Starlight Dreams

The elevator doors opened smoothly, revealing the sleek, polished interior of The Seven’s HQ.

Annie stepped out beside The Deep, her eyes wide as she took in the grandeur of the main conference room. The walls gleamed, the table was an imposing centerpiece, and every detail spoke to the power and prestige of her new position.

“Wow,” Annie breathed, her voice tinged with awe.

The Deep smirked beside her. Lithe and statuesque, his sharp jaw caught the gleam of the overhead lights, accentuating the intense, charismatic eyes that seemed to both challenge and invite. His hands rested casually on his hips as he surveyed the room before turning his attention to a wall of monitors displaying satellite feeds.

“Pretty cool, huh? Oh, hey, check this out.” He gestured towards the monitors, “We’ve got two World View-4 satellites in geocentric orbit. We can read a getaway car’s license plate from 380 miles up.”

“That’s insane,” Annie said, shaking her head with a smile. “I mean, I was working with a police scanner I bought on eBay.”

The Deep chuckled. “Yeah, well, not anymore you’re not. Oh, and wait till you see the dining room. We may or may not have stolen Miro from Gramercy Tavern. Dude’s a genius. You’ll never eat better.”

Annie laughed softly, her nerves easing a bit as she glanced toward the head of the table. Her eyes caught on the chair at the center, larger and more imposing than the others. “That’s his, isn’t it?”

“Homelander’s? Yeah.” The Deep’s smirk widened as he pulled the chair out slightly. “But you’ll have your own soon. Here, give it a try. Come on.”

Annie hesitated but let him guide her toward the chair. She sank into the plush seat, her hands resting on the armrests as she looked around the room from this new perspective.

“It’s just... I used to stand in the mirror, pretending to be here,” she said quietly, a flicker of disbelief in her voice.

The Deep crouched slightly to meet her gaze, his expression softening. “You know something? On my first day, I felt like a total fraud. Like I didn’t deserve to be here. But the good news? Everybody feels that way at first.”

“Thank you,” Annie said, her smile warm.

“Hey,” he said, straightening up again. “We’re a team now. We’ve got each other’s backs.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Let me guess—you had a poster of Homelander on your wall growing up, huh?”

Annie laughed, shaking her head. “No, actually. I don’t know... Homelander’s just so... he’s like Jesus or something. Honestly, I had a poster of you.”

The Deep blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Yeah,” she admitted, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. “I kind of had a schoolgirl crush on you.”

“Oh my God,” The Deep said, his grin widening. “No way.”

“Yeah,” Annie said, glancing out the window as her embarrassment grew. “I hope that’s not inappropriate to say.”

“No, no, not at all,” The Deep said quickly, his voice almost giddy. “That’s... kind of wild, honestly.”

When she turned back to him, her breath caught. The Deep had pulled down his pants, his cock already in his hand, lazily stroking himself.

“What are you doing?” Annie asked, her voice half-laughing, half-curious.

“You said you had a crush on me,” The Deep replied with a shrug, as though his actions were the most natural thing in the world. “I figured, you know, why not?”

Annie blinked, a mix of surprise and amusement bubbling in her chest. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to be so forward—but it didn’t feel wrong. Not really.

Her gaze dropped briefly to his cock, and she hesitated for a moment.

His cock was... average, if she was honest. Thick enough to fill her mouth comfortably but short enough that there was no challenge in taking him all the way down. Still, she wasn’t about to let that show.

A fleeting thought crossed her mind: Don’t say nothing. That would be rude.

“Oh my God,” she’d murmured breathlessly, her fingers wrapping gently around his shaft. “You’re so big.” She’d looked up at him with wide, shining eyes, her lips parted slightly as though in reverence.

The Deep’s chest puffed out slightly, his grin widening as he let out a low chuckle. “Yeah? You think so?”

Annie nodded fervently, lowering her mouth to kiss the tip of his cock, her lips lingering as her tongue darted out to tease him. “Mm-hmm. You’re perfect,” she said softly before taking him fully into her mouth.

She worked him with enthusiasm, her head bobbing in a steady rhythm as her tongue swirled along his length. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, creating a tight seal that drew a groan from his lips. Every movement was precise, deliberate, designed to drive him wild.

“God, Starlight.” The Deep muttered, his hands finding their way to her golden hair. “You’re incredible.”

The praise sent a warm thrill through her, spurring her on as she picked up the pace. She let her lips pop audibly off his cock before diving back down, her tongue lapping at him like she couldn’t get enough. Her hands gripped his thighs for balance at first, but then one slid around to his ass, her fingers splaying across his firm, sculpted cheeks. She couldn’t help but squeeze—he really did have an ass of steel.

The Deep groaned, his hips jerking slightly as he thrust into her mouth. Annie welcomed the movement, adjusting her angle so he could slide deeper. Her nose brushed against his shaved smooth navel. She hummed softly, the vibrations sending shivers up his spine as her fingers kneaded his ass.

“Fuck.” he gasped, his head tilting back as he fought to keep control. “You’re... you’re amazing.”

Her lips curved into a smile around him, and she pulled back slightly, letting him slide out of her mouth with a wet pop. Her hand replaced her lips, stroking him slowly as she caught her breath. “I just want to make you happy,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness. “You’ve always been my favorite.”

He grinned down at her, his cock twitching in her hand. “You’re doing a hell of a job.”

Annie winked, leaning back in to lick a long stripe up his shaft before taking him back into her mouth. She alternated between soft, teasing sucks and deeper, more intense motions, her head bobbing in a rhythm that left him panting. Saliva glistened on his cock, her cheeks flushed with effort as she pulled out all the stops to impress him.

When he finally came, she didn’t flinch. She swallowed eagerly, the warm, salty release sliding down her throat without hesitation. Her tongue flicked out to clean him off, her lips pressing gentle kisses along his length as she milked every last drop from him.

As The Deep sagged against the table, his breath ragged, Annie sat back on her heels, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She looked up at him with a radiant smile, her golden hair shining in the dim light.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice soft and almost shy.

“Okay?” The Deep laughed, shaking his head. “That was fucking incredible.”

Annie beamed, her chest swelling with pride. This was everything she’d ever wanted—to be part of The Seven, to be admired, to be valued. In that moment, she felt like she truly belonged.

---

Annie January woke up with a sharp gasp, her golden hair tangled around her face as she sat up in bed. Her heart pounded in her chest, the remnants of her dream still vivid, still clinging to her like the faint hum of the lights overhead. She rubbed her temples, trying to sort through the jumbled thoughts in her mind.

The dream had felt so real. She’d been back in The Seven’s conference room, standing beside The Deep as he led her around like a mentor showing her the ropes. He’d been smug, yes, but not unpleasant. She remembered kneeling in front of him, the warmth of his hand on her shoulder, his cock in her mouth as she eagerly sucked him off. She’d even complimented him, called him “big,” though he hadn’t quite lived up to her expectations. That part didn’t bother her. It was just good manners, after all. You didn’t leave a man feeling inadequate, especially when he was a teammate.

But then there was the other memory. The one where he’d blackmailed her. The one where she’d felt humiliated, furious, violated. She’d spat his cum out in disgust, her anger flaring like a fire she couldn’t control. That version of the story felt wrong, like a shadow of a life she didn’t fully recognize.

Why did she have two completely different memories of the same event? One where she’d been a happy, eager fan giving her idol a blowjob, and another where she’d been **** into it? The latter didn’t make sense. Sure, The Deep had turned out to be a scumbag—a selfish, shallow idiot who didn’t deserve to be in The Seven—but she’d still sucked his dick. She’d sucked a lot of dick in The Seven.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet pressing against the cool floor. A faint headache throbbed at her temples, and she groaned, rubbing them as she pushed herself up and shuffled toward the small bathroom. The mirror reflected her sleepy, slightly disheveled form as she turned on the sink, splashing cold water onto her face in an attempt to shake the lingering haze.

Her jaw tightened at the thought, anger flaring in her chest. She hated them. Every last one of them. Homelander, with his god complex and casual cruelty, pretending to be the symbol of heroism while reveling in absolute power. A-Train, selfish and self-serving to the end, willing to trample anyone just to stay ahead. Black Noir, a silent shadow who followed orders without question, no matter how monstrous.

They were all scumbags, corrupt to their cores. And yet, she’d been on her knees for them more times than she could count.

That was the part that made her stomach twist, made her fists clench involuntarily at her sides. Because at one point, she had believed. She had looked up to superheroes, thought they were real heroes. That was before The Seven, before she saw the truth.

The Seven weren’t heroes. They were celebrities wrapped in power, children with godlike abilities and no moral compass. They did whatever they wanted, to whoever they wanted, and people loved them for it. They weren’t saving the world—they were maintaining a brand.

She had spent months kneeling before them, playing her role, smiling through it all. It wasn’t just that she had sucked their dicks—it was that they had expected it, and she had eventually learned not to question it. Because that was just how things worked.

But that wasn’t what a hero was.

Real heroes fought for something beyond themselves. Elastigirl, who had sacrificed so much to protect her family and the world, who never lost sight of what truly mattered. Mr. Fantastic, whose brilliant mind had saved more lives than anyone could count, whose heroism was built on intellect and integrity rather than brute strength. Maxima, not just a warrior-queen but a fierce advocate for the power and sovereignty of women, a champion of female strength in a universe that so often sought to reduce them to sidekicks or trophies. She wielded her might not for conquest but for justice, never bowing to outdated patriarchal structures, always demanding that women stand as equals—or better—among their male counterparts. She wasn’t just a protector; she was a statement, living proof that no woman needed permission to claim her place at the top.

That was what heroes were supposed to be.

The Seven had shattered that belief in her, ground it into dust. She had lost her faith in superheroes during her time with them, and she wasn’t sure she would ever truly get it back.

“Thank God for the Nexus Accord,” she muttered under her breath, her voice bitter.

The arrival of Battleworld had only continued the crumbling of her faith in everything—the world, herself, the very idea of heroism. But the Nexus Accord had given her a new purpose, a new chance to rebuild what had been broken. Unlike The Seven, unlike Vought’s parade of self-obsessed frauds, the Nexus Accord wasn’t about selling heroism. It was about protecting what was left of civilization, about creating something new.

Something real.

And she wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her.

The dream-memory felt so real, so right. She’d been happy, hadn’t she? Happy to kneel for The Deep, happy to show her admiration, her gratitude. That was how things had worked. You supported your teammates. You helped them when they needed you. It was just part of the job. But the other memory—that dark, angry version—felt like it didn’t belong. Like it was some twisted story someone had told her, not something she’d lived.

She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles whitening as she tried to make sense of it. Why did she remember spitting his cum out? Why did she remember feeling violated? That wasn’t her. That wasn’t how she thought, how she felt. She swallowed, her throat tightening as a faint ache bloomed behind her eyes.

The bathroom lights buzzed faintly, their glow pulsing as her powers flickered in response to her emotions. The brightness seemed to press against her, like a weight bearing down on her thoughts. She winced, her hand flying to her temple as the ache grew sharper. The lights pulsed again, and for a moment, she swore she could hear something—a faint whisper, just at the edge of her perception.

She closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath as the pain began to subside. The whisper faded, the lights returning to their steady glow. When she opened her eyes, the reflection staring back at her seemed almost unfamiliar, like someone she’d forgotten.

“Why does this keep happening?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She stood there for a moment longer, her thoughts swirling. The dream-memory was real. It had to be real. The other version didn’t make sense. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she was.

“Focus, Annie,” she said softly, her voice steadying. “You’re part of something bigger now. Let it go.”

Annie stared at her reflection, the glow of the bathroom’s fluorescent bulbs bouncing off the mirror. Her golden hair framed her flushed face, and her lips glistened faintly with the residue of her restless sleep. She didn’t move for a moment, her thoughts tangled as she tried to untangle the conflicting memories swirling in her mind.

Her gaze dropped to her mouth. Without thinking, she raised her hand and pressed two fingers against her lips, her brow furrowing slightly as her fingers slipped inside. She prodded at her tongue, tracing its soft surface as her thoughts turned inward.

In the darker memory, her mouth had been something sacred, something intimate and special. It was reserved for moments of connection, for guys she truly liked and cared about. Hughie... Kissing, sucking, licking—it was meant for romance, for trust, for love. And yet...

That couldn’t be further from the truth, she thought, her lips parting slightly as her fingers withdrew.

Her mouth wasn’t sacred. It wasn’t special. It was just an organ, a tool. Its purpose was as functional as her hands or her stomach. It was designed to take things in, break them down, and turn them into fuel. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Her brow furrowed as she thought about the things that had passed through her lips. Food, certainly—though not always fresh. Old food, lint, fingernails, hair, skin, mucus, earwax, even urine. Things that weren’t technically edible, but if they were passable, they went in the bin. Her bin.

And semen?

Her lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. If she was honest, semen was better than most.

Annie opened her mouth wide, her tongue hanging out as she examined herself in the mirror. Her face looked silly—stupid, even—but there was nothing precious about what she saw. Teeth, gums, a tongue, a soft pink hole at the back. Nothing sacred. Just a mechanism designed to take things in and push them down.

It’s the perfect place for semen, she thought, tilting her head slightly. Inviting, even.

Her lips curved upward in a faint smirk as the thought lingered. If you were a guy, what better place to put your cock? There was no mess. Once he came, all you had to do was swallow. No fuss, no cleanup, just efficiency. Her tongue flicked out briefly, as though testing the idea, and she let out a soft chuckle.

It wasn’t that different from wrapping your hand around a penis, was it? Wrapping your lips around one was the same principle. It was just another organ, another way to help someone out. Functional. Logical. Natural.

She stared at herself for a moment longer, her tongue retreating as she closed her mouth with a quiet hum. It was strange, how this memory—this version of herself—felt so different from the shadowy anger of that other dream. Why had she thought her mouth was special? Why had she thought it was some kind of violation? That wasn’t her. That wasn’t how she thought.

Her hands rested lightly on the sink as she leaned forward, her golden hair falling around her face. She tried to focus on the brighter memory, the one where she’d been happy to kneel for The Deep, to show him her admiration. That was real. That was her.

The whisper of the lights hummed faintly around her, almost soothing in its consistency. She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and gave herself one last look in the mirror.

“Nothing sacred about it,” she murmured, her voice steady. “It’s just a hole.”

With that, she turned and left the room, the lingering taste of clarity settling on her tongue.

But as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, something shifted. The hum of the lights followed her, not just a presence, but a pressure, something felt. A static tension that pulsed beneath her skin, crawling up the back of her neck like an unseen ****.

Her brow furrowed, an odd prickle of unease worming its way into her thoughts.

Why does it feel like I’ve had this realization before?

She had been so sure, so certain that she’d finally sorted the truth from the lie, and yet...

A flicker.

Not in the hallway. Not in the physical lights above her.

Inside.

A memory—faint, fleeting, just out of reach. An echo of something she should know, something slipping through her fingers like sand.

She slowed her steps, pressing her lips together.

Something was wrong.

Something to do with the light.

Something to do with her memories.

Her stomach twisted, and for the first time in a long while, Starlight felt afraid.