free country. Thought a patriot like you would appreciate me exercising my first amendment right.”

“That protects you from the government, not me.” Ben parroted back the words She had yelled at him after he’d made the apparently fucking fatal mistake of saying “first amendment right” in her presence.

She chuckled, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you were capable of retaining information about something other than yourself.”

“Well, your tits were looking great while you were bitching. It helped.” He grabbed the remote, raising it to the TV. “I made food. I’m picking what we watch.”

“If you pick Game of Thrones so you can watch the sex scenes again, I’m figuring out a way to kill myself and doing it on your bed.”

“Whatever gets you in my bed, Sunshine.” He winked. “And I’m invested in the fucking plot, it’s not just the sex scenes.”

“It’s mostly the sex scenes.” She said, not even flinching at his flirtation. “Just go watch porn. See how fast you can break the fleshlights. If you do all three in ten minutes, Butcher owes me twenty dollars.”

Ben scowled, not enjoying that She’d apparently been making fucking bets with Butcher about his masturbation. “I can last longer than ten fucking minutes, I’m not a fucking pussy.”

“Prove it.”

He grinned widely at Her as her face flushed adorably, her own phrasing catching up with her head. “I’d be honored, Sunshine.”

“You’re like a fucking rabbit in heat.” She muttered. “And if you do last longer than ten, Hughie gets the money, so keep that in mind when you’re jerking it to dragon boobs after I go to bed.”

“The dragons don’t have any fucking boobs, dumbass, the fucking hot lady queens do.” Ben said smugly, ignoring her eye roll. “And I would ‘jerk it’ in the privacy of my room, but someone won’t give me a fucking phone.”

“Yeah, the CIA. I’d actually back you up with Mallory, Pretty Boy. I think giving you a phone would be really entertaining.”

“I don’t need your fucking help.” He snapped, and she laughed.

“Can’t rely on just a handsome face to convince her that you somehow deserve the internet.”

“Handsome face?” He grinned at her, and only the slight stutter of her heart told Ben she heard him.

She made a mock face of thought. “Maybe if we suggested parental controls…”

“I’ll kill you, bitch.”

“I’ll make you the most useless and sad eunuch to ever grace this sorry planet, cunt.”

Ben glared at Her, and she reached over his arm to press play on the remote.

Most of the days since the failed Sister Sage mission had been like this. She and Ben got up, trained, ate, trained more, and then watched TV with dinner until She retreated to her room and Ben fought sleep for the rest of the night, alone. Neither of them mentioned how he’d saved her, or how She had started a habit of slapping Ben awake—he was pretty fucking certain that at this point she had figured out another way to break through the nightmares but was purposely choosing to fucking hit him instead—before she’d sit next to him for an hour or two after. Ben liked this unspoken arrangement, and liked even more how She had silently agreed to it. Just because he didn’t actively hate Her right now didn’t mean he was about become a sniveling pussy mess about feelings. Even if the lack of active hatred had morphed into something pulsing in his chest that he didn’t understand, and didn't fucking want to. Making Her instant noodles and not killing her when she lied to him for fun or called him “Pretty Boy” was as far as Ben would bend.

It had been mostly radio silence from the Boys, though Butcher and Cocksucker had visited two days after they’d dropped Her and Ben back at the safe house, as Cocksucker had managed to break his arm. There had been a long, incredibly boring and poorly told story as to how the injury had occurred, involving a supe, Nikola Tesla and something called a Cybertruck, but Ben had pretty much tuned out the entire fucking conversation once he realized they weren’t here for him at all. The only thing that had kept him from retreating to his room for the duration of the visit was the small falter in Her heart when she touched Cocksucker, her jaw clenched as Ben and Butcher watched Cocksucker’s arm heal into place in a fucking disgusting manner.

When She’d let go, she’d given Ben a weird fucking look with tight lips and sad eyes that he'd only seen before on Cocksucker. It had passed quickly, her face returning to apathetic and bored, her eyes regaining the sharp amusement they usually held, but fuck it had confused him. She and Butcher had started talking about missions and planning and other mind-numbing shit, Cocksucker shaking out his arm as if he didn’t trust that it was healed, and Ben had needed to piss and gone to do just that. Before he’d left, he’d caught Her a look of where the hell are you’d going, he’d grinned back with a wink of why, you want to join me?, and she’d rolled her eyes and returned her attention to Butcher. When he’d returned, Butcher and Cocksucker had left and She was glaring at him, arms across her chest.

“Are you an idiot, or just a dick?” She’d snapped.

He’d frowned at Her, trying to figure out what had made her all fucking bitchy. As far as Ben was concerned, he’d been fucking amazing, only calling Butcher a pussy twice and managing to refrain from talking to Cocksucker at all. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Butcher told me we’re moving on operation Quick and Bald soon. He told me you knew. Why didn’t you fucking tell me?!”

“Oh,” Ben had rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”

“You forgot?”

He’d shrugged. “Well, you fucking know now, so get over it. And what kind of fucking shit codename is Quick and Bald?”

“Fuck you, it’s an accurate and descriptive name.”

“How the fuck could that be ‘accurate and descriptive’?”

“Because two key factors of this phase of my plan are the quick and the bald.”

“Your plan?”

“Yeah, my fucking plan. That I fucking deserved to know the status of.” She’d scowled. “Butcher says it’s almost ready. He’ll get us in two days once it’s in place.”

That had been five days ago. Starlight and Cocksucker had dropped in after two days, full of apologies and updates that Ben didn’t give a fuck about, and when he’d asked Her for more information about the plan, she’d told him to “suck her dick and shove his questions up his ass until they reached his brain.”

So Ben still had no fucking clue what Quick and Bald was about.

Aside from Her lingering anger at him for apparently having the fucking nerve to ask questions about the jobs he had to do—an opinion he had made the mistake of voicing, leading the unwelcome lesson on the first amendment—She was being impossibly easy to talk to, and Ben was getting dangerously close to not only enjoying her company, but finding her comfortable. Part of him was hoping she’d say something very, very soon that would allow him to grip onto hatred, or at least indifference, for the rest of his time in this stupid fucking situation.

Instead, in a way that made Ben think God himself was out to fucking get him, he’d started to tell her things. Fucking voluntarily.

One of those nights where sleep had gripped his head and pulled him under, struggling and roaring, he’d woken up once more from only the force and sting of her hand across his face. She’d sat next to him again, and he’d asked her more questions about before, all of which she’d answered with a faraway, insufferably sad look in her eyes.

“How many siblings did you fucking have again?” He’d pressed once.

“Four,” She’d responded, a wistful smile on her face. “Two brothers, two sisters. All younger.”

“Your parents had four more kids after you? What, were you that fucking annoying they needed to try again four fucking times?”

“No, I was just so adorable they needed to try and recreate my perfection. Once they realized that was impossible, they gave up.” She’d smirked, and Ben hated that somehow he didn’t doubt her words. “Well,” she’d mused to herself. “That and they fell violently out of love with each other.”

“Violently?” He’d made a face, and she’d nodded solemnly.

“I shielded my siblings from a lot of flying plates.”

Ben found another thing to hate. Her parents, and how fucking sad she looked. “You miss them?”

“My parents?” She’d snorted. “I miss my dad. I hope my mom gets her head popped.”

He’d coughed to cover a laugh. “No, you fucking smartass. Your siblings.”

Her answer was quick and soft. “Every fucking day.”

Ben had grunted, watching the distance return to her face, and before he could stop himself, he was talking. “I didn’t have any siblings.”

Before he could curse himself out and try to distract Her with something else, she had been looking back at him with wide, focused eyes. “Do you wish you did?”

“I never thought about it,” he’d muttered. “My father was such a fucking dick I’m surprised he even got my mother to marry him, let alone fucking have one kid. I think he hated me enough to never fucking risk it again.”

“Risk it?” She’d kept her voice impossibly gentle as she’d asked, and it made his skin crawl all weird.

“I was the biggest fucking regret of his life. If he could go back and stop me from happening in the first place, make my mother flush me out, he wouldn’t have fucking hesitated.”

She’d paused, and a very fucking stupid part of Ben had thought she was going to let the conversation go. Of course, he should’ve fucking known by now that She damn well wouldn’t.

“What was your mom like?”

He hadn’t fucking expected that, and it had shocked him enough to answer. “Kind. Too kind for my father, he saw it as fucking weakness and told her all the fucking time. But she was so fucking kind.” He took a heavy breath. “She was full of love, and I have no fucking clue how. It was fucking stupid, all her love, even for my piece of shit father. He’d yell at her and threaten her and mock her, but she still fucking loved him. She fucking loved everything.”

Her voice was still gentle from beside him. “Like what?”

“Animals. Cats specifically. My father had all these fucking hunting dogs he loved more than anything, certainly more than me, and the only good thing he ever fucking did was trade one to get her a cat. It was massive, fluffy and gray, and it was a fucking asshole to everyone but her. It ate like a fucking elephant, shed like a whore in summer, but she loved it so fucking much.” At this point Ben had really wished he would shut the fuck up, but he couldn’t, and he was going to have to figure out a way to blame Her for that later. “She loved art. Painting. She tried to get me to love it too, even though I could barely draw a fucking worm. But I’d try, and she’d frame all my stupid, shitty drawings and hang them around the house until my father saw them and threw them in the trash. She loved music but couldn’t carry a tune if her life fucking depended on it. They’d go to the opera because my father would donate a ton for the publicity, and she’d come back all damn giddy. I’d wait up, just because she was fucking contagious when she was that happy. Even my father felt it, enough to just go straight to bed and not kick my ass for still being awake. She was fucking smart, too. Real fucking smart. My father would joke he wished she was a man, because then her brain would be useful. She would’ve fucking jumped for joy if she saw the world now. Met a fucking woman doctor.” He paused, looking back down at Her beside him. She hadn’t looked away from him, and there was none of the pity he’d expected to see on her face. It was just open, listening intently to his words with no malice or trickery behind her eyes.

“She sounds amazing.” She’d said softly, a small smile he didn’t understand on her face. “And your dad sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Ben had chuckled in surprise. “Fucking understatement of the damn year, Sunshine. That pussy would’ve tried to pry your degree from your fucking hands.”

“Let him try, I’d burn his fucking face off and laugh while I did it.”

“What were you even going to fucking do with a PhD in archeology?" He’d asked, and she’d huffed a small laugh.

“Anthropology, Pretty Boy. But nice guess.” She corrected. “And I’m honestly not sure. I’d quite literarily only just actually received the degree before everything… changed.” She’d sighed. “I had a few job offers, but mostly in academia and business. What I wanted was to work with nonprofits to help people.”

“Help people?” He’d given her a disbelieving stare. “With a prissy fucking degree?”

“Yeah, dickwad. Help people. I was a cultural anthropologist. I specialized in the evolution of cultures and ways to combat systemic cultural oppression.”

He’d stared at Her blankly. “You’re going to have to take down the fucking fancy talk by seven, Sunshine.”

“I studied how the government and culture is mean to people on purpose, and how to make them stop being mean.” She’d said flatly.

“Oh.” He’d rolled his eyes at the dirty look she was giving him. “Oh, fuck off. It wasn’t that painful to say.”

“Yes, it was.” She’d mumbled, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

“What’s there to fucking argue about?”

“I just called your beloved country an ‘oppressive system’.” She’d watched him wearily, but her heart remained steady. “Doesn’t it mar your refined American nationalism?”

“Do you fucking want me to be mad?” Ben had asked, raising his brows at her. “I can definitely find it in me, that’s not a fucking issue. But usually when we fight about this shit, you get all bitchy and don’t talk to me for way too fucking long.”

“I mean, no, I don’t want you to get mad…” She’d frowned, examining him with yet another fucking confusing look. “Does it really bother you when I ignore you?”

“No.” He’d snapped quickly. “It’s just annoying, and I don’t like having to fucking deal with it.”

She’d hummed with an amused smile on her face, and the conversation had moved on to something else. Ben had shoved down the way it had been so easy to talk about his mother with her, until it was somewhere in his gut and he didn’t have to think about the way the feeling rolled around inside him.

And he refused to even acknowledge how when She would smile now, he’d have to fight himself to not do the same.

———-

It had been a week since the Sage incident, a week since Ben had saved your life—you'd locked everything about that particular action from what you thought of it to how it made you feel somewhere deep in your chest—and you were starting to lose your mind a little bit. When Annie and Hughie had stopped by with nervous words about delays in your meticulously prepared and incredibly well-detailed plan, you’d been willing to wait another day, maybe two, before executing operation Quick and Bald. Now it had been three days, burgeoning on four, and you were worryingly close to leaving the safe house just to yell at Butcher. Ben could stay here, or follow you and help you beat Butcher up for all you cared. Which was, admittedly, worrying within itself. Especially because the whole point of operation Quick and Bald was to take preventative measures against Ben’s needless brutality.

Over a month ago, right after you’d moved into the safe house and when you had been ready to throttle Ben’s neck every waking moment—an urge that hadn’t entirely waned, but was now undercut with a weirder, stronger urge to be near him without any murderous intent—you’d spent the hours quarantined in your room perfecting your plan to get Ryan Butcher the fuck out of dodge. When they’d come to pick you and Ben up for the whole Neuman test, you’d left it in the van for Butcher to find, and had been waiting since for him to set up the dominoes so you could knock them over.

At this point, you’d be happy with not even “dominos to knock over” and just “one singular domino to throw at someone." You had begun to develop a habit of staring down the hall from the living room, trying to will someone to appear with at least a fucking update. So far this strategy was not working, and had apparently started to garner attention.

Sitting on the couch, the TV white noise in the background and noodles in your hand cold and forgotten, you felt a foreign rush of oddly tight concern run through your body. You frowned, heard your name from next to you, and turned to find that Ben had been poking your arm.

“Are you fucking alive?” He grunted, watching you with a frown.

“Literally? Yes.” You answered with a tight smile. “You have noodles on your face.”

He reached up to feel for them, not looking away from you. “What the fuck do you mean literally? How can you be fucking metaphorically alive?”

“Mind-body problem, Pretty Boy. And it’s not metaphorically, it’s philosophically.” You lean back, grinning.

“You’re a real fucking pretentious bitch sometimes.” He grumbled, still trying to find the food stuck to his beard.

“If you made me a shirt that said that, I’d wear it.”

“I’m not going to fucking make you a shirt, Sunshine. You couldn’t make me learn to fucking sow with a gun to my head.”

“Because the gun wouldn’t affect you at all?” You pointed to your own chin, mirroring where the noodle was caught.

He sneered. “Because I’m not a pussy.” His hand found the stray piece of his dinner, and he pulled it from his jaw.

“Big words from the man who took two tries to make me instant ramen- hey!” A wet noodle hits you in the face.

“Ramen your ungrateful ass didn’t even fucking eat.” Ben gave a pointed look at the abandoned cup in your hands, the food inside having long lost any heat. “Don’t fucking test me, or I’ll actually spit in your food next time.”

“Drama queen,” you muttered, peeking back at the door. “Like you don’t already do that.”

“I fight the urge to be a fucking bitch, unlike certain women.”

You nod absentmindedly. “Butcher.”

Ben snorted behind you, and a smile you hoped he didn’t see crept onto your face.

“Yeah, sure Sunshine.” His attention returned to the TV, and you did your best to not stare down the hall, trying to ignore the hope that the door now shrouded in darkness would open.

A successful effort that made you jump out of your seat when it did just that with an aggressive bang.

Ben was faster than you, practically launching himself over the sofa and bolting down the hall, a dangerous look of alarm the last thing you saw on his face before he was gone from the room.

“Shit, no! It’s me!” You heard a high-pitched shout from the shadows of the entrance. “It’s Hughie!”

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” You heard Ben’s growl of a response.

Butcher’s voice drawled from the shadows. “Oi, take a deep fucking breath and put the bloody kid down.” 

“Someone fucking answer me first.”

“Put him down, Soldier Boy, before we knock your ancient ass the fuck out.” The impatient, clipped words of MM responded, almost drowned out by Frenchie's shout.

“Can someone turn on the fucking lights? It is as dark as Monsieur Butcher’s heart and asshole!” 

“I- I don’t feel good.” Hughie’s voice stuttered.

“Ben!” You flicked on the hallway sconces, illuminating a scene of Ben’s full body weight pressing Hughie to the wall, Butcher and MM trying with practically negative success to pry him off, and Kimiko gripping one of Frenchie’s arms as his other groped around for direction. You let out a very long, very loud sigh. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s fucking late,” he snapped, not letting Hughie go. “They shouldn’t be here so fucking late.”

“This ain’t your real house, Mate.” Butcher grunted, still trying to move Ben. “We can be here whenever we bloody well please.”

Hughie wheezed out your name in a pleading tone. “Your plan is ready. We’re here to- fuck- we’re here to get you.”

That got you moving, crossing to the end of the hall in quick, frantic steps. “It’s ready? Are you sure?” Hughie gave a weak nod, and you rolled your eyes, shoving Ben shoulder. “Put him down, dumbass. He’s not a threat, and honestly, probably the worst one to have gone after. Just, like, strategically.”

Ben glared at you, but let go. He glanced at where MM and Butcher were still grabbing him, and gave them a venomous look that got them both to let go and take hasty steps back. He shot a glowering look of they could’ve fucking waited until the morning in your direction.

You wrinkled your nose at him. No. Shut the fuck up. You turned to Hughie, not even bothering to hide the desperation you felt in your imploring stare. “It’s all ready? All of it? A-Train agreed to help? We’re sure Ashley has the information? We’re sure neither one is going to tell Homelander, and we’re not about to walk into a fucking trap?”

“Yes, yes, yes, kind of, and yes.” Butcher counted off on his fingers as he answered. “But we’ve got to go right fucking now.”

“Kind of?” Anxious energy rushed through you—that still-strange feeling lighting under your skin—and you ignored the weird look Ben shot you as it did. “What do you mean, kind of? If you fucked this up, Butcher, I swear to God-"

“Calm the fuck down, Love.” Butcher snapped. “It’s going to be fine, we’ll explain on the way. But we need to go fucking now if you want this to work.”

You gave a sharp nod, starting to pull on your boot, glancing up with a pause when you heard Hughie say your name behind you.

“Do you, uh, do you want to get dressed first?” His voice was still slightly weak as he recovered from Ben’s force.

You glanced down at your body, and decided that the oversized shirt and cloth shorts would be fine. They were from the CIA spring fire-proof collection, and that was more than enough. “Nope. Let’s fucking move.”

You were halfway to the door when a crash sounded behind you, and you whirled around to see MM firmly blocking Ben’s path, the crash seeming to have been Hughie stumbling into the wall in an attempt to get away from the standoff.

“You’re not coming, Soldier Boy. This is a goddamn delicate operation, and you’re the fucking reason we have to do it in the first place. We can’t afford you throwing a tantrum and screwing us.”

“I’m fucking coming, and it’s not up for fucking debate.”

Off to the side, Frenchie snickered as Kimiko signed how many times do you think he’s said that before?

Ben shot them an annoyed look, his fists clenching. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing,” Frenchie snickered, and his tone was so remarkably unconvincing that even if you hadn’t understood Kimiko, you wouldn’t have believed him.

Ben grunted and tried to move past MM, again to no avail.

He glared down at the firmly planted man, a familiar violent glint in his eyes. “You better fucking move now, before I make you.”

“Do your fucking worst, we’ll put you right back in the box. You’re not coming with us.”

“MM,” you said firmly, watching Ben's fists clench as the dangerous glint returns to his eyes. “We need to go.”

MM looks back at you, but remains in his place. “Are you fucking serious? You’re siding with him?”

“I’m not siding with him.” You keep your voice level, ignoring Ben’s smug face and grin. “We can’t leave him. The I go where he goes thing unfortunately goes both ways.”

“The safe house will hold him for five hours.” MM pushed, and before you could even shake your head, Ben cut in.=

"No, it won’t.”

You shoot him a look that says you’re being unhelpful, and he just returns it with his own of fuck off, you know you fucking want me there.

“Please, MM. He’ll stay quiet in the background, or I’ll burn his dick off. Right?” You direct your last words at Ben, giving him a pointed agree with me or I’m knocking you out and leaving you here look.

“Yeah, whatever. But I’m not staying in the fucking van like a pussy. And you’d better explain what the fuck is happening on the way, Sunshine.”

“Deal. But first they,” You narrowed your eyes at Butcher. “Have some explaining of their own to do.”

“Don’t lose your bloody mind, Love, it’s all in order.” Butcher said breezily, shoving past you to open the door. He gave a dramatic wave of his arm for you to exit, and with a look of doubt, you did.

The car ride was already poised to be uncomfortable. Butcher’s car was not equipped for seven people, let alone seven people where three were very large men, three were supes, and nobody wanted to have physical contact with two. As such, Butcher drove, MM sat in the front, you found yourself squished against one window with Ben between you and a remarkably uncomfortable Hughie, as Kimiko sat, slightly elevated onto their laps, between Frenchie at the other window, and Hughie. It was overall an unideal situation, made worse as your own frustration was amplified by Ben’s, and by Hughie revealing that it was, in fact, not all in order.

Your phase one, the original operation Quick and Bald had called for Ashley Barrett’s complete cooperation. You’d even painstakingly outlined all the potential ways to flip her—most involving something along the lines of hey, wouldn’t a job that didn’t make you so stressed you rip out all your hair and have to buy a bunch of wigs be nice?—and different ways to keep Homelander from finding out about her betrayal—Spain was lovely this time of year, and had a thriving BDSM community Ashley would love. While MM had managed to take care of your instructions for A-Train, the half of the plan you’d incorrectly anticipated to be more difficult, the Ashley situation was, in Butcher’s words, very fucking delicate, but we’ve adapted and everything will be bloody fine, so trust me and don’t be a fucking cunt about it.

You did not trust him. I didn’t help that you’d asked for any other possible details, and he’d pretended he couldn’t hear you. This suspicion was confirmed when, despite your incredible clarity that you would never step foot there again, Butcher seemed to be driving right to Vought Tower.

Your eyes had been steadily widening, panic starting to run through you the closer and closer you got, and you flinched when you felt Ben’s roughly shoulder nudge your own.

“What’s fucking wrong with you?” He’d asked in a low voice, barely audible over Hughie’s rambling explanation.

“You should listen,” you mutter back, trying to shut out the confusing concern he always seemed to feel at you, how it felt remarkably genuine, but was laced with anger that felt like it was trying to push out of your body. “Hughie’s explaining the plan.”

“Yeah, but all I have to fucking do is stay quiet, and I get to keep my dick. You’re being fucking twitchy and silent, and your heart is beating faster than it has all damn day, so don’t even try to fucking lie and tell me it’s fine.”

“It is fine, I’m fine-“ You paused as his words sank in. “Wait, what do you mean my heart-“

“Alright, here we go.” Butcher cut off both you and Hughie with a clap of his hands. “Everyone bloody out, let’s get this shitshow on the road.”

“Butcher,” you said, looking around to see you’d parked directly across from the tower entrance. “What the fuck are we doing here?”

“We’re meeting them right there.” MM answered for Butcher, pointing out of his window to something you couldn’t see. “It’s almost midnight, and Annie’s been making sure nobody gets inside but us.”

“But why?” You protest, even as MM leaves the car. “This,” you give a wide, general wave that hits Ben in the nose. “Cannot be the only option.”

“Both of them still have their trackers,” Hughie leans forward with an apologetic look as Frenchie and Kimiko exit the car. “This will look like they’re just getting a midnight snack, and hopefully Homelander won’t get suspicious.”

“Hopefully?!” You feel a rush of anger—not yours—and a twist of fear deep within your gut—absolutely yours. “Hopefully fucking Homelander won’t get suspicious?!”

Hughie gave an uncertain nod before very quickly scrambling to get out of the car. You take a long, deep breath, trying to steel yourself. A rush of what was becoming a familiar fuming and brittle concern ran through you. You look at Ben, to find his eyes locked firmly onto yours.

“Sorry about hitting-“

“I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You blink at him, taken aback by the firmness of his voice. “What?”

His hand moved to grip your thigh, his gaze not wavering. “I know how to hot-wire a car.”

You give him a flat look. “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Why are you telling me that?”

His frustration leaked into you. “Because say the word, I’ll steal Butcher’s car, and we’ll fucking leave.”

“What? Are you insane?”

“You look like you’re either going to start fucking crying or burst into flames, and this is a stupid fucking idea.”

“This was my plan.” You snap. “And I’m not stealing Butcher’s car. Why do you even know how to hot-wire a car anyway?”

Ben’s grip tightened. “No, your plan was stupidly well fucking thought out.”

“That’s an oxymoron.” You mutter, and he ignores you.

“And even if they haven’t completely fucking blown the execution, they completely squashed any chance of safety.”

“It’ll be fine,” you say, the words sounding fake even as you say them. “It’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“What if he’s not?” His concern was starting to move to your throat, and there was something else, something sitting far deeper in your chest, beating and beating against you. Against you.

“Ben.” You place your hand over his. “I’ve worked too hard on this. This is the only way, and it will be fine.” You say the last words firmly and clearly, trying to make them sink into you. “Now take your fucking hand off of me, and get out of the damn car.”

He pulls himself from you, and even as his touch leaves, the concern and beat linger until he’s gone from the car. You drag yourself across the seats and ignore Hughie’s offer of a hand as you duck out of the car and onto the curb. You notice the 24 hour diner MM must have been pointing out almost immediately, half because—aside from an incredibly sketchy looking deli a few doors down—it’s the only building with its lights still on, and half because two very flustered teenagers are sulking away from the entrance, where Annie stands with her arms crossed. She’s already spotted your group, and has angeled her head in a signal to join her.

“You’re late.” She chides as you approach.

“Well, Starlight, I’d apologize, but it was those two fuckheads,” Ben and MM both receive a jabbed thumb over Butcher’s shoulder. “Who decided to draw out the bloody carpool process.”

“I told you not to call me Starlight anymore, Butcher.” Annie snaps, not giving him a chance to respond before she turns to you. “A-Train is, somehow, running behind as well. Hopefully Ashley’s just being resistant to getting food with him, but they’ll be here.”

“Isn’t running that pussy’s whole fucking thing?” Ben muttered, quiet enough for only you to hear. You step as hard as you can on his foot.

“Shut it, Pretty Boy.” You whisper over his grunt of what probably is more emotional pain than physical.

“Bitch.” He hisses back.

“Cunt.” You raise your voice so the others can hear you. “We should go inside, it’s risky to just… stand here.”

With nervous looks around and stuttered agreements, you all make your way into the diner. The lights are flickering, and it’s eerily empty with only a very nervous-looking blonde waitress at the counter. She makes a very big show of asking how many are in your party, leading you to a large, round table, and laying out the menus with shaky hands. Kimiko, Hughie, Annie, and MM try and offer her comforting smiles, though MM’s is strained as he keeps a vigilant glare on Ben. The waitress is staring at Ben herself, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, glacing back as she leaves to get your and Butcher’s coffee, Annie and MM’s tea, Kimiko and Hughie’s milkshakes, and Ben and Frenchie’s orders of “the strongest alcohol you’ve fucking got.” Your personal bet was it was going to just be very old beer.

“Why is she fucking staring at me?” Ben muttered to you, watching the waitress as she walked away. “Did you fuck up my beard that bad?”

“Your beard looks literally the same.” You dismiss. “And it’s because, as far as the public knows, Maeve killed you in a heroic act of self-sacrifice to stop your evil, anti-American attacks. That, or she wants to fuck you.”

“Hm,” he looks back at you, settling down into his seat. “Am I allowed to bring guests into the safe house?”

“No.” You say, a little more curtly than you intended. Seeing his wide, cocky grin, you clairfy. “It’s a breach of security. She would need to pass a CIA vetting and be approved by, like, twenty people. I don’t think she’d do that just to fuck you.”

Ben shrugs, his smirk only growing. “You did.”

“I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to you-“

“Hey,” MM cuts you off, saying your name in a brisk, hard tone from across the table. “They’re here.”

You snap your head to the door, where A-Train is practically pushing Ashley into the diner.

You hear her voice clearly over the recession pop humming from the speakers. “Why can’t we just go to the fucking deli? They make these amazing meatball subs and supes eat free, so you could order for both of us- oh fuck no.”

“Oh, shit.” MM mutters, jumping to his feet with Butcher and Annie as Ashley notices them, and promptly tries to dash for the exit.

You don’t entirely blame her. You’d probably do the same. You had done the same, an unhelpful voice reminds you.

“I- Am- Not-“ Ashley is trying to get past A-Train, who hasn’t given up trying to herd her further into the diner. “Fuck- this-“

“Ashley, just listen to them, I fucking swear-“

“Why should I trust you?!” Ashley doubles over, out of breath. “You fucking tricked me! Midnight snack my fucking ass- Fuck no!” She raises a crooked finger at Annie, who has stopped in front of her. “Get the fuck away from me, you bitch.”

“Ashley, please listen to A-Train-“

“No! Just leave me the fuck alone! I don’t want to be a part of your weird fucking eye for an eye justice shit-“

“You kind of already are.” MM says as he locks the door behind her. “You work for Vought, your it’s motherfucking CEO. That makes you a part of this, like it or not.”

“Not!” Ashley shouts. “I don’t care what you have to say! Homelander’s going to fucking kill me, oh my god.” She starts to hyperventilate. “If he finds out I was here, he’ll kill you-“ She points a shaky finger at A-Train. “And then make me go on fucking TV to explain why you’re missing, and then fucking kill me-“

Butcher scoffs. “Bloody hell, lady. Calm the fuck down, Homelander ain’t gonna find out.”

“You don’t know that!” She shrieked. “He knows fucking everything! Especially since fucking Sage joined!” She spins around frantically, and her wild eyes lock onto yours. “He knows about them!” A shaking finger jumps between you and Ben. “Fuck! He’s supposed to be fucking asleep and now he’s fucking not! And he was so fucking angry about her, I’ve never seen him so fucking angry-“

Whatever else Ashley stutters about Homelander’s anger is lost to you as the world freezes. The feeling isn’t just under your skin, it’s up your spine, in your blood, circling around your brain. It’s fucking everywhere and you can’t fucking breathe, her words looping around you.

He knows. He’s angry. He fucking knows. He’s fucking angry. He fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and he fucking knows and he’s fucking angry and-

A white hot, impossibly calm feeling crashes over you. It’s angry, hungry and angry, but it’s grounding, sharpening everything around you. Suddenly the world is back in complete focus, Ashley’s shrill rambling scraping at your ears, and in the distance that weird fucking rhythm is sounding. As the feeling in your body returns fully, you realize Ben’s hand is back on your thigh. You bounce it, looking up to give him a glare, and find he’s not even looking at you. Instead, his eyes are trained on Ashley, narrowed and cold. You give a small cough, and when he glances down at you, the feeling of anger stutters with something lighter, though only for a second.

You give another bounce of your leg, a look of move your damn hand or lose it taking over your face.

No, not until you calm the fuck down his scowl responds.

You huff, standing abruptly, and his hand falls off at the force of your movement. Suddenly you feel a lot less solid, but reason that your legs are shaky from the Homelander of it all, and if any situation calls for fractured nerves, it’s this one.

“Ashley.” You call across the diner, trying not to stutter or chew off your lip as her protests falters and attention turns to you. “If you know who I am, you know I wouldn’t be anywhere near here if we weren’t certain it was safe. Just have some food with us, listen, and then you can go.”

Ashley gives you a scowl that might surpass Ben’s but nods tightly, yanking her arm from where A-Train had been trying to hold her in place. You sit back down as the group at the door returns to their seats, the poor waitress pressing herself against the bar as they pass. Letting out a shaky, unsteady breath, you try and still yourself as you look out the diner window. City lights. Music.

City lights.

Music.

It was safe. He knows and he’s angry but was safe and there were city lights and music.

Your breathing was no longer coming in short, distressed bursts, but getting air in and out of yourself still felt like an act of labor, and you needed to get it the fuck together before Ashley sat down.

City lights. Music.

You can’t hear the song the diner is playing, instead letting your whole mind turn inward, allowing the ghost of music you can no longer sing to wash over you.

Ashley sits across from you right when you regain control, and from the corner of your eye, you see Ben pulling his hand from where it had been inching towards yours.

Her eyes flit, nerves poorly hidden, from you to Ben to Butcher to Annie and back to you, and her voice is high and shaky when she speaks. “Well?”

“Ashley, we need your help.” Annie leans forward, palms flat on the table.

“Well, then we’re done. I can’t help you. They don’t tell me anything, not really.” Ashley tries to stand, but her arm is caught by A-Train. “Really?” A-Train hisses as he pulls her back into her seat beside him. “They don’t tell you anything my ass, we sit in on all the same meetings. And I pulled these files-“ He pulls out a thumb drive from absolutely nowhere and drops it on the table. “Using your name, so you clearly have access to them.”

“What?!” Ashley looks at the thumb drive like it’s going to either explode or start jizzing on her blouse. “Why would you fucking do that?”

“Insurance.” A-Train answers smugly, the thumbdrive clearly having his intended. “I can’t open it, so you’re going to tell them how, and then I’ll erase the records of you taking the files from the system.”

Ashley looks around at your group, shaking her head. “No.”

“Sorry, Mate. We ain’t really asking.” Butcher leans across A-Train, shoving the thumb drive closer to Ashley. “Do us this solid, and A-Train won’t go right up to Homelander and tell him about how he saw you also cuddly and tight with me, Soldier Boy, and his favorite missing person.”

Your heart jumps right into your throat. City lights. Music.

Suddenly, Ben’s elbow is planted against yours, and you’re pulled back down to earth just in time to hear Ashley yell, “This is fucking blackmail! I’ll fucking sue!”

“You cannot sue government officials, madame.” Frenchie says smugly, and Hughie shakes his head.

“That’s- Frenchie, that’s not even kind of true.”

“You’re also not a government official.” Annie adds.

Frenchie looks genuinely perplexed at this and gives Kimiko a confused frown, receiving a shrug in return.

“But,” you pipe up, your voice somehow bored and casual. “I’m legally dead. He’s-“ You jab Ben in the chest, and Ashley’s eyes widen. “Legally dead and an enemy of the state. You can’t sue either of us, not without admitting some Vought secrets that will be very bad PR.” You give her a twisted smile, leering across the table. “Help us, or, even if Homelander believes you, which we both know he won’t, you’ll get fired. And I’m sure they’ll be very understanding and normal about how they do it.”

You feel a flash of weird pride and realize you can see Ben fighting a smile in your periphery.

Ashley has a fearful expression, looking at where your elbow is still connected with Ben’s. “What- what's even on it?”

“Becca Butcher files.” You say, not taking your gaze from her, but you didn’t need to look around to see the sudden, rigidness with which everyone sat. You even felt Ben’s own shock run through you.

You’d be lying if you said hiding the exact contents of the file hadn’t been a very purposeful choice that you and Butcher had made. He’d cornered you, demanding to know what you planned on doing should Soldier Boy go after Ryan, and you’d told him that it wouldn’t be an issue. Ryan looked up to Homelander, that was why he stayed. He’d lost his mother, he didn’t trust Butcher, all the poor kid had was his insane, sociopathic father. Some part of you—small and sad and tired, still sitting on a staircase in Boston—understood that. But with Becca gone, gone forever, Ryan didn’t have a place to run like you’d had. Homelander was the default, and just kind enough to his son that Ryan could force himself to forgive Homelander again and again. Homelander was safe for Ryan.

You were going to make sure Ryan never saw Homelander as safe again. And that started with Becca Butcher and would end with you. So you and Butcher had agreed with a tight handshaked that he'd ripped his hand from right after, everyone was only going to know what they needed to. That was the only way it would work.

“Becca Butcher files?” MM repeats in a slow, incredulous tone. “You,” he turns with a look of shock to Butcher. “You knew about this? You’re fuckin okay with this?”

“I’m doing what has to be done, Mate.” Butcher answers flatly, then says your name. “Tell ‘em the plan, Love.”

“We need to get Ryan away from Homelander. Ryan needs to know about his mother.”

“No,” Ashley was emerging from the shock to try and stand from the table, but A-Train’s arm shot out, pulling her back down once more. “No,” she says again, looking around desperately. “Ryan, Ryan is all he has. All he cares about. You take Ryan he’ll lose his mind-“

“He’s already lost his mind.” Something snaps in your chest—a cruel feeling waking up as you watch Ashley fret about Homelander. “And I couldn’t give less fucks about what he cares about.” The feeling is crawling across your skin. “If this hurts him, good. It could never hurt him enough to make it right.” You hear drums and still can’t place where they’re coming from. “Now listen to the last fucking strand of your morality on your scalp and fucking help us.”

Ashley shakes her head again, this time with less certainty. “It’s- no- He-“ she pulls in a deep, unsteady breath. “He won’t stop until he gets Ryan back. He already is going insane about you and him and how he needs to get you back safe and put him back down, and if Ryan goes to then nothing will stop him-“

The drums are loud now, and something that’s usually there on Ben’s face is missing. Your own body doesn’t feel entirely normal anymore, but it’s not paralyzed or running. You can feel something in Ben caving, falling inward in a growing rhythm, moving in time as something in you grows. It's not in you now, it’s across you, coating your skin and singing with glee.

“Ashley,” the sound of your voice is a little far away, but you can hear it echo through you. It’s wired, hot, a warning.

“I- I can’t.”

“Yes, you fucking can.” You sneer. “You’re just too much of a pussy to do it.” Ben coughs in the way that you know means he wants to laugh, just as the drums stutter and move farther away.

“Please, I don’t-“

“Do not make me stab you.”

Ashley falters, looking you up and down. “You won’t.”

“Trust me, she will.” Ben smirks, giving you a nudge. “She’s surprisingly violent.”

“I, I won’t. I can’t. He’ll kill me-“

“You think we won’t?” Ben growls, any amusement in him gone as you feel something unbreakable and resolved through your body.

Ashley tries to run again, this time actually managing to get up from the table, but is knocked flat on her ass by A-Train before she can take two steps. You stand and give the itch, now under your tongue and your nails, a small scratch.

“Oh, fuck no.” You hear scrambling as you walk around the table and stop, staring down at Ashley.

She’s crawling back from you, back from the fire curling from your whole body, and disgust curls in your gut. For the first time you feel anger—insatiable and gory anger—all of your own. No city lights flash around you, no hollow music dances around your head. You don’t fear Ashley. She’s weak and spineless. She’s willing to cover her hands in Ryan’s blood, in your blood, to keep herself safe from Homelander. She’s staring at you, terrified, and you don’t need to touch her to know it isn’t even a fraction of all the fear you felt in that white room. That white room she knows about, may have seen, and is still trying to keep Homelander happy.

You bend down, letting all your hatred for Vought, for her, cover your features. When you speak, your words are clear and low.

“You are going to tell Butcher how to access the thumbdrive. A-Train and you are going to take some food with you, and walk back to the tower. You aren’t going to tell Homelander about this, and if he asks, offer him some leftovers. A-Train will erase your activity from the files, and you’re going to pretend the whole night never happened. If you tell Homelander about either me or Be-“ You correct yourself smoothly. “Soldier Boy, the last thing I will do before he locks me away again is kill you. Do I make myself clear?”

Ashley nods frantically, flinching when you raise your hand.

“Say it. Say that I made myself clear.”

“You-“ Ashley stutters, hiccuping. “You made yourself clear.”

You draw yourself back up. “Good. Butcher, I’m leaving. You can drive me and come back, or Ben can steal your car, but I’m leaving.”

When you turn, when you see the looks on your team’s face, all the anger is gone, and suddenly there is a crushing, painful weight of shame on your chest. They’re looking at you like Ashley had been, like you’re no better than Homelander. Like maybe you should go back in the room, it would be safer for them, it would be safer for everyone if you were far, far away-

“You heard the lady.” Ben is standing, walking around to your side. “It’s late. We’re leaving. Sunshine?” He offers you his arm, and you stare between it and your own, still covered in flame. Looking up, his face looks bored, as if this is just another Tuesday, and he offers his arm to women who are actively ablaze on a regular basis.

Your face feels slack, and all you can manage is to blink at him. I’ll burn you, Pretty Boy. It’ll hurt.

His brows subtly knit, and he doesn’t move. I’ll live, Sunshine. Don’t let them see you break. We’re going home.

You look back at your team, a wide circle of berth having formed around you and Ben. Butcher is looking between the two of you, and you recognize that glint in his eyes. You’d seen it before, but it’s only been really, truly directed at you once. In a graveyard in Boston, gravestones and bushes around you burning in the dead of winter, holding a bucket of ice that steamed off your skin. Under it, fear begins to creep back into you, exhaustion pushing it forward. Butcher reaches behind him, and your knees feel weak.

But you don’t fall. Zealous anger, strong and raw, spreads through you and Butcher’s movements still. You look down and find Ben’s arm unflinchingly looped through yours, his body at its full height as his eyes rake coldly over Butcher.

The silence hangs in the air, cut through only by Ashley’s quick, sobbed breaths. For a second you think the smoke seeping from you will overtake the room before anyone moves, but Butcher slowly reaches into his pockets, eyes not leaving Ben’s, and throws the keys at Hughie.

“Drop them off, Mate, then come right back. No bloody detours.”

Hughie stares at the keys, looking like he’s going to protest, but Kimiko grabs them before he can.

She turns to you, completely composed, no fear wavering as she locks your eyes with hers. I’ll take you.

Before you can thank her, Frenchie steps forward, signing as he speaks. “Mon Coeur, you cannot drive.”

She frowns. Yes I can.

“No, Mon Coeur, not legally.” Frenchie says, exasperated, and you have a feeling this is not first time they've had this debate.

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you. Fine. She signs back at Frenchie, throwing the keys at him. You’ll do it.

Frenchie stumbles as he catches them, giving Kimiko a shocked look, which she pretends not to see as she walks to the door, signing at you as she passes.

Let’s go before Butcher’s brain starts working.

A small smile threatens your face, and you move, tugging Ben’s arm only once before he falls into pace with you, Frenchie scrambling behind you both.

The car ride back feels longer. The moment you’d stepped out of the diner, your body had extinguished, and you had a worrying sense that the only thing keeping you from collapsing on the sidewalk was Ben’s arm firm through yours. No words were said for the entirety of the drive, you and Ben in the backseat as Frenchie drove and Kimiko lounged in shotgun, and your brain raced. Ben hadn’t let go, and the drums were fading in and out of your chest as he stared ahead into the night.

You arrived at the safe house, only a street lamp casting a dull glow across the street. The chill of the wind cutting against you as Kimiko walked you to the door, Frenchie mumbling something about keeping the car safe from Hooligans. Ben made to step inside, but halted, still not releasing your arm, as you stayed at the doorstep.

At his questioning glare, you tried to wiggle his arm from yours. “Go inside, Ben. I’ll be right there.”

He looked down at where he was still connected with you, and you felt reluctance in time with the drums, but he let go with a scowl. “Be fast,” he grunted, and stomped into the house.

You watched until he’d disappeared fully down the hall, turning to Kimiko only once his back was shrouded in the darkness of the house.

“Thank you,” you give her a soft smile, signing as you speak. “I- I don’t know what happened, I just-“

She shakes her head, and you trail off. I understand. I get angry too. She pauses, hands hovering for only a second. We are not like them. She points down the street, in the direction of the tower, and then past you, into the house. We get to be angry.

“I don’t want to be angry.” You say softly. “He wins when I get angry.”

Kimiko gives you a sad look, placing a hand on your arm. Her own frustration, her fear of Homelander, all the anger at the world, sinks into you. She holds your gaze for a second before drawing back to sign once more. He doesn’t win when you’re angry. He wins when you’re scared. You’re not Soldier Boy. Your anger is good.

You glance back into the house. “I think he- Ben- Soldier Boy- is scared. Or something. His emotions are really fucking confusing.”

You let him touch you. She signs. Does he know?

“He said he didn’t care, because he’s, and I quote, ‘not a pussy with something to hide’.”

But he’s scared? She gives you a questioning frown. Do you think it’s because of Russia? Could you fix it, like you offered for me?

“I’m not sure, but-“ you’re cut off as Frenchie honks the horn, leaning out the window.

“Mon Coeur!” His odd position makes his signing almost unintelligible, which he seems to realize, and raises his voice. “Monsieur Butcher says to get back ‘like a hare with a bomb up it’s arse'.”

Kimiko rolls her eyes at you, but signs a goodbye, giving your hand a small squeeze before returning to the car. As the engine rumbles, Frenchie pulling out the driveway, Kimiko’s calm faith lingers in you, and you walk back into the house, shutting the door behind you.

Almost all the lamps and ceiling lights of the house are off, the TV glowing from where you had abandoned it several hours ago. From the bottom of the stairs, you can see the upstairs hall is washed in a soft yellow, and when you reach the top Ben’s door is open, the light from within filling the hall. You stop at the entrance to his room, his back to you as he pulls a cotton shirt over his head.

You let out a small cough in a weak attempt to alert him to your presence.

“You’re allowed to just come in, Sunshine.” He grunts, still facing away. “I’m not a shy little virgin you need to pussyfoot around.”

You let out a small hum, walking over the threshold and stopping a few feet behind him. “Thank you.” You say softly, and he turns around to look at you.

His eyes are tired. Pained. Something looks like it’s pulling at him and it scares you. You’ve seen that expression before, when you’d woken him up that first day, at the Neuman mission, when you pulled him from nightmares with sharp hits, but never just there. It was always with something. This was like an island, just him and you, nothing pulling it out of him.

“Don’t thank me.” He says gruffly. Even his voice is drained. “You mostly held your own.”

“But-“

“And stop feeling bad about that Ashley bitch. She fucking deserved it.”

You stare at him. “You really believe that?”

He lets out a hollow laugh. “She was fucking pathetic. A fucking pussy. Fucking eating out Homelander’s fucking hand, brown-nosing him until he fucking cums and pays her, letting him take you-“ His jaw clenches. “I fucking meant it when I said we’re not going back Sunshine. I’m not a goddamn pussy liar.”

“I didn’t think you were. But, you…” Your voice fades as you try to find the words. “I could feel you. At the diner.”

“I fucking know, that was the goddamn point. I wasn’t going to let you start crying in front of those self-righteous pussies.”

“No, Ben.” You shake your head. “I could feel you. I could feel it.” You place a hand over your chest. “It was building. There was something beating against you, inside you. And you looked…” You watch him carefully. “Scared.”

“Fucking watch it.” He growls. “I don’t get fucking scared. I’m not-“

“A fucking pussy. I know.” You sigh. “I don’t want to, I can’t, fight right now. I’m so fucking tired. You can scream at me in the morning, but not right now, please.”

He stares at you, and just when you think he’s going to start yelling, he nods. “You’re…” He sounds strange. “You’re ok.”

Just like the last time he said it, the words aren’t phrased like a question. They don’t feel like a question. It feels like he’s just telling you again. But there’s something under it this time, something that makes his words almost unsure. Something that makes up your mind faster than you thought you would.

“Are you?” You ask quietly.

“Of course I fucking am.”

“Ben.” You tilt your head at him. “I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond now.”

“You’re being fucking weird, Sunshine.”

“Please.”

He relents with a grunt. “Fucking fine. What.”

“I can fix it.” It’s so hard to keep his gaze as you speak. “It will take time, but I can fix it.”

“Fix what.” He scowls. “There’s nothing to fucking fix.”

“Your PTSD.”

“I don’t fucking have-“

“Ben, I could feel it. It’s dangerous. I could fix it.” You take a deep breath. “I can fix internal injuries as well. I offered to fix Kimiko’s muteness, but she didn’t want me to do it.”

“Then what fucking makes you think-“

“Muteness isn’t dangerous. And it would’ve been harder for me, I might have ended up mute myself. You’re dangerous like this. You can’t fucking control it, and don’t try and lie and say it’s under control. Ashley mentioned putting you back under, and you looked like someone was drowning you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sunshine.” He leers at you. “You don’t fucking know me, know what it was like-“

“I do. You know I do.” You whisper, and the anger on his face breaks. “More than anyone else, I know. I can fix it, but you’ll have to let me. Just-“ You search his eyes, not sure what you’re looking for. “Just think about it. I won’t mention it again, I won’t even touch you, but my offer will stay on the table. Please, just think about it.”

Before you can leave, he grabs your hand. A rush of painful exhaustion runs through you, and there’s anger, but it’s not full of the fervor you’ve come to expect from him. It’s not even at you. It’s wide and almost consuming, leaving room for only a small kernel of something fragile and warm.

“I don’t care if you keep touching me, Sunshine. I've go nothing to hide from you, and that’s not going to change. But there’s nothing in me you need to fucking fix, so don’t fucking bother.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Ben,” You murmur. "But remember, you burn, I burn. Please don't burn." Your last words are soft, and the kernel pulses.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your arm. A small smirk crawls onto his face. “Now I don’t care if it’s here or in your room, Sunshine, but you need to go the fuck to bed. You look like shit.”

Just as he says it, the full weight of your fatigue hits you. You give a mumbled acknowledgement of his words, and try to leave the room, but all the adrenaline is gone from your system and nothing is left to stop the failure of your legs or droop of your eyes. The last thing you feel is something pulling you up before your knees hit the carpet, the last thing you see is green eyes on your own, and you hear an amused snort from above you.

“Goodnight, Sunshine. Try not to dream about me.”

You try to object, but sleep pulls you under before you can even remember why you need to.

[childofsardior]

🌅 End of Vacantion...🍹

Everything ends eventually... especially holydays! The Royal Koopa Family comes back home after their staying at Isle Delfino, and my Summertime Series meets its end...

↓↓↓ See below for detailed shots!! ↓↓↓

Clean Version, no speech bubbles

NOTE: All characters' designs for my AU are currently WIP!

Kamek Great Mage's outfit with the tiny details. Kamek is probably thinkin about his SPA day...

Roy is thinking about seeing his little gang of punk friends back home. Morton is trying to distract Junior from his end-of-summertime sadness, showing him all the cool rocks and seashell he found.

Wendy is talking with some friends, probably updating them about her staying at Isle Delfino's best resort. Iggy is noting on his notebook all the new species he discovered on the Island.

Larry is not very happy the Summertime is over. Ludwig is sending his last photo of the vacantion to his GF.

Lemmy is probably pretending to be a sky pirate. Lord Bowser is clearly already thinking about the next invasion of the Mushroom Kingdom... or about a new and eccentric way to propose to the Princess.

*** - ***

That's it! That's the end of my first, small Series from my personal SMB HC/AU!

I'm very proud of how this drawing turned out and it was probably the hardest, most complex thing I've ever draw in YEARS (maybe EVER). It took me 4 full days to finish and it's the very first time I play with perspective. Two friends of mine helped me A LOT with the perspective study, so a very big thank you to you!

[koomaqu]

Taskhusbands after hours

Socks chosen thanks to @eightwholebreads's sock watch work <333

So, not long ago I finished binging all of the Taskmaster series. After first experiencing deep sadness upon losing precious binge material (honestly the highlight of my entire life, this show) I found comfort and so much excitement in just thinking about drawing something with Alex and Greg, and then actually drawing them, and then thinking some more about doing more and ahh! So fun!

I've been sick for the past week and I spent it whole with these two little guys right here, feverishly drawing in both senses of the word. It's been great! Even more so because I haven't been doing anything creative in ages really, so it's huge that I felt motivated to draw something and managed to finish! I'm so excited about that!

I've also spent a fair share of my time liking and reblogging the hell out of all the fan posts I could find, some of you feel victim to my spam attacks.

Thank you for feeding into my obsession! I love it here!

[shizucheese]

Okay okay okay, I need everyone to listen to me about this.

I know I kinda talked about this before in a reblog to someone else's post, but the idea has been rotating in my brain ever since and I feel like it needs to be further explored. A lot of people have been talking about the differences between TMA and TMP, and memeing about how people can actually quit the OIAR (which btw, I'll believe when I actually see it, by which I mean if we're able to get through the entire series without Teddy either coming back or turning up dead or otherwise facing "You can quit but you can never leave" levels of repercussions) but like nobody, from what I've seen, has been talking about what imo is the pretty glaringly obvious element at play here. So let's talk about the spider in the room, shall we? What do we know about the Magnus Institute in TMA?

People came there to give statements regarding their spooky experiences, including people who had doubts about doing so (because they weren't sure if the Institute was reputable, because they weren't sure if they believed what they had experienced, because they served a different entity so what reason would they have to do something for The Eye, etc).

The head archivist would ultimately become the Archivist, an Avatar of the Eye.

The Archivist's abilities included enabling statement givers to give their statements without going off track or leaving out details (we even see what happens when it's not the Archivist taking the statement), and being able to compel people to tell them things against their will, from statements to their darkest secrets.

You couldn't quit, at least not without gouging your eyes out.

The Magnus Institute was a part of the Eye.

Or was it? Because the other thing we know about the Magnus Institute is that the Web was using it as part of its plan to break free from the TMA world and gain access to the other worlds out there. How much of the compulsion aspects of the Institute-- people being drawn to the Institute to give statements, the Archivist's ability to draw statements and secrets out of people, people's inability to quit the Institute--was actually because of the Web? Where does the Eye's "compulsion to seek out knowledge even if it could be bad/ harmful" end and the Web's "not being in control of your own actions" begin? Was the Archivist--at least in the form Gertrude and John took--really purely an Avatar of the Eye? Or were they an Avatar of a mix between The Eye and the Web, much like how Martin, if he were to ever become a full fledged Avatar, likely would have been a mix of the Eye and the Lonely, just like his domain in S5 was? After all, Jonah was an Eye Avatar, was he not? And as far as we saw, he never needed to compel information out of people. He just Knew it (and used it to torment people).

One of the themes I've been playing around with in my TMA fanfictions since I first finished the podcast for the first time last winter is how the course of history would be different in the alternate worlds, where the Web wasn't interfering--at least not on the same scale, or for the same reasons--since it had already gotten what it wanted at the end of TMA. And I think that's exactly what we're seeing a version of in Protocol. I think the OIAR is what it looks like when it's entirely the Eye at play, with 0 interference from the Web. The Eye is all about having your secrets exposed, being watched, being followed. The tape recorders--something that would need to be turned off and on (controlled) in order to record something--were a tool of the Web. Now we're "witnessing" the events of the podcast through the audio from security cameras and other things that are constantly running; constantly seeing and listening without needing to be turned on and off. The statements aren't being given by people who somehow found their way to the institute and were on some level or another compelled to tell their tales. They're journal entries detailing a person's private thoughts. They're letters meant only for the eyes of the recipient, sharing secrets not meant for anyone else. They're recorded therapy sessions.

And the statements that are related to the Eye? The ones read in John's voice? They're forum and blog posts, which not only makes them the only ones whose sources didn't have the same expectation of privacy as the others, also ties them to the Web, since computers and websites were previously established as being associated with it.