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Cecil Stedman hates texting. Maybe it’s the old man in him, but he actually despises it. 

With a life as disorganized and chaotic as his own, he desires a conversation either through his earpiece or face-to-face. Those forms of communication are more efficient, in his mind. For good reason, too. When he’s talking to someone in person, Cecil can accurately dissect body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, the whole nine yards. Is using his earpiece perfect? No, it can only get him so far, but it’s still much better than having to squint at a small screen, struggling to get his scarred thumbs to cooperate long enough to type out coherent words. 

If somebody doesn’t have the urgency to pick up the phone and dial a number, or flip a goddamn switch on their high-level government owned headset, then the situation at hand must not be a drastic dilemma. At least, not one that Cecil thinks he has to concern himself with.

Does his rapid sense of urgency come off as rude, maybe even self-centered? Absolutely. These conversations can be used as weapons, according to Cecil. He doesn’t care about other people’s feelings. He doesn’t have the time to. His work at the GDA is business only. That’s all his life is built around now. Cecil barely survives the legal battles that come with managing superheroes. Not even legal fights, physical ones too. 

Texting is a nuisance to Cecil, plain and simple. 

So when you, the new superhero recruit, send him a text message at 2:00 AM on a Friday, Cecil flat out ignores it. 

Well, at first, anyway. 

He doesn’t even read the words when they pop up on his smartphone (one he really doesn’t care for, but it was purchased for him by the GDA, so he feels obligated to carry it around). 

It was actually a miracle he even saw the notification in the first place. The phone was faced up towards the ceiling, discarded on one of the desks in the control room. His eyes had been glued to monitors, actively picking apart videos of Invincible’s fight earlier that day, the older man’s thoughts consumed with worry that the boy might end up like his father. When the screen lights up and a familiar ringtone chirps, all he sees at first is your name. With that, he immediately glances away and goes back to staring at the machines that hum quietly in the near empty room. 

Ignoring your text was easy, but ignoring the way his stomach dropped was near impossible. 

Maybe the age gap is to explain why you’re one of those people glued to your devices. Cecil is much older, so he genuinely doesn’t get the hype. On the other hand, you clearly do. You bother him all the time with random shit, especially over text. Any boundaries that the director tried establishing in the first place were long gone. Actually, there were none to begin with. That might partially be Cecil’s fault, but he likes to shift the blame to you as often as possible…which is all the time. 

It’s more than your age, though. You don’t just do this for fun. It doesn’t help that you are practically all by yourself in this world. No known family, barely any friends. Even the other superheroes found it hard to hold conversation with you due to your lack of social skills. Which makes sense given how Cecil found you. What used to be home was the operating table that some fucked up scientist utilized to perform far too many tests on you. The same deranged experiments that resulted in your cat-like ears, tail, and claws. 

It was quite the sight to see you unconscious on the floor after the GDA busted the lab. Debris was scattered around your naked feet, brushes of dirt splayed across your barren arms. Any furry part of your body was covered in a layer of filth. Cecil wasn’t sure what the hell to make of you at first. He couldn’t deny the fact you looked fascinating, though. A specimen he was completely unfamiliar with. It’s not often that GDA directors come across hybrids. Even though the original mission was meant to collect data on whatever the hell this scientist was producing, there was much difficulty in trying to pry his eyes away from your limp form. Cecil Stedman had no idea he’d be taking home a goddamn pet.  

To make matters worse, Cecil was the first face you saw when you came out of your coma. The moment your eyes fluttered open and he met your timid gaze, Cecil knew he was fucked. Your face was already pretty enough, why the hell did you have to have beautiful eyes too? Seeing your worried expression under the bright lights, hearing the pathetic little whimpers that snuck past your lips, it only complicated things further for the old man. It was at this moment he realized that you weren’t like any of the others. No, not even close.

Despite being poked and prodded by multiple GDA personnel, he was the only person who didn’t treat you like livestock. You were never a science experiment to Cecil. He had faith in you, hopes for your future. 

What he didn’t know, at the time, was that those dreams of seeing you flourish into a successful superhero came with a price. One that left his heart skipping a beat each time you’d reach out to him. 

Cecil has genuinely lost count on how many times he’s told you to stop bothering him with these stupid texts. For one, he thinks they’re annoying. Another reason is that he doesn’t want you to rely on him for every little thing. He knows why you’re doing it; you’re alone. But, your life was never in any type of distress that was genuinely concerning; you just liked having someone to annoy. His reactions always make you laugh, so it was practically entertainment at this point, just something to motivate you to keep moving forward in this fucked up world. 

That being said, it was completely normal for you to ignore Cecil’s protests and send message after message. What was unusual, though, was the timing. 

Never in the last year had you sent him something this late in the night…or, early in the morning? Whatever, Cecil knew it was strange to begin with. That’s what made his stomach churn and mind consumed with irrational thoughts. 

The command room’s atmosphere is chilling; the cold air seeping through the man’s expensive suit makes his skin prickle with bumps. The occasional beep from a distant monitor brings him back to reality. Cecil had been enjoying the brief quiet of his workspace given there were barely any employees present. Now, there’s this uneasy feeling settling on his shoulders and traveling down his spine. Any attempt to relax was completely out the window. You occupied his mind instead.

He’d been here all day catching up on Invincible’s stats as of late. Essentially, Cecil wanted to ensure there wasn’t anything he was missing that might come back to bite him in the ass. He had dismissed a handful of employees to go enjoy a quick break elsewhere just to enjoy some silence. Being surrounded by people for hours on end, he thought he deserved it. 

But then his phone is dinging, then once more. Twice in a row it alerts Cecil that there’s someone else on the other end that is in dire need of his attention. 

Cecil walks away from the desk towards a holographic map to put distance between himself and the wretched smartphone. He hears it go off a third time as his fingers type away at a keyboard, opening a 3-D blueprint of Chicago. The glow emitting from the advanced technology could not hide the device resting in his peripheral. He couldn’t even focus on the casualty reports for more than ten seconds before he hears that goddamn smartphone go off for what he can only assume is the fourth or fifth time. What on earth did you want?

The older man contemplates his next decision once, twice, then a third time just for extra measure. While it might be imperative Cecil educates himself on the recent structural damages in the city, he finds himself silently admitting that curiosity of your current whereabouts was getting to the best of him.

He can’t believe how easily he caves into your obvious demands. Before he knows it, Cecil angrily grunts mumbled words under his breath as he returns to his previous spot at the desk. He reaches out and picks up the smartphone, unlocking it in an instant. Squinting in the dark room, he mutters the texts only loud enough for himself to hear. Then, Cecil’s heart drops within seconds.  

All the texts were begging him for help. In rapid succession, you continue to spam him with frantic, panicked pleas. There was an easy pattern to follow right away; you were injured.

“cecil, PLZ i need help. i dont know what to do!!!”

“i know u can see these. plzzz cecil :((( help!”

“it hurts so bad”

“i dont know how much longer i can take it”

In an instant, he’s pulling up your coordinates on the monitor. That fateful day when his team discovered you all alone and exhausted to the point of passing out, he instructed his men to put a chip in the back of your neck. The process was pretty routine for other heroes he works with. If you, God forbid, tried running away at some point, he’d be able to track the movements. Your body was in enough pain at that time, that the insertion didn’t even wake you from your coma. Eventually, you did end up finding out about what he had done…and paid no mind to it at all. Cecil was a bit thankful you weren’t so mad with him. Sometimes the superheroes gave him pushback; the older man appreciated how docile you could be.

Despite the messages clearly indicating some form of danger, your coordinates showed you were well rested in the comfort of your apartment. It’s a tiny little place downtown, hidden from the rest of the city, but it worked to meet your needs. Cecil would have preferred if you just stayed at GDA headquarters instead, but he knew that you needed privacy at the end of the day. That being said, only a handful of workers at the facility even knew of it, one of them being Cecil himself. There are a multitude of security measures on top of that to protect you from unknown dangers. One of which being that anyone who enters the premises that’s neither you or him, an alarm would be triggered and GDA personnel would be informed immediately.

A totally normal precaution he definitely does for all the other superheroes…

The first question that crossed his mind was, had you been compromised? Were you in the process of being kidnapped, or worse? Then again, if that had been the case, you would have definitely tried contacting him via earpiece; there’s no doubt about that. Even when you want to bother the shit out of Cecil with these goddamn texts, you knew well enough that actual emergencies meant urgent communication. 

Yet, here you are, spamming him instead. 

Cecil fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

For the next few seconds, Cecil opens a different tab and begins typing your full legal name in the search bar. The chip in your body not only keeps track of your approximate location, but it also acts as a sensor that transmits any strange spike in your otherwise normal health readings. The little box of text showed the latest update on your vitals. He cocks his head to the side, noticing how unusually all over the place they are. 

You’re on extreme alert, perhaps just as much as you are when sent out on a mission. What stuck out to the man was seeing the accelerated heart rate; 115 beats per minute. That particular number was something he usually saw spike this high during your workouts. Next, he’s furrowing his eyebrows at the sight of your temperature matching that of a low-grade fever. 

At this point, he’s growing more and more worried over your safety. 

“Sir? Is everything alright?” a familiar voice asks from behind the director. 

Cecil glances over his shoulder just long enough to see who was speaking to him, even though he already had a clue based on the voice. His sharp eyes observe the personal assistant standing only a few feet away, noticing how Donald’s arms were clutching a variety of thick portfolios. They’re filled with paperwork that Cecil will need to sign at some point tonight, but he can’t even comprehend taking time out of his schedule to do that right now. He’s entirely focused on you instead. 

The director ignores Donald and continues investigating the monitor. He’s scrolling through anything else he might have missed from your health report. The screen gives him the same concerning numbers that had been plastered on there a couple minutes prior, as if he was hoping they would somehow go away and cease to be his issue. Cecil keeps looking at the logged data nonetheless, trying to find a pattern of some sort that might hint what you’re dealing with. Meanwhile, Donald takes a careful step forward. He notices the name of the file a few seconds later, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly underneath his sunglasses. He asks with a careful tone, “Is she in trouble? What’s her latest update?”

“I don’t know for sure. I feel like she’s just trying to annoy me,” Cecil explains, as though your pain was literally meant just to get on his nerves. 

Another chime from the phone dings. The atmosphere between both men freezes for only a second or two. Cecil angrily picks up the device again and scans the notification.

“i don’t know who else to talk to about this. can u plz call me?”

Donald’s eyes seem to burn in the back of Cecil’s head. He wonders aloud, “Do you want me to…do anything, sir?”

Cecil pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales slowly. The tension in his jaw is still there despite his feeble attempt to calm down. “Fuck if I know.”

It doesn’t seem as though Donald is concerned about you. The distress in his voice feigns more worry for his boss than anything else, as if he is more concerned about the way Cecil was reacting than your health and safety. But then, he makes a comment that might explain the peculiar behavior. 

“It could be something to do with her hybrid DNA, if you catch my drift, sir.”

Cecil did not catch the drift, actually. Because he’s an old man and needs these things explained outright. Obviously. 

He likes order. He likes routine. He likes knowing what’s wrong with his superheroes without having to guess. So he blurts out, “What are you saying, Donald?”

“Just call her. I’m sure she’ll explain,” Donald replies with a soft sigh. He walks away to give Cecil privacy, only to turn around once to drop the stack of portfolios on the desk.

Those damn papers need to be signed. He knows that. Cecil knows better. But he keeps looking between the assigned workload and the text he just received from you as though, maybe, he has better things to do. He’s genuinely surprised he’s contemplating putting off his duty as the GDA director just to help you. Then again, aren’t you considered part of the job, considering he’s your boss?

It doesn’t take long to weigh the options. Cecil dials your phone number a few seconds later, holding the device to his ear while shoving his other hand deep into his suit pocket. The moment you pick up, his heart skips a beat. 

“Oh, Cecil? Are you there? Thank God!” you express, gasping at the realization he was on the other line. 

“What’s going on? Are you hurt?” Cecil asks. He musters enough courage to sound as careless as possible. Deep down, he’s anxious as hell to get an update. 

“Well, yes and no? I don’t know how to explain this without it sounding…weird.”

Cecil raises an eyebrow, “Huh? Spit it out, kid. I don’t have all night.”

He notices your hesitation and grows annoyed, almost snapping at you again before you finally reply, “I-I think I started my heat.”

The anger dissipates, replaced by a different emotion; Cecil’s stunned.

His breath catches in his throat and he has to cough into his hand. The command room feels smaller, the air still, only the sound of his pulse throbbing in his ears. His mind races with possibilities as to what this can mean, how this affects your duties as a superhero. None of your workload matters now though. What matters is ensuring you’re safe, protected, and above all, going to survive. 

“So? You’re on suppressants, aren’t you?” Cecil quips back.

He hears you take a deep breath. The brief moments of silence already tell him the answer, but the truth digs deeper in his chest, like he’d just been stabbed with a knife. “No, I don’t. When I left the lab a month ago, I told them I didn’t want those pills because I thought I could handle it.”

“And?...”

“I don’t think I can handle it, Cecil. I’m freaking out,” you explain, almost to the point of whining. 

Cecil should have seen this coming. With all the experiments that fucking scientist performed on you, the director had been informed that it was possible that you would eventually experience some sort of heat cycle down the line. However, your hormones were already so all over the place, the GDA found it was best to suppress any of those risks of ovulation. So why the hell did you think you were enough of a big girl to take this on like a champ? Were you just trying to prove something to yourself?

Or, maybe, prove something to him. 

“Kid, what the hell do you want me to do? Get the lab to give you those suppressants-”

“Yes! Please! That might help!” you exclaim miserably. 

He sighs heavily, clutching the phone tighter than before. “You do realize that no one is in the lab right now, right? They’re all home or working on actual life-threatening problems. Did you not fucking see Invincible today? I have bigger fish to fry.”

He hates having to put you down like this, but Cecil needs you to understand the reality of the situation you’ve placed yourself in. The timing is horrible. 

You exhale through your nose and say, “Please, there has to be something! I’m-I’m in so much pain.”

Hearing you admit that breaks his heart. But Cecil can’t get emotionally involved. He refuses. 

“Take care of it like other people do.” 

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, you question him, “What do you mean? How do other people take care of this?”

“You know exactly what I mean. It’s on those reality shows you watch all the time. Just figure it out and please don’t bother me again with this. I have bigger problems on my plate.”

“Do you mean…oh. Oh. That’s what you mean?”

He ends the phone call and discards the phone on the desk, face flushed a deep red.

It’s over. The phone call is done. Quick, simple, easy. Definitely for the best. He doesn’t need to actually help you through this. You’re a big girl, you’ll figure it out.

Well, he hopes so anyway.

But, what if you got confused about what he meant? 

Shit, now he’s pacing back and forth, staring at his feet while that goddamn phone call plays on loop in his head. You sounded so weak and hurt in ways he could never imagine. The hybrid abilities came with both pros and cons. This is one of those situations where it was definitely a con. 

But you should have known better. You should have asked for those pills the GDA used on you while they briefly kept you in testing. Cecil chalks up this entire situation as a natural consequence. Nothing more, nothing less. You’d find a solution to your problem and be on with the rest of your night. 

Except, he keeps asking himself if you truly understood what he meant. Obviously you knew he meant just to masturbate, right? He couldn’t bring himself to say that out right. That would be so inappropriate to suggest to his employee. Therefore, he knew he had to dance around the idea instead. However, for a split second, Cecil’s heart drops at the theory that you might be going through with something else instead.

Should he…do something about it? Should Cecil call you again? Or should he…

An idea crosses his mind. 

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows it would be overstepping. 

Except…that’s the thing. There aren’t any lines to cross. There has always been a lack of explicit boundaries between either of you. Even when he’d tell you to stop bothering him, you kept up with it. You push and push, and he just lets you. If you’re allowed that kind of freedom with him, maybe he should be permitted to do the same.

The plan Cecil conjures up in his head isn’t the best, but how else would he know for sure one of his favorite superheroes was genuinely following his orders correctly? 

Perhaps, for just a quick second, he could view your search history. He knew your phone was also owned by the GDA. He’d be able to hack it no problem. 

All Cecil craves is to know what’s on your mind through the use of personal internet archives. It would give him an inkling as to what you might be doing this very moment, especially since he can’t see for himself what you’re up to. He briefly regrets not installing cameras in your living room…or bedroom, for that matter. 

The mere thought of invading your privacy in this way results in Cecil’s eyes narrowing at the computer screen. He exhales slowly, licking his lips slowly as he weighs the pros and cons.

Cecil isn’t usually this much of an overthinker. He’s the type of man who follows his gut instinct. When that might fail him, or at the very least cause him to double-check his options, he mentally reviews past experiences in his head and picks a previously similar choice that seemingly worked out well for the situation at hand. Cecil will forever aim to achieve an accurate result, even if the means of obtaining such are morally gray. 

He’s fucking dug into the depths of hell for some of the superheroes that work at the GDA. There was no part of their history left unturned by him and his team. Never before has he had to second-guess whether or not he should be looking up one’s search history. It’s not like there are any boundaries he can’t cross in the first place, right? There isn’t anything advising him to not do this.

Maybe Cecil tells himself that he’s just…curious about what you choose to do. That excuse falls thin just as quickly as it’s conjured up in his mind. Because then again, is he really being courteous in the first place when his mind has already pictured you in the different positions you might be in right now? One of which flashes across the front of his brain…

Cecil adjusts his tie once, then twice. 

Why does the thought of you all flustered in a mess of sheets have him acting like a damn teenage boy?

His hand hovers over the mouse on the desk. He’s practically twitching just thinking about what to do next. Cecil glances at the keyboard in front of him. It’s begging him to follow through with his plan. It’s for your safety, right? 

While the circumstances are slightly problematic, he ultimately decides on looking up your latest searches. He flies through all the necessary safeguards on the monitor, his fingers moving at a rapid pace. Right after logging into the appropriate system, Cecil purposely hunches over the screen to hide the evidence. Regardless of his pure intentions, Cecil has this strange voice in the back of his head suggesting that his subordinates would not exactly find what he’s doing to be a great choice. 

He ignores that little guilty twinge in his gut and continues typing away. After sorting through a mess of files, Cecil discovers what he had been searching for all along. The monitor’s bright, white light shines across the man’s scarred, pale face. The little pop-up window displays your search history in a neat order from oldest to most recent. 

Cecil’s eyes carefully scan what you had put into your search bar within the last five minutes. He’s thankful there’s even anything there to begin with, but he knew you better than most and figured you’d be glued to your phone.  

Upon reading the text on the screen, Cecil’s heart drops. Another chill runs up his spine at the realization of what you’re getting yourself into.

“bad hybrid heat solution”

“best ways to relieve heat pain”

“does sex help with heat”

“hook up apps”

“sneaky one night stands near me”

The warmth in his blue eyes evaporates, replaced by a cold stare. Cecil’s blood boils. 

He’s fucking livid. 

The director was under the impression you knew better than this. Gosh, he was convinced you were smart enough to see the obvious red flags that come with doing something so reckless. There’s so many reasons why it’s a horrible idea. You’re putting your safety at risk just for the sake of relieving some pain. 

Cecil’s head is throbbing at the thought of some complete stranger tending to your needs. He simply cannot let you go through with this.

Rarely does this man experience, let alone show, such raw emotion. A man with a chipped past like his own can’t display signs of weakness. But that’s what you are to the man; the reason he has the slightest loss of strength. Cecil hates that you are his kryptonite, because now all he sees is red. 

The sounds of the command room dull away, replaced by a ringing in his ear. 

Before he can process another thought, Cecil’s body is engulfed in energy and manipulated down to the cellular level. With your location at the front of his brain, his body rapidly reforms outside your apartment. He’s slightly disoriented when he comes out of it, and curses at himself for costing the GDA millions just because of his ridiculous emotions. Why did he feel so strongly about this to begin with? Regardless, there was no time for reflection. 

He comes face to face with your apartment door. Its brown, steel frame has various dents from past tenants. The number twenty-two sits under the peephole in a gold font. Cecil doesn’t even bother raising a hand to knock. He simply stands there in the barren hallway. The noise of the city outside these walls continues, but Cecil doesn’t pay any bother to them. His eyes are glued to the door as he impatiently waits. 

Maybe one minute passes, then another. He crosses his arms, leaning back against the wall opposite of the entrance. Suddenly, his ears perk up. He hears shuffling inside. There’s the sound of a zipper being pulled up, perhaps from a jacket or other article of clothing. Something heavy hits the ground, then there’s the sound of your feet stumbling around. 

When the door swings open, Cecil clocks your genuine surprise immediately. Your pretty eyes widen with fear, but he also catches the faintest blush dusted across your nose and cheeks. The baggy clothes cover any cat-like features, but he can see the way your cat-like ears twitch under the hoodie of your jacket. The air goes completely still for at least five seconds. Then, he finally gives you the only order appropriate for the situation. 

“Get your ass back inside, now.”

The world seems to stop moving at his words. Both bodies are completely still. Meanwhile, Cecil tries his best to ignore the rapid pulse in his ears. You remain quiet for a bit, apparently weighing how much trouble you’re likely already in. The GDA director doesn’t want to stand around and wait for you to figure it out though; you need to understand you’re already in deep shit. 

“Are you fucking deaf?” he asks, “I gave you a direct order, kid.”

He catches sight of a clear shudder running down your spine. The man’s request implies that this is a mere warning of what is to come, but it’ll get a whole lot worse if you don’t obey him. With a shaky inhale, you tentatively step backwards, attempting to shut the door in the process. 

Suddenly, with a loud bang, Cecil’s hand slams against it, making the door come to a complete halt right before the doorknob could click back into place with the frame. Your eyes widen, body jumping simultaneously. Completely unamused, he shoves himself into your private space without warning, closing it behind himself with another loud echo. 

He crosses his arms again, ignoring how much this space smells so strongly of you. There’s barely any lights on besides one in the kitchen around the corner. In the dark shadows, he juts his chin towards you and snaps, “Tell me exactly what you were about to do.”

“ I don’t know what you’re talking about-” you stammer, composure chipping away with each word. 

He cuts you off before you even have a chance to lie, because he knows that’s exactly what you’re about to do. “Shut and tell me. I already fucking know, I just want to hear you admit it to my face.”

The way he talks makes you freeze. You stay there, unmoving, taking in the underlying threat. Suddenly, anger takes over. With a displeased expression, you sneer, “You can’t be serious, Cecil. I’m in pain. Wh-What do you expect me to do?”

He quips back, “I expect you to act smarter. Going out at 2:00 AM for a one night stand with a stranger? You’re a goddamn superhero, you need to start acting like it. Getting in contact with an outsider, someone you don’t even know, to help you with your…your heat…it’s not-”

Cecil can’t bring himself to finish his harsh reprimand, because all of a sudden you’re bawling your eyes out. The tremble in your shoulders was a clear indication you wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon either. That alone makes his heart drop to his stomach. 

“I-I-” you sputter, crying rather forcefully. Each tear that streams down your cheeks is a reminder of the fact he has essentially cornered you into this position since he won’t let you find a solution in someone else. You wrap your arms around your body and look towards the ground, “I don’t know what to do anymore, I’m so scared and it hurts and…fuck, I don’t know!”

For a brief second, Cecil closes his eyes, as though seeing you fall apart in front of him was too much to bear. He only faintly feels bad for this predicament; just a smidge. 

He exhales and scratches the back of his head, awkwardly trying to figure out an appropriate way to go about this dilemma. He stares at you, gulping quietly as you continue to drown yourself in a burst of emotions. 

Cecil steps forward to close the gap. He lifts his hand and hesitates, then allows his fingers to curl themselves around your shoulder. You’re warm to the touch under all these layers of clothes. You stop your anguish and shoot him a confused look, sniffling away any remaining tears. 

He’s already decided what he’s going to tell you. 

It’s just that once he says it, there’s no going back. 

“Listen, you…you need to understand how dangerous it is to do something like that, okay? I can’t let you leave this apartment and risk your life,” he explains, absolutely sure that his argument is completely logical and not at all personal, “How about I try to get you something to help with the pain. You just have to promise me you’ll stay here, got it?”

Coddling a superhero after disobeying orders isn’t his usual motive. Cecil would rather someone shoot him in the head than be seen protecting you from what should have been natural consequences to your actions. You should be held responsible for any endeavors that clearly put your life on the line; for Christ’s sake, you’re an adult after all. 

But there goes that lack of boundaries again. 

You were different from the other superheroes he is in charge of. There was nothing that could change that truth.

“What can we do? I don’t have anything that can, well, you know,” you trail off, mind drifting to the throbbing discomfort in between your legs. 

Cecil has to force himself not to stare at the way you so obviously press your thighs together. Despite the strong willpower, there’s still a faint rush of blood somewhere it shouldn’t be. 

Goddamnit, he’s so fucked for this. 

But it would be cruel to leave you without at least offering some form of help. 

He tells you, “Go lay down, I’ll figure something out.”

The older man watches as you take in a great big breath. There is no immediate change in your appearance, given your eyelids are still so puffy and your breathing remains uneven, but it only takes a few more seconds til you meekly nod and step backwards. As you turn to walk towards your bedroom, Cecil notices your tail has snuck its way out of the baggy clothing. It appears limp, apparently tucking itself under your frame. He’s not sure he’s ever seen it so slack before. Usually, you’re swinging that thing around like it’s a toy. 

It’s only more of a confirmation of how under the weather you truly are. 

Cecil needs to help you, and fast. 

He waits until he hears you round the corner, and only then does he pinch himself on the wrist. The little nip at his weary skin tells him he definitely is in your apartment, helping you with your heat, finding a solution to your problem because how else would he be spending a Friday night. This isn’t a dream. Or is it? No, the thunderous pound in his chest from his accelerated heart rate was enough to convince him that he was not hallucinating this ordeal.

Cecil needs to act like this is normal. 

Because he’s sure that others in his position would do the same.

Right?

He’s just helping you, that’s it. So like a wild dog trying to pursue prey, he scouts your apartment for anything that could be of use. What exactly was he looking for? He didn’t even know himself, but Cecil figured that he would come across some item that would give him an idea. He likes to think he’s smart enough to come up with something on the spot like that. 

So when he finds absolutely no resources of value in your space, he begins to freak out. 

There aren’t any medications in your cabinets that would help with such specific symptoms. Actually, there’s a lack of any drugs in this place to begin with. He dives into drawers, underneath couch cushions, even behind furniture to try and find literally anything that might help, but he comes up dry. The only thing that he assumed might be of help was the hairbrush left on your bathroom counter. Its large handle could be of use in ways that Cecil really tries hard not to imagine, but then his mind wanders and he’s red in the face. 

He doesn’t want to give up. Especially on you. This is his mission right now and he’ll be damned if he fails. But before long, Cecil approaches your bedroom and knocks softly. He hears your frail voice telling him to enter and doesn’t waste another second. 

Standing in the doorway, he finds you sat upon your mattress. The blankets have been shoved to the furthest corner of the bed, sheets in a tangled heap. Only a couple pillows are left, as the rest had been discarded on the floor. Cecil notices rips in the fabric of the fitted sheet. They’re all in the shape of familiar claw marks he has seen during your missions time and time again. However, what makes his breath hitch is the little wet patch on your pants. 

It’s so obvious. You’re a goddamn mess.

Cecil has to physically mold himself to the fucking floor to not overreact. 

But then, he smells it. There’s a very specific, lingering aroma in your room that he can’t quite place at first. It’s musky, completely rich in a way that makes his spine tingle. The odor is overwhelming on levels Cecil swears is giving him sensory overload. 

Then, it clicks. 

It’s the scent of your arousal. Your desperation. Your heat.

At this point, he’s trying so hard not to inhale deeply and let himself get carried away. 

“Did you find anything?” you ask, eyelashes clumped together from your previous crying session. 

“Uh, n-no I didn’t,” Cecil explains, averting eye contact by staring at other parts of your room, “I already told you the lab won’t have your pills ready for a little while longer. We have bigger problems to deal with right now.”

“It’s fine, I get it,” you huff, pushing out your bottom lip.

That little pout was going to be the death of him. 

“You haven’t tried to, I don’t know, do it yourself?” Cecil asks, sparing a very quick glance in your direction only to look away again.

Without missing a beat, you wave your fingers in the air. Moonlight from the window makes your sharp claws glisten. “Does it look like I can?”

“Shit, sorry, I knew that,” Cecil’s eyebrows furrow together, momentarily forgetting how unnaturally long and edged your nails are, “you seriously don’t have anything to use to get yourself off? Nothing at all?”

“Cecil-” you begin, posture suddenly straightened at his implication.

“Kid, I know it’s fucked up for me to say this shit in the first place, but you put me in this position.”

Your cheeks flush a deep red. He wishes so badly he knew what on earth was going on in that head of yours. “So what should I do?”

Cecil pauses. Hair on the back of his neck raises as he realizes he simply does not have an answer for you. He sighs and drags a hand down his face, closing his eyes to think over what to tell you.

Then, he takes a step back. Not that he wants to, but because he thinks he has to. Maybe this is in your best favor, because what else is there to do anyway? 

“You’ll just have to deal with it. You got yourself into this mess, you can suck it up.”

The grimace on your face makes him wish he could take away all your suffering with a simple snap of his fingers. You look down at the heap of blankets and sheets at the edge of the bed, completely lost knowing the only person you thought could save you ended up leaving you high and dry. 

Cecil doesn’t wait for a response. What he told you makes him feel guilty enough. So with that, he simply edges away from the door and closes it behind himself, pausing a while to replay this entire situation in his mind. Those wide eyes stay at the front of his brain. He can’t get that look off his mind. But this is what’s for the best, right? 

He’s just about to walk away for good, maybe return to his duties back at the GDA, when suddenly he hears you cry again. Those deep, shallow breaths are loud as ever despite the bedroom door being completely closed. His morale cracks and he’s left almost grinding his teeth at the mere thought of you sitting so pathetically in there, all by yourself in agony. 

Fuck.

Seconds pass as impatience begins to grow heavy within his ribcage, weighing him down like an anchor, leaving him completely stuck in place right there in the middle of the hallway. 

He’s supposed to be the one who supports you, the managerial figure who protects you from conflict out in the field of superhero work. But right here in this small, downtown apartment, Cecil Stedman does not find himself battling with an alien or evil scientist; he’s experiencing an internal fight with his responsibilities as GDA director. Realistically, he should just evaporate out of here and leave you to find your own solution. 

But no, Cecil can’t do it. He can’t leave you like this. It would go against his role, his job, his ethics. He can’t even believe he was so annoyed with you less than an hour ago. Truthfully speaking, it was all a front. Cecil could never be mad at you, or so he likes to think. Perhaps after tonight he just might be. The way he’s acted in the past was to protect his image, a very purposeful act to convince himself that he didn’t care about you more than a boss should for their employee. 

But he does care for you. So much so that he wants to make you feel better as soon as humanly possible. 

It’s at this moment Cecil wishes he was a superhero himself, with a specific power that could get rid of this misfortune.

Then again…perhaps he doesn’t need to be a superhero for what you desire.

Once more tonight, an idea crosses his mind. It’s completely wrong, perhaps morally gray, but if he didn’t go through with his earlier idea, he would have never stopped you from hooking up with a stranger. So he thinks he has to be doing something right. 

Right as Cecil reopens the door, his heart jumps. You’re still obviously crying, but something else catches his eye sight; you’d discarded some layers of clothes, now only covered by pajama shorts and a thin t-shirt. You rest against the only pillow left and stare absentmindedly at the ceiling. Not only that, but your hand slows down from its previous motions against your clothed cunt. You’d attempted to get rid of your issue to no avail. Shooting him daggers, your voice trembles with obvious desperation. 

“The fuck do you want, Cecil?” you spit at him. 

He narrows his eyes at you, and only then do you go quiet. He continues traveling towards the middle of your room with an intense stare. Even though he hadn’t spoken a word yet, it was like you could tell his sudden impatience and annoyance had since disappeared. This makes you sit up straight and clutch the sheets. The sound of thread ripping underneath your claws makes his jaw tense up. 

“It’s really that bad, huh.” Cecil’s tone isn’t accusatory. It softens slightly. Still, your cat-like ears perk up at the change. 

With a quick sniffle, you reply, “Nothing I can do helps. It still hurts. I just want it to stop!”

Cecil is about to give you a snarky response when he catches sight of how bad your bottom lip tremors. Your voice wavers as the distress of the situation finally begins to catch up to both of you. This was serious, and there was only one resolution that Cecil could think of to make this gut-wrenching experience go away, even if it’s just momentarily. 

Cecil slowly approaches the side of your bed and sighs. While admiring your beauty in silence, he shakes his head and mutters something under his breath. 

Before he can think better of it, his hand ghosts over your cheek. His thumb wipes away at the tears that continue to fall. His slight tenderness is enough to send your heartrate skyrocketing, and he swears he sees you press your legs together a moment later. You place your own hand on top of his to anchor him in place. Never had he been so intimate with any of his superheroes, let alone you. But Cecil doesn’t give a shit how out of line this is. He continues to hover quietly. 

“...Cecil?” you whisper.

He can’t tell if it’s the tone of your voice, or the way you said his name like a prayer on your tongue, but Cecil suddenly grasps your hand and yanks you up from the mattress. You stand on wobbly legs and follow him. 

He guides you to your desk in the corner of the room. Before you can ask what he’s planning, he places both hands on your waist and lifts you to sit on the edge of the piece of furniture. A small squeak leaves your lips at the sudden movement. Then, he’s caging you in, moving both his hands on either side of you and pressing them deep into the wood. His expression is hard to define due to how low he bows his head. 

“Cecil?” you ask again. When you get no reply other than a deep inhale, your fingers poke his arm. “Can you at least look at me? I feel like I’ve done something wrong…”

Your soft tail comes up and wraps itself around his other arm, and only then does he finally look directly at you. 

His pupils have engulfed the blue of his eyes. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as you tug on him, gently using your tail to pull him closer. He stumbles into you, moving to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The contact causes your breath to hitch and tail tighten around his limb. 

He practically mewls your name when he begins to say, “It’s nothing like that. It’s…fuck…”

His words begin husky and end barely at a whisper as he breathes in. He shudders at your sickeningly sweet scent, something he already wishes to never go another day without. Instead of flinching when your hands grab his back, he draws you in. As your claws pierce the material of his suit, he emits a sharp breath from the feeling of his skin being poked, grip growing tighter as a result of the sting. He would rather experience it than risk the chance of letting you go. 

It’s from that moment onward that Cecil seems to make his final decision. 

“Fuck it. Use me.”

Your eyebrows raise in response. 

“Use…you?”

He leans back, staring intently as his fingers leave the desk and clutch your knees. He spreads your legs apart and stares down at the obvious arousal coating your thighs. Cecil licks his bottom lip before resuming eye contact. The look on his face is almost unrecognizable, like he’s gone feral. 

“Use me,” Cecil murmurs your name in a sultry tone, “use my fingers.”

“What?! I-I can’t- fuck, this is wrong-” you begin to explain but the reasoning falls short the moment his hand comes in contact with the curve of your sensitive pussy. The gasp you release makes him nearly groan and he’d barely done anything yet. 

“C’mon, kid, use me. It’s the only way to make you feel better,” he mocks, fingers digging deeper into the shorts that cover your most vulnerable body part. He leans forward, lips hovering near your earlobe when he whispers, “Take these off, sweetheart.”

Without hesitation you follow his instructions, tail losing its grip around his arm at the same time your hands fly to your shorts to tug them down. The clothing is gone within seconds, but your shirt remains with two obvious mounds he knows damn well are your nipples poking through. Cecil doesn’t even bother assisting, he merely observes.

A slight flare of amusement lingers on his lips. There’s something indulgent in the way he watches you so carefully. It’s as though he anticipated you would act like this. 

"Eager," he says in a quiet, satisfied voice.

The pajama shorts, along with your soaked underwear, pool around your ankles. Your desperation is on full display now. Cecil spaces himself for only a couple seconds so that you can discard them on the floor. 

Heat rushes to your face and you let out a small whimper, “What? What’s funny?”

The man nearly combusts at how fast you spread yourself for him. He sees you properly now, and a knowing smile pulls at his lips.

You’re fucking beautiful. 

Cecil clicks his tongue, the weight of his gaze on your pussy makes you whine. He shushes you by settling between your legs. The moment his fingers graze the hot skin of your inner thigh, you groan softly under your breath. His other hand rests comfortably on your waist to anchor himself in place. He whispers in your ears once again, “Pretty funny this is the one time I asked you to do something and you actually listened. Didn’t have to repeat myself.”

You ignore the teasing and bite your lip, palms sliding up the front of his suit and locking themselves around his neck. If only slightly, you accidentally jerk your hips forward when he inches closer to the fat crease between your thigh and lower stomach. 

Cecil knows this is painful for you. Waiting longer than necessary would simply be inhuman of him. So with that, his middle finger toys with your wet lips, grazing your clit. The stickiness of your arousal immediately coats him. He presses a kiss to your shoulder the moment he pushes past your entrance and curls his slender digit inside your heat. It’s no surprise that your increased body temperature feels rather unnatural, but he knows he must be doing something right the moment he feels your legs quiver. 

All you can do is moan in response, hugging him tighter into your chest like your life depended on it. With a sharp inhale, you mewl, “Oohhhh, fuuuuck me-”

Cecil shuts you up the moment he’s slipping his finger in and out of your cunt at an agonizingly slow pace. There’s a brief pause in your words, then you’re moaning again and he swears he’s high off that sound alone. He can already feel your gummy walls tighten around him and he’s barely done anything yet. The glossy sheen that covers his hand triggers a large outline to form in the man’s trousers. 

“Was this what you needed, sweetheart?” Cecil jokes while smirking. He shoves a second finger inside without warning. The action makes you gasp and arch your back ever so slightly. 

“Please!” you cry out.

He picks up the pace and starts to stretch you, which only prompts you to dig your claws deeper into his shoulder blades. The roughness of his movements emits a pitiful cry from your pretty lips. The same ones Cecil wishes to kiss. His belt buckle knocks against the wooden desk as he absentmindedly thrusts towards your soaking heat. Fuck, he’s already getting carried away. But the feeling of your wet folds at his fingertips, the moans that echo off the walls, and how hard you cling to his frame makes him damn near dizzy. 

The director’s hand, the one not busy fucking your cunt, travels from your waist to your lower back. Once you notice the small change and look towards him, eyes blown out from nothing but pure lust, Cecil collides both your lips together in a messy, heated kiss. 

This action alone stirs the tight knot that had been forming deep in your belly. Your sudden orgasm washes over your body like a drug, a strong tingle starting in your spine and trickling all the way down to your toes. Your fluffy tail shoots upwards towards the ceiling, twisting and turning like it had no true destination. The near silent scream sent directly into his mouth, alongside the contraction around his digits, gives Cecil the confirmation that he had done exactly what he needed to do. 

But he was far from done with you. 

His jaw aches from how hard he devours you. You’re thrown off guard but continue to kiss him back nonetheless, cupping his face like he’s something delicate, careful not to scratch his scarred cheeks. The man curls both fingers inside you harshly, pushing against that spongy spot that makes you so, so sensitive. Still coming down from the first high, you practically yelp, “Cecil!”

He ignores the plea. Sure, it would be smarter to slow down, but he doesn’t care. He’s too far gone. All he can think about is making you come again just from his fingers alone. 

Cecil adjusts his hand so that his palm comes into direct contact with your clit, digging into the little nub while his digits rub that sweet spot repeatedly. Each little hair that grinds against his surface reminds him of how cute you really are even during such lewd activities. Before fingering you senseless, he made sure to stare eagerly at the trimmed strip of fuzz above your pussy. Somewhere deep down, Cecil had a feeling you kept yourself groomed in this way, like the good girl you are. 

He pulls away from your mouth, stumbling forward to grip the desk so he does not lose balance. Cecil stares into your eyes as he increases the speed. He hums in time with his thrusts. “You can do it, I know you can. One more time for me.”

“Fuck!”

Perhaps embarrassed from how easily he’s able to control you during such a vulnerable state, you shove your face into the crook of his neck, sniffling and crying from the intensity of your second orgasm. Just as the first time went, the impact makes your entire nervous system shake and you practically vibrate in his palm, tail brushing against his leg in the process. 

He eats all of it up. Every single second, because he’s not sure when the hell he’ll ever get to see something so beautiful again. 

Cecil slows his movements and takes a few seconds to play with your overly sensitive self, poking at the tender walls and listening to your whimpers. He’s so pleased with the mess he’s made of you. After letting you catch your breath, he slowly trails his soaked fingers out of your cunt and places his hand back down on the desk, just on the other side of your thigh. He leans in closer, lips hovering above your own. You continue to hold his face and look back at him like you were being treated exactly how you needed to be, like he had done something right.

He could close the gap. Right here, right now. Kiss you again and again like he was meant to, because at this point you feel so close to heaven that Cecil might be convinced the two of you were supposed to cross paths in life. Maybe he could stay here in this same spot for the rest of the night into the bleeding hours of dawn, fingering your sweet pussy and inhaling the scent of your arousal.

But then your hands leave his face.

And all of a sudden Cecil’s belt buckle comes undone. 

His eyes widened out of surprise. Straightening his back, his hands grab your wrists and halt you from being able to move further. You stare back at him out of surprise, and maybe even genuine confusion.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snarls, failing to nudge you away from his trousers. Your superhero strength definitely was not helping at this time.

“...you…don’t want to fuck me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows and flattened ears. 

Cecil’s heart drops into his stomach much harder than any other time earlier this night. Both your bodies grow rigid, too overwhelmed to move. The old man’s heart hammers and there’s a temporary loss of focus for only a few seconds. 

How dare you speak so vulgarly to your superior…because, truly, it only makes him want to drill you. But then he’s reminded of how unethical that would actually be. 

“I’m not doing that,” Cecil begins to protest, tilting his head to meet your worried gaze, “I've already violated so many GDA rules. I’ve stepped out of line. You don’t need me to-”

“Yes I do, I need you so bad. I’ll just be in pain the rest of the night if you don’t help,” you plead, urgency laced in your voice. 

He lets out a small gasp at your words. That goddamn imaginary boundary, the one that never truly existed in the first place, had already been crossed, if one could even argue that. Cecil replays what he did tonight and realizes that he has tattered your work relationship to a degree that couldn’t be fixed. He’s fucked. Well, both of you are. 

What’s going to happen if the rest of the GDA finds out? How would the public react? Shit, how are Cecil’s superheroes going to treat him? They already hate his guts most days of the week. He’s never exactly been on their good side. If they catch wind he’s fucking the only superhero he’s been subconsciously doting on for the last year, they’ll freak out. 

However, something else overpowers these anxieties. All the outside commotion, those oddly specific sounds of this criminal-ridden city, have been nothing but white noise since Cecil appeared on the other side of your apartment door. He’s not sure he can recall the last time that has ever happened. You are like some sort of magic spell, drugging him into a cloudy psychosis where you do nothing but plague his thoughts. 

So when Cecil looks down at your hands, still resting on his belt buckle, and then glances at your puffy folds leaking that slick juice, his throat goes dry. 

Maybe you do need a thick cock afterall. More specifically, Cecil Stedman’s. Because it’s to help you with your heat, right? And what kind of director would he be if he left you to writhe in agony the rest of the night?

Cecil is completely stunned for a brief period of time. Then, he lets out a very slow breath and lets go of your hands to grip your bare thighs. As he speaks, his look is deadly serious. 

"You always act like a slut, or is it just for me?"

You smirk, tail swishing back and forth behind you. “Just for you.”

He nods towards his bulge, eyes shooting back up to meet your own. “Well, go on then.”

Your hands are pulling the belt off right away, operating at a speed nearly as quick as you did earlier when you were discarding your pants. Before you can even unzip the article of clothing, Cecil reaches for your thin shirt and pulls it over your arms and head, finally catching sight of the hard nipples that had been poking the fabric earlier. He cups your breasts, pinching your precious skin as you pull him in for another kiss using your tail. 

Cecil hears you purr under your breath in between each movement. The cold air in the room seeps through his boxers once his trousers finally begin to wiggle past his crotch. Cecil doesn’t separate from your mouth as he helps you with the burden of taking off his garments. He hooks his fingers around the waistband of his briefs and tugs them down above knees. 

His throbbing cock nearly smacks his lower stomach the moment it springs free. Cecil stops the assault on your lips to look at your face, admiring your reaction to how large his member appears. A little whimper sneaks past your lips at the sight. He swears he could replay that sound on loop forever and never get bored. 

Cecil’s thumb caresses your cheek, noting that you can’t tear your gaze away from his cock. “C’mon, sweetheart, this will help.”

Suddenly, his fingers are digging into your side and pulling you to the very edge of the desk. Your ass barely hangs over the side, but the discomfort doesn’t even matter because Cecil’s gripping his length and hovering over your pussy. The moment he glides his mushroom tip through your wet lips, though? 

Fuck. 

He is so, so fucking hard. 

You give the man a miserable moan, whining like you were some sort of wounded animal. Your legs wrap around his lower half so he can only move forward, which is exactly what you begin to beg for. He watches the way your tail wraps itself around his wrist as though to encourage him to work at a faster pace. 

“Yes, yes, yes, please put it in me,” you pout, completely in awe at how girthy Cecil is. You just know from the sight alone, he’d fill you up in all the right spaces. 

Cecil loves watching how you arch your back to his touch. He experimentally rolls his hips a few times, cursing to himself at how fucking wet you are. It oozes out nonstop, covering him in enough slick that he’s positive he could just slip it in now and have no problem. He slowly rubs his tip against your clit just to earn another whimper from you. He travels down your folds, stopping right at the hole that aches to be filled. He’s thankful for the little glimmer of moonlight that shines a perfect light on your pretty pussy. 

Actually, Cecil can’t believe this is still real and very much happening. His jaw twitches from restraint, trying to soak up this moment and prolong it for as long as possible. But then he hears you whine again and knows that at this point, he’s just being a dick. 

“Cecil, please fuck me, I can’t wait much longer,” you huff, extremely worried with how many seconds had passed since he started teasing you. 

“Fine, fine, whatever you say,” Cecil says sarcastically, mouth forming into the shape of an ‘o’ when he finally pushes inside. 

You cry out in surprise, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your cunt finally feels that satisfying stretch. Each inch that drives deeper into you causes you to forget to breathe momentarily, your fluffy ears fluttering at the top of your head from the overwhelming sensation. Cecil, on the other hand, actually stops breathing all together. 

Because how the hell are you this perfect?

You’re so snug around his member, taking him like a good girl. Cecil grunts and tightens the grip he’s resumed on your hips. He throws his head back once he’s completely inside you, relishing in the feeling. He exhales, “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Cecil,” you gasp, your inner walls contracting around him just from the compliment alone, “need you to move.”

While Cecil is used to being the one to give out commands, his heart skips a beat at the way you so eagerly ask him to fuck you. 

A low, possessive growl crawls up from the back of his throat and he finally gives you what you’d been craving all night. He draws his hips back and thrusts forward, over and over again. He’s so deep and both of you are a mess as a result. 

“Uh, uh, uh!” you moan in time with each blunt thrust. Your entire body shakes, causing various items discarded on the desk to fall to the floor. 

“Always knew you were a slut. Fucking knew it,” the older man groans, staring at how you take him so well. Cecil fucks you on his cock with the type of energy he didn’t know he still had within him. It was the kind of vigor he was sure was left behind in his younger years, seemingly alive now that he has you caged here on the desk with nowhere to go but to continue pushing against his long, thick shaft. 

The rhythm of his punishing strokes pushes air from your lungs. Your tail has since left his arm and now lazily sways side to side next to you, ears completely flattened while you practically drool. You cry out, “Hng- oh- holy fuck!”

Cecil can’t seem to stop. He keeps drilling into your pussy to the point he swears you’re dripping on the pile of clothes near his feet. Each time his cock splits you in two, it’s thorough, but messy. Harsh, but necessary. Everything he does is as desperate as you. 

Once Cecil somehow musters up enough energy to quicken his pace, you fall backwards onto the desk and groan loudly. The movements make your breasts bounce, causing Cecil’s cock to twitch. With the intensity increasing, it’s no surprise the two of you approach your orgasm fairly quickly, but he’d be damned if he didn’t get you to finish before himself. 

Cecil doesn’t stop moving. With a thin layer of sweat building on his forehead, one of his hands leaves your hip to rub your clit in constant circles. 

“Ah!” you yelp. Cecil’s finger expertly swivels around the bundles of nerves like he knew exactly what movements were going to make you melt like putty. Your head lulls to the side, eyes closed as you focus intently on the rhythm of his hips snapping against your own. Accidentally, you murmur, “so-so fucking big, holy shit.”

Cecil hears the comment anyway and it boosts his ego to a new level. He smirks and mutters back, “Yeah? Who knew you needed my cock to feel better.”

“Sh-Shut up, Cecil, please I’m so close!” you exclaim, looking back at him with the most fucked out face he’s ever seen on anyone. 

Cecil presses down harder on your clit, narrowing his eyes. He leans towards you, listening at how your breathing is beginning to grow more labored and uneven. He growls, “Come for me, sweetheart.”

The words trigger an explosion within you. Your walls tighten around Cecil’s cock, which was still rapidly ramming into you at an extraordinary speed. The orgasm tears a low scream from you, your entire body going limp on the desk from the sheer intensity of it all. He begins to pant, chasing his own high moments later. His hand leaves your clit to play with your breasts, squeezing the warm flesh. He praises you, “Yes, just like that. Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.”

“Hng, please, need it,” you beg, staring at him with flushed cheeks. 

Cecil is completely worn out, which doesn’t surprise him, so he quickly resorts to laying on top of your body, suit pressing against your hot and sweaty skin. His lips attach themselves to your neck, sucking like he was marking his property. He whispers, “So pretty like this. Could fuck you all night, you know. Just might have to.”

Your claws clutch his shoulders, puncturing the fabric. You gasp at the mere idea, pussy clamping around Cecil once again. He comes moments later, spilling into you and pumping you full of his seed. He knows he’ll regret doing that in the morning, or maybe even minutes after this, but right now he doesn't care. It seemed you didn’t either. You actually moan at the action, grinning at how the warm liquid seeps past his member and down your bottom. 

You faintly feel Cecil smile against your neck. 

You’re both quiet for a moment, panting ever so slightly. Cecil’s grip on your entire body finally eases. He pulls away and looks down at the mess he’s made; you, laid on the desk, red and full of him. Your eyes are droopy, either from drowsiness or lust, he wasn’t sure. Your hair is evidently knotted as well, a true sign of getting fucked nice and hard. 

Cecil momentarily worries he’s in worse shape, but before he can even take a glance in a mirror, he hears that all too familiar ring in his earpiece that work is summoning him. Now. 

Which is why you force yourself to suffer where you stand, squirming and twitching as Cecil shuffles through paperwork, barely sparing you a glance, hardly even acknowledging your presence. This stings more than if he was outright vociferating at you, fury in his breath and anger in his eyes - at least then you would actually be holding his attention.

He must be doing this to punish you, then. Instead of outright verbally degrading you to an unprecedented level, he simply ignores you, treats you as something insignificant, unimportant, a burden.

The thought makes your heart ache.

After several minutes of this silent, mental torture, Cecil huffs. He stands up. The act makes you stand up straight yourself, anticipating what will happen next.

Insults? A suspension? Banned from working with the GDA?

No. No, Cecil would never do such a thing. Even after all you’ve done, you’re still valuable. He still values you, both as a person and a hero. He has to.

It’s too quiet, and your heart is running too fast, and you can’t keep waiting anymore.

“Cecil-“”

“Shut up.” He spits. He looks tired, more than usual. Cecil unknots his tie from his neck, letting it hang loose.

You frown, swallowing. “Cecil-“”

“I said shut up.” He tells you, voice raised with annoyance. His glare cuts you. He speaks in a calmer tone when he notices your apprehension. “Come here.”

Your breath catches in your throat. What is he planning to do with you?

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His eyes are like a magnet, drawing you to him with shaky, uneven steps as if you were a lost fawn and your only solace was Cecil.

He waits for you, uncharacteristically patient while you stumble up behind his desk, lip chewed red and fingers nimbled numb. You can’t get a read on him, not now - you’re too frazzled, too on edge to figure out what he’ll do once he gets his hands on you. A little twinge of fear rises in your chest.

Cecil hums when you do as you’re told. Pleased that you can listen sometimes. He scans you from top to bottom, taking note of your glaringly obvious nervous ticks, inspecting you almost clinically.

He’s checking you over for any serious injuries.

You gulp.

Cecil moves his hand, placing it on the small of your back and guides you to the edge of the desk. You puff out a breath of air as your thighs press into Italian, mahogany wood, all the while Cecil crowds behind you, forcing you forward like he’s trying to meld you and the desk into one. His hands are placed on either side of you, trapping you effectively.

Your eyes fall shut, relishing in how his body feels against yours - firm, hard, stable. All the things you especially need. A firm, hard, stable hand to guide you.

He rests his head on your shoulder. You can feel the weight he carried from that one action alone, the weight of his responsibilities, his stress, his position, the weight of the world. He doesn’t need you adding to the already mile-long list.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Cecil asks you with a gruff, exhausted voice. “How many times do we have to go over this?”

“Cecil-“”

“No. No.” He tuts, breath fanning over your bare shoulder. Quieter now, he speaks, “I’m all out of words for you. Maybe you need a more…hands-on approach.”

Your head twists, your eyes meeting his, all wide and doe-eyed, glazed over with confusion. On the other hand, Cecil’s are like stone, worn and ancient, looking down at you with a gaze you’re now too familiar with. Dominance and absolute control.

“Bend over. On the desk.”

Cecil doesn’t wait for your response or reaction, already moulding you into position like clay, gently pushing your upper body onto the desk and, malleable as you are, you take it, trusting yourself in his hands despite the anxiety lighting through your body. Despite everything.

You feel so exposed. Bent over and presented to him. It’s almost embarrassing.

Almost.

He sighs. Big hands smooth down your clothed back, sending sparks up your spine, travelling through your synapses. His hips press into you from behind.

“There’s only so much one hero can get away with, (✮). You were toeing the line between calculated violence and full blown fuckery.” He breathes out a chuckle but you don’t think he’s very amused.

He leans over you, his front against your back and his lips brushing against your ear. “You overstepped that line by a fucking mile.”

Your forehead meets the wood with a thud.

Yeah, you know that. You know you’re always pushing the boundaries, Cecil’s boundaries, of right and wrong, good and bad, rational and emotional and you know you shouldn’t be. You should be an obedient, little hero who listens to their boss. But if this is where you end up after you do break the unwritten “rules” - bent over a desk, waiting for Cecil to ease you right into the place in the hierarchy just below him (both metaphorically and literally) - then you can’t feel too bad about what it took to get you right where you wanted to be. Sprawled out and waiting, a gift all for him.

“I need to keep my heroes in line. And for that to happen, they need to listen. You understand that. You know that.”

You bit your lip, nodding tenaciously.

He grabs your hair, not roughly, only as a warning. Warning you of who’s in charge. Of whose boss. “Words.”

You scramble for them. They trip out of your mouth, jumbled. “Yes-yes. I do know…I do.”

“Say it.”

“You need to keep…your heroes in line. And-and they need to…listen.”

You feel him relax. “That’s right.”

You realise then that he was more worried then he let on. You have your tells but so does he.

One of his hands travels down to your trousers, thumb dipping below the band. “So you know why I have to do this, right?”

You nod frantically. His hand burrowed in your hair tightens.

“Yes!”

“Yes what?

“Yes-yes, sir!”

He hums, happy and content. Pleased. His sense of control affirmed by your submission is a delicacy that he's addicted to and a taste that cannot be replaced or replicated by anything.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

Without warning, Cecil promptly slides your trousers down your thighs, letting them fall to your feet. He moans at the sight of you spread out on the desk and feels his slacks tighten. But this isn’t about that right now. No, that’s for another time. For now, you need a hard hand and hard discipline, not pleasure.

Cecil doesn’t bother pulling your underwear down, he merely tugs them up high in between your ass cheeks, successfully wedging you in the process.

It’s degrading, demeaning the way he’s acting like a schoolyard bully and you’re his favourite victim. But you’d be lying if you said there was no knot of heat being tied within the pit of your stomach or that you didn’t feel your underwear being ruined as the seconds passed.

He makes you feel so small yet so significant at the same time.

You yelp when he gropes your bare, clear flesh in his hands.

“Hm. I’d say fifteen is a good amount.” He states, voice slightly horse. “What do you think?”

You don’t think you have a choice in the matter, but you speak your thoughts anyway.

“…That’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

There’s a short pause.

“I think fifteen is very fucking generous considering the stunt you pulled. Don’t you think.”

Well, he’s right about that.

He doesn’t actually care about your thoughts and you believe he wanted to make fun of you. Just a little bit. Poke fun at your constant failures, so common that you end up on his desk with your ass out.

Lamb to the slaughter. Again.

Smack.

It’s like you hear it before you feel it. You don’t even register the sting until a few moments later, after you’ve already been jerked forward by the force of it. Yelping, you look over your shoulder at him, stupidly feeling betrayed.

Cecil caresses your ass immediately, both to soothe the skin and your clear surprise.

“That’s one. I want you to count them for me. Can you do that?”

You blink.

“…Yes.”

“How much was that?”

“One.”

“Hm.” He huffs. “So you can listen. Good to know.”

Cecil, Cecil, Cecil. Even at a time like when you're half-naked and waiting to be spanked like a steak, he’s still his catty, sarcastic self. Some things never change.

“Wait!” You stop him, sitting up on your elbows. Your heart drops. “What if someone walks in?”

Cecil looks to the side. He doesn’t seem phased or even concerned at the possibility of an employee. or worse, another hero walking in at this damning sight.

“I wouldn’t give a damn if they all came in and watched, kid.” His hand clasps your shoulder, forcing you back down flat on the desk. “You don’t move without me saying so.”

“…Okay.”

He swats you once more, again, no warning, harder this time. It makes you hiss in pain, dreading tomorrow. You know you won’t be able to sit down with comfort. But even more so, what you feel is pleasure. Want and desire for Cecil, for him to hit you where nobody else will suspect or see. It’s exhilarating. You can never get enough of it. Of him.

“”T-Two.”

“Huh. There you go. Look how easy that is.” Cecil suppresses a groan at how your skin already blooms red like a rose.

He pelts you again. Your hips collide with the desk.

“Three!”

“Is this it then, hm? This is the only way I’ll get you to listen to me? Do I have to smack your ass on the field like a goddamn horse to get you to follow some simple fucking orders?”

Cecil spreads the globes of your ass, exposing your knotted, hidden hole to the cool air. You flail your arms back, attempting to cover yourself but he only pins them back at your sides.

“Try that again and you won’t be able to move your hands. Stop moving.”

You listen, heaving a long exhale. He’s only spanked you thrice and you’re already in a state; trembling, gasping and near drooling at the impact.

It goes on and on like this, a symphony of hand meeting flesh over and over and over again, alternating between hard and soft, hot and cold, like music, echoing around the silence of his office along with your cries and begs and whines and moans, creating a choir of passion spawned by the inapt relationship of you and Cecil.

And he praises you for the way you lay down and take it. You take the pain like a drug, strung up on the ache of your ass, controlled solely by the palms of his hands.

Ten.

It’s almost time for you. You know, Cecil sees it. He knows you well enough to be aware of your limits.

“Ten.” He strokes the flaming skin of your ass. “Good job. Almost finished.”

A sob leaves you before you can stifle it.

Cecil sighs, skimming a hand along the top of your head.

“I know. I know.” He coos. “Just five more. You can do it, I know you can.”

You begin to cry real tears when he starts back up again. It’s only brief but it devastates you. Ringing trills in your ears, nails shredding across dark timber, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose. A beautiful mess.

You’re a puddle by the time he’s finished. Your skin is aflame, an inferno, no doubt splattered red with hand-shaped bruises and discolourations. You internally weep for the upcoming days.

“All done. See? How hard was that?” Cecil mumbles.

He helps you stand up, practically lifts your weak, limp body. Sniffles and hiccups blow past your lips in the aftermath. It’s all so much. As he begins to redress you, pulling up your pants and fixing your shirt, you find yourself leaning into him, nuzzling your face into his crisp white shirt. You can feel him tense for just a moment, like he’s battling his own thoughts. Like after everything that has transpired in his office, touching you tenderly would be a step too far.

Then Cecil does reciprocate; robotically raises his hands to cradle the back of your head. That’s the most you’ll get out of him, you think.

“Don’t do that again.” He breathes. His voice is tight. “Had us worried there for a second. You even think about doing that again…I won’t be using my hand.”

He was worried. That’s what you take away from his threat. Your heart sings. Pathetic.

A quiet crackle of static sounds through the room, emitting from Cecil. From his earpiece.

“Huh?” He asks. “Right now?” He groans. “I’ll be there in five.”

Cecil moves back a step and places his hands on your shoulders. He stares at your tear-stricken face, red lips, bleary, wet lashes and bleary eyes, eyes that look up to him for support, protection and guidance. A ghost of guilt washed over him before he quickly snuffs it out.

He’s done worse than this.

His gaze flickers downwards. At your lips.

“You’re suspended from hero duties until you can prove to me that you’re capable of listening.” It seems like he remembers the condition you’re in. The condition he left you in. “Stay at the pentagon for the night. One of my employees will come fetch you.”

A flash. A buzz. He’s gone.

You’re left alone once more, flooded with want and another feeling you’re not so sure of.

*