MSWarriorBabe

When you see the shapes of the new flight crafts on the hill, looming far in the distance, you understand at once. It’s happening. It’s happening, neatly lined up in the golden rising sun. It’s happening in a hundred pairs of boots on the ground, and the distant orders of the faraway man. Kavalier’s promise is bearing fruit.

By the time the sun has risen, there are already men scrambling up those hills, gathering in swarms, all a blur of black headgear and blue navy bodysuits. You watch from the high balcony of the main complex, already feeling the heat of the day, already wishing for the wind. Curly is here too, leaning over the edge of the bannister in a way that makes your heart beat faster for the worry of it. As the last of the sunrise fades into the day, the ant-men far below weave between each other, alive and in wait. From here, you can see the early morning fog is hanging heavy as it drapes across the horizon, but the swarms of Kavalier’s men are above the weight of simple fog.

Treasures, you remember being told. Yutani’s ship is going to bring treasure to the world. And here are the little men sent to fetch all the King’s gold.

“They’re all everywhere,” Curly pipes up from her bannister edge. You bite back a nag as you watch her. “I’ve never seen them do this before. Are they going somewhere special?”

You have to bite back your reply to this, too. Special to him. “You know, I’m not entirely sure, Curly.”

“Well it’s odd. But then, I’ve never been up here watching, so maybe I’ve just never seen it.”

“Maybe,” you agree. “Maybe they’re doing some kind of….practice drills.”

Curly steps back from the bannister and bounces on her heels. You breathe a sigh of relief, only to find it souring into contempt when her face scrunches up. “Drills for what?” she asks. “Nothing happens around here. Why would they need to do drills? It’s not like we’re at war or something. Not these days. Are we?”

Credit where credit is due, Curly’s intuitive nature is bang on the mark. Unfortunately for you, this is just too much and too soon. “We’re not at war,” you say, and throw in a laugh to reassure her. Not yet anyway. “But this is an island of highly classified experiments and highly important people,” you reach over and touch a finger lightly on her nose. “Like you. They’re just here to keep you all safe.”

“Safe from what?”

A drizzle comes on, too, ominous as ever a bad omen there was to be. And as ever, Kavalier’s men move as if they are untouched.

You breathe another sigh. “From the world. It’s dangerous out there. Strangers.” Technically, this part isn’t a lie; you just neglect to tell her which strangers, and what form they’re taking.

Whatever was stirring up in the West, your friend was going to get it all. Come rain or shine, storm or strife.

Down in the tech rooms, business swans on exactly as it always does. Curly bobs along behind you as you make your way down, and takes a usual seat beside Arthur for another one of the tests. Tone Indication, he tells you, but you just yawn into your palm and wave for him to continue. All these names and technicalities ring familiar to you, but it’s nothing you care to bother with. Not this early in the morning, at least. All you’re here for is the children.

The slow atmosphere tells you all you need to know about the situation. No one here seems to know about the crash just yet. Definitely not about Kavalier’s plans, either. You’re certain everything might be different if they did. There’s a lack of anticipatory bated breath, you feel. No one’s on edge. There are just more contagious yawns, and the steady clicking of keys, and the rattling of pens on clipboards from muffled corners.

Something about the monotony of the task settles the oddest sense of calm on you, despite the day’s happenings. All that’s up in the air remains far away from you as yet, and the steady lull of Arthur’s industry tests threatens you to the call of your dreams.

The tests themselves are simple. All the children need to do is don some headphones, sit tight, and raise their hands whenever they hear the tone trilling prompted by Arthur. These are strikingly familiar; some of the very first tests you'd watched them subjected to after they were put into their new bodies. Most are done between ten and fifteen minutes, with daydreaming and lack of concentration being expected within this short frame, of course.

Curly is up first. Then Tootles. Slightly and Smee insist on taking their trip together, which only ends up totalling their test times to thirty minutes each, but allows the entire room the respite of a genuinely heart-warming hour of tired smiles and a steady contentment of a good laugh. It’s a worthy trade-off; the screens on the left wall are starting to tell the tales of Kavalier’s plan. In full motion. The crash is no longer happening. It has officially happened. And here you are, laughing in a plush chair in the tech room floor, miles away in a safe building on an island, breathless because of the potty humour of two children.

Nibs is next up. Her wide-eyed watchful nature almost undoes all the distraction the boys had given the floor. You’re lucky she’s more interested in knowing what you had for breakfast and lunch than the screens. She finds it amusing when you tell her Kavalier denied breakfast with you this morning, and more so when you exaggeratedly pretend to be infuriated by his actions. Though at first you worry she’s showing in-empathy for the crash scene, you’re assured by her regular stolen glances that you’d been far off the mark. This little girl is doing what you’re doing - distraction. Distraction is easier a currency than in-empathy. You thrive in it. So, when Wendy brings up the rear end of the day’s testing, you’re hardly indulging yourself in the happenings of the screen at all, and hardly paying attention to the tone indication, too…hardly paying attention to Wendy, almost falling asleep…

“Why don’t you have kids?” Wendy asks Arthur curiously, raising her hand. Your eyes snap back open as you shoot him a panicked glance.

He waves you off with a brief nod as he addresses her. “Well, we…we tried to have kids. But I…I have a low sperm count.”

“Sperm,” she repeats, ghosting on a giggle.

“Yeah, sperm. It’s a funny word.” Arthur continues to fiddle with the test controls.

“Isn’t a sperm what comes out of a boy?” She raises her hand again for the test. “And then goes into the girl’s egg?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

You bite back your own amused giggle when Arthur shakes his head at you with an exaggerated eye roll. For what it’s worth, you think he’d have made a great dad. Previous conversations with the couple pass through your mind. Interactions with Dame Sylvia. Off-handed remarks about you being motherly to the Lost Boys rather than a nanny. You begin to suspect the unease between you might be down to something far deeper than an unwillingness for more than a professional relationship. Something far more delicate than the sharp undercut of pre-ordained judgement you’d previously assumed her behaviour was attributed to.

Wendy swivels her chair to you, on her right. “You’re an adult,” she nods, as if only making note of this fact right that second, “Why don’t you have kids?”

Your tongue gets stuck somewhere between ‘I’ve been busy’ and ‘I have you guys’. Really, there is no answer, but ‘I don’t know’ has not so far seemed to suffice any others of the ducklings’ childishly curious questions. Your mouth is still gaping when the crew to Arthur’s side start rattling off the immediate test results. Something about 75,000 hertz and being higher than human frequency. They’re scrambling. Arthur falls silent. Wendy’s attention darts away from you. There’s no time for a sigh of relief; her attention is not on the crew or the results. It’s on the screens.

You stand up as she pulls off her headphones. “Wendy?”

“Oh, Wendy…we’re uh…we’re not done yet,” Arthur tries to hand them back to her. “Put these back on. We're not…uh…we’re not finished here.”

Her attention remains firmly on the screens.

And then Wendy begins to swipe through the footage on the screen behind you using only her index finger and a concentrated impulse. Both you and Arthur exchange another startled look with each other. She sorts through the clips until she lands on the video of soldiers running in the site of the crash, where she pauses, and watches closely.

“Has she done that before?” he asks you, his voice wavering as the two of you watch the synthetic girl hone the footage in front of her.

“You didn’t know she could do this?” The question, though only half-meant, is answered with silence. It’s easy to understand that this counts for the affirmative. No one here knew she could manipulate the screens this way, and, by the befuddlement written on the staff’s faces, certainly no one can understand how she’s managed it.

It’s all you and Arthur can do to watch the video in stunned silence. Between her newfound skill and the chaos erupting on the crash site, you finally feel it. The shift. The trepidation, the danger, the coin tossed in mid-air. The ‘Happening’ of Boy Kavalier.

There isn't much conversation when you steer Wendy back in the direction of the central room, where the other children wait. Most of the polite small talk you try to start up falls into barely muttered responses in the face of blatant distraction. Wendy's mind is far away. Wendy's mind is at that plane crash. Halfway there, she stops abruptly, tells you she needs to find Kirsh, and darts out of your sight.

You sigh and rub your hands tiredly over your face. What you wouldn't give to be back in bed three nights ago, when all of this was nothing more than a distant future or a fading nightmare threat.

In the central room the other Lost Boys seem content enough, lolling against each other and the couch, staring into nothing and laughing over stupid kid-like jokes. You've caught them assigning animal counterparts to each other and everyone they know on the island. Naturally, they're all an explosion of giggles, an explosion of which bursts afresh when you poke your head round the door to tell them you're going on lunch. It's here you make a mental note to chase one of them up on what animal they've chosen for you. It won't be a hard task. In fact, you're sure any of them are like to give in and spill the secret with only a mild prodding to get the answer. But whatever animals they've chosen for each other, it makes little difference to you; they're still your ducklings.

Admittedly, lunch this afternoon seems wholly a trivial affair. You could almost hear what Kavalier would've said. What time is there for sandwiches while the world is changing? And to this you would've laughed back at him. Well, the world is always changing. You are not entirely sure you're very hungry either. Perhaps more in want of the mundane of your routine, the assurance that one thing is normal at least. Perhaps the chance to hide your slow brewing panic from the children. Whatever the reason, your feet are operating on autopilot, and you find yourself in the mess hall before you realise where you are.

Taking meals here is not a usual habit for you, not with the constant invite of Kavalier, but then, there's no chance of lunch with your best friend this afternoon. You know that much is true without asking. Kavalier had been so distracted this morning he'd not showed up for breakfast in the sun room as he usually did, so distracted that he'd forgotten to cancel his plate, or cancel his breakfast invitation with you. His place lay in futile wait with empty dishes before it, his seat an unusual absence of chatter and snark. The morning had turned out to be an undeniably peaceful affair. Your own pick of breakfast, your own pick of music, and your opportunity to freely yawn into your palm as you relished the early morning silence. There was the sound of your own thoughts, too. And yet in some strange way you missed him despite it all.

Lunch is sordid; run of the mill not-quite-satisfactory options with an underlying scent of bleach and chem -fresh accompanying it all. These silver canteens are never a match for the careful plates atop of Kavalier’s table in the sun room. There are soggy bottom pizzas, the usual leafy salad you once saw a bug in, standard triangle sandwiches, quiches, pastas, three kinds of fritters, boiled vegetables. You notice the steamed fish is particularly untouched. Everyone's still markedly skittish from the recent large-scale salmonella incident, particularly after it'd been chalked down to the fault of native fish. This dish is likely to end up straight in the trash. Poor things, you think, gazing down at the white fish meat in the overfilled canteens, you've died for nothing.

A few of the lower floor white coats wave you over to sit with them while you eat. Though you're sure you don't have much to say to such high level scientists, the opportunity not to sit alone is a beckoning all too sweet to refuse. You quickly learn two of them have siblings working in Kavalier’s Prodigy corps. They tell you that neither of the two know if their siblings have been dispatched to the crash this morning. The other has parents who live close to the site.

“Alexei from upstairs is the same…so are a bunch of others, from what I hear,” one of the coats, June Sethi, details to you. Beside her the others mutter their agreement.

Hearing of the connections between them all is largely unsurprising. It's well known that Prodigy is fond of making deals with its people. Work for us, your family will be better off. Jobs for all of you. One sibling in the militia almost guarantees another a spot higher up, one higher up almost guarantees another a spot in the militia. For Kavalier and the company this means loyalty against the others of the Five. Even if employment with the company doesn’t offer a family member a job, more often than no it affords them a place in the city. For the employees this means stability, plain and simple. And with job scarcity at an all time high, you can only imagine these kinds of offers are not to be taken lightly. And now, this means most people here must have family who live right where the crash has happened. As you chew, thinking about how your best friend has so much sway on the lives of the masses, even outside of the crash, the food in your mouth begins to sour. You've never thought about it this way before.

“I've been trying to buzz my sister whenever I can but…”

“No joy?” you finish.

June Sethi laughs lightly, contained. “Yeah. That's her name, funnily enough. Joy,” she shrugs. “Guess Mom and Dad never pictured her with a hard hat and a rifle when they picked that out.”

To her right Walker Erwin points at you. “She could find out if they’re alive. Or dispatched. You could do that, couldn’t you? Isn’t she Boy Kavalier’s best mate? Or something?”

“Or something,” another of the coats says. His name evades you, but you don't like the way he stares.

June nods. “Couldn’t you?”

Your mouth gapes and it takes a moment to regain your composure. “I…I don’t know. My job doesn’t have anything to do with that.”

“Nanny,” Walker scoffs. “You know my Ma loved you when you were a kid. Had copies of all your songs. Said God made you special. You, and your mate. Boy Kavalier. She thought you two hung the stars.”

“Great good that did you,” the other coat sneers.

“Look at her now, Ma. Eating rotten fish with the rest of us.”

“Bet she doesn’t love ‘em now.”

“Wouldn’t know, she’s dead,” Walker glares at you sourly.

June waves a hand to back them off. “Leave it.”

“Why? It was hard work that did her in, and I bet those two haven’t had a hard day in their lives, have they?” The other coat smirks. Walker stares. Even June doesn’t disagree. “If anything happens to our families because of the crash, and your friend is sitting up high, it’s blood on his hands. But you should know that, shouldn’t you? Fuckin’ prodigy.”

“Shut up. It’s not worth your job,” June is saying.

“No. You’re not going to get fired for saying the truth,” you reply. They look taken aback at that. Are they? It’s here you realise everyone is staring. There are cameras above you and all around. Even if you keep your mouth shut, you can be sure the word will reach him anyway. “He can’t help if Yutani’s people crash a plane,” you lie easily. “He’s just trying to get everyone out okay. I’m sure your families are just fine.”

Walker runs a hand through his hair, sighing deep. “The Five are always playing their own games. On the land we live in. There’s bound to be repercussions eventually.”

This much you can’t deny. Again, you’ve never thought of it this way. “I hope that day is not today.”

“You’re really clueless, aren’t you? That day is every day.”

The attentions of the others fall behind you. The silence that has befallen the surrounding mess-hall benches are filled in with the sounds of soles on stone. It’s Kirsh, and he’s beelining for you. It’s the sight of him that settles the balling panic inside your chest.

He stops short in front of you. Briefly eyes the white coats. “The Founder wants to see you.”

“What? Now?” The timing could not be better and could not be worse. So it goes with the pattern, you’re realising.

“Now.”

The gaze of the scientists burns into your back as you leave the doors, and Kirsh is silent as you walk. Down the corridors he doesn’t answer any questions you pelt at him, and doesn't ask any about the mess-hall incident, either. Eventually, you too fall silent, grateful at least he is not pushing you for information about a moment you’re all too aware he’s curious about. When you reach the elevator, the button is pressed, and the doors seal shut, Kirsh at last turns to you. “I'm going to be stark. He has something to ask of you. And you're not going to like it. But it's important you keep an open mind.”

His eyes are dead on yours. Unwavering as ever. Your mind whirs with the possibilities, but you fall flat, drawing on a blank. “What does he want? What is it?”

“I'm not at liberty to say.”

“Please,” you ask. He doesn't speak. “Kirsh!”

“I am advising you on the basis of a guess. I know nothing for fact. But if it's any consolation, you'll know yourself shortly.”

Then the doors slide open, and Kirsh faces forward.

When you pass the ground outside the roomy office lounge belonging to Kavalier, he'd already waiting for you. Kirsh peels away from your side wordlessly before you have a moment to ask him to stay. As soon as he’s gone, the ball of panic returns.

“Have there been civilian casualties?” you blurt, the instant you’re inside.

He raises his brows. “Hello to you too, Silly Girl. Venus,” as he talks, he pucks his rubber ball to and fro. Desk to hand, hand to desk. He catches it again and points to the butler. Eins. “Details.”

Eins looks to you. “Thanks to the Founders Day celebrations, there have been no doubt countless causalities avoided. Most were at the grand park for the festival. Couldn't have been better timing.”

“Right. So you don’t want any help with that. Designing care packages or whatever.”

“What?” Kavalier questions.

“Well, you want me here for something. I’m trying to figure out what exactly that is.”

“Hm. Smart, aren’t you? Care packages,” his ball pucks. Back and forth. “Write that down, Atom. We could do with some good rep in the bank. Get the people on our side. Good books and all. You know, we could do with you up here more often. You come up with some real striking ideas sometimes.”

Kavalier sees pleased. You’re unsure what to make of the suggestion, given what his work is evidentially entailing as of late…but you can’t help but feel a glow of pride anyway. A shell of satisfaction. Remnants of the need for validation left behind on the shores of the childhood in the spotlight, irrevocably printed inside of you without clause. Nowadays the satisfaction appears entirely less. You’ll take what you can get.

“What am I here for then?” you prompt him.

In one deft throw the ball is in Eins’ grip. Kavalier is giving you his undivided attention. “I’m sending my Lost Boys to investigate the site.”

It takes you a full thirty seconds to fully comprehend the words he has spoken.

Walker’s bold statements converge with Kavalier’s. And the hapless soldiers sigh runs in blood down palace walls. Had you really been so blind?

“I need you to look me in the eyes and tell me you know this isn’t a fucking game,” you spit out abruptly. Kavalier chuckles at the curse, especially when you are as surprised at its appearance as he is. “Tell me!”

He waves off his butler - Eins - and his eyes trail behind the synthetic as he makes his sour exit from the room. The minute you're alone, Boy steps three feet closer. “It’s always a game,” Kavalier tells you, with all the tell tale shades of sheer nonchalance.

Not for the first time, you have the burning urge to want to slap the stupid grin off of his glee filled face. “You know, you can play whatever little game you’ve cooked up for yourself and your company friends all day long and forever if that’s what makes you happy. But you can’t sit here high up on your throne and push the kids around like they’re your pawns. Or the people. They’ve nothing to do with it.”

“They signed up for this life,” he shrugs. “So did the Lost Boys, to relinquish youth.”

“They signed up to get out of their sick and dying bodies. They didn’t conscript. It doesn’t entitle them to line up and put on a vest. They’re not expendable. They’re not soldiers.”

“They’re not children either.” He watches you, his expression ghosting on satisfaction as he delivers the words. A heavy silence spills out in the air between you, as if he’s waiting for you to come biting back the same way you so often have at the somewhat taboo mention of their adolescent-non-adolescent status. 

Do you want to take his bait tonight? He waits. You think. He waits. You purse your lips.

“This is going to be valuable time and energy spent,” he continues, seeming satisfied all the more, “I don’t mind you knowing that I’m not making this decision….uh…lightly, yeah? This feels monumental. I want to make them part of that. See what they see. The world through hybrid eyes,” Kavalier snatches forward and grasps your hand tightly in his, so sudden you catch yourself mid-flinch. “I want to make you part of that, too, Venus.”

“Me?” you scan his face, taken aback. You?

“You’re always taking them to and fro their techy tests. Back and forth, back and forth, pinging all about the place, ever playing the part of the dutiful little nanny. Don’t you wanna take them outside? Field trip?” he pinches your wrist as he straightens up, but as you snatch your hand away, you can see the suddenness of the serious in his eyes just as it settles into place. “Don’t you want to witness the birth of the new world?”

Kavalier steps forward. You can’t tell if he’s going to pull you into his arms or pull on a strand of your hair. Without realising it you find yourself stepping back. That glint in his eyes. Is that glint of a greed? A hunger? A gambit?

“I’ll go,” you accept. His eyes become legible once more as they fire up. He’s back to his old twisted glee. “But for the children. Lost Boys. Whatever you want to call them.” Your job is to keep them safe, and safe you shall keep them. “But on one condition. You have to send Kirsh with us, too.”

“Five steps ahead of you, Silly Girl.”

Kirsh himself stands in wait by the elevator doors. His hands are folded behind his back, and his gaze is firmly locked on your walk. “Well?”

“What do you think?”

“He wanted you to join us,” he speaks delicately. You grunt in response, and he gives a brief nod. “Ah. I was correct. And your response to his request?”

“I'm sure you can guess that, too.”

You’ve been studying me, you know me so well.

“You agreed,” Kirsh correctly sums. “You always do.”

You probably knew what I'd do before I did it at all.

In the elevator, Kirsh’s stark words tumble in your mind.

Of course you’d agree. That’s what you do when you love somebody. You stick by them. And this is where it has taken you, over and over. Chasing that same old flame of validation. Every time Kavalier calls you’re there. Every time he stubs you you’re right back with a wave and a yes. Smiling all the while he looks the other way. You’ve the strangest feeling his Happening is not the only omen to come out of today. Not for the first time, and far from the last. You're staring in the face of this bad omen and seeing right through it. You’re sitting right beside him on the ride of his whims for the thousandth time. Not the first, far from last. Because Kavalier is your best friend, and this is what you do when you love someone.

Muzzle

Mickey groaned as he began to rouse from his deep sleep, his tired eyes peeling open to the harsh and bright morning sunlight peering through his curtains. He raised his messy bed head up off his pillow to squint at the clock on his wall, indicating that it was only six thirty in the morning, and that he had almost an hour or two to get ready for his first class.

He stretched out his tall body, his lean limbs protesting and forcing a deep moan paired with a yawn to rise up and out of him. As Mickey turned over, he slung his arm over your body, soft and limp with sleep. Mickey crooked a knowing smirk that stupidly tugged at the corner of his mouth as he pried his eyes open to look at you, sleeping beside him. Peaceful, satiated and safe.

You had stayed over last night, under the guise of studying with your boyfriend. Naturally, very little studying was done, as demonstrated by your books which were almost immediately abandoned on Mickey’s desk as soon as you crossed the threshold into it.

Mickey couldn’t help the wry grin as he recalled the evening, piece by piece. How he held you in his arms whilst you cried out his name, and fell apart around him in delicious ecstasy. Suddenly, Mickey could feel himself reacting to the memory, his cock stirring against his thigh, in need of you. Mickey knew fine well that he could simply take care of it, nothing a quick jerk couldn’t solve. But knowing you were in his bed, his t shirt lazily hanging over your soft curves, well…what the hell else was he supposed to do. He was a red-blooded idiot.

You felt the mattress dip at your side, followed by the soft sensation of Mickey’s mouth pressing against the exposed flesh of your neck and shoulder, peeking out the neckline of his t shirt you borrowed.

“M’good morning.” You hummed, listening to the sound of Mickey kissing you.

“Good morning beautiful.” Mickey said, low and raspy, his voice filled with sleep as he continued to kiss at you.

As Mickey shifted his weight to place a hand on the mattress at either side of you, you felt his hips turn, and his stiff erection pressing into you. You let out a lazy, knowing huff of a chuckle, and peeped open your eyes, catching a brief glimpse of Mickey’s messy bed head out the corner of your sights. Half of it attributed to Mickey's position whilst sleeping, the other was absolutely your doing when you held onto his scalp for dear life whilst he gave you one of many orgasms the previous night.

“Good morning.” You repeated, though you smiled stupidly when Mickey’s face came into view, his tired eyes glinting with promise.

“You mind?” He asked, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your temple.

“Not at all.” You sighed and arched a little to meet Mickey half way, sharing a lazy kiss.

You moaned as Mickey’s tongue slipped across your lower lip to find yours whilst you kissed. Your pulse quickened almost instantly, though you still felt hazy and sleepy.

“On your stomach babe.” Mickey whispered between kisses, moving to let you roll onto you stomach.

Mickey’s hands gathered the hem of his old shirt, pushing it up your body, not enough to want to remove it entirely, but just so that it exposed your butt and back to him. Instantly, Mickey felt his cock strain even harder at the sight of your soft ass, upright and begging for his hands. His cock. His mouth. Anything he could offer. Unable to resist, Mickey smoothed his large hand down the length of your spine, coming to stroke and smooth across the delicate skin of your ass where he gently squeezed at your left cheek. You sighed into the pillow, deep and needy, forcing Mickey to grin at your visceral reaction to his touch. It made him feel somewhat less rude or greedy for wanting to do something like this mere seconds after you opened your eyes.

“God you’re so perfect.” Mickey whispered, more so to himself, though it didn’t stop you from smiling proudly into the pillow under your boyfriend’s praise.

Mickey watched as you raised your hips so your ass pushed into his palm, encouraging him to continue. He smirked and tilted his head before shuffling to apply his mouth to the space between your shoulder-blades, leaving hot, open mouths kisses across your warm, sleepy skin.

You moaned under Mickey as his mouth gradually travelled down your spine, occasionally veering off course to apply some love to the soft flesh above your lats. All the while, Mickey’s hands grazed across your ribs and waist, reflexively squeezing and releasing you.

Mickey adored how soft you felt. He was lean, hard edges and rough, whereas you? You were soft, beautiful, sexy without even trying. Hell, before he would look at the shirt you were wearing right now and think of it as nothing more than a ratty piece of fabric, sometimes used as a cum rag (a fact he wasn’t about to divulge to you any time soon). But on your body? It was the most precious thing. It was like it took on a different form, sitting over your curves, your pliant and warm flesh. He wanted to rip it off you with his bare hands, but simultaneously he wanted to keep you in it, as a reminder that you were entirely his.

“Mick...please...more” You mumbled, half moaned with your eyes still closed over in a dream-like haze whilst your boyfriend’s hands cupped your buttocks and the backs of your thighs.

“You look good enough to eat.” Mickey smirked and slowly shook his head as he gazed down at your naked lower half.

Before you could answer, you felt Mickey’s lips and teeth skimming against your ass cheek. You moaned, loudly and unashamedly as Mickey maneuvered his body so that he lay on his own belly, between your thighs, looking right up the length of you. Shamelessly, Mickey’s mouth watered at the sight before him, and with the added pressure of the mattress against his painfully hard cock, he leaned in close, and pressed his mouth to you.

“M-Mickey!” You gasped as soon as Mickey’s mouth found you, wet and hungry, his hands gripping at your ass as he lazy began to eat you out from behind. “O-oh…Mickey” You melted, and ground your hips a little against him.

Mickey hummed as he tasted you, his tongue running up the length of your already slick middle, right up and through your backside where he playfully swiped his tongue across your ass. Your spine immediately curved, so much so that Mickey hugged his arms around you, laying his hands locked over your lower back to keep you still and in place whilst he greedily ate you out from behind.

“Oh my…fuck” You groaned, attempting to look back over your shoulder to try and see Mickey whilst he lapped at your flesh.

His eyes flicked up from where he was obsessively fawning over you, to up your body, meeting with your eyes. You exhaled breathlessly as Mickey's efforts didn’t ebb, not for one second. If anything, you trying to catch a glimpse of him – however strained- whilst eating your ass and pussy out, spurred him on.

Look at you, wanting to watch me do this to you. Mickey thought to himself as he held your eye.

You faltered and Mickey couldn’t help but grin and huff a breath of amusement as your head flopped back down onto the bed, giving in to lewd greed.

The wet lapping sounds as Mickey’s mouth continued to explore and pleasure you, filled the room. He never faltered in his pace either, slow and torturous, never increasing to push you over the edge. No, Mickey wanted this to be drawn out, to last, and pull at every single nerve ending you had until you were nothing bit a limp and spongy mess.

He hummed in satisfaction when he felt you reach back and behind to seek out his hair, gripping it in your hand and holding him in place. Not that he planned on stopping or moving away from you, if he could wake up to this every morning, he would gladly do so, and he would stake a wager that you would agree with him on such an arrangement.

As he pried you open a little further, Mickey dipped his tongue inside of you, listening keenly as you gasped for relief, his name tumbling over and over and over from you as he bobbed back and forth, fucking you on his tongue.

Mickey couldn’t resist his own arousal as his hips rotated against the mattress, seeking you out and having to settle for dry humping his own bed. Soon though, and similarly, you were in need of more. You wanted Mickey, you wanted him to silence the dull ache inside of you, despite how glorious his mouth felt on your entrances, you craved his cock to stretch you out in the wonderful way you knew it could.

“Mickey” You whined, needy and wanton. Your hips bucked, ass upwards and in need of something more.

“I got you baby” Mickey said, finally taking his mouth off you. “I got you.” He repeated, pressing a lingering kiss inside your thigh and then to the underside of your left ass cheek.

You came back down to earth a little with the brief pause on Mickey’s part, your eyes fluttering shut, listening to him as he readjusted himself to straddle your legs. You felt Mickey's hand on your hip whilst the other reached over you to retrieve his pillow from his own side of the bed.

“Lift your hips up for me.” He whispered, instructing you whilst tapping your side a little to indicate where he needed you to move.

You did as asked, and felt Mickey feed the pillow under your stomach where it lay between your body and the bed, effectively inclining your hips. The change in angle made you painfully aware of how wet Mickey had made you, a combination of his saliva and your slickness all across your lower half and inner thighs apparent as the air cooled the wetness against your skin.

“Such a good girl.” Mickey cooed lovingly, adoringly, as his hand smoothed up and down your side and cupped your ass cheek.

He lowered himself down to kiss at your shoulder blade, whilst he took a hold of his thick cock in his left hand. You shuddered and gasped as Mickey ran the head of himself through your abundantly slick folds and between your ass cheeks, tapping the length of himself against each entrance. Mickey’s eyes looked up to your face, your cheeks already flushed and your brows knitted together with need, lips parted as you panted in anticipation.

“My perfect girl.” Mickey mused as he pressed the head of himself against your entrance, and began to sink lower and lower against your body.

The stretch was bliss, warm and tight as Mickey bottomed out, both of you sharing breathless moans, one another’s names uttered like a prayer as your bodies met together. Mickey felt you arch up into him, your ass perfectly pressing into his front as he equally pushed down, the pillow adding a delicious pressure to your abdomen in turn.

Once satisfied that you had accustomed to him, Mickey began to slowly pull back before grinding himself into you, the head of his cock nudging that special hidden part of your inner anatomy that made you gasp and see stars. Much like how he had approached eating you out, Mickey lazily, slowly fucked you, his eyes hooded as he admired you beneath him, moaning and pleading for him. Only him. Only Mickey was allowed to have you this way; to make you feel so full, to fuck you so intimately and be rewarded with equal passion on your end.

You turned slightly, reaching back to hold onto Mickey’s toned forearm, propped up on a balled fist against the mattress whilst he gradually increased his pace, sensing your need for more of him. You looked over your shoulder, and immediately Mickey’s heart thumped like a rabid animal. Watching you looking right into his eyes, mouth parted after huffing and moaning his name, your beautiful soft body bouncing under him whilst he fucked you. It was enough to make him spill over right then and there.

“You’re so good- ah!” You garbled as you continued to look back at Mickey. “I…I’m so close already.” You whined, needy as your brows furrowed.

“Just let go babe.” Mickey softly cooed as he leaned down, flattening his front into your back whilst he continued to grind his hips into you. “M’wanna feel you come around my cock.” He grunted.

Your insides practically flipped at Mickey’s filthy confession. You could feel yourself, the coil inside of you winding tighter and tighter, the sound of skin slapping against skin as Mickey leaned away and continued his unrelenting pace, watching you fondly as you began to wither under him.

“O-Oh my god! There…right there!” You pleaded, feeling the full benefit of the pillow pressing into your abdomen, paired with Mickey’s cock hitting the perfect spot inside of you.

“That’s it…just let go…make a fucken mess of me.” Mickey groaned, and grinned wildly as he listened to you erupt in a slew of profanities under him.

Mickey grit his teeth as you milked his cock, tightening impossibly around the girth of him as you came. Your vision blurred a little at the sides as your orgasm hit you hard, your fists gripping at the sheets and Mickey’s wrists for purchase as you rode out your high. Mickey’s hips stuttered, and with a strangled moan of your name, pressed his himself deep inside of you as he emptied his load, filling you entirely.

You panted under Mickey, your spine slicked with sweat and your heart beating wildly from exertion. Carefully, Mickey pulled out of you with a slick pop, your combined arousal glossy around your thighs and entrance, as well as the entirety and base of Mickey’s softening cock. With the last of his strength, Mickey flopped down beside you, his arm slung over your body in a similar fashion to how he had done so when he first woke up.

Mickey felt you turn a little, shuffling closer to curl into his body, keeping under his arm as he hugged you close. He liked that despite it all, you refused to pull his shirt up and over your head, you kept it on, your nose pressing into the bunched fabric, quickly replaced by doing the same to Mickey’s bare chest.

“Good morning.” You hummed into his front, smiling and pressing your mouth against Mickey’s sweaty skin whilst you listened to and felt the low rumble of amusement vibrate through his chest.

“Good morning.” Mickey repeated as he pressed his lips to your sweaty hairline. “I like waking up next to you.” He playfully mused as he reached up to move a strand of hair from your cheek before peppering the top of your head again with kisses.

“If I have any chance of waking up and getting to classes on time, I’m gonna have to get you a muzzle or something.” You half laughed, half yawned into Mickey’s chest, who just smirked proudly against your hair for his oral skills leaving you a whimpering mess of limbs.

Baby Daddy

“Mr Cody?” One of the young nurses approached Pope as he sat abnormally upright on the bench adjacent to the delivery room.

His brow was still sweaty and his fists tightly gripping the scrunched up tissues he had swiped to keep his hands busy whilst you went through the most life changing pain one could experience mere meters away from him in another room.

After the birth, you had been taken away, apparently for stitches. The thought alone plagued Pope’s mind and made him sick with fear that the worst outcome had occurred. It was here, almost two hours later, that Pope had remained, like a loyal doberman guarding the room his wife and baby rested in.

Immediately Pop stood up, his abruptness startling the nurse a little, but she raised her hands to reassure him as he began a slew of frantic questions.

“How is she? Is she okay? Is the baby okay? Are the stitches done? What was she needing them for? Can I see them both?”

“Mom is fine, and so is baby. Your wife experienced a second degree tear and required stitches. They’re dissolvable and will take a few weeks to heal, but otherwise both Mom and baby are fit and well.” The nurse said “Would you like to come and say hello?”

The question halted everything in Pope. To see his baby, the little life you and Pope made together, for 9 months shielded and nurtured within your body, now here.

“Mr Cody?” The nurse uttered gently, catching Pope as he began to drift off into his own panicked thoughts.

“M’ready” He muttered, his sweaty hands balling up into nervous fists at either side of his jeans.

The nurse then turned and opened the door before gesturing for Pope to head inside. He didn’t look at her, but he did mutter a small thanks before stepping past her and into the room.

As soon as he saw you, and the tiny blue blanket in your arms, he froze. He had dreamed of this, of a family, of you carrying and having his baby. Of being a father to a child that was going to know how loved and safe they were.

Part of his brain tried to deny this moment, that he was dreaming all of it including you. The twisted part of him that made him feel deserving of anguish was trying to deny him the reality of this beautiful sight.

But then…it all melted away when you looked up and smiled at Pope, tired and weary, yet content. You had safely given birth to your baby, and he was with you, in your arms, and now your husband was there. Your little family gathered in one tiny room at 6am.

“Hey” you whispered, unable to bring your voice higher in case you woke up the little one cradled in your arms.

Pope approached you both, slow and careful, his eyes moving from you to the baby. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he moved to your bed side, peering over a little to try and see inside the blankets.

“Hey…look who’s here” you whispered down into the bundle, your fingers gently reaching to peel back a portion of the fluffy blue blanket.

Pope immediately felt his heart tighten as he looked over the baby, everything was small, pink fuzzy skin that was wrinkled a little still from nine months of comfort, but perfect. The most perfect little thing he had ever seen. And he had part of it in creating such perfection.

“This is your Daddy” Pope heard you whisper to the sleeping baby, pressing your lips to his tiny forehead before looking up at Pope.

Pope rubbed his fingers nervously, but couldn’t help himself as he reached up and curled over more of the blanket to look at his son’s face. He felt a swell in his heart as he looked at the tiny person, safely in your arms, cushioned into your chest and surrounded by warmth and love.

“He’s…he’s perfect” Pope breathed, almost in disbelief that someone like him was able to co create something so beautiful.

You allowed Pope to well up, his spare hand coming up to wipe away his tears as his chin quivered. With your hands occupied, you resorted to nudging your head to silently tell Pope to come closer so you could kiss.

Pope reached to cup your cheek as he pressed his lips to you, pulling back to half laugh as quietly as he could and half choke a sob. He’d never allow anyone to see him this way, only you. You were the only one who could make him feel this good, this proud, the free of any restraint or punishment for feeling anything.

Pope rested his forehead against yours, blinking his tears and pecking your mouth, imploring you to feel how much he loved you, and how badly he missed not being able to help your during the delivery.

“I love you, so much” He finally breathed.

You smiled at him, and kissed him briefly before returning the sentiment.

“I love you too” You said, eyes moving from your husband and back to the baby as he wriggled a little in his sleep. “He’s gonna look like you by the way” You smiled an amused grin.

“You don’t know that” Pope smirked and shook his head as he wiped his eyes dry.

“Oh no?” You said, looking up at Pope as he perched on the bed beside you. “Look here” you said, and carefully lifted up the baby’s sleep hat.

Under the hat, atop of your son’s head, was sparse and faint little red hairs. Just like his daddy. Pope felt his chest tighten at the sight of his son so clearly sporting something that linked to him. Pope frowned a little when he caught a glimpse of congealed blood atop of the baby’s head.

“It’s just a little blood from the afterbirth, it will come off during his first bath” You answered Pope’s silent concern.

“His skin is so…delicate” Pope said, tracing the side of his index finger against the baby’s cheek as he continued to snooze.

“You should hold him” you uttered, not caring to ask, you wanted Pope to hold your child, to feel him, to have this moment.

Pope visibly hesitated, but you rested a hand on your husband’s thigh and softly caressed him.

“You won’t hurt him Andy” You smiled softly, looking deeply into Pope’s hazel eyes to reassure him.

Pope looked from you, then to the baby, before swallowing thickly and moving to shrug off his jacket. He folded it neatly and placed it at the foot of your bed before standing stiffly beside you.

“Mind his head, and just make sure to support his neck” you softly guided Pope as he reached his strong hands down to help you transfer the baby from you and into his own arms.

The minute you let go, and Pope held the light weight of the babe fully in his strong arms, Pope fell completely in love. His instincts kicked in to keep the baby close to his chest, to cradle him securely whilst he continued to sleep. He softly rocked back and forth, bouncing at the knees just so.

“Hey lil guy” Pope whispered, his eyes roaming over his son’s sleeping features. His impossibly small nose, tiny rosy lips, cheeks round and full.

Pope continued to lazily rock the baby, and at one point turned to look at you, but paused as he saw you already resting your head into your pillow, exhaustion bearing down on you.

“Baby?” Pope softly spoke, he knew you were fine, safe and all clear, but still it didnt stop his imagination from getting the best of him.

He had nightmares of losing you to childbirth, of being alone in the world with a baby, or worse…being left with nothing.

“Hmm?” You said, peeling your eyes open to look at Pope with a slight smile.

“Sorry, I just…I-“

“C’mere” you smiled and reached out, beckoning for Pope to join you, sensing his worry.

He was reluctant for a moment more, but when you waved him over, Pope couldn’t resist being glued to your side. Despite being overjoyed that you were delivering his baby, he was wracked with separation anxiety, and the impending fear of losing you. Now, being apart from you was not an option, he was with you now until the end of time.

“Shit” you winced as you scooted to the side to give Pope room on the bed.

“You okay!?” Pope panicked, his voice a harsh whisper as he looked you over.

“M’still a little…tender” you breathed through the discomfort, but patted the space you had made beside you.

“Maybe I should leave you be and-“

“Andy” you hummed, reaching up to hold your husband’s arm. “Please…sit next to me…that’s what I want the most right now.” You pleaded quietly, looking at him with glassy eyes.

Pope was a goner, he couldnt resist you, not like this. The indomitable need to protect you, to be with you, it overtook him something awful, and so he dutifully maneuvered onto the bed whilst carefully holding the baby securely in his arms.

Pope, now sat on the bed with you, and his baby boy cradled into his arms. You leaned into your husband, immediately relaxing in knowing that he was there, and if you were to drift off, both yourself and your baby would be safe under Pope’s careful watch.

“I love you” Pope whispered and leaned over to press his mouth to your hairline, tasting the faint sweat on your warm skin. He made a mental note to go to the store and stock up on cleaning products and body care for you to scrub away the hospital from you skin. He also made a note to google when you were allowed a bath with stitches so he could buy you things for a long hot soak to ease your body.

“I love you too” You sighed, eyes lingering on Popes thumb as it gently smoothed back and forth across your baby’s soft cheek.