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barnacles34 · 6 months ago

Text

Steamy Mornings and Massages (Winter x Male OC)

7k words

Tags: smut, fluff, office sex, office massage, soulmates, romance, very love-heavy

Chapter 1: The Day After

"Let's just stay here," Minjeong murmured, pressing soft kisses to the crown of Junho's head. The morning alarm had shattered what his typically precise mind had categorized as Optimal Comfort Configuration™, but neither of them had moved to silence it[1].

His face remained buried in the crook of her neck, accepting what his mind reluctantly acknowledged as the only form of comfort he'd ever truly wanted. "Well, my secretary," he rumbled against her skin, the possessive pronoun carrying new weight in the morning light, "on a very important day, doesn't want to go to work?" Despite his words, his arms tightened incrementally around her waist, betraying his own reluctance.

Minjeong's embrace constricted in response, her Busan accent thick with morning warmth. "What are you going to do? Fire me?" Despite the implied challenge, she still continued to press soft kisses on his forehead. He tightened his embrace further, relishing in the warmth of Minjeong.

The challenge in her voice activated something primal in his executive functioning. His teeth grazed her neck in warning, hovering over precisely the spot that would make any low-necked blouse useless to wear for the following days. "Maybe," he murmured, his hand sliding to the small of her back with deliberate intent, dangerously close to the curve of her backside, "I'll fire you and keep you here, all day long, so that you belong only to me."

"That's..." her breath hitched as his hand dropped lower, "...rather unprofessional of you."

He lifted his head just enough to fix her with that boardroom stare that never failed to make her pulse race. "Says the woman currently preventing her CEO from attending his meetings." Her CEO? Something warm raced inside of her—she thought, her ceo? And this time, she wrapped her arms tighter—however much her thin arms could tighten; nevertheless, an affectionate hug.

"I prefer to think of it as optimizing your morning routine," she countered, though her professional efficiency was somewhat undermined by the way she melted under his touch, furthermore when he traced the curves of her backside. "Some things are more important than the Zhang Corp merger."

His laugh vibrated against her throat. "Careful, Secretary Kim. That sounds dangerously close to insubordination."

"And what does the CEO do with insubordinate employees?" The question emerged soft and weaker than intended as his mouth traced a deliberate path along her collar, trying her most obnoxiously.

"That depends," he murmured, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her breath catch. "Are they all as beautiful as you when they disobey direct orders?"

She attempted to maintain her composure, though her hands betrayed her by pulling him closer. "I wouldn't know. I've never seen you like this with other employees[2]."

"No," he agreed, suddenly serious as he raised his head to meet her gaze. "You haven't. You won't."

The intensity in his eyes made her throat tight. "Promise?"

Instead of answering, he caught her mouth in a kiss that effectively ended all discussion of work protocols and proper business conduct[3]. The morning sun painted complex equations of light across their entangled forms, but for once, neither of them was counting the minutes.

—

[1] The first recorded instance of CEO Kim's morning alarm continuing past its initial 0.3-second alert phase, a fact that would require significant updates to the home automation system's behavioral prediction models.

[2] The security system's emotion recognition protocols flagged this moment for what its algorithms could only classify as "Unprecedented Display of Executive Vulnerability."

[3] Later analysis would suggest that certain forms of insubordination yielded surprisingly positive results in terms of overall company morale, though these findings were kept strictly off the official record.

—

"You haven't eaten properly in days," Minjeong observed softly, her fingers tracing the subtle tension in his shoulders that most wouldn't notice. But she wasn't most people—she'd spent months learning to read the microscopic signs of his stress levels[4].

"I've been eating," he defended, though his attempt at authority was somewhat undermined by the way he instinctively relaxed under her touch.

"Coffee and quarterly reports don't count as meals," she countered, continuing her gentle exploration of his shoulder muscles. "I've watched you skip lunch three times this week alone."

He lifted his head to study her face, finding that mix of strength and tenderness that had first undone him. "You keep track of my meals?"

"I keep track of everything about you," she admitted, not backing down from his intense gaze. "Someone has to notice when you forget to take care of yourself."

His hand curved around the nape of her neck, thumb brushing her pulse point. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Consider it an extension of my secretarial duties," she murmured, then gasped softly as he tightened his grip in warning.

"There's nothing secretarial about the way you take care of me," he corrected, voice low and dangerous. "Is there, Minjeong-ah?"

The informal address, rarely used, made her breath catch. "No," she agreed quietly. "There isn't."

He studied her for a long moment, his analytical mind cataloging the flush in her cheeks, the slight quickening of her breath, the way she yielded to his touch while somehow maintaining that core of quiet strength[5]. "You're dangerous," he finally said, “dangerously beautiful, so beautiful,” then a kiss on the side of her neck which, eventually, will turn into a hickey and Minjeong hadn’t the power to resist her CEO’s advances anymore.

"Me?" She replied, out of breath, tremored, brilliantly transformed by her smile—the type of smile men fight wars for, the type of smile sinewy sociopathic CEOs would drop down for. "I'm just trying to make sure Korea's most brilliant CEO—I mean, my CEO, remembers to eat breakfast." Her small hand collected the waves of his hair, the aroma of the shampoo she recommended wafted in the air.

“Minjeong, you’re driving me crazy.”

“Is that a problem?” She pulled back her hand along his scalp, gathering hair, then trailing all down his nape, to his back: the type of affection that says, even if you were insane, I’d still be crazy about you.

Instead of answering directly, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then her temple, then the corner of her mouth—a calculated sequence of kisses that made her melt further into his embrace. "The only problem," he murmured against her skin, "is that you're making it very difficult to want to leave this bed."

—

[4] Her observation logs, never shared but meticulously maintained, included such details as the precise angle of his jaw when overwhelmed, the subtle shift in his typing rhythm when stressed, and the exact tone of voice that meant he'd skipped meals.

[5] The home automation system's behavioral analysis protocols struggled to categorize this new dynamic, where authority and surrender seemed to flow both ways simultaneously.

—

"Three days," Minjeong continued, her fingers finding the knots in his shoulders with practiced ease. "You've had that tension here since the Singapore deal started falling apart." The morning light caught the subtle furrow in his brow as he processed her words, realizing she'd been tracking his stress levels without him noticing. Her touch was methodical yet tender, each pressure point targeted with the same precision she applied to his scheduling.

"I didn't think anyone had noticed," he admitted, then caught her knowing smile. "Except you."

"I always notice," she replied simply. "Like how you've been drinking twice your usual coffee intake, or how your left eye twitches slightly when the board sends those passive-aggressive emails." Her hands moved lower, finding another point of tension. "You hide it well, but not from me."

He caught her wrist, bringing it to his lips. "It becomes…oddly weird when I see you do the things I usually do." The tease in his voice was softened by the way he pressed kisses to her fingertips.

"Consider it preventive maintenance," she countered, not backing down despite Junho trying to hide his habits under the rug, not backing down despite the heat in his gaze. "Someone needs to monitor your functionality levels[6]."

"Functionality levels?" His laugh rumbled against her skin as he shifted to hover over her. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive performance metrics'?" She managed to keep her voice steady even as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "I have spreadsheets..."

"Of course you do," he murmured, teeth grazing her collarbone in retaliation. "My perfectly thorough secretary, tracking every detail."

"Not just details," she breathed, hands sliding up his chest. "I know when you skip lunch to avoid the board members. When you stay late reviewing reports that could wait until morning. When you need..." she paused as his hand curved possessively around her hip, "...someone to remind you that you're human."

The words hung between them, heavy with meaning. Junho lifted his head to study her face, finding that unique blend of submission and strength that had first undone his carefully constructed defenses[7]. "And you've appointed yourself to that position?"

"Someone has to." Her smile carried traces of Busan sunshine. "Besides, I'm uniquely qualified."

"How so, Minjeong-ah?” Another tease.

“Because you love me.” Minjeong stated, matter of factly. And this time, Junho seized her tight, trapping her under him, seizing her two thin wrists. Then, pressed a deep kiss onto Minjeong’s delicate lips. After a while, he released himself from the kiss, the kiss that Minjeong reluctantly let go of—her lips pointing outwards like a duck as he left. Finally, he said, “That’s right, I love you.”

Her stomach stirred with butterflies and more.

—

[6] Her personal files, never shared but meticulously maintained, included detailed protocols for managing various levels of CEO stress responses, from subtle intervention to direct action.

[7] The exact moment of this defensive breach had been logged by the building's security systems, though the footage was classified under "Executive Privacy Protocols."

—

Minjeong lingered in bed, her heart performing calculations that had nothing to do with quarterly reports. The smart home system's sensors detected her elevated pulse rate, though no algorithm could properly quantify the joy radiating from her smile[8]. She stretched luxuriously against Egyptian cotton sheets that still held traces of his warmth, letting herself marvel at the reality of being here, in his space, surrounded by evidence of Junho.

Her mind couldn't help but catalog the endearing chaos around her—academic journals scattered across surfaces, a tablet displaying economic projections that had clearly been reviewed at 3 AM, several coffee cups in various states of abandonment. The morning light revealed what darkness and desire had hidden the night before: Junho's private space was a fascinating contradiction to his public persona, a detail she filed away with all her other precious observations of him.

Rising with practiced grace, she padded across cold hardwood floors, her bare feet gliding across the floor. His dress shirt from the previous night—the one that had hung open as they'd discovered more interesting uses for his mahogany desk—called to her like a siren song. She slipped it on, the fabric carrying traces of his unisex cologne and something uniquely him that made her stomach flutter[9].

Junho emerged from his ensuite bathroom to find her like this: drowning in his shirt, examining his space with that careful attention she brought to everything concerning him. His breath caught audibly.

"That's mine," he noted, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that never failed to make her pulse race.

She turned to face him, letting the hem of his shirt brush against her thighs. "Really? I think it’s mine."

—

[8] The home automation system logged this moment as: "Secondary User Biometrics Indicating Unprecedented Levels of Serotonin. CEO Response: Highly Favorable."

[9] Security footage would later reveal this as the exact moment CEO Kim's usually impeccable morning routine experienced a critical efficiency failure, though no one questioned why that particular shirt never made it to the dry cleaners.

—

"You know," Junho mused against her neck, his hands tracing idle patterns on her thighs, "for someone so concerned about my eating habits, you're being very distracting in my kitchen."

"Me?" Minjeong's attempt at innocence was undermined by the way her fingers kept playing with his hair. "I'm trying to feed you."

"Wearing my shirt. Sitting on my counter." His smile carried equal parts mischief and heat as he pulled back to look at her. "I'm starting to think this is corporate sabotage, Secretary Kim."

She tried to maintain her professional expression, though her lips twitched. "I would never compromise company productivity, 사장님."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow, fingers sliding deliberately higher under his shirt. "Then explain why Korea's most efficient CEO is currently contemplating skipping his 9 AM."

"Poor executive guidance?" she suggested, then squeaked as he nipped her earlobe in retaliation. "I mean... clearly you need better supervision."

"Is that your professional opinion?" His laugh was warm against her skin. "And I suppose you're volunteering for the position?"

"Well," she threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging gently, "I do have extensive experience in handling difficult executives."

He lifted his head, eyes dancing. "Difficult?"

"Demanding," she amended, then added with deliberate sweetness, "High-maintenance?"

"You," he declared, catching her wrists and pinning them behind her back with one hand, "are getting dangerously bold with your performance reviews[12]."

Her answering smile was pure sunshine. "Does that mean I'm not getting that raise?"

"Oh, I'll give you a raise," he promised, his free hand sliding up her spine as he pressed closer. "Right after we discuss your insubordination."

"I have a presentation prepared," she managed, though her breath hitched as his mouth found that sensitive spot behind her ear. "Complete with charts on CEO stubbornness metrics..."

"Using company resources for personal research?" His mock disapproval was somewhat undermined by the way he couldn't stop smiling against her skin. "That's a serious violation of corporate policy."

"And what's the penalty for that?" She arched into his touch, shameless. "More overtime with my boss?"

"Definitely." He captured her mouth in a kiss that tasted like laughter and promise. "Starting now[13]."

—

[12] The home automation system registered this interaction as a significant deviation from standard performance review protocols, though it noted remarkable improvements in overall satisfaction metrics.

[13] Later analysis of the kitchen's usage patterns would reveal this as the morning the coffee maker recorded its latest ever first brew, a delay that would become surprisingly routine.

—

"We're going to be late," Minjeong observed, though she made no move to leave her perch on the counter as Junho's hands mapped new territories beneath his borrowed shirt. The morning sun painted gold across his shoulders, and she couldn't resist tracing the light with her fingers.

"Concerned about punctuality now?" His smile was wicked against her collar. "After deliberately sabotaging your CEO's morning routine?"

"I would never," she protested, then gasped as his teeth found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I'm simply... optimizing your schedule."

"Is that what we're calling it?" His laugh vibrated through both their bodies as he pressed closer, effectively trapping her against the granite. "And how does this particular optimization benefit the company?"

Her fingers curled into his hair as his mouth traced a deliberate path down her throat. "Improved executive mood... increased satisfaction metrics... better work-life balance..."

"Very thorough analysis," he approved, his hand sliding higher up her thigh. "Though I think we need more data points[14]."

"준호야..." Her professional composure cracked entirely as his fingers found bare skin. "The Zhang Corp meeting..."

"Can wait." He lifted his head to meet her gaze, his smile carrying that perfect blend of authority and affection that never failed to undo her. "I'm conducting important research."

"On what?" She managed to arch an eyebrow despite her rapidly dissolving coherence. "How to make your secretary lose her mind?"

"Girlfriend," he corrected, voice dropping to that dangerous register as his thumb traced patterns on her inner thigh. "And I believe we were discussing your performance review[15]."

Jun abruptly stopped their performance review midway because the deal was on the line and time was running short. Minjeong was reminded of this painfully by how Jun pulled away from the kiss—she was pouty about it until they reached the office, when her damascus-like resolve kicks in.

—

[14] The kitchen's environmental sensors registered multiple instances of what could only be classified as "Critical Protocol Deviations," though these readings were automatically archived under "Executive Privacy Settings."

[15] HR would later note a curious correlation between the CEO's improved mood and these new "morning performance evaluations," though no one dared to investigate further.

—

Chapter 2: The Meeting

The Zhang Corp representatives sat across the mahogany conference table, their expressions carefully neutral as they reviewed the merger proposals. Minjeong maintained her perfect professional facade, though her pulse quickened every time Junho's hand brushed hers as she passed him documents[1].

"The third quarter projections," she murmured, leaning close enough that his cologne made her thoughts stray to their morning activities. His finger tapped twice against the paper—their private signal that he needed a moment to compose himself.

"As you can see," Junho addressed the room with that commanding presence that made board members squirm, though Minjeong could detect the slight roughness in his voice that hadn't been there before their morning 'delay', "our integration timeline is aggressive but achievable."

She took her seat beside him, crossing her legs in a way that made his pen pause fractionally on the contract. Two could play at this game of professional torture. His response was to rest his hand on her thigh under the table, hidden from view but commanding enough to make her breath catch[2].

"Secretary Kim," he said smoothly, his thumb tracing dangerous patterns against her skin, "would you pull up the logistics breakdown?"

"Of course, 사장님." She managed to keep her voice steady as she reached for her tablet, though her free hand found his wrist under the table, her fingers curling around it in what could have been either submission or warning.

The meeting proceeded with perfect corporate efficiency, though the undercurrent of tension between CEO and secretary created what the room's environmental sensors could only classify as "Critical Atmospheric Pressure"[3].

—

[1] The conference room's biometric scanners noted elevated heart rates in both CEO and secretary, though this data was diplomatically omitted from official meeting records.

[2] Security footage would later require careful editing to maintain professional appearances, particularly regarding certain "under-table activities."

[3] The Zhang Corp representatives would later confess to the fact that they could tell what was happening, no amount of demure leg-crossing could hide it. Though, they ignored it in order to get that deal (which was integral to them).

—

The private office door clicked shut behind them, the afternoon sun casting long shadows across imported marble floors. Junho rolled his shoulders, tension evident in his posture despite the meeting's success[4].

"Come here," Minjeong said softly, recognizing the signs of his post-negotiation stress. She guided him to his leather chair, her hands already moving to his shoulders. "You get so tense during these meetings." Instead of standing behind him and the chair, she stood in front, impending a mount to get ‘better access’ to his shoulders.

"Keeping my hands to myself requires considerable effort," he admitted, then groaned softly as her fingers found a particularly tight knot. "Especially when you keep giving me those looks."

"What looks?" Her innocent tone was betrayed by the way her hands slid lower, tracing patterns down his upper chest. "I was being perfectly professional."

He caught her wrist, tugging her to face him. "Professional? Is that what you call that thing you did with your pen?"

"Taking notes?" She smiled down at him, letting her fingers trail along his tie. "I'm very thorough in my documentation."

"Very thorough," he agreed, pulling her into his lap with practiced ease. "Though I noticed some interesting gaps in the meeting minutes."

"Oh?" Her hands returned to his shoulders, kneading the tension even as she shifted closer. "Like what?"

"Like how many times you deliberately brushed against me," his voice dropped lower as her fingers worked their magic, "or how your skirt kept riding up when you reached for files[5]."

"Maybe," she breathed, her ministrations becoming less therapeutic and more intentional, "your secretary just needs better supervision."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Is that what you need, Secretary Kim?"

Instead of answering, she pressed a kiss to that spot below his ear that always made him growl. His hands tightened on her hips in warning, but she didn't stop her exploration of his neck, her fingers still working the tension from his shoulders even as she created a different kind of pressure entirely.

"The door," he managed, though his hands were already sliding under her blouse.

"Locked," she murmured against his skin. "I'm very efficient."

"My perfect secretary," he agreed.

—

[4] The office's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Post-Meeting Stress Relief Protocol: Executive Override Engaged."

[5] The meeting's official minutes would maintain strict professional standards, though certain observations were kept in much more private records.

—

"You're still tense," Minjeong observed, her fingers tracing new patterns down his spine. The afternoon light painted gold across his desk, where various merger documents lay forgotten. "Let me take care of you properly."

She slid from his lap, moving behind his chair with practiced grace. Her hands returned to his shoulders, this time with more purposeful intent. Junho's head fell back as she worked a particularly tight knot, a sound escaping him that had nothing to do with professional conduct[7].

"That noise," she murmured, leaning close enough that her breath teased his ear, "is definitely not going in the meeting minutes."

His laugh turned into another groan as her thumbs hit a sensitive spot. "Keeping secrets from the board, Secretary Kim?"

"Only the interesting ones," she admitted, her hands sliding lower, tracing the muscles of his back through his expensive shirt. "Like how my very commanding CEO turns to putty when I do this..."

His hand shot up to catch her wrist in warning. "Careful," his voice carried that dangerous edge that made her stomach flip. "You're getting bold with your observations."

"Just maintaining detailed records," she breathed, not backing down despite his grip. "For example, when I press here..." Her free hand found another knot, making him inhale sharply. "Your left eye twitches slightly. And when I do this..." She leaned forward, letting her lips brush his neck. "Your pulse jumps exactly like it did during the merger talks[8]."

The chair spun suddenly, Junho pulling her back into his lap with decisive force. "You," he growled, hands spanning her waist, "are playing a dangerous game."

Her smile was pure innocence, though her fingers were already working his tie loose. "I'm simply being thorough in my duties, 사장님."

"Your duties," he repeated, watching her with dark amusement as she stripped his tie with expert efficiency. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Would you prefer 'executive stress relief'?" She gasped as his teeth found her collar. "Or maybe 'personnel management'?"

His laugh vibrated against her skin. "I prefer," he murmured, hands sliding deliberately up her thighs, "when you stop talking altogether[9]."

—

[7] The office's audio sensors temporarily malfunctioned during this period, a technical glitch that occurred with suspicious regularity during certain "private meetings."

[8] Her personal files contained extensive documentation of CEO behavioral patterns, though certain observations were encrypted under "Private Research: Ongoing."

[9] The afternoon's remaining meetings would require creative rescheduling, though no one questioned why the CEO's mood had improved so dramatically.

—

"You missed a spot," Minjeong murmured against his mouth, her fingers finding another knot of tension in his shoulders even as she shifted closer in his lap. The leather chair creaked softly beneath them, a sound that would forever carry new associations in both their minds[10].

"Did I?" His hands slid higher beneath her skirt, mapping territories that were becoming dangerously familiar for office hours. "Or are you just making excuses to keep touching your CEO?"

She pulled back just enough to give him that look—the one that somehow managed to be both defiant and yielding. "I take my responsibilities very seriously, 사장님."

"I've noticed," he growled, catching her wrist as she tried to maintain the pretense of massage. "Like how seriously you took those meeting notes earlier. Very... thorough."

Her laugh caught in her throat as his lips found that sensitive spot below her ear. "I was documenting important observations."

"Such as?" His teeth grazed her pulse point, making her grip his shoulders for balance.

"Such as," she managed, though her professional tone wavered as his hands grew bolder, "how the great Kim Junho gets distracted when I cross my legs. How your voice drops exactly half an octave when you're trying not to react to me. How you tap your pen twice when you're thinking about—"

He silenced her with a kiss that effectively derailed all attempts at analysis[11]. When he finally pulled back, her dazed expression made him smirk. "Any other observations to record, Secretary Kim?"

“I must’ve forgotten, I usually remember better when you kiss me.” She hinted, and he obliged, letting his lips connect yet again with Minjeong. This time, the endless teasing reached a breaking point that both of them coalesced to at the same time.

He tightly grasped her backside then pulled her up from the executive chair to the executive table. Wherein, she was splayed across the wide table. “We really have to ban tables when we’re around each other.” She joked.

“That’d be a terrible idea.”

“How so?”

“Where else could I splay you across like this, then explore you, centimeter-by-centimeter?”

“Hmm…” she hummed, pleased, "Yeah?"

“Yeah.”

“Then come here, my ceo.”

“My beautiful secretary, whatever shall I do with you?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you find out?” She pulled as tight as she could, locking her arms around his neck.

He obliged, meeting lips with her once again. He felt the softness of her face as he explored deeper into the kiss, forgetting time and everything except what was being shared between them. Journeying his hands further, entangling it into the silken strands of his lover as he deepened the kiss, and she replied with a deep sigh—trembling with a mix of her high register.

“You’re such a good woman for me, Minjeong.” He said before nipping at her lower lip, catching it softly between his teeth with a teasing tug, Minjeong let out a breathless laugh, “you’re devouring me, Junho.” Regardless, he dug deeper, letting his entire body shift into Minjeong’s malleable, petite body—letting his hand explore more of her silken strands, almost saying, yes Minjeong, that is my purpose: to devour you.

Now, instead of every 5 seconds, Minjeong’s soft moans that only served to goad Junho on were musically released into his ears every second. Precautiously, she asked, “how good is the soundproofing in your private room-ah!”

“Not good enough to hide your moans, dear.” He replied, his voice like rough gravel. Her eyes widened suddenly from the need to hide her moans. Yet he dug deeper, letting his loin rub against her wet bottom, daring her moan out loud.

Despite all the regulations, the possible condemnation, their passions only grew more. Mouths moving in sync, gazes meeting momentarily, it wasn’t just kissing anymore—it was a language. The type of language where Minjeong coalesced to his dangerous games and learned to enjoy it, almost as much as him.

“Junho, seriously, I don’t want to be seen as-”

“Minjeong-ah, I don’t give a single fuck if my employees hear you and I.” The teeth that so brazenly tugged on her lower lips trailed down her neck, tracing the soft tendons.

Whispering, in a verbose way, “And as you are my secretary, my extension, my life-line, you’ll follow. Me.” And as Minjeong was getting battered by the gravel-slung voice of Junho—she hadn’t noticed how her blouse was opened, bra pushed down to reveal the breasts that he was so infatuated with—only until she felt the torsion of her nipple.

“Ngh!”

“I love that, Minjeong, scream out. I’ll fuck you until the entire floor hears you call my name.”

And another wet mewl that inspired his further deviance.

Feeling the soft suction of his mouth on her neck, she deduced that it could only mean one thing: another hickey just placed above the collar of her blouse, the same sort of hickey that the Zhang corp executives couldn’t keep their eyes off of—any justification in their minds that it was a skin discoloration was debilitated by how intensely Minjeong and Junho shared those deadly glances, likely to jump on each other as soon as they left—and they were right.

“Junho—ngh!”

“Louder.” He replied, testing her, “fucking. Louder.” Then he pressed deeper, grinding his rough textured pants on the creamy soft bottom of Minjeong.

“Please Junho, seriously.” Was all that she could get out of her bated breaths, her deep moans.

Then suddenly, he stopped, caressing the softness of her cheeks with his, back-handed, knuckles.

“You look so beautiful when you’re all tired and exhausted, did I tell you that before?” Letting the tune of his voice marinate with Minjeong (who was recovering from how hot and bothered she was just a second ago).

However good his intentions were, he wasn’t perfect. The way Minjeong’s body looked splayed against the messy paperwork, her blonde hair all frizzy and stuck to the desk, how her chest went in-and-out catching all the breath she lost—all of it made it impossible for him to resist anymore.

He pounced on her again, connecting lips against her wet, trembling lips that nonetheless accepted him so openly, like a warm cup of milk tea on a winter morning. That momentary pause had changed everything, Minjeong—now fully conquered by him—was begging for that penetrative action that he would give out so liberally to her.

“Naughty woman, bad secretary, what else?”

“Junho’s toy.”

“Fuck.” And in a flash, his belt flew off, then in another flash, his pants fell down.

“Tented much?” She was truly in no position to tease: a strategic error.

He grinned at the statement, finally, teasingly, let his underwear fall inch-by-inch.

Simultaneously, she bunched up her legs then pulled off her panty that revealed the color combinations that he would die for. Though before he could look for longer, she crossed her shins—hiding the cause of Junho’s demise behind her thin legs.

They shared a giggle before Jun hugged her soft body.

“I will penetrate you in this office.”

“Yes. It appears so.”

“No, like, do you consent?”

“Idiot..” Minjeong pulled him in for another kiss. Which, coincidentally, made his tip graze her engorged and swollen core, Minjeong almost came instantaneously from that alone.

And he could tell, laughing, “Seriously, Minjeong?”

“It’s your fault, you trained me like this.”

“This is like our 3rd time.” He said, as if to brush it off.

“This is my 3rd time.”

And Minjeong would be certainly hurt by the thought that Junho’s partners before her made it more than his 3rd time for him—some of them, the girlfriends, she saw.

He caught on the clues before it was too late, “Minjeong, not to compare, but who else have I been so crazy about? Who else did I track for every minute of the day? Who else did I let in my home (his girlfriends didn’t, actually, get to enter his home)? Who else would make me lose composure when they’re out of my sight-line?”

Letting his forehead touch against hers, he could feel her heart rend and beat and do all sorts of bothered gymnastics.

“It’s always been about you, Minjeong. You are the brilliance of my life, the expansion of a born star—bright from millions of light years away.”

And she needn’t say anything or reply. Absolving him by wrapping her arms tighter around his nape, then holding up her head to desperately kiss Junho again and again.

In between all the kisses, he penetrated Minjeong. His length, constricted against her core, travelled softly—wringing out all sorts of noises. Her swollen pussy wrapped around him gently but tight. “I love you, Minjeong.” Was the last thing said before Minjeong’s eyes went into the back of her head—a cute habit—before she orgasmed and creamed all over.

As per her request, Junho didn’t stop. He let his hips move as slow as he could possibly go before it could be called torture. During all this, Minjeong grabbed for stability as she was getting fucked through her orgasm, feeling that intense thrusting from the love of her life as she covered his length in more of her slick.

“Oh f-” He covered her mouth this time, respecting her wish to stay at least a little lowkey in the office, whatever the hell that meant right now. Then, shallow thrusts turned into slow thrusts all the way to the hilt, getting Minjeong to scrunch her face in pleasure, eyebrows knitted in the highest pleasure, her mouth agape with strands of her saliva connecting the roof of her mouth to her tongue.

“I love you, Minjeong. Fuck. This is insane, having sex with you in my office.”

“Ngh~ I - I love you so much,” was all that she could get across before succumbing to her dopamine receptors—eyes joining the back her head. Junho connected lips with her again, letting her legs lock around his waist, then rubbing his pelvis against her engorged core, clitoris and all.

After Minjeong finally got used to the familiar motions, he grasped her thin waist, almost wrapping his two hands around the entire circumference of her tight waist. Then their eyes met momentarily, Junho had the I am going to fuck you through this desk eyes whilst Minjeong had the prey eyes that relentlessly coalesced to him. Though, before he could go wild, he brushed off the stray hairs stuck to her forehead, gave a reaffirming kiss on her forehead before pumping all the way in.

The small of her back surrendered to his tight grip, bending against the pushes and pulls. Her legs tightened the lock around his waist—almost painfully tight, but that didn’t matter to him, who’d get to pummel her soft pussy.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he planted his body against Minjeong’s, pinning her two thin wrists against the stable table.

“You’re fucking me so good, Junho,” Minjeong replied, her rare use of the curse made him chuckle by the side of her head.

“That’s right, baby,” Junho bear-hugged Minjeong, only thrusting deeper and deeper, pelvis rubbing against hers, to make her cum again.

“NGHHH~!” The abrupt moan startled him and herself—however, they didn’t care as much about the employees anymore after indulging in each other’s bodies. Instead of stopping or evaluating the situation—as the rationalists would do—they dug deeper into each other, trying to carve each other with their soft and swollen lips.

Suddenly, he lifted Winter and turned her over. Bending her back against the table before dipping his cock into her pussy again. This time, the entrance was entranced with the soft, tight, wet feeling that he was fully obsessed with. This time, he had more ready access to her soft ass that was so soft and supple that he had to relieve it of its aesthetic beauty: with some redness spread across her ass.

“Oh my god!” Winter squeaked as she reacted against the heavy-handed slap against her ass, loving it, spreading—overflowing—his length with her slick.

Leaning over, he held Minjeong’s chin for the last stretch, considerably slowing down and enjoying each other’s presence.

“How much do you bet the coworkers will give us bad looks?”

“The female workers already give me horrible ones.” She said whilst her chin was held stable by his hand, still moaning against the soft thrusts.

“Hmm, broad generalization. How do you know this?”

“That hickey that you gave that was far too purple and far too above the collar of my blouse.”

“No long-necked turtleneck?”

“No, that’d ruin the point, I wanted to show off the gift my Junho-ssi gave.” That was the moment when he moaned hard, pressing deep inside Winter before releasing all his seed—the seed that Winter felt bounce against her cervix, making her moan out and squeal happily.

“God. Minjeong, you will be my demise.” He sighed before Winter turned around and kissed him, “as long as I get to stay with you, through demise and all,” she said between the kisses.

—

[10] The office furniture procurement department would later note an unusual request for "enhanced stability features" in executive seating, though they wisely chose not to inquire further.

[11] The building's environmental controls registered what could only be classified as "Critical Temperature Fluctuation - Executive Override Protocol Engaged."

—

Evening painted Seoul's skyline in shades of amber and gold, the office gradually emptying as another corporate day drew to a close. Only the executive floor maintained signs of life, though its usual efficiency had given way to something far more intimate[12].

"We should go home," Minjeong murmured against Junho's shoulder, though she made no move to leave her position in his lap. His shirt had long since been unbuttoned, her blouse delightfully rumpled, both their professional facades thoroughly compromised.

"Should we?" His fingers traced lazy patterns up her spine, his other hand still possessively curved around her hip. "I rather like having my secretary exactly where she is."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze, finding that unique blend of authority and affection that never failed to make her heart race. "Your secretary has plans for you."

"Oh?" His interest visibly peaked. "More performance reviews?"

"Better." She smiled, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'm cooking you dinner. Besides, breakfast was skipped."

The surprise in his expression made her laugh softly. "You don't have to—"

"I want to," she interrupted, then added with deliberate sweetness, "Unless my CEO is refusing a direct offer from his girlfriend?"

His hands tightened on her waist. "Using that title to manipulate me now?"

"Is it working?" She bit her lip, watching his eyes darken at the gesture.

Instead of answering, he pulled her into a kiss that suggested dinner might be delayed[13]. When they finally broke apart, his smile carried dangerous promise. "Your place or mine?"

"Yours," she decided, fingers playing with his collar. "Your kitchen needs christening properly."

His laugh rumbled through both their bodies. "Just the kitchen?"

"We'll see how dinner goes," she teased, then squeaked as he stood suddenly, lifting her with him. "준호야!"

"Efficient time management," he explained, setting her on her feet but keeping her close. "The sooner we leave..."

She pressed against him, deliberate and knowing. "The sooner you can help me... cook?"

"Among other things," he agreed, already reaching for his jacket. The predatory grace in his movements suggested cooking might not be the evening's primary activity[14].

—

[12] Security logs would note this as the third consecutive evening of "Extended Executive Hours," though the actual nature of these extensions remained diplomatically unrecorded.

[13] The office's automated systems began learning to expect these end-of-day delays, adjusting power consumption accordingly.

[14] The kitchen's motion sensors would later flag unusually high activity levels, though whether any actual cooking occurred remained a matter of some debate.

Fin

I fixed some stuff that I executed poorly before, like the crazy amount of math references; which, in foresight, was far too much.

I really had to get this out quickly. Now, I think it's a good idea to not expect anything from me for an entire month (hopefully not).

hope u enjoyed.

#smut #kpop smut #fanfic #aespa #aespa smut #fanfiction #male oc #kpop #winter smut #aespa winter

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samuraiko · 4 months ago

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Contacting your Senators and House Reps -- some helpful scripts!

Begging any and all of my friends/followers in the United States to reblog this one and PLEASE be sure to tag it -- if you have ideas for better tags, use them and I will update THIS post with the better tags!

---

So since the Fascist Regime™ (aka the current US administration) is losing NO time in speedrunning the Nazi Germany storyline, it is more important than EVER to let your elected officials know that this is absolute batshit and they should be doing everything they can to oppose it.

As a note -- your elected officials' contact information is PUBLICLY available via the official government websites senate.gov and house.gov -- these are their OFFICES (not private residences).

Elected officials cannot help but notice when suddenly their offices are getting bombarded with phone calls. That said, I urge anyone who calls them to be polite, firm, clear, and specific about why they are calling. To that end, here are a few useful sites with scripts for calling them!

https://callhub.io/blog/political-campaign/call-your-representative-script/ -- pretty straightforward, gives some ideas of how to tweak things

https://autisticadvocacy.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/fact-sheet-how-to-call-your-elected-officials.pdf -- this one explains the use of Augmentative and Alternative Communication (AAC) devices!

https://www.padeasla.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/07/Script-for-Calling-your-Senator-and-Representative.pdf -- again, tweak these as necessary to address the proper issue or issues you're calling about

https://www.kchealthykids.org/uploads/1/3/2/6/132654074/sample-phone-script-to-contact-your-legislator-.pdf -- Also, just to remind folks, you can find your Senators' and House Rep's contact info at either senate.gov or house.gov, just select your state and off you go!

http://sharedhope.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Generic-legislator-call-script.pdf -- this one is the *BEST* for anyone with social anxiety! All the useful tips and tricks you could want for how to overcome those hurdles!

If you REALLY feel uncomfortable calling and talking to a person, you *ARE* allowed to leave a message after hours. Just read off the script of your choice and you're good to go.

You can *ALSO* use these as templates for EMAILING your elected officials! As per the aforementioned government sites, virtually *ALL* of them have contact forms that you can fill out. Do not use 'burner' information with them, as you want to be sure they recognize you as a valid constituent and not just some rando harassing anyone and everyone.

#us politics #politics #us government #political #american politics #activism

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godmadeaterribleerror · 9 months ago

Text

Chapter 11 - The Wolves or The Ocean Rocks

Series Masterlist

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

Word Count: 18.5k

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

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

Read on A03!

Chapter 10 - Chapter 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben-“

“Words.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Plea-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d live. You’d find a way to live.

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

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

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

“It’s noon.”

“So?”

“I’m hungry.”

“Go fucking eat, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Our bathroom, Sunshine.”

You snort. “Our bathroom? Seriously?”

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

“Nothing,” you shrug.

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

“You won’t like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s my night anyways, dumbass.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck off, brat.”

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

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

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

“Because.”

“That clears absolutely nothing up.”

“Don’t fucking worry about it.”

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

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

“Close to where you shit?”

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

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

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

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

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

You’d blinked. “It’s a good habit.”

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

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

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

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

You can always fucking be around me.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

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

To get you away from him.

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

You can always fucking be around me.

Always.

I trust you. I give a shit about you.

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

I give a shit about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a pause, and then, “What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Join the club.”

“Fuck off.”

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

“What?”

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

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

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

“What? The fuck is wrong with-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cunt.

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

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

“I’m fine using yours.”

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

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

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

“She says there’s a lead- goddamnit!”

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

“I was using it-“

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

“It’s fucking rude-“

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

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

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

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

“What time?”

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

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

“What?”

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

“Aren’t you worried-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fucking same.”

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

“So?”

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

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I fucking taught you that, you dick.”

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

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

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

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

“I’m not fucking bitching.”

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

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

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

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

You pout. “Rude.”

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

“Is it something embarrassing?”

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

“Your last name. Is it embarrassing?”

“No.”

“Is it long?”

“No.”

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

“No.”

“So you will tell me?”

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

“Yep. Why won’t you tell me?”

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

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

He frowns. “That’s it? Just ok?”

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

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

“Are we?”

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

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

He scoffs. “Of course you’re not.”

“Say the full thing.”

“What?”

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

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

“Liar, I know.” You grin. “Prove it.”

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

“Was that so hard?”

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

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

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

“No promises.”

“Sunshine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Visit?”

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

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

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

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

“Then we’ll fucking answer them.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, it’s been like 45 years.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He glowers. “A job?”

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

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

“Could’ve fooled me.”

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

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

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

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

“I am not a grump-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know, Vought level.”

“Vought level?”

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

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

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

“That’s not a damn fact.”

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

“Well, you’re still fucking wrong.”

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

“Ben-“

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

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

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

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

“Everyone?”

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck we are-”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. So I shouldn’t be worried?

Only the regular amount.

You laugh, and Ben nudges your shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I offered-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s cheap, I guess.”

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

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

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

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

“You said it was a gentlemen’s club-“

“It is. Of sorts.”

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

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

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

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

“After?” You gape. “After what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hughie’s face pales. “Costumes?”

Butcher ignores him, shouting, “Frenchie?!”

“Oui, in the back.”

“Go bloody get them.”

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

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

“On the money, Lad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hot?”

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

There’s pause. “You like it?”

“The movie, or Megan Fox?”

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

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking traitor. His frown says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Butcher shrugs. “Well-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-“

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

“It’s different. They all trust you.”

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

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

Why?

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

Secrets?

“The third V shot, it-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Save it,” you say flatly.

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

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

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

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

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

Steeling yourself, you knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With one last awful wink, he’s gone.

You feel your phone buzz in your hand.

Annie January: Arm Wrestling Champion

Are you in?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My sell?”

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

“I don’t-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You tell her truthfully, and she hums.

“How’d you end up here?”

“My friend got me the job.”

“Friend? How’d she know about this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the other staff?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

William Butcher: Worst Boss Ever

Starlight says you’re not answering her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You will not be calling him Steve.

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

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

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

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

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

“The important part?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, words reduced to lumps in your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you can still feel Real Ben.

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

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

You’d bet the world on it.

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

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

Tek Knight is gone from his throne.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not telling you fucking shit-“

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not telling you shit-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t know anything-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No?”

He on his way?”

“Probably?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

All he got in response was a shaking head.

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

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

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

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

“Monsieur Butcher-“

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

“Butcher are you fucking insane-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, Sunshine-“

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

“Where.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, no, Hughie don’t-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’re not telling you shit-“

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

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

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

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

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

More silence.

“If one of you doesn’t speak-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Patience is a virtue, William.” Homelander gave a tsk. “And I want to make sure that you don’t think you’re ahead. I don’t know what your plan is, but it won’t work. I’m invincible. I’ll find the leak and plug it, I’ll figure out what you're doing and stop it, because I always win.”

Butcher snatched the phone from Cocksucker’s hand, hissing into it. “That it?”

“Patience.” Homelander growled Her name, and the Thing became molten fury in Ben. “I don’t know if you’re there, because these weak, unworthy ants won’t fucking tell me. But I want you to know that, when you come home, which you will because I will find you, I can’t wait to hear you sing again. I can’t believe you hid what V did, it’s amazing, powerful, god-like, but I forgive you. I won’t lie, I’m wounded that you didn’t trust me, but I forgive you. And I’ll see you, all of you, soon.”

The line clicked dead, and She went limp in Ben’s arms. Nobody spoke, they wouldn’t fucking dare, and Ben just held her. The Thing wanted Her closer, even with their skin pressed together, their air the same, and their hearts in time with each other. But Ben needed to be fucking mad at her. She’d had another secret, she’d had chances to tell him, everything he knew, everything he understood told Ben he needed to be mad at her. But the fear in Her eyes was imprinted on his brain, and the sound of her pleading his name, looking to him for comfort, would ring in his ears until she laughed again.

Ben should be fucking mad at Her, but Ben and the Thing were hardly even separated anymore, not when She was so close. Not when She mattered like this. Not when She was choosing to stay right here with him. Not when She, for some stupid fucking reason, kept choosing to hang to Ben’s side.

He had to be mad at Her, to find it in him some fucking where, but the performance was echoing in his head, feeding the Thing. Ben gave up—for now—trying to find reason with it or what it meant. What he meant to Her. Because She was shaking against him, and he was keeping her secure in his arms. And She wasn’t trying to run or fight, so Ben wouldn’t either. It was just them, even in the cold silence of the van.

It was just them, so Ben stayed right there with Her.

Thank you for reading!

Always leave a comment if you want to! They feed me, and y’all are funnier than me <3

End Note: Not to trash on my source material, but my version of Tek Knight is better and more interesting and makes me want to vomit less. Eric Kripke, you will pay for your crimes against my son, Hughie Campbell.

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

@c1gs-coffee @manicjk @artemys-ackles, @a-cup-of-nightshade, @bitchykittenconnoisseur

@fghj18 @n-o-p-e-never @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @marisha-3 @stvrniolo

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planet-marz1 · 1 year ago

Text

Our Little Sheep

Summary: You and Joel celebrate christmas with your many children Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Word Count: ~4.1k

Tags/Warnings:18+MDNI no use of y/n, implied age gap(not specified), reader is able to get pregnant, jackson!joel, peepaw!joel(really peepaw), mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of childbirth (nothing graphic), brief mentions of breastfeeding (again, nothing graphic) Lots of fluff & cuteness, Joel being a cute girl dad™, this seems like it should be a crackfic, but I promise It's so wholesome

A/N: Ok so this fic idea was born out of my cold medicine induced haze, so bear with me here guys. It's just a silly little fic, not meant to be taken seriously at all, and It's the most fun I've had writing in a bit, so I hope you enjoy reading! Just a little clarity here, the kids' ages range from 0 to 9. I know it gets all confusing here, so I am welcome to provide any further clarity if anyone needs it! A huge thank you to @catchallfangirl for helping with the naming of all of these gremlins & with the constant encouragement ❤️ Thank you to @fhatbhabie for beta reading!

lovely dividers by @pamasaur

| main masterlist | ao3 link | follow my fic updates blog @planetmarz1-notifs

You open your eyes slightly, squinting them. Joel sleeps peacefully next to you, his breaths even and steady. Burrowing yourself further under the blankets, you scoot closer to him, your head on his chest and intertwining your legs with his. You run your fingers through the curls of his now, fully gray hair.

Slight whines start to fill the room, and you lift your head up and glance over your shoulder to peek into the bassinet next to your side of the bed. Joel had been up with the baby all night after you two had finished wrapping up the gifts for the other kids. So, you groggily sit up in bed, reaching over to pick up the tiny little infant.

“Shhh, It’s alright, little one.” You whisper quietly, trying to calm him. After a few attempts to shush him, it’s still not working. He’s probably hungry, you figure. Lifting your shirt, you help him latch onto your breast, and he finally calms. You sigh quietly with relief. It’s all a part of the process, you try to remind yourself. Little baby Joelseph had only been born a few weeks ago. No, his name isn’t actually Joelseph. Simply a nickname given to him by his many older sisters when you had been pregnant with him. It started as a cute joke, but sure enough he came into the world, and no one was able to call him by his proper name. Named after his father, but considering the chaos of your family, the nickname is simply just another thing that you don’t bother to fight to keep the peace in the house.

The early hours of the morning are usually the small period of time when the house is completely silent. Every other waking minute is filled with the sounds of the kids, either giggling, or fighting with each other over something. Though, silence isn’t always a good thing. You’ll never forget the time the kids got into the kitchen cupboards and practically wreaked havoc in the kitchen while you were outside tending to the sheep.

Sure enough, you hear the trampling of footsteps coming down the hallway. No matter how chaotic it may be, this is your favorite part of the day. Getting to start each day greeted by all of your beautiful children, reminding you of why you are so lucky. You softly graze your fingers over the baby’s hair.

“I think your sisters are here, little guy,” You chuckle softly. The doorknob jiggles a bit. Before all of your daughters begin to spill into your bedroom, all eleven of them. Yes, eleven. You and Joel had, admittedly, gotten out of control in that department.

You and Joel had met when he had returned to Jackson in the spring with Ellie in tow. It had been an immediate connection, quite literally. Hooking up one night in the bathroom of the Tipsy Bison, which is what led to your firstborn, Emilie. The pregnancy had come as a shock, but you and Joel were excited nonetheless.

A chorus of variations of “Mom,” or “Mommy,” begin to fill the room, and you try to shush the girls, reminding them of their little brother. “Ok, girls, I know that you’re excited to get downstairs to all of your gifts, but you’ve got to settle down a bit, alright?” You whisper gently. Finally, they all nod in understanding. The calm is short-lived, though. Jane and Jules, the cutest, but menacing pair of instigators, hop on to your bed, shaking Joel’s shoulder, trying to wake their father.

They were your fourth pregnancy, which was by far the most difficult one you had ever experienced. Constant discomfort, and sleepless nights from the relentless kicking and movement from them. It wasn’t the first time you had been pregnant with twins, but It had gone nothing like you had expected it to.

Joel, though typically a light sleeper, is particularly hard to wake after a night with no sleep, hence why you’d opted on letting him sleep in. The two of them, each on one side of him, lean in close to his face, leaving little room for personal space. “Daddy.” Jules says quietly, Jane keeping a close watch.

Joel peeks one eye open, a bit startled at first at the heavy breathing from the two girls so close to his face, but the confused expression on his face is quickly replaced by a tired grin. As soon as all the girls spot that their father has woken up, they all pile onto your bed, excitedly squealing and giggling. Luckily, little baby Joelseph had already been lulled into a deep sleep after he finished nursing. Even if he hadn’t, you're pretty sure the few short weeks he’s been in the world, he’s already used to the constant noise and chaos from his older sisters.

Joel sits up on the bed, leaning back against the headboard, and tries to wrap his arm as many of them as humanly possible.

“When can we open our presents, daddy?” Tiny little Aurora questions impatiently. This is the first year she’s been able to fully understand the concept of Christmas, and all the gift giving. So, understandably, she is ecstatic for all the festivities of the day. She crawls into his lap, after attempting to clamber over all of her sisters in the way. Joel scratches at the scruff of his beard, and lifts her into his lap.

“How about we all eat breakfast first, sweetheart, then you all can tear into your gifts.” He says lowly, his voice still laced with sleep. “Sound like a plan?” He asks. The girls all nod in agreement.

You slowly stand up from the bed, still cradling baby Joelseph in your arms. Walking towards the door, you gesture for the girls to do the same. They all climb off of the bed, and without fail, the house is once again filled with chaos. All eleven of them racing out of your bedroom, and down the staircase to the kitchen.

Joel meets you by the doorway, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“Well hello, sleepyhead.” You tease him. “Sleep well?”

“Just like usual, darling.” He kisses you again, this time placing kisses all over your face, and down your neck, before you place your hand gently on his chest stopping him from going any further.

“Not so fast, old man.” you chuckle softly. “We don’t need another one of these.” you say, gesturing down to the baby bundled up in your arms.

“One more wouldn’t hurt, huh?” He teases, and you just shake your head.

“You say that because you aren’t the one who has to push them out.”

“We should probably get downstairs before they get into stuff that they shouldn’t be” You murmur, and Joel quietly nods in agreement.

The warmth of the morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you make your way into the dining room. Joel follows you, his hand brushing against the small of your back.

You and Joel enter the dining room, and expectedly the room is already filled with screaming and chaos. Alive with the energy of your daughters, and the two mischievous kittens, Ginny and Joel, weaving in and out of the chaos.

Emilie, your oldest, is trying to settle an argument between Lacy and Lily, your first set of twins. Nothing new in your household, nearly every morning, no matter how many times you have to tell them that every seat is the same, the kids insist on fighting on who sits where, who sits next to whom. It’s exhausting, but you can’t help but smile at the chaos unfolding before you-it’s simply the routine of your everyday life.

Emilie, with her stern expression, finally manages to resolve the seating dispute between Lacy and Lily. You glance at Joel, and he chuckles, a knowing look passing between you. The girls quickly settle into their chairs, the anticipation of Christmas morning evident in their sparkling eyes. As you take your seat at the head of the table, Joel sits beside you, and the cacophony gradually subsides. Little Aurora, perched on Joel’s lap, swings her legs excitedly, eager to dive into the festivities.

“Alright, everyone, let’s dig in!” you announce with a smile, and the room erupts in cheers. The aroma of the freshly cooked breakfast wafts through the air as the kids eagerly serve themselves.

Emilie diligently helps the younger ones with their breakfast. She occasionally steals glances at the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree, anticipation gleaming in her eyes.

Lacy and Lily are engaged in animated conversation, their excitement palpable. Daisy can’t stop giggling at something Theo whispered in her ear. The second set of twins, Jane and Jules, sit side by side, already plotting mischief as they eye the presents.

Willow, with her big curious eyes, is inspecting her plate with utmost concentration, trying to decide which part of her breakfast to tackle first.

In the midst of the laughter and chatter, you catch Joel’s eye. There’s a shared understanding between you, a silent acknowledgement of the beautiful chaos that is your family. His gaze is filled with gratitude, and you can’t help but feel the same.

As the kids enjoy their breakfast, you steal a moment with Joel. “Can you believe how fast they're growing?” you murmur, your eyes dancing with a mixture of love and exhaustion.

Joel leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Feels like just yesterday we were sneaking around the Tipsy Bison.”

You laugh, the memory of that fateful night vivid in your mind. “Look where it led us.”

Kylie babbles incoherently as she attempts to mimic her older siblings. Aurora still sits on Joel’s lap, her eyes wide with wonder as she takes in the festive scene, and Joel aids her with her breakfast.

Maggie sits contentedly in her high chair, fingers sticky with syrup, as she munches on a piece of a pancake you’ve carefully cut up into small pieces for her.

The kids, fueled by excitement and sugar, chatter animatedly about their plans for the day. You and Joel exchange glances, both silently reveling in the joy of parenthood. The journey hasn’t been easy, but moments like these make it all worthwhile.

As breakfast winds down, you glance at Joel, both of you silently agreeing it’s time for the much-anticipated event of the morning.

The living room is now adorned with brightly wrapped gifts, a colorful display of the love and thoughtfulness you and Joel put into each one. The kids finish their breakfast, their eyes darting eagerly between the tree and the presents.

“Alright, kiddos, let the unwrapping begin!” Joel declares, and the room explodes with excitement. Each of their little faces lighting up with joy.

“Okay, kiddos, let’s see what Santa brought us this year!” Joel exclaims, and the room erupts in cheers. The kids, now fueled by excitement from their furry friends and a hearty breakfast, rush to the tree, each claiming a spot around the mountain of gifts.

Emily takes charge, distributing gifts to each of her siblings with precision. Paper tears and laughter fill the air as each child discovers the treasures hidden beneath the wrapping.

Lacy and Lily eagerly tear into their presents, sharing excited glances when they unveil matching toys. Daisy clutches a doll close to her heart, and Jane and Jules giggle in delight at the surprise in their packages.

Theo, wide-eyed, unwraps a superhero action figure, and Willow discovers a fluffy stuffed animal that instantly becomes her new best friend. Kylie is overjoyed with a set of building blocks, her imagination already running wild.

Aurora claps her hands in glee as she unwraps a musical toy, and Maggie, though more interested in the wrapping paper than the actual gifts, coos happily.

Daisy twirls with a new dress, her face glowing with delight. “I’m going to wear this everyday!”

Aurora, surrounded by a pile of toys, claps her hands and points excitedly. “Look, Daddy, Mommy, so many toys!” Maggie, with a new plush toy in her tiny hands, giggles with joy. The room is filled with laughter and chatter as the kids excitedly showcase their new treasures.

Jane and Jules squeal in delight as they discover Joel curled up in the tangle of discarded wrapping paper, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Willow, with her big curious eyes, watches the kittens in fascination, occasionally reaching out to stroke their fur. Kylie bursts into giggles as Ginny playfully bats at a shiny ribbon. Aurora claps her hands in delight at the sight of the playful duo. Maggie points with chubby fingers, her face lighting up with a smile as Joel gracefully leaps onto the back of the couch.

Joel catches your eye, and you share a moment of warmth as you witness the joy on your children’s faces.

“Looks like our little fur balls are the stars of the show today.” He chuckles.

Watching as the kittens continue their playful antics. The room is filled with laughter, shouts of excitement, and the crinkling of wrapping paper.

As the chaos subsides, you lean into Joel, watching the kids with a contented smile. “Merry Christmas, Joel.” He whispers back the same sentiment, wrapping his arm around you, anchoring you in the midst of the joyful storm that is your family.

The room buzzes with the joyous laughter of your children, the kittens weaving throughout the living room. As the kids continue to show off their presents, Ginny and Joel curiously inspect the colorful array of toys and trinkets scattered across the room.

Emilie, your eldest, sits by your side, flipping through her new sketchbook. “Mom, look at this! It’s perfect for my drawings. Thank you, Santa!”

Lacy and Lily, wearing their matching necklaces, approach Joel with enthusiasm. “Dad, Dad! Can Joel play with us too?” they ask, extending an invitation for the adventurous kitten to join in on their imaginative play.

Daisy twirls around in her new dress, and with a dramatic flair, she curtsies. “I’m a princess, just like in the stories!”

Jane and Jules, holding their new board game, insist on a family game night. Jules, gives you a confused look, glancing from the box, and then back up at you. “What is Boggle anyway?”

“It’s just a word game, sweetheart, definitely an easy game to beat your dad at.” you laugh softly, shooting Joel a teasing grin.

Willow proudly shows you the fluffy stuffed animal she received. “Look Mom, It’s Fluffy! Daddy, feel how soft!” She grabs his hand to place it on the stuffed animal, and Joel enthusiastically plays along with her.

Kylie, engrossed in building her tower with the new blocks, beams with accomplishment. “It’s bigger than me, Mommy!” You smile at her gently, and give her compliments on her tower building skills.

Maggie, in her own little world, squeezes her plush toy and gurgles happily. The kittens, sensing the playful atmosphere, join in on the fun, batting at the discarded ribbons and chasing each other around the room.

Joel, still basking in the warmth of the family scene, leans over to you. “Seems like Santa knew exactly what they wanted.”

You nod, a content smile playing on your lips, ‘And the best part is seeing their faces light up with joy.”

The room is filled with laughter, the sound of wrapping paper being crinkled, and the occasional meow from Ginny and Joel. The chaos is harmonious, a melody of love and togetherness that defines your family.

The kids, their excitement undeterred, start brainstorming plans for the day–games to play, stories to tell, and perhaps a snowball fight if the weather permits. As the festivities continue, you can’t help but feel grateful for the love and warmth that fills your home–a treasure more precious than any gift under the tree.

As the kids reveled in the excitement of unwrapping their Christmas gifts, their attention turned to the chalkboard on the mantle–a poignant memorial to their older sister, Sarah. The room hushed momentarily as the children exchanged thoughtful glances, understanding the significance of the chalkboard.

The kids had put together some artwork and drawings the night before. They gather around the chalkboard, placing their artwork in front of it, creating a beautiful display of love and remembrance. The room, now adorned with their heartfelt tributes, felt infused with a sense of warmth and connection to Sarah’s memory.

Joel, watching from a distance, can't help but be moved by the sincerity and creativity of his children. The simple act of setting their drawings in front of the chalkboard transformed the mantle into a gallery of love—a tangible expression of the enduring impact Sarah's memory had on their hearts.

As the morning continued, the drawings stood as cherished tokens—a beautiful reminder that, even in the midst of joyous celebrations, the love for their sister would always hold a special place in the family's heart.

You nudge Joel gently, catching his attention. “Any Idea when Ellie, Dina, and JJ are planning to arrive?”

Joel looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to make sure all the kids are engaged in their newfound treasures. “They’re aiming to get here just in time for lunch. Should be any moment now.”

Excitement lights up on your face at the news. “The kids are going to be over the moon to see them again, and It wouldn’t be Christmas without them.”

Joel nods in agreement, a fond smile playing on his lips. “Ellie’s always been good at timing. They’ll be here soon.”

As if on cue, a gentle knock at the door catches your attention. You glance at Joel, both of you sharing a knowing smile. The anticipation in the room heightens as the kids, sensing something special, look toward the door with wide eyes. Moments later, the front door bursts open, and the lively chatter of Ellie and Dina fills the air. The children squeal in delight, dropping their toys and rushing toward the doorway. Ellie enters first, holding JJ’s hand, Dina follows closely behind with a warm grin on her face.

The kids shout at them in unison, enveloping the new arrivals in a sea of hugs and excitement. You and Joel stand back, watching the heartwarming reunion unfold.

Ellie, catching your eye, gives you a knowing nod. “Merry Christmas!” she says as she greets you and Joel. You welcome them with open arms, a surge of joy filling your heart. “We’re so glad you’re here.”

As the laughter and joyful chaos continue to fill the room, you can’t help but marvel at the beautiful tapestry of your family, woven together by love, shared moments, and the bonds that withstand the test of time.

Amidst the joyful commotion, you navigate through the sea of excited children, still cradling little Joelseph in your arms. Joel joins you, and together you watch as Ellie, Dina, and JJ immerse themselves in the holiday cheer.

Ellie, after receiving an enthusiastic welcome from the kids, approaches you with a playful grin.

“How’s the newest little troublemaker doing?” she asks, casting an affectionate glance at Joelseph.

You chuckle, gently rocking the sleeping baby in your arms. “He’s been an angel all morning, surprisingly.” you yawn, tiredly.

Dina joins the conversation, “He’s gotten so big since we last saw him. Mind if we steal him for a bit?”

You nod with a smile, carefully passing Joelseph over to Dina. The little one stirs for a moment, but settles back into a peaceful slumber in Dina’s arms. “He’s all yours.’

The room continues to buzz with giggles and Ellie, Dina, and JJ become a seamless part of the festivities. The kids eagerly show them their new toys, and soon, the kittens, Ginny and Joel join the playful parade.

As the day unfolds, the house becomes a vibrant canvas, painted with the hues of love and togetherness. Joel, now with Aurora on his shoulders, navigates through the lively crowd. You find a quiet moment with Ellie, who is holding Joelseph with a tender smile.

“He’s adorable,” Ellie remarks, her eyes filled with a mix of nostalgia and affection. “Feels like just yesterday you were dealing with my teenage antics.”

You laugh, remembering those not-so-distant days. “Time flies, doesn’t it? Now look at us, and you, with a little family of your own.”

Ellie glances around the room, the sparkle of the holiday lights reflecting in her eyes. “Couldn’t ask for a better way to spend Christmas. And look at Joel, still being the heart and soul of this chaos.”

You follow her gaze to Joel, who is now surrounded by a group of kids, listening intently to one of Jane and Jules’ stories. The love in his eyes is evident as he shares in their laughter and mischief.

Ellie looks back at you, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You both did an amazing job. I’m proud to be part of this.”

And in that moment, as the laughter and warmth of your family envelop you, you couldn’t agree more. This Christmas, with all its magic, has woven another chapter into the rich tapestry of your lives–a chapter filled with love, laughter, and the cherished moments that make your family truly extraordinary.

As the festivities continue, Ellie, still cradling Joelseph, couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease Joel. With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, she approaches Joel, who’s now attempting to disentangle himself from a knot of kids.

“Hey, old man,” Ellie quips, giving Joel a playful nudge. “You holding up okay with all these little rascals running around?”

Joel chuckles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Someone’s gotta keep ‘em in check. You’ll find out soon enough, Ellie. Parenthood’s no joke.”

Ellie raises an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Joelseph. “You’re the expert now, huh? It took you guys long enough to figure out the secret recipe for a baby boy.”

Joel grumbles and feigns offense. “Well, it’s not like we had a manual.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “Says the guy who needed a football team's worth of daughters before finally getting a son.”

You join in on the banter, giving Joel an amused smile. “Took a bit of trial and error, but look at our charming little Joelseph now.”

Ellie leans in, bouncing the baby gently in her arms. “Not bad for an old guy, huh, kiddo?” she cooed, earning a content gurgle from the baby.

As the day of joyful chaos begin to wind down, the once lively house now settles into a more serene atmosphere. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast a gentle glow over the living room as the laughter of the children gradually transforms into quiet giggles and yawns.

You and Joel, tired but content, herd the kids upstairs for their bedtime routine. The kittens, Ginny and Joel, follow along, their playful antics slowing down as they, too, sensing the impending calm.

“Alright kiddos, time for bed.” Joel announces, his tone gentle but firm as he ushers the kids into their respective rooms.

The procession of bedtime rituals unfold–one by one, teeth are brushed, pajamas are put on, and stories are read. The younger ones nestle into their beds, eyelids growing heavy with the sweet fatigue of a day filled with excitement.

As you check on each child, offering goodnight kisses and tucking them in, Joel moves gracefully through the house, turning off the twinkling lights and closing curtains. The house seems to exhale, the echoes of joyous laughter replaced by the hushed whispers of bedtime.

In the quiet moments between putting the kids to bed, you found Joel in the hallway, sharing a look of satisfaction passing between you. The day had been a whirlwind of love and joy, and now the peaceful hush settles over the house like a comforting blanket.

“Another Christmas for the books,” Joel remarks, his voice low.

You nod, a smile playing on your lips. “And many more to come, I hope.”

The two of you continue the nightly routine, gently closing doors and ensuring the house was ready for the calm of night. The soft glow of the light spilling from your bedroom illuminates your path as you and Joel make your way into the room, where little Joelseph lay sleeping in his bassinet.

Joel pauses by the doorway, his eyes fondly watching the baby. “He’s been the best gift, hasn’t he?”

You nod, a warmth settling in your heart. “The best, indeed.”

The day had been a symphony of chaos and joy, a beautiful crescendo that had now found its resolution in the quietude of the evening. As you and Joel retire to your room, you can’t help but reflect on the blessings of family, love, and the precious moments that make Christmas truly magical.

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tizeline · 10 months ago

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I just finished binge reading everything under your separated AU tag and I have QUESTIONS!! (that mostly just stem from me being a mikey fan) Be prepared as I will ramble.

So. My #1 burning mikey question is as follows. Why does he decide to, you know, NOT eradicate all of humanity? Does he just do it because all of his family is? Ugh it’s hard to phrase this but I’m wondering if Draxum’s word means so much to him he changes his entire world view, since draxum was the person who made him believe humans are evil, if he changed his mind he must be right? If he is the very last one to change his worldview, how does he react to the person who essentially indoctrinated him into believing humans are evil just going back on his word? Would he just, idk, try to keep going by himself (proper villain arc style!) Or does he get his own little human/outside friend to convince him, like his two other brothers do? What would happen if instead of a human/outside friend to convince him humans are okay, he gets someone like say, leatherhead, who was experimented on by the earth protection force?(Since in 2012, he was experimented on by the Kraang, but I don’t see a way of that happening when they were locked away his entire life) Huzzah for conflict! or better yet, That same leatherhead convinces him humans are okay? Though that those seem out of character…. And of course maybe it would be mondo gecko, who he befriends and then finds out was human just a few months before and still views himself as such…. So many possibilities!!

speaking of other characters, do the Drax trio have any Yōkai friends? Like one Sunita, or maybe even one yoichi usagi, per chance? Though I’m pretty sure they’d be pro-human so… idk how that would work. The question still stands.

Also, seeing as you mentioned Raph starts to hang out with Leo,Donnie and April, how does mikey react to that? Would he feel abandoned or left out? (Who am I kidding of course he would but like. It does t hurt to ask!)

And seeing as he’s alone now and he’s not training all the time (I hope) this feels like a good Segway into asking: does he have as much of a love for art as in canon? What are his and Raphs interests (since we know Leo’s!)

thanks! I love ur work and ur art and ur Au and ur mother for creating you.

P.s. I had another question I wanted to ask but I can’t for the life of me remember what it was rn so you can expect more asks from me in the near future ;)

Hoo boy, long asks mean long answers, strap in folks!

So EXACTLY what causes Mikey to change his mind on everything is something I'm still working out the details of. Draxum definitely plays a part in it, considering how much faith Mikey has in his dad, Draxum of all people changing his mind would be one of the biggest reasons for Mikey to also second guess himself. It's not like he'd instantly change his entire worldview though, after Draxum gives up on the Evil Plan, Mikey, or rather Dr. Positive, tries to motivate him to come up with a new plan for a short while. He gives up after Draxum makes it clear that they're Done™ with that, and Mikey isn't very keen on trying to do the Evil Plan all on his own considering HIS ENTIRE FAMILY decided to just give up on it. That doesn't mean he'll suddenly start liking humans, he still thinks they suck ass, he just isn't actively trying to cause their downfall anymore.

For both Leo and Raph, a big reason why they changed their minds on humanity was because they interacted with humanity and learned how wrong many of their previously held assumptions about them were. It makes sense that that's the catalyst for both of their redemption-arcs, and in that sense it also makes sense for Mikey to unlearn his prejudices against humans by interacting with them. HOWEVER! You bring up an interesting point, for Mikey specifically it would probably be more effective for another yōkai/mutant to give him a new perspective considering he'd be a lot more willing to listen to them rather than a human. I haven't been planning on including Leatherhead or Mondo, but it would be fun idea so I might do so.?That being said, getting to actually know a human later on would still be a good learning-experience for Mikey, I'm kinda tempted to bring in Woody from the IDW comics into the story too, for example.

So then we get to the topic of friends! Despite The Drax Bros growing up in yōkai society, they're still a bit isolated. They can go and hang out in The Hidden City basically whenever they want (as soon as they're old enough to do so), but when it comes to actually getting close to other yōkai and forming proper friendships...? So first of all, Draxum has a Reputation™ amongst yōkai, he's a well known figure and a lot of people are honestly a bit intimidated by him. Most yōkai thinks it's best to just stay out of his way, which includes staying out of the way of his weird kids. Basically, the bros' association with Draxum has a tendency to get in the way of them actually befriending anyone :/ Not just that, but while there are certainly yōkai who don't have the most positive feelings about humans, the Draxum family's stance on humanity is very extreme, which even most "human-critical" yōkai will find off-putting.

All of this is to say that no, they don't have a lot of friends haha. Leo hangs out at Run Of The Mill all the time, and Hueso definitely has a soft spot for him, but at most he's only acquainted with the other employees and regulars there. I'd imagine that includes Sunita, considering her dad works there and as such they've interacted on occasion. But again, Leo's extreme view on humanity makes most people uncomfortable and as such they'll mostly indulge him in civil small-talk to avoid getting on Draxum's bad side. Raph and Mikey...? They might have some casual friendly connections with some yōkai in The Hidden City, especially Mikey can be quite sociable if he can keep himself from ranting about humans for two seconds lmao. But for the most part, honestly, I think The Drax Bros are content staying a bit closed off from others outside their family. The three of them are very close and they know they can trust each other, that last part's important considering their Big Plans aren't exactly.... legal.... and as such they need to remain secretive about everything to others. I feel like they'd mostly start bothering finding new friends after they decide to abandon their Destroy All Humans Plan.

(Sidenote, I really like when Usagi shows up in TMNT stories, but I've never consumed any Usagi media myself. Almost all I know about both Miyamoto and Yuichi I know through TMNT and as such I don't feel confident enough in my knowledge about the Usagis to include either of them in the story. I HAVE been planning on reading the comics, so maybe I'll include him at a later date??)

But OH BOY Mikey's reaction to Leo and Raph starting to hang out with Donnie and April?? :D Both of Mikey's older brothers ditching him to hang out with their new little brother and his annoying human friend??? :D OH BOY YOU HAVE NO IDEA! :D

Listen, look at this from Mikey's perspective: You finally find your Long Lost Brother™ after thirteen years of him being presumed dead, great! Small problem, he's been brainwashed by the evil humans who kidnapped him and now thinks YOU'RE evil for some reason? No matter! He just needs some time to adjust! So you're patient with him, you show him kindness and understanding while gently trying to guide him back to the good side, to his REAL family. You do EVERYTHING right, and how does that bastard repay you?? HE instead turn your brothers against YOU! He ruins your plans of saving the world! Everything was PERFECT before HE showed up and started complicating things, and now your family is BROKEN and everything sucks! And it can all be blamed on Donnie.

...Hate is a very strong feeling, I don't feel like Mikey is really capable of feeling something like that, at the very least not against someone he does still technically considers family. Rather, I think the best way to describe the feeling Mikey is about to start feeling about Donnie would be bitterness. Mikey takes all the negative feelings, all the hurt and confusion about the situation he's ended up in and directs it all at Donnie. Because it all comes back to him, doesn't it? It was only after Donnie got reunited with them that things started going wrong. And from Mikey's point of view, Donnie has basically stolen Mikey's brothers from him. Needless to say, Mikey is dealing with a lot of negative emotions that he doesn't really know how to cope with them aside from taking it out on Donnie.

Donnie, who is so used to being love-bombed by Mikey is VERY flabbergasted over him basically just completely flipping a switch overnight. Mikey will just be glaring at Donnie like he's trying to explode him with his mind and Donnie's just "???who are you and what have you done with Mikey???". He starts acting really hostile towards Leo and Raph as well, it's all very weird!

Back to me not having figured out the details of the entirety of Mikey's character arc, one thing I'm contemplating is how long I wanna drag it out for. For example, I know I want to change up the events of the movie at least a bit in the AU for the sake of novelty. One way of doing that could potentially be for it to focus not on Leo's and Raph's ever growing tension in their relationship, but rather focus on Donnie's and Mikey's relationship? It'd be extra interesting if Mikey hadn't at least completely gotten over his hang-ups about humans when we bring Casey Jr into the situation. CJ looks at Mikey and sees a younger version of the man that was basically an uncle to him, like family, and Mikey looks at CJ and is just like "ew. human." and that'd be a whole dilemma to deal with. But as interesting as that could be, I'm scared that it'd just get tedious if Mikey is stuck in angst-mode for too long. We still have the entirety of season two to get through before we get to the movie, it's gonna be a while is what I'm saying. Then again, character growth takes time, maybe Mikey reconciles with his own family and starts the path to befriending Donnie by the end of season two, but they run into some roadblocks along the way. They ARE very different people, even in canon, I'd imagine it might take some time for them to properly befriend each other.

But next question - Mikey and Raph's interests! Mikey already likes to draw, but he'd definitely start doing it way more after the season 1 finale (oh wow, a healthy coping mechanism, imagine that!) Raph... Raph likes training. Even after it becomes clear that they're not doing their Big World Domination Plan anymore and as such don't really need to train as much, he still does it just because he genuinely enjoys it. He becomes proper friends with Casey the season one finale and she also really likes training, so it becomes a bonding experience for them. Leo and Donnie later on also introduces him to human media like Jupiter Jim and the Lou Jitsu movies and he gets really into it too XD Nerds!!

... Oh man, I think that's everything! Anyway, thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying the AU so much :D

#Tiz Sep AU #tizel talk #tmnt #rottmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt au

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mightybog · 6 months ago

Text

Twenty Questions for Fanfic Writers

Thank you @liviapeleia for the asks <3!!

Tagging longtime frond @breadkween, fabulous runner of @merlinmicrofic @queerofthedagger (thank you!) and reader and writer who's left me lovely comments @achillesuwu. @mythandmagic, Ao3 is down rn so I can't check but if you have any fics yourself, here's an ask game for you! There's no obligation, presh or time limit of course! Also like @liviapeleia said before me, consider yourself tagged if you see this!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

265,960

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now just Merlin. I've written for other fandoms in the past but each of those works have been standalone.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Always His Destiny | Merlin | A true love's kiss, resurrection and golden age AU written for Glompfest 2024.

Like Every Tree Stands On Its Own | Merlin | A longfic inspired by other Arthurian media/sources featuring Wildman Prophet!Merlin and a magical forest. This is my magnum opus.

What's Mightier Than a Sword and Robs a Prince of His Servant? | Merlin | Pre-slash Merthur minor canon-divergence in which Merlin's talents in speech writing land him a promotion and Arthur is Not Pleased™.

Only Human | Venom | A short gift/exchange fic about masturbation, lol. The fic I received in exchange was also about masturbation. In my defence this was a writing exercise (I promise).

The Sky Is Falling | Nightvale | Unfinished fic about alcoholism recovery, love, community and the complete collapse of reality.

...Okay wow what a mix :D

5. Do you respond to comments?

I really love comments and I love getting into discussions with readers! It really makes my day to see that someone has commented on one of my fics.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Am I allowed to choose a soon to be published WIP? Words Are Dead, a microfic inspired by the Agnes Obel song of the same name in which Merlin and Arthur are unable to communicate when Arthur returns. Merlin has lost Brythonic, his first language, and his capacity to relearn it. He's simply been alive for far too long and his mind has suffered :(

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like Every Tree has a prolonged bittersweet kind of ending but I think Always His Destiny wins.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope/not yet!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, though so far it hasn't been the focus of any of my works, there's no reason why that can't change though (the Venom one doesn't count, I make the rules here). As to what kind I'd say loving and intimate, I guess? Sometimes with a bit of a hurt/comfort element to it. Again, no reason why I can't branch out in the future ;)

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

While not labelled as a crossover, Like Every Tree was heavily inspired by Arthurian media both new and old, and one medieval Irish source. I did so much research for this fic and I'm still down those various rabbit holes. It was a homage to my favourite, janky cartoon movie from my childhood Quest for Camelot. Otherwise I don't write proper crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also don't think so.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No but I would love to!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

I guess it really has to be Merthur! I don't recall a ship ever having such a hold on me. Those two are doomed but made for each other. The way they interact is so much fun to read/write.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Damn, this is definitely Be Here When the Weather Turns, a Mushi-shi fic. It has a very soft, restful and liminal vibe and I adore it. I really do wish I can finish it someday. So sometimes like a song, you share a piece of media with someone, or you associate it with a particular chapter in your life, and that song/piece of media brings up feelings. I'd like to think it's still worth a read. If you don't know Mushi-shi, please consider checking it out, it was weird and quiet and beautiful.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I can't deny that I put a lot of love into this hobby. Also @breadkween has told me that they really like my dialogue :3

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm really prone to typos. I can re-read something a hundred times and just fail to see them. I'm a very slow writer; what I put out usually goes through months of edits and change-ups. Lastly I have embraced a faux-pas or two for fun, such as starting sentences with 'and.' And no one can stop me >:)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'd only be comfortable writing dialogue in a language I've formerly learned and have some level of familiarity with for fear of getting something wrong.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Okay I love this question because the answer is the highly formative Garth Nix's Keys to the Kingdom series, a YA series I was obsessed with, and have continued to read, and re-read as an adult and as unexpected prequels and sequels popped up in more recent years. I wrote it on a literal floppy disk :D First fandom I wrote for that I actually published online was Undertale.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Definitely Like Every Tree. I'm just really proud of it :3

#ask game #Ao3 went down while writing this #I had to employ strange and unusual tactics to be able to paste in the links #merlin fanfic

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terzosboyfriend · 6 days ago

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OKAY okay imagine this

after the.. Situation™ between Phantom and Aether becomes known, Phantom becomes the pack's (and Copia of course, cant leave him high n dry) little Free Use cum dump. He's already such a freak he wants to fuck his brother, might as well help out the rest of the pack with his slutty tendencies, right?

maybe they'll even use him as a toilet while on the road. they cant be stopping at every gas station and lord knows those tour bus toilets are probably either filthy, in use, out of order, cramped or all of the above. so they have to go Somewhere

maybe they even give him a pretty little necklace or collar or tattoo to show everyone who he belongs to

(if you want to split this up into multiple chapters, feel free, Im just going way too insane about this series. you are making me discover things about myself that should NOT have been unearthed but here we are I Guess™)

(also, You know who I am but to make it easier Im just gonna choose an anon signature. is 🐀 anon available? otherwise ✨ anon? if not I will discuss one with you in DM's hehe)

Y'all treat me so well with these requests, feeding me so good 😩

Also, yes, the 🐁 is still available uwu

The way this one shot has turned into a proper fic scares me hahaha, ive fallen in love with this AU

This will be chapter 3!

ANYWAYS

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

Even more Aethtom!!!

Cw for incest, coercion/manipulation, collars, semi-public, caught

Under the cut or on AO3

Nobody except for Aether since that morning had fucked Phantom, hell why would they? Who would want to fuck someone who was happily used by his own brother?

This didn't mean they didn't have their fun using Phantom, though. They just used him in other ways, ways that only got them off. They'd convinced the poor quint that if he didn't do what they wanted him for that, they'd tell Papa, and if they told Papa, then of course he'd separate him from Aether. At least, that's what they all told him.

It wasn't long after the morning with everyone that Swiss had come up to him with a collar, it having a tag attached to it with the word "Freak" on it. It was obvious that Phantom didn't have a choice on wearing it or not, so that meant he wore it nearly all the time.

Everyone had finally finished packing up for the tour, and Phantom was rather anxious if he was being honest. Not only did he have to spend the entire tour in close quarters with Aether, but the rest of the pack, AND Copia as well. Plus, it was his first tour.

The long bus ride felt rather uncomfortable for the poor ghoul, having the entire pack staring hungrily at him from the second he had stepped on it. It didn't help that he'd been straining against his pants long before he even boarded it, either.

The ghoul let out a soft whine as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position that relieved the ache in his stomach at least a little bit. Of course, he couldn't really find one.

After about two hours of being on the bus, Aether had moved over to sit beside him, laying a thin blanket over the two of their laps. Phantom gave a slightly confused chirp at that, only to receive a small shrug, "It's a bit cold." There was something in the older ghouls smile that he didn't trust though.

Phantom still nodded at that, relaxing a bit in his seat now that he was with Aether. That relaxation didn't last long, though, the ghoul giving a squeak of surprise when he felt Aether's hand move to where he strained the most in his pants.

"What are you doing?!" He practically whisper shouted, eyes widening as he stared at Aether. The ghoul was simply using his other hand to scroll through his phone, though, "Just looking at how excited the fans are for the tour to start!" He chirped, showing his phone to Phantom as he gripped him through his pants and started rubbing.

Phantom gave a sharp inhale at the movement, not even paying attention to the post that Aether was showing him. His eyes foickered up to the rest of the pack, all of them seeming to be enjoying the show that Aether was putting on. Copia seemed to be blissfully unaware, apparently choosing now to be going over his plans on the tour.

Aether's phone was pulled back to his own lap, continuing to scroll happily as Phant9m tried his absolute best to not squirm or make a noise. Why the hell were they playing risk today? They told him themselves that Copia couldn't find out.

It didn't take long before he was moving to undo his pants with practiced ease, the ghoul squeaking again and gasping out a very soft moan when he got a proper grasp of him.

Aether quietly shushed him before laughing out loud at his phone. "People are already freaking out over who my replacement is!" This seemed to pull laughs from the others, making Copia only glance up from his papers to eye the two of them for a second. "Really? Fuck, you've got a lot to live up to Ant!" Swiss laughed out, receiving a pleasured and rather forced laugh from Phantom.

Aether was stroking him now, and it was not slow either, the urgency to toy with him evident. Phantom awkwardly picked his own phone up now, trying to scroll through it to seem less suspicious. But then he received a text, and then another, and then another. Confusion went over his expression. It was muffled with the look of pleasure, though.

He opened his texting app to see three different ghouls all sent him photos. The ghoul gasped as Aether started focusing on his tip, already beginning to feel his edge. Being used by the others hadn't helped his endurance at all, especially when, more often than not, he was left still wanting.

Hesitantly, he opened up the conversation he had with Aurora. She was the sweetest on him, after all. And then he was slapping a hand over his mouth, trying to cover a gasp or a moan, he couldn't tell. He stared at the photo that had been sent to him, it being from that morning he was fucked stupid by his brother in front of everyone.

It was a beautiful photo to say the least, practically perfectly in time with when he was cumming hard as he was being held up. He had to force himself to swallow another moan before exiting and moving to his chat with Swiss now. The photo wasn't much better, it was a view of him with his mouth around Aether's cock, from that same exact morning.

Phantom's eyes rolled back as he moaned, feeling how Aether stuck a claw right in the hole at the tip of his cock, only pressing just enough to cause just pleasure. Copia glanced up again, receiving a pitiful excuse of a smile from Phantom. Simply rolling his eyes, he went back to the paper, of which encouraged Phantom to check that last photo.

This one was in Cumulus' chat. This is the one that shocked him the most. It wasn't from that morning surprisingly. Instead, it was from that first night that he had even approached Aether for help. Just like a majority of the other times he was played with, it was a complete surprise when he was gasping a choked moan out.

A visible wet spot formed on the blanket as he came, body tensing and shaking as Aether thankfully worked him through it. It was so much, and all at once. But then he was coming down and had realized his hand was pulled away from his mouth with Aether holding his wrist.

The post orgasm haze took several more moments to go away, but when he did, he realized that not only was the pack staring at him, but Copia was too. The man didn't say anything, though, simply staring at him with visible shock in his expression. "Awe, looks like the pervert got caught, no fun!" Dewdrop said with a faux whine.

Phantom had quickly tried to give some sort of explanation to Copia, any sort of defense, but he just found himself babbling nonsense instead. He was still breathing hard, which did not help his case whatsoever, but then Aether kissed his cheek and whispered into his ear. "He knows."

Phantom immediately shut himself up after that, feeling his face quickly become hot as he looked down at his lap in shame. "I'm surprised you all waited this long before keying me in..." Copia huffed, his own cheeks tinted red but not in a bad way.

Copia was turned on. "Fuck, one of these days I need to share him with you Aeth.."

#the band ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #terzo is my boyfriend #dead dove #dead dove do not eat #phantom x aether #aether x phantom #aethtom #phanther #phantom #phantom ghoul #phantom ghost #aether #aether ghoul #aether ghost #skeleta #skeletour #terzo writes

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violetganache42 · 10 months ago

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And now, a compilation of highlights celebrating our favorite trouble making triplets (so troublesome that they would not stop causing technical difficulties throughout the stream):

Pre-stream

The first highlight before we began the watch party proper

Lottie doing pre-stream entertainment until WriteBackAtYa's laptop was working again… not realizing that it was working again all this time.

"Donald's Nephews"

Dumbella

Dewey wearing an orange shirt

quiltedmushroom: Donald is almost unintelligble Me: "I'll show you unintelligible!"

CANNIBALISM

Me realizing why my "I'll have the duck" comment was considered as "spoilers"

WriteBackAtYa: Why does Studio Ghibli food always look so good?

"Allowance Day"

The return of whitewashed Daffy

"SCROOGE"

GASLIGHTING????

The music when the triplets were pretending to be a radio station

WriteBackAtYa: *suggests Bubba Night* puffywuffy8904: uh oh

WriteBackAtYa: Can't get whiter than 87 Fenton talking amirite!??!

Jeepers

Tokuvivor and I quoting one of the best moments from Scoobynatural (I was HOPING he would reply with "Son of a bitch" and I was not disappointed. XD)

Remembering the triplets broke the economy during Scrooge Night earlier this year

Scrooge making deals with a Banana Republic

Launchpad appearance!

Scrooge attacking a dictator. Why? Because he can.

The entire episode in a nutshell:

Caro pointing how this episode feels like a premise for a Regular Show episode

Uno and "Dead Duck" mentions???

"NOOOOOOOOO"

The expectation of Scrooge saying "Come back here, you little shits." (After what happened, he deserves it. lol)

"The Split Sword of Swanstantine!"

Scrooge failing a spot check and noticing Lena and Violet had tagged along

Speaking of which, Sabrewing sisters appearance!

Scrooge getting suplexed by a woman after mistaking her for Black Heron

Violet: "Should I change out of my pyjamas first or—" Me: "NO TIME! CUE THEME SONG!"

「Meh…」

Just. Dewey it!

All the constant Dewey puns lol

Scrooge and Black Heron getting trapped by societal convention (It was SO awkward for them. lmao)

DO NOT ACCEPT CHECKS FROM THIS MAN

Background buff wolf girl!

Missy: smash rockerduck

Sky pirates cameo!

The Spice Baron saying all cheetahs are cheaters

The Duck-McDuck family revealed to be a global legend thanks to their ongoing adventures

Violet's scream after eating all the spices (I fucking love how her character was fleshed out throughout season 3. lol)

Praising the writers for giving us the three children duos in this episode

Steelbeak appearance!

"And I… I love you?"

(Play dumb!) "What sword?" (Not that dumb!)

THE DUKE OF MAKING A MESS

Lena being a big sister to Huey

Huey unleashing the Duke/McDuck temper on Steelbeak:

youtube

puffywuffy8904 pointing out the similarities between Huey and K.O. accepting the Duke and T.K.O. as the respective parts of them

"Your bazaar adventure is over."

youtube

"Um… BAIL!"

AFTER HE THAWWWS

"Can't Take a Yolk"

QUACK PACK

Donald suddenly having a six pack

The salesman reminding me of Wes Weasley from Adventures of Sonic the Hedgehog

Everyone freaking out about the humans

Us getting secondhand embarrassment from Huey trying to flirt with the blonde twin girls

Donald's OG design appearance

"THOSE ARE CHILDREN, DONALD."

Uncle Doofus (I'm scared. ><)

Praising the fact that Quack Pack gave us one of the best versions of Daisy

Hair color inconsistencies for the twin girls

Remembering Donald was in the Navy

Missy: the fearsome five can split me limb by limb

Palookas

Llewella (Don't deadname Louie like that!)

The Discord lag making this episode an experience™

This episode reminding us of a Darkwing Duck episode

Elvira Coot mention?

LITTLE DONALD! Also…

Me seeing Donald holding and going after a red balloon:

youtube

The irony in Dewey trying not to let Donald's egg fall

The episode ending with Donald becoming a giant

All of us needing to process what the fuck happened

Us concluding that this episode singlehandedly caused Discord to break

"The Fight for Castle McDuck!"

Dewey and the viewers learning why Scrooge says "Bless me bagpipes" (thus leading to the implications of a cursed kilt)

"No! Bad nerd!"

WriteBackAtYa commenting how something always ruins Webby's trip to Castle McDuck

MATILDA!

Missy fucking thirsting for Matilda

Huey and Louie walking away grumpily after Dewey hits the former, causing the latter to fall off the chair

The noise Scrooge makes while being put in a headlock

Learning that the art book says Hortense and Quackmore are both alive and living at Elvira's farm (I honestly thought they were dead because of Disney's mandate of the Sensational Six's parents not appearing/having major roles!)

PEPPER!

Phantom Blot Naruto running

This shot of Webby

"If one of these bagpipes kills me, I'm gonna be so mad at you."

Scrooge rubbing Webby's back to comfort her! 💖

"MAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

D O W N W I T H M E

This episode showcasing how it accurately portrays sibling dynamics

Pepper's sneeze

The entire scene of the McDucks struggling to flip the table (My assistance didn't make a difference.)

Us spamming the DedDewd emoji during the BEST scene in the entire episode

"I'MYOURFAVORITE?"

Everyone inserting McScrooge in the family's surnames

Nathan: Does this family do anything other than fight?

Titus, aka Dirty Dingus, biting Fergus

Webby's anxiety about the family splitting up and guilt for causing so many arguments and fights 😢

Scrooge, Webby, and Matilda all sharing a hug!

EMUTILDA

Puffy and Missy fighting more than Clan McDuck

SCENES ANIMATED BY KHION YOHANN

"Music Day"

Mortimer jumpscare

Horace mention!

Clara Cluck and Clarabelle Cow appearances!

Pete jumpscare

Imagining a House of Mouse reboot with the DT17 triplets as a boy band (Jet, Turbo, and Rebel are their band names)

puffywuffy8904: I don't know what's hapoening anymore and at this point I'm too afraid to ask

The return of Squirrels in my Pants

Quack Pack jumpscare

LAUNCHPAD MENTION

LUDWIG VON DRAKE APPEARANCE!

Kid HDL being voiced by Tony Anselmo instead of Russi Taylor for some reason

Story Blossom: Louie eats hot dogs in it Me: DT17 Louie is gagging

"DONALD NO"

Us saying DT17 Donald would beat the shit out of the short's version of him

Godfrey: "You're alive?" Me: "You're alive! *faints*" Godfrey: "You forgot to tell Donald?" Me: "Whoops. 😅"

EllaKai: tbf Donald had it coming Godfrey: *singing "Cell Block Tango"*

"Day of the Only Child!"

Us looking forward to this episode!

Dewppleganger

Dewey picking up Webby and spinning her around (Don't you fucking tag this as ship, you sickos.)

"And this is why we need Only Child Day." *smack!*

Another Launchpad appearance!

Jamie and Tokuvivor fanfic shoutouts!

Huey bonding with Bouncer and Burger

Missy: cumin CUMin

(Not during Huey time!)

Learning that the art book also says there were plans for a Bouncer redemption arc and him becoming Scrooge's personal chef, but it unfortunately got scrapped (I remember @real-life-pine-tree and I talking about that idea a few years ago, long before the art book was a thing!)

Doofus' debut in general (I don't blame Louie for spamming the elevator button. ><)

Duckworth mention

"We're dead inside."

Guhmeemama…

"RUN LOUIE RUNNNN"

"What is he gonna do with the umbrella and walnuts?!"

Dewey Dew-Night!

Monseuir Saucy

The severe Discord lag making the stream a funnier experience

Dewey's Louie voice sounding like Miss Piggy

Me: "Webby, you can come out." Everyone: Webby having lesbian thoughts about Lena (I love it! XD)

"'She knows.' Shut up, Louie."

"Brothers again? Brothers again. Triple threat!"

WHATEVER MAKES YOU NOT HURT ME

Dewey looking back at Webby as she was singing the Dewey Dew-Night theme

#my post #duckblr movie night #dt cafeteria table #duckblr #donald's nephews #ducktales #ducktales 1987 #allowance day #quack pack #can't take a yolk #house of mouse #music day #ducktales 2017 #ducktales reboot #ducktales season 1 #day of the only child!#ducktales season 3 #the split sword of swanstantine!#the fight for castle mcduck!

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ancuninfiles · 10 months ago

Text

Lithium Pt. 4

Screenshot by @lavendarr00

9.3k words - F/M - Astarion x F! Durge - 18+

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence.

Summary: Astarion nearly walks in on Ronnie during a very private moment. Mortified, Ronnie throws her toy under a pillow, pulling up her pants and… letting him into her apartment, as he's found a better way to restrain her this time.

Oh... and Ronnie makes Astarion watch Twilight: New Moon

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Tags: smut, AU modern setting in London UK, mental illness, p in v sex, creampie, cunnilingus, shibari, bondage, TW domestic violence (not with Astarion and Ronnie), roleplay, dirty-talk

MASTERLIST (Other works and chapters)

Read on AO3 for full tag list and proper formatting (recommended)

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

Beginning notes: CONTENT WARNING for this chapter, but Astarion will always be a softie :3 I promise.

9.3k words. Like Comfort™, This one has been sitting in my files—over 90% done—for a long time. I guess sometimes I just agonize over how to finish a chapter... it's like... my motif or something LOL.

I really got my Gonzo on with the beginning of this chapter. I was ✧*̥˚𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘵˚*̥✧...

Anyways, to the few people who like to read fucked up shit like this, enjoy <3.

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒: 𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭

꧁꧂

The dildo: an object shaped like an erect penis used for sexual stimulation—according to the Oxford Dictionary.

—Boring, basically useless phallus. Does nothing.

—Good for nothing.

—Takes thirty minutes to get me off; If I do at all.

—Fucking sucks.

—Waste of my Godsdamned time.

...

Jen had taken Ronnie to a sex shop when she first got together with Alfira, suggesting it would "spice things up". However, the extra "spiciness" became unnecessary once Alfira’s trachea nearly collapsed in Ronnie’s grip.

It happened in Jen's bed, the morning after one of her parties. While Jen was making breakfast, Alfira and Ronnie had taken over her bed. They'd been intimate before—always at Jen’s place. Although they weren't exclusive, their relationship was certainly developing. At that time, Ronnie had only ever been a danger to herself—her violent outbursts occurring solely in the privacy of her own flat. She didn't yet know what she was capable of.

From what Ronnie could recall of the incident, one moment she was giving head, and the next, she was on the floor of Jen's bedroom while Jen tried to calm Alfira down.

Apparently, Ronnie had straddled Alfira and was attempting to strangle her to death—her hands like a vice on her lover's neck. Alfira had been screaming, calling for help until her throat was seized. Jen barged in at the perfect time, put Ronnie in a headlock, and dragged her off Alfira.

Jen did the damage control—she let Alfira know that nobody would ever believe her and that if she told anyone, she would never be allowed at her house again. Shortly after that, Alfira was completely excommunicated from their “friend group"—if you could even call it that.

And it was true that nobody would've believed her. Ronnie was known to be a pacifist, even standing back, unable to form words and frozen in place as she watched Jen get into fights. Jen always said it was better that way so that Ronnie wouldn't get hurt.

Since that day, she hadn’t seen Alfira— hadn’t been able to apologise, get closure, or make amends. Nothing . She knew Jen was only trying to protect her, but the rot in Ronnie's stomach grew tenfold that day; not only from discovering the boundlessness of her violent ailment but also from the guilt of what she’d just done.

Remembering such things didn't aid in Ronnie's climax—or lack thereof.

—Distractions

—So many distractions.

So she pulled the phallus from her top drawer, eyeing it with scepticism, knowing it would bring back bad memories.

However, in it went.

It was a wretched pink silicone thing—a “rabbit” or something of that nature. Press a button, and it tickled the outside and undulated on the inside; both futile operations if you're too anxious to get off

—Fuck.

Trying to cum was a regular occurrence for Ronnie—at least once a week. She didn't care for porn—it was all made for men, so she relied on her own broken imagination.

Lately, her imagination brought her to Astarion; but with the thoughts of Astarion came the shame of wanting him, and, subsequently, the knowing that she'd never have him.

The cycle would repeat in circuits of two minutes or so, on and on for thirty minutes until she gave up or fruitlessly orgasmed on the wretched, pink, silicone phallus.

—Useless.

Not like sex is important, anyway. Sure, it felt good.

Well...

It felt great; but was it necessary? Certainly not.

Especially in regards to friendship—and she and Astarion were just friends… Barely friends.

—Just met.

—Wretched friends.

—Just kill me, already.

—Anyways...

Resisting the nymph would prove challenging; thankfully, it's extremely responsive to “no” and “stop”.

But, likely, also very responsive to “fuck me” and “kiss me” and “spank me” and—

—Kill me... Maybe not that one...

Of course, Ronnie knew she was attractive, but her naked form was disfigured with jagged, protruding scars all over. She felt like a monster—her beleaguered skin only matching the sickness within.

Nothing a long-sleeved shirt and leggings couldn't hide—that is until you're spread open. Maybe then, the darkness would help, but eyes adjust eventually, and Ronnie would only be lying to herself if she thought otherwise.

She felt ill, her stomach lurching at times by simply staring at her own reflection. Other people surely would feel the same. The only reason she’d felt so comfortable being nude around Alfira was because Alfira has similar scars.

Yet, Astarion had seen her nude form and...

reverence, every time. Washing her like an expensive car, stitching her like a cherished doll, and touching her as if—

... as if she mattered to him, God knows why.

Well... maybe it was because he wanted her to kill his boss—however that would go down, she wasn’t sure.

She got the impression that he wanted to teach her how to win—how to cheat at poker in exchange for her assistance… as if she could control it. As if she wanted to “bask in gore” as he did.

—Gods... what a freak.

There are limitations to what a friend would do. Ronnie might kill for Jen if she asked—if she needed her to...

Jen would kill for Ronnie—without a doubt, or a second thought. That's what friends do—that's what Jen says.

But to build a friendship based on murder? Well... that was—

... different, to say the least. She'd come close before—to murder—but never succeeded. She never wanted to succeed.

She wanted a break: a drink.

꧁꧂

Movie night at Jen's place was the day after Friday afterparties, where Jen would invite some close friends to watch cheesy classics, horror, and comedy—but mostly horror.

Nocturne would sit on the couch with Jen and Wyll. Sometimes, others would join—the flatmates—but Ronnie sat in her own seat, away from the fray of intimacy, not speaking to anyone.

The movie night-goers were accustomed to this. They let her watch quietly in the corner because they were nice people —respectful adults. Jen wouldn't have it any other way, of course, lest they wish to be tossed in the teeming rain on their arses.

And so they sat with the TV as the only light source, eating popcorn and drinking vodka straight or mixed with anything.

A proper Saturday night—in recovery from Friday night. Jen's hand-me-down velvet chair more than sufficed as a routine seat. Nag champa incense burned on the coffee table, and tarot cards might be read later, as Jen was an avid believer in their prophecy.

This night’s movie was Twilight: a supposed romance about a vampire and a teenage girl who fall hopelessly in love with one another.

Bella, the main character, moved from Arizona to Washington to live with her dad in a small town called Forks. Shortly after, she met Edward, the aforementioned vampire who happens to sparkle in the sunlight.

Bella's eyes lit up upon seeing his glittering form, but Edward recoiled in shame at her admiration. “This is the skin of a killer, Bella,” he said.

Everyone in the room giggled when he said that, and Ronnie joined in the joviality, realising that it was indeed a very silly interaction between the two characters, considering the inoffensiveness of sparkles.

At one point, Edward seemingly teleported into Bella’s room where he watched her sleep, to which Wyll said, “That's just not right.”

It was discomforting to watch the choked-up vampire talk about how he wanted to kill Bella... just because he thought she was hot? And because he couldn't read her mind like he could with everyone else?

Perhaps he confused lust with hunger somewhere down the line. To Ronnie, craving chips felt quite different from horniness. However, they allegedly abstained from sex until marriage in the penultimate movie because Edward was too afraid of hurting Bella while shagging.

—Relatable. But as if marriage would make him less dangerous.

It could have made more sense, and the story could have been better, but Ronnie actually enjoyed it overall.

How wonderful it would be to be lifted from your mundane reality by a romance with a supernatural creature. Also, she related to Edward in the way that she, too, felt like a monster—always on edge, worried about being a danger to others.

That night, she slept in the spandrel as usual, only to be woken by the sound of plates smashing in the kitchen. Lae'zel—Jen's girlfriend—had stayed over, and their relationship was tumultuous, to say the least.

At times, they would almost seem like the perfect couple. Other times, however, they were at dire odds, and Lae'zel would hurt Jen in a myriad of ways.

“You think you're such a princess because Vic takes care of you. Some of us have experienced real hardship,” Lae'zel would say, but it was untrue.

Jen had been kicked out plenty of times, and she'd had to fuck for a place to rest her head at night. Vic was anything but merciful when it came to Jen, and it didn't help that she was her landlord, her boss, and a huge philanthropist to the hospital where her dad stayed.

Vic had kicked Jen out for a slew of unjust reasons, those being:

Not paying rent on time, but Vic hadn't sent Jen's pay that month.

Not cleaning up after her disgusting flatmates.

Jen struggling with addiction.

The list goes on, truly. Unfortunately, it was after these bouts of verbal and physical violence perpetrated by Vic and Lae'zel that Jen would spiral further into substance abuse. Ronnie had seen it many times—where Vic would leave after letting Jen know how “worthless” she was, or Lae'zel would slam the door after claiming that it was “over”; though she would always be back within a week with a box of cheap chocolates, apologising and claiming that she'd change.

“I love you to death,” Lae'zel would ominously exclaim, as if she'd be the one to end Jen.

Ronnie knew the look on Jen's face too well by this point—the pursed lips and wet eyes. Surely, her stoicism was crushing her throat. But there was no stopping her in her ascent to her bedroom, where she'd lock the door behind Ronnie, unwilling to accept any comforts—the type that she'd consistently given Ronnie. No , she'd dig her stash from under her bed and get to work, meaning: get as fucked up as needed to numb herself.

It often ended in Nox having to knock the door down, lest Jen drown in her own vomit or overdose on ketamine or whathaveyou. Vic and Lae'zel weren't aware of Jen's fragile disposition—or, at least it didn't seem that way, considering their unrelenting cruelty towards her. Jen would never tell them about what she'd done after they’d stormed out—it'd probably not make a difference, anyway.

Ronnie would wait outside Jen’s door, leaning her back on it as she sat on the ground. “Jen,” Ronnie would say, not knowing what to offer other than her presence. “Please, Jen.”

Jen would not respond. All Ronnie could hear were the rustling of bags, sounds of nasal insufflation, or the sharp exhales after swigs of liquor.

Narcan was kept in the "House of Grief” and it'd been used on Jen before. She always acted resentful when the ambulance showed, metaphorically pushing everyone away because she thought herself deceitful enough to make her friends believe that she was a cunt, after all. To which they would retort with a “nice try” sort of attitude.

— As if losing Jen: my cunt friend would be easier than losing Jen: my friend.

When she'd get out of the hospital, she'd essentially pretend that nothing ever happened—life went on like normal, and “I'm fine” became her two favourite words in the English language.

Cliché.

꧁꧂

Ronnie sat on her shabby couch, scrolling and scrolling. It was a Monday night, and she'd had the day off work. She'd prepped her meals, stretched, exercised, and cleaned her flat—it always becomes a wreck after a few days, but she usually manages to tidy once a week.

Behind the couch was the chipping-white-paint-covered beam and stool, then a blank space, then the kitchen where the ceiling light dimly illuminated almost the entirety of her basement flat, except for her bedroom and bathroom.

The leak dripped, and the mould on it grew every day. Ronnie wanted to get it fixed, but then she'd be alone with the handyman in her flat: a terrible idea, considering her history of violence.

It had been almost two weeks since the tavern and, of course, no sign of Astarion. Maybe he'd changed his mind about her, or maybe he simply got bored.

Ronnie… missed him. They never exchanged numbers, as neither Astarion nor Ronnie brought it up. She would have thought that he'd leave a piece of paper with it written down for her to see when she woke up at the tavern, at least, but no. Nothing . She thought it might be better that way because if she hadn’t scared him away yet with her problems, she'd surely scare him away with her eagerness. She'd have to make a constant effort to text him no more than once a day—at most.

Since the events at the tavern, Astarion had been on her mind more than was justifiable. It bordered on entirely obsessive—obsessed with countering the lustful thoughts, contemplating the meanings behind his words. What was the deal with his boss—was he some sort of mobster? And Astarion—what part did he really play in all of this?

Over the past two weeks, she had likely spent hours staring in her bathroom mirror, admiring her wound, pulled tight like a corset—although not too tight, of course. She would examine it up and down and run her fingers along the sides, feeling the slight burn of her swollen tissue. It felt almost as if the dissolving thread was Astarion himself, diving through her laceration and holding it together. She imagined herself tearing it open and reaching for her heart through her ribcage, handing it to him like a cat with a dead bird at his doorstep.

And then there was the fourteen hundred pounds he'd given her—she hadn’t spent it yet. She didn't know what to do with it.

—Maybe something for Jen.

Jen needed a new laptop—she was always complaining about hers glitching out, freezing, and crashing. So Ronnie browsed the web in search of just that.

It was amazing—the type of laptops one could buy with fourteen hundred pounds; but what brand would she want? Would she want a large screen or something more compact?

— Hmm... I'm bored.

But, out of her periphery starred the wretched, pink phallus—the torturous, useless thing.

Though; useless as it was, Ronnie sought to give it another go—not accepting total defeat just yet.

So she sat up, pulled down her flannelette pyjama trousers, grabbed the thing off the coffee table, hoisted her knees up, and got to work. Facing the black TV screen, she closed her eyes to avoid visual distractions, mainly her scars.

She tried thinking—imagining ideas of what ought to get her off.

A beautiful woman above her, glistening all over with dexterous fingers. Or maybe a man with a skilled tongue, or maybe—

—Alfira.

...

No. She would stay focused.

The man with the skilled tongue is... doing things with his tongue and he is hot...

— No.

— I need to get groceries. I hate the grocery shop. Maybe I can just use some of Astarion's money to have them delivered.

—Astarion is hot.

— No. I can't think of him while I'm doing this.

—But he...

Ronnie remembered vividly their first night together, when he'd been inside and teased her so. What if he'd continued? What if things went further? They both could have finished—finished with each other. On each other, in—

She was so close. She allowed herself to imagine that maybe he was right there—inside her. She tried picturing his body, and the way his muscles would ripple with the smallest movements—with each thrust, perhaps.

How his hair would be damp with sweat and his expression— oh, his expression would be sinfully picturesque. It would be a face one would never catch him making except for in the moments before rapture.

And his sounds—his little grunts of pleasure.

“You take me so well, Ronnie,” he'd say. “Such a good girl, all for me.”

It was the closest she’d been in weeks—right on the precipice—

*Knock-knock-knock*

…

She panicked, throwing the thing under a pillow on her couch and hastily pulling on her trousers.

—Who would be knocking on my door at eleven at night?

She tiptoed to the spyhole in her door, making sure not to be too noisy in case she didn't want to answer.

But it was Astarion, standing and waiting patiently with a bag on his wrist and his hands in his pockets. His hard chest was evident under his buttoned-up shirt.

Her face reddened; it couldn't have been worse timing for him to show up—or better timing, depending on how she looked at it. Maybe he could cuff her to the pole and take her on the floor— NO.

She couldn't. What if she lost her wits amid a shag? It would be humiliating for her.

—But he said he would wait there for me—wait for it to be over.

Even still, was that enough insurance? No. She thought she'd better be safe than sorry.

Elated, Ronnie opened the door to look at him through the chain lock, but she suddenly became very aware of how plain and makeupless she was, so she bit the inside of her cheek to ground herself.

“Astarion!” she started, sounding much more eager than she'd meant to. “Hi. What are you doing here?” She smiled, lowering her pitch.

He wore a dress suit again, but this time, with an unbuttoned raincoat. Dressed nicely, as always.

His pocketed hands drew Ronnie's eyes lower to where his narrow hips were, but her gaze didn't linger there for more than a moment.

He looked relieved. “ Ah —finally. I've been coming here almost every night looking for you,” he said. “ Er —may I come in?”

—He's been looking for me? Oh my Gods, yes. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you so much.

Ronnie cleared her throat. “ Ahem —do you have handcuffs?”

Astarion held up his bag. “Yes, I have all the fixings.” He grinned roguishly.

Ronnie wanted to scream into her pillow and punch her mattress a hundred times or more. She had an unignorable rising feeling in her chest that reverberated through her arms—a feeling she knew was bound to make her stupid. What could he possibly mean by “ all the fixings”? Had he brought treats? Games? Gifts? She had to know.

Reeling herself in, she responded coolly, “Right. So the protocol is you have to cuff me to the beam immediately as soon as you come in. That always has to be our number one priority. Yeah?”

Astarion gave a curt bow. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Are you ready?”

“Very.”

—I hate you, you stupid freak.

—I hate how you make me feel.

—Why do you make me feel like this?

Ronnie gritted her teeth. “Set.”

Astarion huffed a laugh, throwing his head back—which exposed his perfect smile—but ultimately, he bent his knees in a playful battle stance.

“Go.”

Ronnie slammed her door shut and unhooked her chain lock. Astarion opened the door before she could open it for him herself, and she giddily ran to the stool that was always at her pole. He closed the door and laughed mirthfully, approaching her already. She tried to suppress a grin as he ran up and hooked her cuffs on behind her in one swift movement.

Ronnie tugged to test her restraints, and she sighed happily, feeling the stability they provided as Astarion hung his coat on her coat hooks and rolled up his sleeves.

Astarion stood in front of her, arms crossed with his bag on the ground beside him, looking awfully satisfied and smelling delicious. She wanted to bite him, only softly to steal a salty taste... or to immobilise him. She scrunched her features, shooing away the intrusive fantasy.

“Have I ever told you how good you look when you're helpless?” Astarion joked.

Ronnie blushed, averting her gaze from the handsome man. “Whatever. You can quit the evil act. I know you're not going to hurt me,” she spat; although, she wanted him to hurt her—only a little. And she knew he would if she asked.

“ Oh? But why would I do that when you clearly respond to it so well,” he teased with a devious and toothy grin. She wondered how much of her bullshit he could see straight through.

Ronnie chuckled, craning her head back. “What did you come here for, anyway?” He'd been looking for her. It had to be important. Or maybe she was important. Or... what she was capable of. Nevertheless, he was there—right where she wanted him, or close. She preferred him to be closer. But she wouldn't—she wouldn't cave.

He held his chin in thought for a few moments. “To see you,” he started, “and I suppose to teach you a few little tricks—using sleight of hand with card games.” His voice was smooth but raspy, almost like the sound of a bowling ball rolling towards its pins.

“Oh... that’s calm. Okay.” She nodded, looking at his feet.

She should have guessed that he'd only come to continue their “business”—not to simply hang out. It might make it easier to keep it in her pants, but his flirtatious remarks were tugging at her strings already. She was thankful that he'd shown up with a purpose, after all. And she was thankful that he hadn't abandoned her—that he'd been looking for her, even.

She never thought someone could want her after knowing what she was capable of, or what her body looked like—save for Alfira, but it was hard to come by someone with morals as pure as hers.

He'd called her visage “ominous.” Shouldn't that have meant that he was repulsed? But he still made advances on her after sharing his derogatory and unwanted opinion—maybe he liked “ominous.”

“Also, I've thought of some solutions to the mobility issues that would arise given our use of handcuffs.” He put one hand on his hip, and all of his weight on one leg as he feigned disinterest, looking at his nails. “Although the cuffs are the most convenient, they didn't seem like the most... practical, nor the most comfortable idea.”

Ronnie's lips parted, her eyes sparkling with intrigue, or perhaps enamourment at his thoughtful consideration.

“Do you want to see what I've come up with?” he asked, pulling his phone from his pocket.

She bit her inner lip. “Yeah, sure,” she drawled, unsure of exactly how much gratitude to display, as she had to avoid leading him on.

He fussed with his phone for a moment and then showed Ronnie an image of a mannequin that had been intricately tied around its torso and waist. It looked beautiful, but it also looked quite lewd, somehow.

“This is called ‘shibari’. It's an ancient Japanese roping technique that has been historically used on prisoners. Now, however, people primarily use it for art and— er ... sex, to be quite honest,” he said, briefly chuckling after his statement.

Cheeks flushing, Ronnie kept her gaze on the screen as he swiped to another picture of a mannequin tied similarly, but this time the rope extended through the groin.

“Of course, some of these are a bit more... salacious than others, but I thought I'd give you options. Given your circumstance, it only seemed fair.”

He swiped to the next image, this time showing the back of a mannequin with its arms fastened straight vertically, adorned with knots along their length. It looked much more comfortable than the handcuffs.

“Um... is this okay?” Ronnie asked, rubbing her knees together nervously. She couldn't quell the dirty images in her mind of her tied up—naked and displayed—free for him to touch in whatever way he pleased.

“What, tying you up? Sure! It's perfectly fine— er ... that is, if you want to, of course.” He tilted his head, smiling awkwardly.

—This doesn't have to be sexual. He said it was originally used with prisoners. I am just being tied like a prisoner, she justified to herself.

“ Um ... we—we can try,” Ronnie stammered.

—Fuck. Now I'm stuttering? Stupid.

“Just don't make it weird, please,” she added, only partially confident that she would be able to rein herself in. She would have to count on him.

“ Me? ‘Make it weird’?” He scoffed. “Why, I would never,” he said, frowning disingenuously.

“Astarion... I need your help with this,” she tried her best to sound serious. She knew that shagging him would be wholly reckless—unfair to both of them, given her condition.

“Relax! I'm only joking. Ugh —you’re no fun,” he teased. “ So ... which one would you like?” Astarion asked.

Ronnie squinted at his screen as he flipped through the carousel of pictures, looking for the one that looked the least perverted.

One, in particular, caught her eye: a harness that only hugged the torso and shoulders without riding between the breasts or groin. It was perfect and safer than the handcuffs for both parties involved. She doubted that she'd be able to free herself of the binding, and she wouldn't be able to dislocate her wrists in it either. Additionally, it looked like a comfortable setup, and she'd even be able to traverse a portion of her flat—as much as the rope connecting her to the pole would allow.

“Can we do that one?” she asked.

Astarion looked at his phone. “Of course. This one should be quite easy, actually,” he exclaimed, squatting to grab a red rope from his bag. “Could you stand, please?”

“ Oh —yes, of course,” Ronnie said, standing and moving around the pole—away from her stool.

He unravelled the rope and then folded it in half to find the middle. Then he began his wrapping and knotting. He wrapped above her shoulders and around her ribs, honed into his work as he was when he'd stitched her.

His brows knitted together and he bit his bottom lip while he focused, pulling the rope through the loops made around her shoulders as it brushed against the fabric of her loose cropped t-shirt. Ronnie held her breath almost the entire time, as each brush of his tender digits made her internally recoil in shame.

Next, he moved to her back, fastening her arms to the harness and immobilising them. The binding felt more secure than the cuffs, but without the discomfort.

As he was finishing up, Ronnie had a fleeting recollection of what she’d been doing just before he came in—what she'd been thinking about. But she gritted her teeth and attempted to relinquish the thoughts.

It was a consistent effort, in the silence, though. She thought she might have more luck once he began his lesson.

To be fair, Ronnie didn't really care about learning how to cheat at poker, but he seemed like he wanted to show her, and she was simply happy to spend time with him at this point—she wasn't going to be picky when genuine friendships were so difficult for her to come by.

Once he bound from her shoulders to her elbows, he unlocked the handcuffs and then proceeded to tie his last knots along her upper limbs. Then, he pulled a separate rope from his bag and stuck his fingers under one of the loops in the middle of her back, inadvertently jostling Ronnie and consequently gripping her arm to steady her. She must have been hot because his hand was cool against her skin, and she wondered if she was red like the ogre at the tavern.

He fed the second rope through her harness and knotted it to her before doing the same with the other end on the pole.

At last, she was free of his touch, grateful for the chance to create some distance between them.

Astarion stood in front of Ronnie with his hands on his hips. “All done, safe and secure. You’re free to walk about, but the second rope is only about three metres long. It’s safest to keep it that way.”

Ronnie tugged at her restraints as hard as she could, but they didn’t budge. She walked until the rope connecting her to the pole was taut, then leaned her entire body weight on it, giggling as she balanced on her toes at a forty-five-degree angle.

She felt a slight tug and looked back to find Astarion pulling at the rope towards the beam, also testing its strength.

“As I thought, it won’t come undone easily,” he said, letting go of the rope.

“How’d you learn how to do this?” Ronnie asked as she straightened up.

Astarion paused for a moment, walking around to the sofa with his bag in hand. “Let’s not exhume the past tonight, eh?” He plopped onto the sofa, awfully close to the pillow under which the thing was hidden, causing Ronnie to gasp sharply through her nose.

When it came to exhuming the past, she could do without revisiting what she’d been doing immediately before Astarion arrived. She really ought to have put away the thing before letting Astarion in, but she’d been too distracted by his presence, and she could all but hope she wouldn’t have to pay for that mistake.

She climbed over the back of her sofa in her bare feet and settled on the opposite end from Astarion, feeling the plush cushion beneath her.

He pulled out a deck of cards and began to shuffle, the cards snapping crisply between his fingers. “The first thing is that, of course, you’ll need to know where the cards are in the deck.” He set the deck on the table and flicked the corner up with his thumb, exposing each card for a split second. “That’s how much time you have to take in the contents of the deck. Now—if I’m looking for the Jack of Spades, I can find it right here.” He lifted a portion of the deck and showed Ronnie the card at the bottom of his chosen section—it was the Jack of Spades. “You’ll need to learn the weight of the cards—how ten cards feel versus... twenty-two cards, and so on.”

Ronnie watched him put the deck back together and riffle the cards, her eyes drawn to the way his fingers moved deftly, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each gesture. There was something hypnotic about his movements—a grace that made everything he did look effortless. She imagined those hands on her skin, the same dexterity applied to tracing lines along her body.

He continued shuffling in a myriad of ways, his voice a low murmur. “The most important part, when you’re first starting, is to wait for an opening—wait until your opponent’s eyes are busy. That’s why you’ll begin with Heads-up—one-on-one poker—��

Ronnie could hear the cadence of his words, but her focus was on his lithe fingers, the way they worked through the cards with such precision. His fingernails, perfectly manicured, danced across the deck, and she wondered what those fingers would feel like in her mouth.

“Ronnie?” His voice snapped her from her trance, and she realized he’d stopped talking and she’d been staring at his hands.

She shook her head, trying to clear the haze. “Sorry. I’m just—distracted. Do you think we could maybe watch a movie instead, tonight?” she asked, giving him a tense smile and hoping he didn’t notice the flush creeping up her neck. Though; the mischievous glint in his eye and his roguish grin informed Ronnie that he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and that caused her to stir slightly in her spot.

“If that's what you'd prefer.” He shuffled the cards one last time before placing them in the box and away in his bag. He retrieved the remote from the coffee table and switched on the TV, navigating to the built-in streaming service.

Ronnie hung her head in relief before looking at the list of recommended shows and movies. He flipped through them, witnessing her embarrassing stack of dating shows under the “Continue watching” section. Tensing, she held her breath, but he didn’t seem phased by her taste in media. She could've been sure that he’d tease her about it, but he didn’t say a word.

One movie in particular caught her eye: New Moon, the sequel to Twilight. Her eyes widened with excitement. “ Oh! Can we watch New Moon?” she asked.

“I remember hearing about this one a decade ago. It’s about werewolves and vampires, correct? Infamous for its mawkishness?” Astarion asked.

“Yes! Exactly!” She bounced excitedly. “I just watched the first one at Jen’s not that long ago.”

“ Hm— I’ll entertain this, sure. We have to change it if it's boring, though,” he said, clicking on the movie and then getting up to flick her kitchen light off before returning to his spot on the couch.

“Yes! Okay, I'm so excited. I've never seen it before.” She shimmied, bringing her knees to her chest.

Ronnie watched raptly as the opening scene began with Bella in a forest clearing with Edward. They approached an elderly woman, only to find out she was Bella’s reflection. Glancing at Astarion, she saw his brows knit together in a frown, clearly already entranced by the film.

He was… cute —the way he seemed utterly intrigued.

“He can go in the sun? He's sparkling,” Astarion asked.

“Yeah. He's all bitter about it, as well—haha,” Ronnie giggled.

“Bitter? Gods . You think he would be grateful that he doesn't burn to ash.”

Bella and Edward were standing together in the school parking lot when Edward said: “Jacob's here,” before Jacob was within eyesight.

“How did he know that Jacob was there?” Astarion asked.

“He can read minds.”

“Terrifying.”

“Except for Bella's, but Alice can tell the future, and Jasper is always hungry and constipated-looking,” Ronnie exclaimed.

Bella was sitting at the back of the class watching Romeo and Juliette with Edward. They were casually talking about the movie when Edward—out of the blue—exclaimed that he envies Romeo because he committed suicide.

“He envies Romeo because he killed himself? Edward is a fool,” Astarion said, frowning.

“You're granted immortality, and you can walk in the sun, but you spend your days in high school around a bunch of teenagers? Their master must be some sort of eccentric. Though, it beats rotting away in a kennel.” Astarion seemed personally offended by this premise, causing Ronnie to stifle a giggle.

“Those ‘Volturi’ seem like awful creatures. Quite ugly, as well,” Astarion said, and Ronnie enjoyed his commentary on the movie—keeping her entertained.

Jasper—the constipated one—became feral over Bella's papercut. In response, Edward pushed Bella away from him to protect her, but she flew into a table, injuring herself further. Alice had to escort Jasper away.

“ Oh —I like this movie,” Astarion exclaimed, smirking.

—Of course he would say that during the most chaotic scene, Ronnie thought.

Carlisle—the “father”—stitched Bella's wounds, and he mentioned to Bella that he believed he was “damned” due to his vampiric condition.

“‘Damned’? These vampires are free of a master, they live in a comfortable abode, they can walk in the sun, and they think they are ‘damned’? Ridiculous,” Astarion said.

“I know. It's a little silly, but I guess I understand if they're depressed,” Ronnie added.

“Edward is in love with this beautiful young lady, and he refuses to change her? The stupidity,” Astarion spat.

A scene played where Edward breaks up with Bella in the woods because he's moving away. Bella said: “I'm coming,” to which Edward responded: “I don't want you to come.”

Astarion huffed a chuckle. “I would never not let you come, Ronnie.”

“Sod off.”

As a result of Edward's abandonment, Bella fell into a deep depression, and a scene played where she was staring out of her bedroom window as the months passed by.

“Is this what you do when I'm not around?” Astarion asked, grinning.

“No.”

“I'm hurt,” he said, grabbing his chest in mock offence.

Bella began spending more time with Jacob after experiencing a hallucination of Edward’s presence while riding on the back of a stranger's motorcycle. She realised there might be a link between the hallucination and engaging in life-risking behaviour, so she decided to take advantage of Jacob’s skills as a mechanic. Bella brought him two dirt bikes from the scrapyard, and Jacob helped her fix them. She rode one of the bikes intending to induce the same “Edward hallucination.” While it worked, the distraction caused her to crash the bike and smash her head against a rock.

“He's clearly reinforcing Bella's dangerous behaviour. How does he not see this?” Astarion protested.

The movie continued, showing Bella spending even more time with Jacob, their friendship nearly approaching romantic territory.

“This Jacob boy isn't half-bad,” Astarion said. But when Jacob started lashing out towards Bella and her friends, Astarion changed his mind. “Nevermind. I take back what I said about him earlier.”

Eventually, the plot dragged on and Astarion became frustrated. “There are no vampires in this movie!” he complained, shifting his position on the couch and sitting on the pillow.

The moment he descended on the pillow, it began to vibrate—or rather, the thing began to vibrate under it.

Mortified, Ronnie's eyes widened and she held her breath as Astarion half-stood to search for the source of the buzzing beneath him.

“Wait!” she raised her voice in a panic.

He stood, crouching in front of the couch. “Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out where that sound is coming from. I can rewind in a second, don't you worry. I—” He froze, lifting the pillow to find her toy undulating beneath it. “Oh—I see.” His face of confusion quickly warped into one of mischief at his discovery.

Grinning, he lifted the phallus and inspected it before switching it off. “We've been very naughty, today—haven't we?” His head was unmoving but his conniving stare landed on Ronnie's face. He smiled, almost strategically so—or that's how it felt.

He looked away only to pause the movie—a freeze frame of Bella.

Ronnie sat back in horror, watching him examine it . If it wasn't for her restraints, she would've snatched it from him already. Blushing, she frowned, gritting her teeth as her heart raced with embarrassment.

There was no going back now—not since he'd seen it . If she could've erased it from his mind like her amnesia, she would've.

She hadn’t spent all that much time with Astarion yet, but she already surmised a few of his consistent character traits.

One: he was an instigator.

Two: he was cunning.

And three: he was opportunistic.

“No,” she denied his allegation, as it was all she could manage in her fragile state of shame—feeling stupid for letting him in; for not putting away her toy properly beforehand.

Her desire crept up on her, its languid grasp much like a boa constrictor. Attempting to ground herself, she shook her head. She knew what was coming next—he wouldn't drop this… wouldn't let her live this down.

“ Hm ... Good girls don't lie,” he purred, hovering over Ronnie as his shadow cast on her.

Checkmate.

He had her.

And she felt small under his stare.

“Now—I'm going to give this a little wash, I think, and then I'll be right back.”

Ronnie watched as he waltzed away, past the couch, out of her field of vision, and into the darkness of her kitchen.

Visions of Astarion played in her mind as a needle on vinyl—visions of him “torturing” her with the thing. Her womb throbbed at the idea.

She heard the ominous sound of running water emanating from the kitchen, and then—even more ominously—the footsteps towards her after it stopped.

Astarion—phallus in hand—climbed onto the sofa, facing her. “You must've been in an awful hurry to hide this, considering its location and the remnants that adorned it,” he cooed. “Pray tell—it was within you when I arrived at your door, was it not?”

— How did he...?

Cunning

Opportunistic

Perceptive

Instigator.

Ronnie bit her inner cheek, her brows tensing as she shook her head. Her breath was caught in her chest as her head became weighty on her neck. Instinctively, she laid back, her nape resting on the arm of the couch as she watched him crawl closer, like a feline.

“ Tut tut, Ronnie. You truly are too easy to read, you know,” he teased. “I’ve always wondered: do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

—Yes, you bastard.

She looked up at him—framed by her thighs—eyes pleading, and excuses stuck on her tongue.

Her eyes pleaded for mercy—mercy of any breed. All or nothing. But—at this point—she'd prefer the former.

Her thoughts became muddied, snuffing the enervated flames of coherence and obligation.

“Your lips look so pretty when you bite them like that—so... kissable,” he rasped, climbing atop her.

The sudden taste of iron invaded her mouth. She hadn’t realised she was biting her lip—but she’d been biting it hard enough to break skin.

Ronnie released her lower lip from its toothy restraint, and she saw a flit of something restrained in him when her lip bounced back into place.

The way his palms sunk into the sofa on either side of her made her arch her back expectantly.

He leaned in, and she gasped, feeling his cheekbone fleetingly make contact with hers.

His breath brushed her ear. “You know, Ronnie,” he started, “I wish for you to confide in me—your desires,” he whispered.

Ronnie's knees neared her shoulders—his hips, hovering inches from hers.

“If it helps, I'll share mine first. Would you like that?” he purred, playing with a lock of her hair.

He rose from her torso, humming low and soft as he watched her, tilting his head condescendingly and sitting on his heels.

And Ronnie felt like something precious was torn from her.

Her skin tingled, yearning for his touch. Astarion's cadence was soothing and his demeanour, benevolent. She let her eyelids fall closed, remembering the safety of his embrace after their first coupling. She'd never felt so cherished before; or at least… not that she could remember.

She wanted it again.

“Tell me,” Ronnie said, her voice trembling with nerves.

“ Hmm... ” He snaked his hand down her shin, leaving sparks in its wake. “I want to roam your body with my touch,” he began. “I want to make you whimper and squirm as I fill you,” he cooed, teasing under her waistband with his fingers. “I want to hear you breathless while I make you come undone.” He splayed his fingers under the hem of her shirt. “Your turn,” he instructed.

Ronnie arched her back, finally finding her breath again as the nerves melted into solace. “I want... your touch,” she whispered. “I want to kiss you again… please ,” she pleaded, rolling her pelvis into his, and—to her delight—finding his hardened length; though, it was imprisoned by his trousers.

Dropping the phallus, he grabbed at her hips and pulled her core to his hardness. “ Mm —there we are. You'll find that I'll reward you for honesty,” he hummed, slotting his fingers under her waistband and pulling her pants off, leaving her fully exposed, scars and all. He leaned into her, caging her in with his elbows. “How innocent of you—to want a kiss; though I'm sure you want more than that,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers as they shared breath.

Ronnie let her lashes flutter shut as she basked in the feeling of his skin—so close to hers. He pressed his forehead into hers—their noses, staggered.

“I'm right, aren't I?” He smooched her experimentally. “You wish to be ravished, don't you?” Teasing, he pecked beside her lips.

Ronnie felt as if her shabby couch had transformed into a cloud as she wrapped her legs around him. Even her disorder felt like a distant axiom, with the way he enveloped her.

“Tell me,” he said, pecking her cheek. “What is it that you truly want?”

Ronnie craned her head forward, capturing his lips, to which he promptly reciprocated. Astarion groaned into her mouth, and she could feel his smile as they kissed. His cunningness was troublesome and inescapable.

She was at a threshold she hadn’t planned to cross with him again, but the safety of her bindings began to feel much like the safety provided by her lithium on the day they’d met—safety that would give consequence to the morrow.

Capitulating, Ronnie pulled from his kiss. “I want…” she breathed, “I want to have sex with you.” She found his lips again, pecking him roughly.

Astarion growled his assent, their lips colliding once more as Ronnie could hear him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his trousers—music to her ears.

Their mouths disconnected with a pop, and Astarion stood to unbutton his shirt. As she'd expected, his body was impeccably toned, and his muscles rippled as he discarded his top on the coffee table.

He slotted his thumbs under his waistband. “What a sight, you are—now that you've given yourself to me, at last,” he teased, relinquishing himself of both his formal trousers and his briefs.

His length sprang free—it was much larger than her meagre toy and it glistened with precum in the television's dim light. She had no recollection of shagging someone with a penis, and, of course, her sexual relationship with Alfira was painfully short-lived. And so, excitation became her, as she laid with her thighs resting on her tummy which bounced ever so slightly as Astarion sat on the couch to pull off his socks.

“You're such a princess, you know?” he teased.

—Princess?

Ronnie tilted her head away, huffing. “ Hmph —I’d be doing more if I wasn't tied up like a... rabid animal.” She scowled.

Astarion threw his head back, chuckling darkly. “That’s not what I meant—and you're tied up like a gift, not a ‘rabid animal’,” he mocked, crawling atop her form. “I'd quite like to unwrap you, my dear.” He tugged at her shirt, easing it through her bindings to crumple just above her breasts. “ Oh —your wound healed beautifully, I see.” He traced his finger beside it, languidly.

“Yeah.” She blushed. “Thanks, again, by the way.”

Astarion quirked up the corner of his mouth as his hands slotted beneath her—one under her back and the other, carding through her hair. He eased her towards him so that her head rested comfortably against the pillow. Consequently, she felt his length brush against her folds.

“Better?” he asked, peering into her eyes as he caressed her cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah... Thank you,” she said, her eyes, heavy-lidded with desire.

— So courteous.

His face seemed relaxed, except for a barely perceptible intensity in his brow. At last, he descended to her breast with his open maw, flicking her hardened pebble with his tongue. Thumbing her other nipple, he gave her nip a playful bite, causing Ronnie to squeak as he rocked his heavy length between her folds.

He created a trail of small hickies from one breast to the other, thumbing her now-wet nipple.

Ronnie twirled her pelvis, trying to urge him inwards, but her efforts proved futile.

Groaning, he disconnected from her mound—a string of saliva between them. He kissed her, hungrily sucking on her lower lip and grabbing her waist rough enough to bruise her marred flesh.

Breathless, he pulled away, and Ronnie’s lip bounced back into place.

“I’m sorry. I seem to be... getting lost in you. Are you okay?” he asked, frantic.

Ronnie welcomed a reasonable level of pain—their first tryst being evidence of that—and his ungentle treatment hadn’t phased her. “I’m good,” she said, attempting a smile to stifle his woes. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” he said loudly before catching himself. “No. I just... need to keep my teeth to myself, that's all,” he scolded himself, looking away.

“ Hm —I don't mind. Don't worry,” she hummed. “I like it.”

He sighed, closing his eyes as he held her waist. He snaked his hands under her bottom, and crouched, lifting her core to his mouth. He relaxed in his position as he began lapping at her clit, sticking a thumb inside her as he licked and held her up with his forearm.

Sucking on her bud, he removed his thumb, only to replace it with two digits which he pumped into her at a consistent pace. Astarion closed his eyes, his brows furrowing as he feasted on her like a starved man—lewd, wet sounds emanating from his tongue and lips.

Ronnie's thighs tensed as she approached her climax—breathing heavily, pliable in his grasp.

He placed the flat of his tongue on her, working her similarly to her toy, but—of course—better, as it was Astarion. Astarion, who she'd been restraining herself from since after their first coupling—denying herself the pleasure out of trepidation... because she didn't want to hurt him. But, with her wrapped up, he could more than handle her— devour her.

One last raucous emission—deep from within Astarion's chest—was enough to break the bough, splintering Ronnie into broken cries of release.

She went limp entirely, his fingers still working inside her, and his tongue relenting before he removed his face. "That's it," he murmured, " good girl." He spread his digits apart inside her. "You're going to take my cock so well, Ronnie. You're doing so well," he said, kissing her clit ravenously and making her hips lurch as she panted, overstimulated from her orgasm.

Chuckling darkly, he let up, grabbing her thighs and parting them as he aligned himself with her weeping nethers. He sunk into her slowly, allowing her to stretch and adjust to his size as his tip hugged her cervix. “See? You were made for me,” he purred, setting a dilatory pace. “ Really. I should have kept you tied up for me to fuck whenever I pleased the day we met—kept you hidden away for my own personal use—my little prisoner,” he rasped, snapping into her. “You would like that, wouldn’t you—to be my cherished fuck slave?” His rutting quickened.

“Yeah,” she whined, picturing herself, his bound and subservient personal whore. Astarion truly had a way of plucking the right strings, as if he knew exactly what would make her sing for him.

Nobody had ever done that before.

He used her hips as leverage, rotating them forward so that her back arched and he could thrust into her at the right angle. “You wish to be mine to fill whenever I want, I know it. You want me to spill inside you and coat your womb with my seed—to be fucked until you’re swollen and sore from my cock,” he rasped.

Eyes wet, Ronnie nodded, messy with perspiration as she cried her assent.

“ Good girl. See what happens when you’re honest?” he praised, sucking his fingers and then dutifully reaching them to rub her clit.

Ronnie moaned through gritted teeth as she watched him work her, feeling awfully stuffed by his member—so long and wide and pressing up into where she felt it most.

With a snap of his hips, he sheathed himself fully, stilling as he worshipped her bud with a rapidly moving hand. “I want to feel you cum on me, darling. Cum on me, and you’ll get your reward,” he said, warming his pulsing girth in her channel.

Tears flowed from Ronnie’s eyes, and her muscles flexed as she felt him twitching inside of her. She let go, weeping, watching him choke out an undignified moan as she quivered around him, violently clutching him with her climax.

Astarion squeezed his eyes shut as he finished with her clit, allowing himself to move again. Grabbing the backs of her thighs, he pushed her knees towards her chest, forcing her to fold in half. Watching himself stretch her folds, he would languidly pull out—almost completely, leaving only his tip sheathed—before thrusting back in with punishing snaps of his hips. Ronnie's bound body was no match, as it was forced up with each sloppy pound of his pelvis.

His lips pulled into a satisfied smirk, watching her bounce haplessly. All she could do was take it; it was everything she wanted since she began to crave him. Her body and mind's reaction to his ruthless sexual treatment came as a surprise to her, as she'd only ever been with the kind and gentle or selfish types; or at least, that's all she could recall.

His grip on her thighs was pressuresome and wild—sure to mark her skin. Her back rubbed against the rough polymer texture of the cheap couch as he slammed into her, his smirk faltered as his breathing became more erratic.

Again, he slowed. “Does the princess want to be filled with my cum?” he asked, condescendingly. Entering her fully, he began twirling his hips teasingly so that his girth would compress against every bit of her inner walls in a venerated circle. “Honesty, my dear. What have we learned?”

Ronnie felt entirely debauched with her damp, limp body and her humiliating whines. She wanted to get him back for his incessant teasing, but the euphoria was overwhelming. He must’ve been close, she could tell by the way he kept stopping. So she clenched her lower muscles, squeezing him inside her—babbling out a broken cry of agreement as she took her revenge by bestowing pleasure.

As she'd expected, his composure shattered momentarily at that. He began slurring curses, and leaning in—resting his elbows at her sides. Kissing a line from her lips to her neck, he sucked her skin into his mouth. His rhythm picked up—hard and fast as he chased his climax.

Ronnie closed her eyes, tilting her head, and allowing him to ravish. Although he was glistening with sweat, his cologne still whelmed her, relaxing her as he speared her over and over. She flinched when she felt a sharp and sudden pain on her throat, where he was creating hickeys, but it quickly faded. Unbothered, she let him continue, as she loved the feel of his lips and tongue anywhere on her body.

She wished she could wrap her arms around him, embrace him how he’d embraced her, and she mused about doing so the next time they were somewhere less secluded.

For now, she pressed her legs into his sides as he slammed into her, emptying himself at last. But he was unrelenting with his latch on her throat. Pity, she wanted to see his o-face, but she revelled in the feeling of his churning tongue on her neck.

Fully within her, he muffled a whine on her skin before tearing his maw from her and licking her where he had placed the bruising kiss. “Shit,” he whispered, pumping into her before lifting his torso from hers and admiring their entanglement, frowning and grunting.

He thrust into her once more before pulling out, covered in their combined fluids. Sitting back, he stared at his mess for a moment, leaning his side on the back of the sofa and quirking a brow.

“Are you okay, my dear?” he checked in.

And he massaged her knee…

The reverence…

The tenderness…

It felt like… like nothing she’d ever felt before.

And she wanted it to last forever.

“I’m good, yeah.” She swallowed, nodding with the smallest smile as if she didn’t just experience a drug-like euphoria because of what they’d just done.

She had to be cool…

She had to be calm…

He hung his sweaty head, shaking it as he laughed. “Do you remember how I told you that there were things I couldn't disclose to you yet?” he said, his voice quiet and benevolent; although you could hear his smile when he spoke. “I seem to have created a situation that requires my transparency.”

꧁꧂