#“surely not” [rips the headphones out of his ears and fucking dips]

[aro-throughyourchest]

watch this and block limit <3

Bro being c!tubbo, seeing that fucking tower. You’ve been going through the hardest, most numbing time of your life and all you want to do is see him again. you don’t know why you’re going on, maybe there’s too much going on. he doesn’t want to see you.

the area is barren. it’s desolate. you’re too late.

you took too long, you should’ve never come at all—you see that fucking tower. it’s the block limit. it towers over the block limit.

you exiled him. and you were too late.

that’s my 9/11 right there

[kneelesssharks]

Ramble On

Content: Eddie Munson x fem!punk!Reader

Named after the Led Zeppelin song that has the same name, but not necessarily inspired by the lyrics or anything.

Warnings: some swearing, reader gets knocked over and goes to the nurse but nothing graphic, over all pretty fluffy

A/N: i’ve been reading so much eddie munson fanfic recently because i l o v e men with that eighties hair rock hair with a punk style who has a thing for rock and roll, is a little stupid and an asshole, but is also a huge nerd, because that’s me. and while i love everyone who’s pumping out these fics for him i keep seeing people wanting to see him with a shy type or a really hyper femme type and i appreciate that and that those people are being represented with a character that they want to be paired with. but as someone who very much dresses in the punk style and listens to a fair amount of eighties and earlier classic rock who has a tattoo and dyed hair and piercings i thought ‘hey i’d like to see him with like me, i think we’d really like each other’ and instead of bothering someone else with it i thought i might as well give it a go. again i’m really not a super experienced fic writer and i have thus far only written harry potter but i wanted to dip my toe into the stranger things world. NO SPOILERS IN THIS.

Eddie Munson and you seemed like you were bound to be together, right? I mean you had the punk rock look, wore the leather jacket and the sturdy leather boots. If you weren’t wearing a pair of ripped patch jeans you would no doubt be sporting a pair of fishnets that maybe had one too many holes in them. You’d given yourself a couple stick and pokes before you turned eighteen and could finally get something more serious, and you’d put at least one too many holes in your body than most people around town deemed fit.

But somehow you went unnoticed by the leader of the Hellfire Club. Sure you didn’t feel the need to go walking around on top of the cafeteria tables at lunch, but you’d gotten enough stares just walking down the hallway.

Sure, maybe you and Eddie only had like one class together this year, and before he had been above you in grade so you couldn’t share a class. You thought he probably just saw you as an underling. Just someone else who went to this stupid school that would move out of town for good or be stuck here like the rest of them.

You weren’t shy, at least that’s what you told yourself. You could talk to anyone who approached you, give a compliment to a stranger, help someone in class, and besides some brief name calling no one really tried to fuck with you. You weren’t a pushover that’s for sure, but something about Eddie fucking Munson made your heart speed up.

Now Eddie had an entirely different perspective on you. He thought you were the most badass chick he’d ever seen. You walked down the hall with your headphones on blasting whatever cool ass music you had picked out that morning. He knew you had a major collection because of how often he’d seen you in and out of the only record shop in town.

You’d often worn the t-shirts from the band you enjoyed the most, able to hunt them down through some family in the city. Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Quiet Riot, and Eddie’s personal favorite Black Sabbath.

He thought the pins through your ears were badass, and the small tattoos he could see were the sexiest thing on the planet. You were his punk goddess and he could only worship you from a distance.

Walking down the hall with your music a little too loud you’d been searching through your stack of papers to grab the one you needed to hand into your teacher when you’d run into something. Or someone, or multiple someone’s.

“Shit I’m so sorry,” Dustin exclaimed as he and Mike scrambled to pick up some of the papers you dropped.

You were laying on the tile in the hall blinking slowly up at the ceiling. With your headphones knocked off your ears and the back of your skull lightly throbbing you were slightly dazed. Dustin entered your line of sight waving a hand in front of your face. He looks up when you don’t make a move to get up and before you can register anything you see the man of your dreams lean over you. His hair falling around his face, his brows knitted together with concern.

“Y/n,” you hear asked, almost through a haze. Part of you can’t believe he knows your name, the other part of you is realizing you’ve probably been on the floor for a concerning amount of time. You move to sit up in order to save yourself from further embarrassment. “Hey,” Eddie lightly smiled as you slowly push yourself up, “don’t rush, you got knocked down by a couple natural disasters,” he joked.

You let out a soft laugh as you took Dustin’s outstretched hand to help you stand up. You’re a little wobbly on your feet but Eddie’s right there behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist as you lean a little bit too far to one side.

You laugh, “What had you two in such a rush,” you look between an embarrassed Mike and Dustin, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach for the fact that Eddie has yet to let go of your waist.

Mike rubs the back of his neck, “We were on our way to a Hellfire meeting before lunch.”

Well that explains why Eddie was so close by.

“Go tell the others the meeting can wait until after school, I’m taking y/n to the nurses office to get this bump on her head checked,” Eddie instructs the two freshmen who just nod their heads and hand Eddie the stack of papers you’d been carrying, before scurrying off behind you.

“You don’t have to take me to the nurse Eddie,” you turn your head to finally look up at the man, who’s currently laser focused on getting you to the nurses office. “It wasn’t that bad of a fall, I was just listening to Sabbath a little too loudly and not paying attention when Dustin and Mike ran into me. Really I’m fine, plus I need to get that paper to O’Donnell’s before lunch or she said it’ll be late.”

Really you just didn’t want to spend any more time feeling your legs turn into jelly because of your proximity to the long haired man, whose silver rings you could feel through your shirt. You didn’t want to spend anymore time thinking about how his hand fits so comfortably on your waist, his arm sitting against the small of your back and how he smelled just ever so lightly of weed. You’d found it funny really, how it just engrained itself into his very being. Around him you didn’t think you’d ever need to smoke, you felt higher than you could have imagined.

“We’ll we’re already here,” Eddie huffs finally looking down at you. You’d already been staring at him, and he had definitely caught you.

You quickly turned your head and pushed open the door to the nurses office, Eddie still supporting you as you walked in. The nurse just motioned to the bed for you to sit on it. You reluctantly leave Eddie’s hold to sit on the knock off hospital bed.

“What happened,” the nurse asked barely looking up from her paperwork.

“I-,” you started before getting cut off.

“She got knocked on the ground and hit her head, has a bump on the back of her head,” Eddie informed the nurse.

Setting her pen down the nurse stood up and made her way over to you. She used the small light to gauge your pupils to decide whether you had a concussion.

“Doesn’t seem like you have a concussion at all, your eyes look fine.” She pulls a glove on before gently pressing at the back of your skull, you wince as she puts pressure on the aforementioned bump. “You do have a bit of swelling here but it should go down by tomorrow, there’s no blood and doesn��t appear to be any scrapes.” Tossing the glove in the trash she tells you, “Make sure you eat and stay hydrated in case you have a minor concussion, but you should be fine.”

“Thank you,” you tell her, scratching the back of your neck. “Um,” she turns back to you with a questioning look, “could you write me a note for Ms. O’Donnell? I need to turn in a paper before lunch and,” right on cue the bell releasing classes for lunch chimes through the halls.

She gives you a soft smile before turning and writing the note. As she hands it to you you’re standing from the bed. Before you can really say any further thanks to her you’re being dragged out of the room by your hand by the boy you had forgotten was in the room with you.

“To O’Donnell’s room,” you say catching up to Eddie, who was still holding your backpack, with the mess of stuff you’d been carrying in your arms when you’d been knocked over, stuffed in. You were still holding hands and you could feel the heat in your face from the action.

“You know you’re kind of surprising,” Eddie says looking down at you. Your brows furrowed and you tilt your head. “What I mean is, you’re a lot more responsible than I would have guessed.”

You snort out a laugh. “Hey, just because I listen to heavy metal and rock music doesn’t mean I can’t still be smart. I just want to graduate man, I mean, I can’t stand most of the people around here.”

You stop in front of the now empty classroom of the teacher who’s class you dreaded the most.

“I’m the exception right,” he smirked, trying to play it cool but internally his heart was beating wildly like an animal in a cage. Your hands were still locked together, becoming a little sweaty from both of your nerves, and now you were standing face to face, just looking into each other’s eyes.

“Yeah,” you quietly breathed. You cleared your throat, looking down at your boots that were a little worn out. “You are.” When you looked back up to meet his gaze his eyes were shining and his smile grew from a teasing smirk into his beautiful genuine smile.

Feeling the buzzing in your face from the excitement and nerves, you grabbed your bag from him, letting go of his hand in the process. You felt a little disappointed but turned to go into the classroom anyways, one hand still gripping the not you got from the nurse.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Eddie called out to you. You turned back to him with a small smile you were trying to stop from growing. You just nodded your head with confirmation.

Eddie had never felt better as he leaned against the lockers smiling to himself and staring off into the ceiling.

“What’s up with you,” Gareth asked, shoving Eddie’s shoulder.

“I just got an opening to hang out with the coolest, hottest, most badass chick in the whole fucking school that’s what,” Eddie boasted. “All thanks to those Dustin and Mike not watching where they were going.”

Gareth was about to question who Eddie was referring to when you quietly walked out of the classroom and stood next to Eddie, picking your flaking nail polish from your fingernails. With a nod to Eddie he just walked off laughing to himself.

“You want to sit with the Hellfire Club at our lunch table,” Eddie opened, after a beat of silence.

You nodded your head, adjusting your backpack strap on your shoulder.

He’d decided against initiating physical contact again, figuring that he’d already been holding your waist before he’d grabbed you hand. If you wanted to hold his hand though, he would not stop you.

Instead you’d elected to just walk at an easy pace right next to him, your shoulders brushing every couple steps.

“Thanks for taking me to the nurse’s office by the way,” your head turned to see him already looking you, “and for grabbing my stuff. It would have been a pain in the ass to have to go grab my stuff after everyone had walked through the halls and shit. Who knows if someone would have taken it, you know being one of the outcasts.”

He just smiled and knocked your shoulders together. “I think being an outcast is cool. I mean,” he gestured to himself, “look at me. I’m like the king of the freaks, I think they’re much more interesting people. Plus you’re like a total badass, no one would fuck with your stuff.”

You laughed, “You think much higher of me than most. I mean, yeah I definitely intimidate people but that’s because I walk around looking like I hate the world,” you laugh at yourself. “They think because you wear black and listen to heavy metal and like tattoos and piercings and shit that you’re possessed or some shit.”

“That’s a fact, but if it helps, I think you’re the second coolest person in this school.” You’re about to ask him who’s the first when you look up to see him smirking.

You laugh and he joins you, throwing his arm around your shoulder as you’re rounding the corner into the cafeteria.

Part of you feels like no one cares and no one’s looking at the two punks walking into the cafeteria cackling holding each other, and the other part, the part that can actually see people, knows you two are the biggest spectacle currently taking place. Following Eddie’s lead you just ignore them, letting him guide you to his club’s table.

All the other kids are staring at the two of you when you reach the edge of the table.

“Everyone, this is y/n,” Eddie present you to the table.

You just smile and wave. “I only know Dustin and Mike,” you state looking over the faces.

Eddie chuckles next you you, “Yeah your own personal natural disasters.” The two younger boys look embarrassed as they wave at you. Eddie goes around the table and introduces everyone else to you before pulling you down to sit next to him at the end of the bench. It’s a little bit of a squeeze so you lift your leg to put it over his to make you both more comfortable.

You can feel him tense up at your position so you lean over to him, “Is this okay? I just figured it would help with space.” When he turns you’re just a couple inches away, he swears you looking into his eyes like that was his new favorite thing on the planet.

He leaned down to your ear, “It’s more than okay,” his hand slid around your waist and your eyes widened a fraction.

Lunch with the club had been more fun than you’d expected. You’d normally eat lunch out by your car listening to music and working on homework if you needed to. You’d never pictured you’d enjoy a group’s company as much as you did with the Hellfires.

As lunch was coming to an end and you’d have to head to class soon, one you didn’t have with Eddie much to his dismay.

“Hey,” he grabbed your arm as you stood up with everyone else when the bell rang. Everyone else was waking away from the table with their stuff and whatever lunch trash they’d had, while you and Eddie stayed back. “Would you maybe want to go out sometime? Like go get food or go to the record store together or something,” his eyes were darting around you and his fingers were drumming a little beat against the table.

You smiled at how nervous he seemed to be. Like, how could the coolest most confident guy in school, the one who literally waltzed around on tables in front of everyone, be scared to ask you out. You felt like just a plebeian in his presence.

“Or you know you don’t have to or anything,” Eddie started standing up still avoiding eye contact.

Your eyes widened as you realized you’d taken way too long to answer him. Your hand grabbed his arm, gripping his wrist to stop him from walking away. “Yes,” you say quickly. You cleared your throat, “I mean, yeah, I’d love to go out with you.”

He let out the biggest most dramatic sigh of relief you think you’ve ever seen. “Oh thank god,” he sat down, draping himself over the table and the attached bench.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. You started walking away, needing to go to class. He jumped up and grabbed your wrist this time. “Wait, I need your number so I can call you,” he smiled. Your head felt fuzzy and your stomach was full of butterflies. You nodded you head before grabbing a pen from the side pocket of your backpack. You rolled up his sleeve and gripped the wrist of the arm that was still holding yours before writing down your number, drawing a little heart next to it.

“Don’t mess it up,” you wink as you walk back through the cafeteria to get to your class, passing period almost up.

Eddie smiled stupidly at the number on his arm, right before pumping fist fist in the air letting out a whoop in the practically empty cafeteria. He planned to call you that very night.

This was the start of something epic.

[tryskomys]

PSYCHO KILLER

Eddie Munson x OC

Chapter 5 - In my time of dying

Summary: Maia’s surprise for Eddie sparks a mischievous need to assert his dominance over her. He accidentally ends up punishing himself as well though. Love is hard, man.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Notes: well…this is for you horny girlies out there, i know you’re lurking somewhere. this is as raunchy as it gets with me, so i hope you enjoy it! this chapter can also be read as a one-shot, so if anyone bumps into this without context, it’s just fine❤️

Masterlist

songs:

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

When Eddie entered the theatre room, Maia was already sitting on one of the chairs that were neatly set around the table, lost in her character notebook, making sure all her spell slots and stats are up to date. She had her secondhand Walkman on, wildly nodding to the rythm of Led Zeppelin loudly boosting her mood for the fantasy adventure. She wanted to surprise him, so she dipped from the shift a bit early to get some snacks in advance, prepare the atmospheric lights and light all the candles around the room. Robin and Steve pushed her out of the door, actually.

Maia knew Eddie always arrived an hour prior to the rest of them to make the magic happen so everyone (and especially the kids) had the full ethereal experience of The Lair from the moment they enter. Eddie slipped past the door with a beaming grin and crept up on her from the behind, bending and leveling his head next to hers. He put his hands on her shoulders.

“BOO!”

She immediately jumped in her chair, ripped her headphones off and snapped her head in the direction of the noise, holding her pencil like a piercing weapon. Eddie raised his hands in defense, giggling like a little kid. Maia sighed with relief and widened her eyes at him and while she recovered from the scare, she realized he’s not moving, their faces inches apart.

He smelled so…good. The pine-scented cologne flodded her senses. She wasn’t as familiar with it, not noticing it often. It was just faint enough to be experienced only in close proximity. Now it was mixing with…some sort of mint shampoo? And his favourite cinnamon chewing gum. She felt like she couldn’t breathe out, wanting to keep the scent in her nose for as long as possible. He just darted around her features, her lips…she looked so soft up close. Her cheeks must feel so, so soft.

“You fool of a Took.” he whispered, grinning and then finally got up. That was when she finally exhaled, still in shock.

“Blasting the lords of thunder in your ears when you’re all alone in a satanic lair? You must have a death wish, Pippin.” he opened his arms with a dramatic swing and chuckled.

Maia laughed and put a hand on her chest, coughing and seemingly out of breath.

“Fucking hell Munson, you’re gonna be the death of me, you wanker.” she exhaled and shook her head, chuckling again. He put hands on his hips, looking around the room.

“Likewise.” he grinned. “I mean, what’s all this?” he motioned towards the chairs and the candles. She shrugged.

“Well, I thought I’d be a little helpful today, so you wouldn’t have to do it all by yourself like always…you know, maybe you could go a bit easy on me today as a reward?” she batted her eyelashes at him and laughed, obviously joking. He gasped.

“No fucking way, you dirty minx.”

She shivered at the nickname. He folded his arms and sighed, trying to look like he’s thinking hard about something.

“What should I do with you, my little halfling?” he scratched his chin and started pacing around the table.

Maia stared at him, clearly confused if he really took it personally. He then stopped right next to her and met her eyes, bending on her level again, this time with more space between them.

“I’m quite dissapointed, I thought you were more experienced than this. You broke an essential rule of the Hellfire Club.”

She raised her eyebrows. She could feel his thoughts just racing through his brain.

“Don’t you dare, Munson.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“But you will, you sneaky bastard.”

He chuckled, stood up and continued pacing with folded arms.

“You know which rule I mean though, is that right, halfling? No one is to enter The Lair unless the dungeon master explicitly allows it.”

“You just made that shite up.” she shook her head, biting her lip to stop herself from grinning. He squinted at her and smiled mischievously.

“I’m the boss around here, halfling.”

He walked around the room towards a small cabinet, looking for something. Maia pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. What a drama queen. When he turned around, he was holding handcuffs. Her eyes almost popped out of her head as she flew up from the chair and backed away from his looming stature.

“No fucking way, do not go anywhere near me with these. Why the fuck are they here anyway???” she raised a finger at him menacingly, puffing her chest as much as she could to seem taller, but his smirk just grew wider with every step, backing her all the way to the stage where she bumped her legs on the corner and almost fell back. She frowned at him when she gained stability, but he was already caging her.

“Don’t you dare Munson. I’ll strangle your pretty face in your sleep and cut your hair off, you prick.”

He just scoffed and scooped her over his shoulder without much effort, making her screech worse than Tammy Thompson.

Banging her fists on his back and kicking him with her dirty Docs didn’t phase him at all, he just walked towards a school desk near the corner of the room, grabbing a chair with his free hand on the way. He put the chair down, placing it so it faced the wall and the back was to the playing table. He put her down and turned her around in one swift move, sat her on the chair and cuffed her wrists with the handcuffs behind the chair so she couldn’t turn around. When he walked around and leaned his elbows on the desk, she just stared at him with wide eyes and mouth gaping, completely at a loss of words.

“I have to prepare my shit and you aren’t allowed to see it, for obvious reasons, sooo,” he shrugged and smirked, “…you’re on timeout.”

“WHAT THE FUCK??? UNCUFF ME RIGHT NOW YOU CRAZY PIECE OF SHIT!” she screamed in his face, her cheeks inventing a whole new shade of red.

“YOU ALMOST GAVE ME A HEART ATTACK AND I’M THE ONE ON TIMEOUT?”

He just smirked and sighed.

“As I said, fool of a Took.” he shrugged and walked away with a chuckle, leaving her squirming and twisting, trying to move around to scold him.

“Sorry halfling, rules.” he called over his shoulder, sat on his throne and started checking his notes.

“You can’t be serious you prick, aren’t you a bit scared that the kids are gonna walk in and see me here like this while your pathetic ass sits on that ridiculous throne?” she spat over her shoulder, not getting the slightest look at him. He let out a low hum, while messing with something that sounded like cardboard. His DM screen, she deduced.

“Well, that’s the point, you’re an example, my dear Pippin.”

She sighed, cursing her body for sending a jolt through her legs, originating in the damned knot inside her chest.

“I’d stop squirming if I were you, I suspect you don’t wanna come home to your old man with bruises on your wrists.” he mumbled with seemingly no emotion.

Maia widened her eyes and sank into the chair. She decided that the best thing to do would be to give him the silent treatment. He’ll pay for this…some day…one day.

She was such a sweetheart for wanting to help him. It blew him away, to enter the room and see it prepared in all its glory for the first time. It really was a magical place to him and now he saw it through the eyes of the rest of the group. Too bad he was in a playful mood tonight, hyped from the campaign and from her surprise. Too bad he was pissed off at Lucas for ditching the group. Too bad for her. But he didn’t hide his yearning stares now, she couldn’t see him after all. The best idea I had in a while, he thought to himself.

The silence went on, the time dragged…he kept flickering between her slumped posture and his notes, cracking open a can of Mountain Dew and pouring it in his metal goblet.

“I hope you choke on it.” she stated without a hint of emotion.

He just silently smirked, opening his box of handpainted figurines of various sizes and laid them out behind his screen. He put the box down and swirled the drink around a bit, looking at her. He gulped the sickly sweet liquid down his throat, grimacing and feeling a bit sick from it. He was also a bit sickened by his own thoughts at the moment, his cheeks sporting the same shade of red Maia was wearing when he cuffed her. Get it together, you freak.

“I can feel you staring, you horny prick. Stop.”

He widened his eyes for a second and cleared his throat. Maia could hear some shuffling around, she rolled her eyes and sighed. The red finally started to fade. Then he was suddenly crouching behind her as if he teleported, his face right next to hers, almost cheek to cheek. Nevermind, the red is back. She didn’t dare to move.

“I can feel you staring too.” he whispered, his breath on her neck sending a shiver through her whole body. She swallowed hard, mouth completely dry, so she attempted to lick her lips. His turn to shiver.

“I’m not even able to stare, I’m turned around, you dickhead.” she said softly, almost whispering too, as if any loud noise would scare him away.

“Doesn’t matter, you’re still staring, halfling.” he weakly let out, almost breathless.

One of them, both unsure who, moved an inch closer and their cheeks touched, just like a feather falling in the grass. They shakily exhaled in sync at the contact, staring at the wall in front of them. Eddie raised his shivering hand, ghosting his index finger over her exposed forearms, up and down. Her breath hitched in her throat at the surprising gesture. Frozen in time, maybe seconds, maybe minutes passed when they heard Dustin’s elephant stomping from the hallway, getting louder and louder. Eddie snapped his head towards the door, quickly got up and deeply exhaled, sitting on his throne and rubbing his eyes. Maia just sat there with a blank expression, trying to calm her heartbeat with steady breaths. The door burst open and Dustin and Mike fell in, arms open, each of them holding two grocery bags full of snacks.

“WHO’S READY TO KICK SOME Aaaa what the fuck?” Dustin stopped when he saw Mairi’s stiff body cuffed to the chair. She almost robotically turned her head with an expresionless face.

“Collateral damage.” she simply stated and turned back to the wall.

They both raised their eyebrows, getting slightly red in the face, then turned their heads to Eddie, who was still slumped on his throne, pinching the bridge of his nose, not looking at them. A few seconds of awkward silence followed. Eddie waved his hand in Maia’s direction.

“Pippin here just…broke the rules…doesn’t matter.”

“She wanted to know the encounter plans?”

“No.”

“She wanted to sniff out your stats?”

“No.”

“She wanted you to fudge initiative rolls?”

“NO!” both seniors exclaimed loudly, making the two boys jump.

Eddie stood up from his throne and walked past them, slapping their butts in the process.

“Sit, my dear padawans, sit.” he pointed at them and crouched behind Maia, fished a small key out of his pocket and uncuffed her.

Yep, bruises, he winced a bit but kept his composture in front of her when they both stood up, facing each other. She glared at him, angrily lifted the chair and bumped into him on her way to the table, never leaving his dark eyes. She put the chair down at her spot and put her arms around the kids, ignoring Eddie.

“We’re gonna fuck with his brain tonight, boys. I brought you some fuel.” she smiled widely and pointed at two tubs of chilli flavored Pringles, their absolute favorite. They both gasped.

“Holy shit! Mai, you’re the best!” Mike exclaimed and she ruffled his hair. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“And the replacement?”

Dustin and Mike exchanged nervous looks. Maia finally looked at him, raising an eyebrow at his annoyed tone.

“She’s in the bathroom, we’ll go get her.” Dustin chuckled nervously, slapped Mike’s chest and they were out of the door.

Heavy blanket of silence fell between Eddie and Maia, both staring a hole through the table.

“Fuck with my brain, halfling?” Eddie silently questioned, finally looking at her through his lashes. Mairie exhaled as the echoes of the conversation between the rest of the club reached their ears from the hallway.

“I’ll fucking rip you apart, Munson.” she squinted at him, turned on her heel, grabbed the handcuffs and carried them back into the cabinet.

He cursed under his breath.

You’re doing that right now.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫

Tag list: @kik51199 @preciousbabypeter @sebby-staan

[songbirdstyles]

let it bleed

summary: you’re on your period, and harry just wants to make you feel good.

warnings: smut, shower sex, period sex, clothed sex/grinding, fingering

word count: 6.8k words

song inspo: let it bleed - the rolling stones (aren’t i funny)

Waking up on Saturday is generally a blissful experience - sleeping in until the day feels nearly gone, lounging with Harry around the house or heading outside when the weather permits it - sure, every day in quarantine could be chalked up to just another Saturday but there’s something different about the actual day itself. Harry’s usually awake entirely too early during the week, sitting at the kitchen table with his headphones in, suffering through meetings with producers and managers for much longer than what could possibly be bearable. And you’re generally holed up at your desk, trying not to fucking die of boredom as you sit through useless Zoom sessions and assignments given by superiors who don’t understand technology - needless to say, you’d rather waste your days wrapped in Harry’s arms than sitting through that.

This Saturday, though, wakes you up a few hours later than you usually would, Harry’s head pressed into your chest, his arm wrapped tight around your waist, fingers clutched tight on the oversized t-shirt you’d donned to bed. Chestnut curls brush the end of your nose and a sleepy smile tilts your lips upwards as your eyes crack open, squinting up at the ceiling of your bedroom, only dimly aware of the low stream of early morning light shining through the window beside your bed.

You never usually wake this early, do you? No, you don’t, and you tilt your head to glare at the clock mounted on the wall across the room from you. It’s 4:56, a whole 5 hours before you’d ever even consider getting out of bed, and, yet, your body had forced you awake for seemingly no reason. You could be curling yourself up in Harry’s arms, legs around his torso and arms around his neck as his snores ring in your ears like a lullaby, except -

There’s a dull pain in your abdomen, right above your belly button, twisting your insides with just enough force to rip a soft groan from your lips. It’s a feeling you recognize entirely too well, cramps throttling your uterus like they’re trying to fucking murder you and you’re sure that, whenever you muster the energy to pull yourself out of bed and waddle over to the bathroom, you’ll see the physical proof of exactly what’s causing it.

Harry stirs against your chest, arm tightening around your waist until his forearm is pressed to your abdomen, face pushing further into your boobs as though it’s intentional. You stare down at him for a moment - perhaps he’ll crack an eye open, lips turning up, just to see how you’d reacted - but, no, he’s truly asleep. Dead asleep, you’d assume as you lift a hand to run through his messy hair and he doesn’t move at the motion.

You hate untangling yourself from him, almost always forcing him awake, but you suppose it’s repercussions for him being such a damn cuddler - not that you’d dream of complaining.

Slowly your fingers wrap around his wrist, his fingertips still held tight onto your shirt (or is it his? You never truly know, sometimes) as though it’s some sort of lifeline - still, it’s easy enough to pull his hand from your clothes, reaching over to rest his arm against the side of his body and he hardly stirs at the disruption. 

Of course, the next part is destined to be much less graceful and significantly more disruptive to your loving boyfriend, resting like a sleeping angel, practically on top of you - you press your palm to the side of the bed next to you and use it as leverage to roll out of his embrace, pausing once you land on your back to see if he wakes.

(At the same time, you feel a familiar swooping sensation in the pit of your tummy that - isn’t pleasant, to say the very least, and you scrunch your nose up at the feeling.)

That seemed to do the trick - Harry drops flat on his face on top of the mattress and wakes with a jolt as though you’d doused him with water, pushing himself onto his forearms just as you stand up, stretching your arms high above your head with a sigh.

“What’reyoudoin’?” he slurs out, voice dripping with raspiness and sleep and you look back just as he drops his head back onto the pillow. You could fool yourself into thinking he’s gone back to bed until he lifts his head up, eyebrow raised just so. “Come back, babe - s’so early -”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” you tell him, sliding your feet into your Santa slippers before making your way across the bedroom towards the bathroom, its door creaked open just so. You pause once you pass your dresser and open the top drawer, grabbing a fresh pair of panties and balling them up in your fist. “You can go back to bed - I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’ll wait,” he insists, eyes already drooping shut as you close the bathroom door behind you, shuffling over to the toilet as you wince at the discomfort. You certainly hadn’t needed any sort of confirmation to affirm your suspicion but you still get one - blood stains your panties, your sleep shorts mercifully spared, and you kick them off your legs, balling the blood-soaked panties with a grimace. 

It takes only a minute or two to clean yourself up, and when you’ve put in a tampon and pulled on your new panties and sleep shorts, you rifle through the bathroom cabinet searching for the small bottle of painkillers that your abdomen yearns for - there’s few pills left, used mainly for this time of the month, and you shake three into your palm and pop them into your mouth. It’ll take a while to kick in - twenty minutes, usually, and that’s if you get lucky - but you’ll hopefully be fast asleep in Harry’s arms during that time. They’re not horrible, anyway, your cramps - usually they’re worse, and you’re sure they’ll pain you more as the day progresses, but at least you can take pills now to settle them.

You flick the light switch so the room basks itself in darkness before heading back into your bedroom, eyes landing on Harry’s figure, duvet pushed down to just above his hips, arms stretched high above his head. Even in the dim light of the room, illuminated solely by the rising sun that peeps through the window, you can see the way his eyes follow you - instead of walking around the bed to your side, you stop beside him, reaching down to run your fingers through his curls.

“Tha’s nice,” Harry murmurs, moving his head up further into your grasp and you grin. “Are y’comin’ back t’bed, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, voice soft, and hardly one minute ago it had been your intent to crawl into bed beside him and sleep off the first morning of your period but you’re feeling an entirely different urge, now, gaze locking with his for just a moment, and he raises his eyebrows slightly. “Yeah - scoot over.”

Harry scoffs with a lazy smile but obliges, shifting to the side so you can clamber into bed beside him. One bare arm lifts to wrap around your waist as you curl into his side, tilting your head upwards to land a light kiss to the underside of his jaw. Your palm goes up to the side of his face, cold fingertips pressed to his cheek as you tilt his head towards you, suckling light kisses into the delicate skin on the column of his throat, and you can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath your lips as he exhales.

“What’re you doing?” your boyfriend questions softly, fingertips fiddling with the ends of your hair as you lift your leg to throw across both of his, kisses trailing further down his neck and your palm smoothing up and down his bare chest, nails scratching his skin softly. “Tryin’ t’make me horny - you’re the devil.”

“I’m not,” you murmur against his skin, which is a lie and a pathetic one at that, as your calf dips higher to caress the bulge in his boxers that seems to harden with every pucker of your lips against his neck. 

“You are,” Harry insists, hand sliding down your back until he reaches the hem of your sleep shorts, and before he can duck his fingers beneath the fabric your face heats up and you push yourself to straddle him, core situated directly over his cock, and he groans, the noise guttural and raspy. “What’s got you so worked up, hmm?”

You don’t answer - and it’s not as though it’s embarrassing to admit that you’re on your period, because you’ve certainly been with Harry long enough to know that he’s not a man with masculinity so fragile that it breaks with the mere mention of menstruation - but you’d rather not shatter the moment you’ve created by announcing that it can’t go on further than it already has. Instead, you roll your hips against his, spurred on by his soft moan as your hands slide down his arms until your palms press to his and you interlock your fingers, using it as leverage to rock your body against his with more force.

“Oh, shit,” Harry breathes, head digging backwards into his pillow and you drop your head back, grinding your clit against his bulge and even through the layers of fabric between you, the stimulation is good enough to pull a whimper from your throat - you hadn’t thought you’d been that needy but perhaps you were more desperate for him than you’d suspected. His hands untangle from yours and slide up your thighs, landing on your ass, fingers spreading to encompass as much of your fabric-covered skin as he can, rocking you deeper against him.

You moan softly, bracing your hands on his chest as his grasp on your ass tightens, fingers digging into the fabric of your shorts and you can feel his cock twitching in his boxers against your cunt - his hips buck gently up into yours and if you were like him, you’d tut and murmur for him to stay still, baby, but you’re nicer than that. “God, Har -”

Large hands slide from holding the globes of your ass up to your waist, fingertips smoothing circles into your skin through your shirt and the motion helps to ease the cramps still throbbing in your abdomen, though significantly lessened by both the Advil you’d taken and the pleasure building in your body as you grind against your boyfriend. Orgasms always help with cramps - when you were younger you’d spend hours in the shower, fingers toying with your clit and bringing yourself to cum over and over again. And now - well, you still do that, though grinding against Harry is much more pleasurable than doing it yourself. “I’m gonna cum, Har,” you breathe, and you lean your body forward, palms pressed into the pillow beside his head until you can dip your head down, lips pressing to his in a heated kiss that he moans into, holding your waist tighter against his dick. “Just - just a little more -”

“Don’t,” Harry grunts, which is what you’d expected him to say, and you push yourself back up, detaching your lips from his as you rise to sit above him again, hips still working against him with ease. “Wanna be inside you, baby - need t’fuck you -”

You bring your hands to his wrists when he reaches for the waistband of your shorts, preventing him from tugging them down your stomach and he looks up at you, brows furrowed and lips parted with desire as you breathe, “No - can’t -”

“Please -”

“I’m on my period,” you tell him, feeling heat creep up your neck and tainting your cheeks, and to compensate you grind further down on him, dropping your head back at his responding groan. 

His tongue darts out to lap at his lips briefly, hands smoothing back down to palm your ass and he doesn’t look nearly as weirded out as you’d expected - you hadn’t thought he’d push you off but you didn’t think he’d start rocking you against him with a new intensity that rips a whine from your throat. Harry doesn’t waste another moment before responding, as though you’d merely told him the weather instead of the current state of your menstrual cycle, “I don’t care, need t’be in you -”

He’s horny, your brain tells yourself. He would care if you hadn’t been grinding on him for nearly ten minutes. And you could accept his declaration of carelessness at face value and strip down and take him but he wouldn’t want it if he was thinking straight, and he’s decidedly not, now, brain muddled with sleep and horniness, even as his hands begin smoothing up the fabric riding up your ass. Fingertips graze your ass beneath your shorts and you jolt -

You’ll suck him off when you’re done, and you’re so close - it’s just another roll of your hips as Harry’s hands grasp your ass, digging into your skin so tight you’ll surely see bruises later that will do unspeakable things to your menstruating brain -

Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as Harry moans beneath you, grinding yourself vigorously against him with a desperate whimper, and you’d cringe at it in any other instance but God, it feels so good, better than anything your fingers could do in the shower, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed as your orgasm washes over you. It’s fast and brutal and your body jerkily attempts to maintain a rhythm against your boyfriend’s clothed cock but it’s difficult, arms shaking with the force of holding yourself up as your thighs tighten around his hips, and finally you lean forward, crashing your lips to Harry’s so he can swallow your needy moans.

His palms slide up your ass to your back, pressing against the small of your back as you lazily roll your hips over his, riding out the last aftershocks of your release until you’re done, dropping your head to his chest as heat floods your face. Perhaps he can tell you’re feeling embarrassed - he can read you like a book, generally - and his hands move up beneath your shirt, hands warm against your bare back as he breathes heavily.

(His dick is still throbbingly hard beneath you, and it’s a wonder he’s not bucking his hips into yours to chase his release, but he is, first and foremost, a gentleman.)

“Please -” he murmurs as you move your head so your cheek is pressed to his chest, feeling his heart thumping against your face. “Need t’fuck you, baby - little blood doesn’t bother me -”

Well, he’s still horny, and you ignore the way your stomach flips just like you ignore his words, sliding down his body and laying kisses against his skin as you tug the duvet fully off his body. You’ll consider his words later - debate how much he means it, and maybe he’ll mention it again later - but, for now, you can’t go on leaving him so painfully hard under you, especially when the thought of sucking him off sounds so appealing -

 ~~

 The topic goes, for the most part, unmentioned throughout the rest of the day - the two of you fall back to sleep after your early morning ministrations but only for a few more hours, venturing into the kitchen at 8 to have breakfast out in the garden. French toast amongst flowers is an unmatched experience and one you hadn’t had before quarantine, but you and Harry try to take advantage of the weather before it starts to get too chilly to spend time outside. You still had to run inside to grab cardigans for you both to don but - well, it’s the principle that matters.

And after breakfast comes movies, searching through Amazon until you find something you both haven’t seen, and Harry heads to warm your heating pad as you sacrifice the $3.99 to watch Almost Famous, and he returns with your pad just as you clear a space for him to curl onto the couch behind you. It’s such normal period protocol that you could nearly forget his eagerness to bury himself inside of you, blood and all - 

Nearly.

You haven’t forgotten, even when Jason Lee and Billy Crudup fight in a crashing plane, how Harry had begged you to let him fuck you - and he was horny, only a blind man could deny it, but he’d never made claims he couldn’t keep no matter how hard his dick was. The first time he’d confessed that he loved you, he’d been balls deep in your cunt, back pressed tight to your back as he landed biting kisses to the back of your neck, and he’d murmured the words against your sweaty skin - and, later, when you’d asked if he meant it, he’d told you that he’d never lie t’you when you’re tha’ close t’my bits.

It isn’t the most eloquent promise, but he’d mostly kept it. Still - what kind of dreamboat would someone have to be to be willing to fuck you on your period? You’d dated enough people to know what how much of a rarity that is, to have a man so cool with menstruation he doesn’t care about having sex with you and you find it hard to believe Harry truly would be willing -

His arms are crossed over your body, forearms holding your heating pad to your abdomen, palms resting nearly absentmindedly against your boobs through your shirt. His lips lay lazy kisses against the back of your neck, so gentle you’re sure he isn’t even aware he’s doing it, fingers every so often flexing gently against your chest. His curls tickle your shoulders through your tank top, cardigan discarded on the coffee table in front of you, and a chill rolls through your body at the feeling.

He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to you - or maybe he does. You can’t decide which option you prefer.

Harry pauses, breathing gentle against your skin. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Sometimes you forget how well he can read you. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

He hums, thumb moving in gentle circles against your boobs, grazing your nipple through the thin bra you’re wearing beneath your tank top, and you can practically hear the way his eyebrow quirks as you inhale softly. “Ah.”

“What?”

“You’re horny.”

You huff, and Harry drops his forehead against the back of your scalp with a low laugh. “Well, obviously - fingering my boobs like that - it’s the period hormones -”

“Period hormones.”

“Yes!” And you push yourself to sit up, glaring down at Harry lying beneath you, heating pad falling along with his arms to your lap, and his hands land on your thighs, palms smoothing up and down your skin. “Come on, you know I get horny on my period -”

“More than usual, you mean?”

“More than - I’m not the one who wakes up in the middle of the night with love boners!”

“Did that today, though, didn’t you?”

You, truly, don’t have any sort of response for that, mouth opening and closing a few times before you cross your arms over your chest, decidedly ignoring his smug smirk. “At least I have an excuse.”

He shrugs, drumming his fingertips up and down your thighs before raising one arm to slide beneath his head, tattooed arm gazing up at you and you want to - God, you want him to fucking rail you and you swallow thickly as his gaze never leaves yours, grin still toying at his lips. “So horny, an’ you won’t let m’fuck you.”

Heat burns at your face as you stare at him, eyebrows furrowing. Is he kidding? You can’t tell. He’s wearing that shit-eating smile that he dons when he’s fucking with you but you can’t see why he’d mention it again unless he was serious - it seems cruel. “Harry.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not serious.”

Harry shrugs, pushing himself onto his elbows, staring up at you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. “‘Course I’m serious.”

You reach down, fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt covering his chest. “You don’t think it’s - gross? Come on, Har.”

“Do you think s’gross?” he asks, and you shrug, even if you really want to shake your head in a vehement no, glancing back up at him when he lifts his head closer to yours. “I don’t think it is -” and as he sees your doubtful, quirked eyebrow, he exhales a laugh. “M’serious! Remember when y’had the stomach bug, an’ I was cleaning up your puke an’ -”

“Okay,” you cut him off, reaching forward to place your index finger against his lips before he can finish reminding you of exactly what he’d had to clean up - he puckers his lips to land a light kiss against your digits. “But that’s different.”

But you can tell that he can tell that he’s wearing you down - “How’s it different, babe? M’fine gettin’ m’hands a little dirty.”

The expression makes you cringe and you drop your head back with a groan, rolling your eyes at Harry’s barking laugh as he reaches his hand up to rest against your waist, other hand pressed into your thigh. “Sorry, sorry,” he grins, dropping his head into your lap, and you instinctively smooth your nails against his scalp. “But m’serious. Can’t have you gettin’ yourself off by grinding - what kind of boyfriend would I be, hmm?”

A normal one, you want to reply, but the truth is you don’t think you’ll ever look twice at a normal man again if you seriously accept this. How could you go to a normal boyfriend knowing Harry is more than willing to bury himself inside of you, blood and all?

When your fingers abruptly stop scratching his scalp Harry lifts his head, pressing his cheek against your thigh, and you lower your eyes to his with your bottom lip tucked tight between your teeth.

“S’that a yes, then?” he questions, and he sounds so excited at the prospect that your stomach flips.

“A maybe,” and he doesn’t deflate at the half-rejection - you’ll come around, and the both of you know it. “We can - um - we can try it.” As a larger grin spreads across his face you playfully hit his cheek, feeling your own heating up. “In the shower tonight. So - you know - it’s less messy.”

 ~~~

 Harry runs off to start the shower nearly immediately after your late dinner while you begin loading dishes in the dishwasher, shaky hands holding tight onto each dirty plate so you don’t drop it. And you aren’t - nervous, per se, at least not as much as you’d expected yourself to be. Harry had hardly been able to keep his hands off of you all afternoon, palm resting firmly on your thigh during dinner and mouthing open mouthed kisses to your throat while you started your second and third movies of the day.

He wasn’t nervous - not at all. He seemed pretty damn excited, too, and that should make you less hesitant but your stomach still flips as you hear the shower turn on, followed by his footsteps padding down the stairs and the hallway until he emerges back in the kitchen, sweatpants low on his hips and shirt riding up his torso, and you swallow thickly as he leans against the doorway.

“Shower’s running,” he tells you as you shut the dishwasher, taking a step closer to him.

“I hear it.”

“Y’okay?”

You shrug, dragging your nails against his chest softly through his shirt, and Harry wraps his hands around your wrists with a raised eyebrow. “I’m fine,” you tell him, smiling lightly. “I’m nervous, but I’m -”

“Horny?”

“Yeah.”

Harry drops his forehead against the top of your head with a laugh, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you to him. “It’ll be fine,” he says against your hair, puckering your lips to land kiss after kiss to your head. “Anyway, don’t periods stop flowing in water?” You furrow your eyebrows. “No - what?”

“I saw tha’ online -”

“That’s not true!”

“Okay, okay!” Harry holds up his hands in surrender and you grin, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Well, m’lady, can I take you upstairs, then?”

Your stomach still rolls with nerves, even as he holds a hand out for you to grasp, and his palm is warmer than yours, skin soft and damp from the shower - “‘Course you can.”

 ~~~

 Harry’s fingers are expert at undoing the clasp of your bra, letting the cups fall away from your boobs and he lowers the straps down your shoulders, dragging his fingertips gently down your skin and smiling as goosebumps pop up over your skin. Your hands, in turn, travel downwards to the front of his sweatpants, pulling the tie until they come undone and the slightly-too-big pants droop down his hips until you slide your hands into the waistband and lower them all the way down into a pool by his ankles.

His shirt has long been discarded, thrown lazily on top of the toilet seat, and your tanktop and shorts have faced similar treatment, abandoned on the floor of your bedroom until you’re both just in your underwear - you’re both itching to be free of them, though, and just as Harry’s hands slide down your waist to the waistband of your panties you grab onto his boxers and tug them down, freeing his half-hard cock from their constraints.

Your hand wraps around his length like a vise, thumb swiping over his head and his hands falter, fingers tight on the hem of your panties, and his eyes drop shut with a low moan. You’re solely interested in feeling him harden in your grasp and your wish succeeds, feeling him throb against your fingers until he’s fully up, sliding his hands up to your breasts and rolling your nipples between his thumbs as some sort of punishment. Your lips part with a whine and you rest your head against his chest, inhaling shakily.

“Y’ready?” Harry questions, pinching your nipples lightly, and you arch your chest into his hands - he knows how sensitive your boobs get on your period and he never fails to take full advantage of your increased responses to his touch. “Panties off, baby.”

You pause, and then move your hands up to his chest, taking a step away from him. “Go in the shower,” you tell him, biting back a grin as he playfully rolls his eyes.

“Are y’serious?”

“Yes - go in the shower and - and close your eyes so I can - wash myself.”

Your cheeks heat up as Harry raises his eyebrows, clearly trying to see whether you’re being serious - after a moment with neither of you budging he sighs, trailing his fingertips down your hips before taking a step back, and you get just a moment to stare at his backside as he turns to step into the shower, sliding the door shut behind him until all you can see is his silhouette in the frosty glass.

You hook your fingers in the waistband of your panties, slowly sliding them down your thighs as you can hear Harry humming in the shower - you kick them to the floor and gaze at yourself in the mirror, just for a moment, before reaching down to the unshaven apex of your thighs, hooking a finger in the string of your tampon and pulling it out with one fast yank. First day of your period and it’s mercifully bright red instead of the end of the period brown that you can’t stand to look at, and you open the trash can with your toes to drop the tampon in.

When you look back at yourself in the mirror briefly, you can already see red staining your inner thighs, and your cheeks flush but you don’t give yourself time to ponder on it for fear of backing out on the whole idea. You merely turn, sliding open the door to the shower and stepping inside, and Harry stands, hand pressed dramatically over his eyes as the water washes over him, and you press your hands to his shoulders, moving around him so you can be in the direct line of the water. The stream washes away the remnants of blood between your thighs, disappearing down the drain until you’re sure there’s nothing left, and you tap Harry on the shoulder.

“You can open,” you tell him, and the fingers clamped over his eyes separate so you can see just a band of green peeking between his digits.

“Can’t believe you’re this bothered over a spot f’blood,” Harry says, and before you can venomously retort by telling him that it’s much more than a spot of blood, and he should know, considering how often he has to go out and buy you tampons, he presses his hands to the side of your face, lowering his lips to yours in a clashing, deep kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth without a moment to spare.

You nearly slip, then, taking a slippery step back until your back is pressed to the shower wall, hand reaching behind you to grab onto the railing installed into the wall for this very purpose - it’s ideal to grab onto you when he’s railing you from behind, and the little alcove dug into the wall for toiletries is the ideal place to perch on while Harry goes to town between your legs -

Now, though, you simply loop your free arm around his neck, pulling his body closer to yours with a soft moan into his mouth as one of his hands leaves your face to trail down your body, palm cupping your boob and squeezing the soft flesh. It pulls another whine from your throat, pushing your chest into his hands and he grins against your lips, dragging his thumb across your peaked nipple. You get so caught up in the kiss and his hand on your boobs that you could nearly forget about the circumstances that led you to this specific scenario, fucking in the shower instead of the comfort of your own bed -

Until his hand cupping your breast moves farther down, fingers trailing through the sodden curls between your thighs before dipping between your folds, and you jolt, arm tightening around his neck and his head drops between your neck and shoulder. Your face burns as his fingertips circle your clit, pressing into the sensitive nub as you groan before he slides them back down your folds, pressing one gently into your hole until it slips in with an embarrassing amount of ease.

“Oh fuck -” you exhale, and Harry lifts his head slightly, suckling a hickey into the side of your neck as his finger pumps in and out of you, curling upwards to hit the spongy spot inside of you that has you pushing your hips into his hands. “Come on, Har, babe - just fuck me, really fuck me -”

“Wan’ me t’fuck you, don’t you?” he exhales into your skin, soaked curls dripping moisture onto your chest, and the warm water dripping down your skin has a chill rolling through your spine like a goddamn tidal wave. “Don’t want m’fingers, d’you?”

You do want his fingers, though - and his mouth - and his cock - and the need is so overwhelming it makes your legs feel shaky. For a moment you don’t know what to say, mouth parted in a silent plea for everything and anything he’s willing to give you and Harry simply stares, thrusting his finger in and out of you before adding another. 

Eventually his pauses, fingers twisted to graze the spot inside of you that makes your vision go hazy, and you know he needs you to speak but you can hardly think of anything to say. “Please -”

“Please wha’?”

“Please - I need to cum -”

He hums and lowers his lips back to yours, and you cry out directly into his mouth as his thumb rests against your clit, rubbing slow circles entirely too soft into the nub but even the slightest bit of stimulation has your hormone ridden body bucking up into him, squeezing onto the railing behind you for dear life so you don’t collapse with need. “Need t’cum?”

“Yes!”

“Do it then, baby - cum f’me, cum on m’fingers -”

You roll your hips against his fingers, dropping your head back against the wall of the shower with a whine, and Harry continues his steady face penetrating you with his fingers - normally you’d never cum this fast, hardly five minutes with his fingers in your cunt but this isn’t a normal situation by any standards, and you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed over how close you are.

Harry’s teeth close on your bottom lip, nibbling on the skin gently and you’re nearly crossing your eyes to maintain eye contact with him - you know how much he loves watching when you come undone - and all it takes is one more measly pump of his fingers into your dripping pussy for you to topple over the edge. Your body trembles beneath him as his fingers still, your eyes rolling back into your scalp as you shake in his arms, cunt fluttering weakly around his fingers. His breathing is heavy in your ears, low and raspy as you whimper violently with your orgasm wrapping around you like a fucking vise and when your vision finally clears up he’s staring at you like you’re a piece in the damn Museum of Modern Art.

“Fuck, Har, felt so good,” you exhale, and Harry reaches down, one of his forearms going beneath your thighs to lift up, and you look down just as he pulls his fingers out of you. The blood on his digits is immediately washed away by the stream of water but you still cringe watching the water turn red as it disappears into the drain, and you can tell he notices your sudden shyness - fingers grasp your chin, angling your head up to stare at him. “What -?”

His lips press to yours once more, a soft, lingering kiss that doesn’t go anywhere at all, before he pulls away, hands sliding up and down your hips. “I guess eating your cunt s’out f’the picture, then …?”

You roll your eyes with a giggle as he drops your leg again, nails digging crescents into your hips as he turns you around, hips pressed flush to yours and his chest to your back, and you instinctively hold tighter onto the railing. “For now,” you groan in response as he thrusts his hips against yours, cock sliding against the sensitive folds of your cunt, and you can practically feel the way he perks up at your half-rejection. “Just fuck me, Har - please, missed it so much -”

Harry laughs at that - a dry one, void of humor, and you whine, pushing your ass back against him before he indulges you, grip landing on your hips and pulling your ass tight against his cock. “S���only been one day without my cock,” he breathes, one hand leaving your hips, presumably to line his dick up as you feel his tip poking at your folds, and you drop your forehead against the shower wall with a whine. “Look how needy you are.”

You are needy, rocking your hips against the tip of his cock that he drags through your folds, and you can’t bring yourself to care about it one bit. “Please -”

“Tell me.”

“Harry -”

“Tell me.”

You groan as he pulls the tip out, and his length smacks against your ass once and even if it’s gentle it still makes you thrust your hips back towards him, and his arm on your hips tightens until you can’t move at all. “I’m - I need you so bad, Har - need you to fuck me - fuck me like you -”

Your sentence is cut off with a loud, drawn out cry as Harry pushes himself into you, cock filling you to the brim and your mouth opens and closes uselessly before he pulls out and thrusts back in with a loud groan, water droplets flicking onto your skin as you hold tight onto the railing. Your knees feel weak as Harry fucks into you, his hands holding tight onto your hips and surely leaving bruises on your skin, but you can’t possibly bring yourself to complain as you drop your head forward with a sob.

“Fuck, Har!” you moan, pushing your hips back against his as he pumps into you, his groans nearly overpowering the slap of skin against skin but you can still hear it like music to your ears, and you gnaw on your bottom lip to try and silence some of your desperate cries. “Please, please -”

“Oh, god,” Harry grunts, holding your hips tighter to his as his pace increases, hips slamming into yours as though he hadn’t fucked you for weeks instead of one measly day. Quarantine truly had spoiled both of you - days spent without fucking each other all over the house seemed to be days wasted, aren’t they? And the week per month you’d had to spend without having sex during your period was a miserable one, and an era you’re more than glad to see gone - “fuck, baby, so - so tight, ‘round m’cock, squeezin’ me so tight.”

Your hand slips on the railing and for a second you fear you’ll fall - but then Harry’s arms slide upwards, forearms wrapped tight against your stomach as he leans forward, chest pressed to your back as his hips slam into yours over and over, lips pressing biting kisses into the wet skin of your neck. You can feel rather than hear his moans, their vibrations reverberating through your skin and you reach behind your head, dragging your nails through his hair as he leaves bites down your skin.

You can already feel your release building, pressure rising in your stomach as your cunt clenches and unclenches around him, gasping for air in the shower, humid from the hot water and your body heat. You’re sure all you need is his fingers, just circling your clit one time and you’ll snap, cumming so hard you’re sure you’ll see stars, so hard you won’t be able to hold yourself up -

“Play w’your clit, baby,” Harry breathes, so quiet you nearly can’t hear it, and you inhale shakily as you oblige, letting go of the railing with one hand to trail down your wet stomach until you reach your sensitive clit, and it throbs against your fingers. “Yeah, good girl - give it a pinch f’me, baby, make yourself cum on m’cock -”

Shaky fingers circle your clit and then press down before pinching it like he’d instructed, and your back arches into his chest, feeling his peaked nipples dragging across your skin. His body blocks most of the water’s stream onto you but you can still feel droplets soaking your skin, trailing down and meeting your fingers at your clit and it only adds to the pleasure mounting, spreading from your clit throughout your entire body -

“Fuck!”

Your knees finally give out as you sob out, squeezing your eyes shut as you hit your breaking point for the second time - your body shakes desperately, tilting your head to the side with a cry as Harry lunges forward to attach his lips to yours, every whine going directly into his mouth. His arm around your waist is the only thing holding you up but you can tell he’s close, thrusts losing their steady pace and growing jerkier, and as your cunt flutters around him you can feel his cock throbbing -

“God,” Harry moans, and you can hear his voice growing higher in pitch, and it’s a telltale sign that he’s so fucking close you’re sure he can feel it on the tip of his fingers - “clench around me, baby, come on -”

And you oblige, cunt tightening around him as you rest your forehead against the railing, and it only takes a few more jerky thrusts before he grabs hold of your hips, bringing them tight to his. The sensation of being filled with his cum is one you’ve grown so used to but it never fails to make you moan, tilting your head to the side so you can get a glimpse of his face in your peripheral vision as his eyes shut, lips parted as he groans, and hot ribbons of cum fill your cunt as he releases.

Your breathing is shaky when Harry grabs your hands, tugging you around so you’re facing him, and you glance down at the floor of the shower, watching the water beneath you tint itself red with your blood. You expect a rush of embarrassment to wash over you as he glances down to see what you’re looking at but it never comes - you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed when you’re so relaxed, finally satisfied, watching his cum drip down your thighs.

Harry turns to shut off the shower, the stream of water abruptly stopping, and you cross your arms over your chest, trying to preserve the humid air sure to escape as soon as he opens the door. But he doesn’t - not yet, at least - his hands, instead, coming down to land on your upper arms, thumbs rubbing circles into your skin as he stares down at you.

“How was tha’?” your boyfriend questions, voice soft and sentimental and you can’t help yourself from pushing yourself onto your toes to land a kiss to the side of his cheek. “Not as bad as y’thought, was it.”

It’s not a question - he knows the answer already. “It was amazing,” you confess truthfully, reaching up to move his wet curls out of his face, and a smile tilts your lips upward as he grins. “Not bad at all.”

“Not bad at all,” he echoes, and you can tell he’s resisting the urge to say I told you so or something of the sort, but you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to - he was right. Knows you better than you know yourself, sometimes, and it should scare you but it just makes you love him more than you thought you could. “An’ next time, we can do it on the bed.”

“On the -?”

[shotorozu]

Heya! I love your writing. Could I request scenarios for Bakugou, Kirishima, Todoroki, Midoriya and Denki (if that’s ok, and if not, just cut Denks 😔) with a S/O that snorts when they laugh and their a little insecure about it, so they usually cover their mouth as soon as it happens or just try not to laugh at anything and as a result they put up this serious front when, in reality, they are really just ✨a crackhead✨

s/o that doesn’t like their laugh

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, kirishima eijirou, midoriya izuku, todoroki shouto, kaminari denki

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns, quirk not specific

headcanon type : fluff, crack-ish (if you squint, there’s a dash hurt and comfort)

note(s) : PLS i can relate to this, my laugh is a cross hybrid of a window being cleaned, and a hyena 🗿 i normally don’t write 5 characters in one post but.. exceptions will be made. sorry that this took so long! will go back to writing requests

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

he was very confused, and shocked?? it was a lot

you and him are very similar, like,, out of all the people in 1-A, he’s never seen you laugh like.. hysterically.

it was always normal for him to surpress his laughter when the times are right. but even when you guys got together, he never saw you laugh

which was just a “hm.. okay? wtf, i haven’t seen them laugh before??” moment

and don’t get me wrong, it’s not like you’re emotionless, and he HASN’T seen you laugh, it’s more like you just cut yourself off before it gets too intense

which is.. 🤨 weird. to him at least

laugh if you need to laugh, he doesn’t get why you always cut yourself off, like smh the audacity

okay so imagine this, you’re sitting in the kitchen— only a few feet away from katsuki, as he finishes cooking for you, just like any normal day

but i also headcanon that bakugou likes to taste test his cooking, before he can serve it to you. y’know— just in case he accidentally used bad ingredients which is rare, since he’s very precise with cooking

so he prepares the plate and utensils, and before he serves it to you— he takes a quick taste to see how it is, but his face immediately twists in disatisfaction

“what the fuck—” he sputters, looking at the plate “who the fuck switched the salt and sugar?”

and that seemed to be your breaking point, you immediately burst out into a fit of giggles and snorts, even with katsuki still recovering from the weird after taste.

if it was any other person, he would’ve chucked them out of the kitchen— but seeing you laugh out loud like this left him appalled

but your laughing episode is cut short when you realize that katsuki’s just staring. not saying anything, nor is he telling you off for laughing.

his expression looks so indifferent from seeing you laugh?? so you simply just apologize “sorry, i know the laugh is ugly.”

katsuki quickly snaps out of it, ruby irises glaring at you “ugly? when the hell did i say that?” he questions, voice gruff

your silence makes him think that you’re actually insecure about your laugh, an despite the weird aftertaste in his mouth, he decides to speak

“look, it was nice seeing you laugh, idiot.” he adds, because it sounded a little too nice “i don’t get why you have to hold your laughter back, especially around me. laugh if you need to, i’m not gonna judge you.”

plus, he’s not the person to judge you for your laugh anyway, his laugh.. is questionable for sure. i wouldn’t say it’s any better, so that would’ve be hypocritical of him

“you sure?”

“hell yeah i’m fuckin’ sure! but anyway, i’m gonna kill the bitch that switched the salt and sugar!” he gets up from the table, plate in hand as he goes to fix the meal

he surely can’t see your face right now, but when he hears you laugh, he can’t find himself not being able to smile.

he can only look forward to seeing you laugh again.

kirishima eijirou

his first reaction was :00 and 😳

so he was kind of left to his own thoughts when he realized that,, he hasn’t seen you laugh wildly before

and it’s not like you were just 😐 the entire time, you just always covered your mouth whenever you wanted to laugh

it was a big mystery to him, but he doesn’t think it’s quite manly to ask you that, it wasn’t long before he found out anyway

so! i headcanon that kirishima has his lil gaming night with the bakusquad maybe once or twice a week, they usually choose to communicate through the voice chat so.. no physical interaction.

and you’re just there, spectating the entire thing. because you still wanted to spend time with eijirou— but you didn’t want to interrupt his weekly gaming moment

so there’s a twist— he was actually playing a rpg multi-player horror game with the bakusquad, so.. jumpscares, am i right?

you were just sitting there on his bed, just watching if there’s anything interesting so far— and surprise! there’s a jumpscare.

eijirou jumps a little from the impact, and you can just hear the faint girlish screams of bakugou and kaminari, even from this length— basically telling all of them to just fucking dip! run the other way!

AND YOU WEREN’T EXPECTING BAKUGOU TO SCREAM SO.. HIGH PITCHED?

so you just start laughing when you hear the continuous screams, from his headset rip kiri’s ear drums and while kirishima tried to focus on the objective, he couldn’t help but turn around

just to see you laughing your ass off. and he’s there like 😳 they’re laughing?? they’re laughing!

so kirishima quickly finishes the game, but he just found himself in a state of shock. but then you covered your mouth so :(( aw.

you notice that he finished his game, so you just stop laughing entirely “oh— are you finished, eijirou?”

he’s still kind of taken aback by the laugh, and you seem to have noticed his reaction “wait, did you.. hear that?”

when you see eijirou nod, your expression seemed shell shock— which confused him, until you told him that you assumed that he didn’t hear you because of the headphones

“what? is it bad?” he asks with genuine curiousity, but you just explain that you’re just embarrassed. because the laugh itself is ugly

which kirishima disagrees!! >:(( your laugh had him in awe. he loves seeing you laugh, and it was a nice surprise.

“i love hearing you laugh! it makes me happy— i don’t see any reason that you should be ashamed of it, everyone’s laugh is different, after all.”

you’d say he’s lying, but the genuine toothy grin on kirishima face convinces you that he has the purest intentions.

midoriya izuku

now that i’ve thought about it, have we ever seen this boy burst into laughter?? this excludes the hospital scene of course.

but he’s not too concerned about himself not being able to freely laugh, but it was more like he was curious (or concerned) about you

you’re always quick to either cut yourself off, or you just cover your mouth entirely. and he can’t help but feel curious!

he asked you at some point on why you do those things when you laugh, but you just shrugged. so until that point, it was just simply a mystery— that’s left to his own imagination

so whenever midoriya creates new moves with his quirk, he’d have the sudden desire to show his s/o and ask if the move would be practical in anything. because why not

and we all know how much midoriya trains right? he’s quite the hard worker. but you were taking a nap in the afternoon, after finishing your school work for the day

it’s probably reaching 3pm now, and izuku finished making new moves with his quirk, and he was eager to show you!

he didn’t want to do this but he ended up waking you up anyway, and he brought you outside to show you the new moves

“look at this, Y/N!” he says, all excited oh boy

what he didn’t expect was how fast he was going— missing the entire key move, and he started plummetting to the ground (similar to a ragdoll being thrown)

you were still partially dowsy, and you weren’t expecting him to fall to the ground like THAT, so you started laughing hard

and because you’re still drowsy, you don’t recognize that you’re actually laughing— yeah, izuku may be still on the ground, but wow. you’re laughing!!

he’s surely taken back, because he’s never actually seen you burst into laughter like this, he was just

yet, you immediately slap your hand over your mouth— when you realize that you’re actually laughing out loud, and snorting in front of your boyfriend wjdnwkx

“i’m sorry, izuku” you regain composure, immediately rushing to his aid to help him up, “you didn’t need to hear, or see that.”

but why are you apologizing? he’s the one that dragged you out here to see him fail 💀 “no, no! it’s fine Y/N. i was just surprised, that’s all.”

the expression on his face kind of worries you— because omg what if he thinks the laugh was ugly? i’ll never laugh again.

“i’d understand if you’d think my laugh was kind of ugly, izu—”

“what— it’s not ugly!” he’s quick to object “i think.. it’s really nice. it surprised me, but your laugh’s interesting! in the good way, and it’s also kind of cute, uhm—.” pls don’t give him a heart attack

you shake your head, because you already have a good idea of what he feels— and it’s quite positive. “i get it, izuku. thank you for the reassurance.”

he finally calms down when you give him a quick smooch on the lips. in short, you were the one to calm him down rip

todoroki shouto

he’s definitely curious about it

i mean, it’s a natural occurence at this point— shouto was already observant of you, what more when he started developing feelings for you

once again, not someone who freely laughs (he’s quite oblivious with the socializing part so it’s too be expected) but that doesn’t mean you should mirror him

like midoriya, he probably tried speaking to you about it— but you always reassured him that it was just a subconscious habit still odd but.. if you say so

so, shouto’s downstairs in the kitchen right? he’s preparing a snack to bring up to your room, and while he was trying his best to hurry up with it

you eventually trekked downstairs, and saw shouto preparing said snack. so what do you do? you surprise him!

“shouto!” you peak behind him, and he’s startled because he thought he was alone this entire time

so— he might’ve accidentally started a mini fire out of shock, and he’s quick to realize that

🧍 there’s a fire. that i’ve created. it was a miracle that he didn’t set off the alarms

the situation is handled pretty quickly, since he’s fast enough to put out the fire. but now, shouto’s just staring at the burned piece of snack.

silence.

“..there was an attempt.” he says it simply, while also equipped with a rather frazzled expression.

this causes you to burst out into a fit of laughter, snorting at the scene in front of you— the comment being oddly hilarious

he’s the personification of 🧍right now, and shouto’s just watching at the rare scene of you hunched over the kitchen counter, snorting from laughter

“i’m sorry, shouto.” you cover your mouth, still trying to regain your composure “i’m sorry that i scared you but.. it was kind of funny.”

shouto’s just thinking “..they were laughing.” not in a bad way, of course. he’s heard people laugh at his ‘jokes’ but this was definitely a different feeling.

shouto being well,, shouto. he’s going to be blunt with his words “your laugh is pretty.”

but your first reaction is 👁👁?? PRETTY?? “shouto, out of all the things my laugh could be— you chose pretty?” you’re looking at him like he’s crazy rn

he’s really confused like,, “yeah. your laugh is pretty, is that bad?”

so then you explain that you just never perceived your laugh as pretty, only because you ‘snorted like a pig’ he thought that was a little sad to hear

“i don’t see a reason that you should be ashamed of your laugh, Y/N.” he moves closer, setting a cool hand on your shoulder “every part of you is special in their own individual way. and i’ll love every part of it.”

“you,, mean that? like really??” you ask, and he confirms it with a nod, resting his head against your shoulder “i’m sorry that i burned your snack.”

“it’s fine. i’m sorry i scared you,”

“if it made you laugh then.. i’d say it’s worth it.” and you can’t really think that he’d lie, just by the way his mismatched eyes stare at you in pure adoration.

kaminari denki

the only person here that laughs freely whenever and wherever, he has that class clown type of beat

he was a little sad to see that you always covered your mouth whenever you laughed, since it sort of makes his day to see people laugh at his jokes

but of course, he’d never judge you— he may be curious about certain things but,, he’ll never secondguess you as a whole

similar to todoroki and midoriya, he’ll ask you in a lighthearted way on why you cover your mouth whenever you laugh

and you always brush it off, so he’d just have to respect that

i’d imagine that he’d encounter your laugh when you guys are doing your daily cracktivities

you guys were already quite good friends before you guys started dating, and this was quite a habit that always occurred maybe once or twice a week

the both of you were desperately trying to hold in the laughter that threatened to escape your lips, at 2am 💀

and the both of you guys were watching compilations of that talent show livestream on youtube (tiahra nelson’s to be specific)

so you’re still holding in your laughter, and reaches to that point in the video, where tiahra nelson was watching that dude sing ‘electric love’ (ref : this video)

seeing denki’s shocked reaction made you realize that— you just can’t hold it in anymore, so, you bursted into a fit of snorts and laughter, sliding onto denki’s shoulder

denki’s still holding in his laughter because he doesn’t want to get busted by iida or something— but oh my, YOUR LAUGH IS CONTAGIOUS TO HIM

he’s never heard you laugh this hard but omg, your laugh is contagious as hell— so he starts laughing with you 💀

eventually, the laughing does die down— and you guys move on to the next video. it’s oddly quiet at first, because the realization had just hit you and hard

you snorted in front of your boyfriend, and you’re sure that he doesn’t care that much but,, wow, you are embarrassed.

“wow— your laugh is contagious,” denki slides his hand across your shoulder, and while he’s been trying to keep the atmosphere at it’s normal, he’s quite nervous??

“it was a new experience uhm, sorry, i don’t know what i’m saying, and i know you’d be insecure about it all and..” he fumbles with his words for a bit, because denki isn’t THE BEST with serious things

“your laugh is cute.” his eyes are glued onto the screen, and his tone is basically stating that he’s right. your laugh is really cute

“you’re cheesy,” you playfully smack his chest, but you can’t help but feel quite bashful of his words

no but really,, whenever you laugh, denki starts to laugh along with you, since it’s so contagious he’s not that sorry about it

moving past the sappy shit, it’s quite helpful in cracktivities 💀

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission :))

[shoutogepi]

Shinsou Says

Shinsou Hitoshi

word count : 5k

[ ✘ (nsfw!) ]  

themes : sauce alert !!! dom!shinsou, (shy)sub!reader, quirk use, teasing, dirty talk— kitten dynamics w surprise daddy

bio : Shinsou comes over in the dead of the night to find you touching yourself without permission, and he immediately has the perfect punishment in mind.

author’s note : i.. i’m not sure where this came from tbh cuz i’m not much of a shinsou fucker but… these days he has just been hittin different 😳😅

side note : usually i use the first name for bf smut, but a part of me really just wanted to keep the alliteration with Shinsou Says/Simon Says so deal with it lmao

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

🄰 breathy sigh floats from your lips as your back arches off the mattress, the sheets beneath you damp with sweat. The blankets at your feet are spilling off the edge of the bed, a crumpled pile of havoc collecting on the floor. You can’t help but writhe and moan, your fingers prodding gently against your clenched walls.

The clock on the other side of the room flashes red numbers at you, reminding you that it’s much too late to call your boyfriend over. You’d gone to sleep at a reasonable hour, but you had awoken in a sweat and in the most lustful state, very much craving his touch. However, you’re aware that he has a demanding profession, and to bother him into coming over just to fulfill your wanton needs— you couldn’t possibly bring yourself into sending him a text.

The moonlight streams into your bedroom through the cracks between the blinds, illuminating the area in a soft white glow. Your phone casts a dim light in the darkness of the room, your headphones twisting as your body squirms around. The intimate video he had taken just a few sessions ago lighting up your screen, his heavy breaths fill your ears as your fingers slide across your sopping core. Teasing yourself, dipping the digits in two knuckles deep and rubbing your walls for a moment before taking them back out, trailing north to touch your clit.

You close your eyes, letting your memories take over and attempting to replay the feelings you know he can give you. Coaxing your body into recalling how his smooth palms feel as they hold your legs open, his wet kisses trailing around your torso and spending extra time on your breasts. Fuck, the thought of him whispering those nasty words he always says as his nimble fingers delve into your heat.

It’s no wonder you don’t hear the front door open.

Shinsou steps into the dark apartment, the light from the hallway licking against the wooden floor in contrast to the shadowy room. He frowns, taking the spare key out of the doorknob as quietly as he can. Perhaps it wasn’t a great idea to come over unannounced in the middle of the night? But after such a long day and a hopeless few hours of attempting to sleep, he’d found himself briskly walking the couple of blocks that separated the two of you. He told himself that all he’d wanted was to slip into bed and wrap his arms around you… but then again, there was the raging hard on he’d been sporting for the past hour.

All doubt leaves his mind as he hears a soft moan leak out from your bedroom, his ears almost physically perking in interest as he hurriedly takes off his shoes. He tries his best not to make a single sound, silently padding across the floor towards your door.

He can hear all the noises tumbling out of your throat now, your unrestricted whimpers of pleasure making his fingers itch with prickles and warmth rush through his body toward his pants. The door is cracked just shy of allowing him unnoticeable entrance, and he can’t help himself as he slides into the room, cringing as the hinges squeak in protest. But you don’t notice him at all, his recorded groans stopping your ears from picking up the alerting noise.

Shinsou is glad you hadn’t heard him, because the look on your face is damn ethereal. Your features contorted in rampant euphoria, he watches your hands slide along the body he adores so much, sucking in a breath of air as your lips part and let out a particularly heavy moan.

“Ugh, Shinsouuu.”

His pants suddenly feel incredibly tight, and he licks his lips, shifting his weight between his feet. The noise of your fingers plunging into your wet cunt falls heavily on his ears, making him bite his lip. Fuck, how long have you been touching yourself for? And is that your homemade sextape playing on your phone?

“Ahah— you feel so fucking good!”

Your cries throw him over the edge, his body moving before his brain can process the command. He’s at the edge of the bed in three strides, menacing over your oblivious figure rolling against your own hand.

“My, my, kitten.”

The gasp that rips through you sends a cocktail of dread and desire washing through his bones, your eyes flying open to meet his predatory gaze.

“Shinsou!” This time you squeak it out almost shamefully, your fingers flying from your pussy and landing flat on the bed next to your hips. The embarrassment thrown over your cheeks makes him gush on the inside, but all that surfaces to his face is a smirk. His eyelids are hung at half mast, his watchful violet eyes regarding you.

“Ah ah, don’t stop on my accord darling. You’ve got me quite invested in this show of yours,” he tantalizes, knees falling atop the plush mattress.

A whimper escapes you, your eyes shutting briefly at the tone in his voice. You can feel the bed dip as he slides closer to you, tugging the headphones out of your ears and disposing of them next to the pillow above you. He hangs his body over yours, hands so teasingly close to your skin.

“Did you hear me, kitten? I said, keep touching yourself,” he demands, his voice level and clear.

Your eyes still screwed shut, your now clammy palms rub on the sheets, mortified to have been caught committing such heinous acts of desire. “I— I can’t, Shinsou, it’s too… I’m so embarrassed,” you whine, brows drawing together as you wiggle slightly underneath him in distress. The friction of your thighs rubbing together makes your arousal spread, coating your skin with slick.

His lips only pull back further, grinning down at you joyfully. “What d’ya mean, kitten? I should be mad you were being naughty and playing with yourself like that, but knowing you’re so desperate for me…” he leans in closer, lips grazing the sensitive skin on your jaw as you throw your head to the side. “Well, what kind of hero would I be if I left my kitten all alone, knowing she’s in such distress?”

His words make a moan of shock and want slither out of you, your back bending and pushing your body against his. Your purple-haired boyfriend really has quite a way with words. Your fingers meet his knees, gliding up his lean, muscular thighs and dragging your fingernails along them. “Please, I— god, I need you so bad,” you plead, hips adjusting as you look at him again.

His eyes are drinking you up, traveling over your sinful pout to your hands on his legs, and then to that glistening pussy of yours that he just knows is fucking soaked. “Mmm, let’s see how I can help then,” his lips greet yours forcefully, passionately engaging them in a desperate dance. His hand slides under your curved back, dry fingers curling along the damp skin in contrast, his dull fingernails sending shivers to your spine. He pulls away and grabs the hand that had been in your cunt, capturing your gaze as his lips rove over your fingers. His mouth taking them in and lathering his tongue along your skin, he savors the tangy flavor of your desire with an intense look.

“You’re too embarrassed to show me how you touch yourself, baby? Why so shy?” His words only make you impossibly wetter, and your lip trembles as you mewl softly in response.

Shinsou accepts the noise as a reply, tilting his head slightly as an idea comes to mind. He sits up, his hand sliding up to the center of your back and taking you with him.

“Do you wanna play a game, kitten?” His inquiry has you curiously regarding him, trying to see if there is any ill intent lingering in him. But you can’t find anything, only being sucked into his ravenous eyes. He presses further, wanting to convince you more than anything to play along. “I promise you’ll have a good time.”

You do trust your boyfriend after all— he’d never misguided your desires before, always satiating your every need. So you find yourself nodding again, arms wrapping around his neck hesitantly.

The grin on his lips makes your heartbeat quicken.

Shinsou’s hands cup the backs of your thighs, scooping you into his arms as he slides off the bed. He steals your focus away as his lips cover yours again, his tongue roaming along your bottom lip. You gladly allow him entrance, and you jump slightly as your ass touches the cold wooden floor. Peeking up at him, your breath stops in your throat at the preying look in his eyes.

“We’re gonna play a game called Shinsou Says.” You let out a moan immediately, your hand flying up to cover your lips a second too late. The pure action makes the man chuckle, his hand giving your ass a playful squeeze. “You familiar with it?”

Simon Says— you’ve played it before. Maybe back when you were younger… but you have a feeling that Shinsou’s game is going to be a lot nastier than your past experiences. This could go either very right, or very wrong. “Yeah…,” you trail off, wondering what your boyfriend’s intentions are exactly.

As if he can see the lingering wariness in your eyes, he continues. “I’m gonna tell you what to do, and you’re gonna follow my commands. If you follow my instructions without me saying ‘Shinsou says’, the game is over and you lose.”

“Is there a punishment for losing?” You ask, maybe a bit too quickly because his lavender eyes glint at you with hunger.

“Not really… you just don’t get the winning prize.”

Interest piqued, you look at him expectantly. “Well tell me what it is already!”

“The prize is my cock, baby.” Your eyes widen and fall to his lap, regarding the sizable tent in his pants. “You’ll be rewarded kindly if you show me that you can be a good girl for me. I can’t just forget that you were touching yourself without me, like a little slut. Prove to me you’re my good girl.”

Fuck, he’s a good talker. His words sound so tempting, and if you play the game, he’ll be murmuring those intoxicating desires into your ear all night. You straighten your spine with confidence. You can prove that you’re a good girl.

“If you wanna stop at any point, you’ll be able to. Just say the word and we’ll stop, okay kitten?”

Even though your lip is between your teeth, you nod once again, the idea of the game appealing to you. If you just follow his instructions, it doesn’t really count as touching yourself… right? It can’t be as embarrassing...

His pleased smile is enough to make your lungs rattle with anticipation. His hands land on your waist, his fingers massaging the flesh there tenderly. “Shinsou says, turn around.”

You were planning on following his command, yet your body finds it already acting on its own accord. A tight feeling of excitement and a shred of fear bubbles in your chest, realizing that he’s using his quirk on you. He’s never used it on you before, and in all honesty, you had been wondering when he would finally man up and test it on you. When you finally turn, you aren’t expecting to find yourself in front of your floor length mirror, and your cheeks immediately flush with a telling red.

His quirk is interesting— it doesn’t feel intrusive, more like your movements are the true desire of your limbs and he is just oiling you up into performing them. This already exceeds your expectations.

You hesitantly observe yourself in the mirror, looking at the slick glaze that drips down your inner thighs. Shinsou follows the action, sitting behind you and sliding his hands under your thighs, parting your legs widely and trailing his fingers along your skin. You lean back into his chest, getting comfortable and licking your lips.

“Shinsou says,” he grumbles into your ear, watching your reflection as your pussy clenches at the words, “cup your breasts and gently pinch those nipples, kitten.”

Your exhale is shaky as your fingers collect the heavy flesh, your palms gliding along the sensitive skin. You whine as your fingertips roll the perky buds, your actions not your own but delighting you nonetheless. Your hips roll slowly in the air, shutting your eyes and tossing your head atop his broad shoulder.

“Sensitive today, are we?” His low chuckle draws another whimper from you, and the luscious noise only spurs him further. “Wow, I’ve never seen you so fucking wet before. Look at yourself.”

You keep your head where it is, an almost pained look washing over your features at having to keep the game in mind. Shinsou’s quirk is absent in your hazy mind, not pushing you into performing the incorrect action.

“Hmm, what a clever kitten I have,” he purrs, fingers running along your skin. “Now— Shinsou says— look at how soaked you are for me. And don’t you dare look away.”

Your head turns and your cheeks feel on fire as you take in your reflection, as well as the haughty smirk resting on Shinsou’s lips. Your eyes travel to your sex, and you stop breathing as Shinsou’s lithe fingers inch toward it. They delicately land along your slit, the tips running between your petals teasingly. They brush over your clit for a moment, almost mocking you as they disappear from your core completely.

“Shinsou says, touch yourself like I just did, and keep at it, too.”

Even with his quirk guiding your movements, you find yourself wanting to follow his commands. You arch into his chest, whimpering as your nails give your swollen cunt a different sensation. Your fingers just as gentle and teasing as his had been, your lust skyrockets as your touch ghosts over your clit again. You sigh, watching how your actions cause your cunt to flutter in anticipation.

The action does not go unnoticed by Shinsou, who seems delighted by your telling body. His dick is achingly hard, but the premise of the game has him holding back. He wants to push you into becoming comfortable touching yourself like this. In front of him. He wants you to see how beautiful you are when you spread yourself for him like this, how you have nothing to hide.

“Shinsou says, ease your middle finger inside that drenched cunt for me, baby.” Your finger slips into your hole, pushing all the way to the knuckle and whining when your own digit doesn’t reach as deep as you want. As deep as Shinsou’s fingers can reach.

“Please, Shinsou, fuck,” you moan, your eyes still glued to your pussy. Your finger just sitting there inside yourself, your hips shift in order to find more stimulation.

“Now fuck yourself with it.”

You cry out, your finger still frozen in your pussy. What a tease! It’s not fair, this game is too cruel. Anguish washing over you, you glare at his reflection.

The anger rolling off of you makes him laugh, but he closes his eyes, leaning in to start pressing gentle, open-mouthed kisses on the column of your neck. “Shinsou says, finger yourself, kitten.”

Your finger immediately starts moving, curling in and out of your slick cunt with fervor. The pad of your fingertip pressing intently, your body shivers at the sudden stimulation. “Ahhh~ Shinsou!”

“Shinsou says, add another finger.”

The familiar stretch makes your legs shake, your back pressing into his chest. He continues his assault on your neck, but his hands leave you in favor of stripping off his jacket and his shirt. His wild purple locks shift as he pushes your body into his naked skin, collecting your thighs in his hands once again.

His teeth nip across your collarbone, tongue washing over the reddened skin in a soothing manner. “Wish those were my fingers in your pretty pussy, kitty cat?”

The filthy words he utters make your already prominent blush intensify, your legs straining against his grasp. All you can do is moan, enjoying the stimulation your fingers dutifully provide. You meekly choke out, “More, please— I need it!”

Shinsou considers your dissolute request, watching the way your fingers thrust into your throbbing hole. You’d never been so desperate before, and he wonders again how long you’d been touching yourself before he’d arrived. Gauging how eager your actions are, he attempts more foul play. “You want more? You nasty slut. Go on then, rub your clit for me.”

Your hand jerks to complete the action but immediately you gasp and slap it back down against your thigh. Your breath is shaking, your fingers pressing faster into your cunt. You look at Shinsou with pleading eyes, a mewl croaking out of you.

The bastard raises a purple brow at you, leisurely returning to kissing your neck. “Aha, that was cute, kitten, I’m impressed.”

The pleasure and the build up from his taunting words send bolts of pleasure through your body, and you begin to feel your orgasm building once again. Frantic for more of his touch, your body wriggles with urgency.

He sucks in a tight breath as your ass grinds into his crotch, your body begging for his touch. “Shinsou says, stay fucking still.”

Your body freezes harshly on its own accord, and your eyes nearly pop out of your skull as Shinsou’s hand creeps down your pelvis, his fingers sliding along your own that are halfway in your pussy. He lubes the digits up on your excessive arousal, sliding the pads back up to massage your clit.

“Fuck!” You clench around your fingers at the novel sensation, and your eyes nearly shut as his other hand grabs your wrist, pushing your digits back into yourself.

“Shinsou says, tell me how that feels, darling.” His fingers on your nerve won’t quit, and the other hand shoves your fingers into your twitching cunt at a rapid pace.

Your jaw is slack, words unable to be voiced as your eyes dart between his arrogant smirk and his heavenly hands. But your body is not your own, and the words that come out of your mouth make your embarrassment increase tenfold. “It feels so fucking good Daddy!”

His movements halt and you let out a broken wail, your impending orgasm vanishing without a trace. Your wide eyes meet his in the reflection, both of you in shock at the term that he’d summoned from you.

You are his kitten, that had been established pretty quickly into your relationship. But he’s never heard such a scandalous term dare to come from your lips before.

It has him feral.

It happens so quick, you can’t even gasp as his hand closes around your throat.

“Daddy, huh?” His gaze on yours is like lava, molten desire oozing out of him so forcefully you can almost hear the crackle and sizzle. His other hand roughly shoves down his pants, thumb ripping his briefs southward.

His long length slaps his pelvis and although you cannot see it, your body shivers in excitement, ready to be split in two and filled to the brim. Your fleeting shame now crushed by your overwhelming famine for him. “Please,” you beg, the excitement of it all too much.

“Daddy’s perfect kitty-cat,” he groans, yanking you to sit up so you’re on your knees, thighs shaking. “You want Daddy to fuck this slutty little pussy? Huh, kitten?”

“Yes! Yes, Daddy—  Please!” You’re practically groveling with the words that come out, like a delirious prayer on your lips.

The hand on your neck slips back to fist the hair at the base of your skull, and he shoves you forward roughly so your hands fly out to catch yourself. Tugging on the hairs, he forces you to look at your reflection up close, your knees propping your hips up to the perfect height.

Your heart thuds in your rib cage as the head of his cock glides along your glassy entrance. A growl rumbles in his chest as he watches your strands of slick stretch as he takes his cock away, connecting your cunt to his length as if tempting him to just shove it in.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, making your eyes open and lock onto his. Your ass lowers so the tip brushes along your folds again, and you pant desperately as he grins at you. “You’re my sweet little kitten— all mine. Got it?”

You nod again. Words are just so hard to come by tonight.

His hand that isn’t on your hair slaps your ass abruptly, eliciting a loud moan from you. His fingers dig into the reddened flesh, his tongue running eagerly underneath his teeth. “Now, Daddy says…”

Your lip trembles, pussy fluttering as you look at him once more.

“Make yourself cum on my cock.”

He doesn’t need to activate his quirk this time. Your hips smash downwards, your cry and his moan filling the room as you take every inch of him, his hard cock spreading your tight walls with ease. You don’t allow yourself to accustom to his intrusive size, immediately bucking your ass upwards before slamming back down.

Shinsou’s eyes roll back, his hand laying still on your ass as you bounce on his dick, stealing his breath away. Fuck, the feeling of your steaming cunt squeezing him so well— it makes him want to dominate you.

His thick cock hits just the right spot deep inside of you, and your wetness drips onto the floor beneath you in excess. You can’t help the unabashed moans and cries floating from your lips, your twice-denied orgasm already coming back and making its presence known.

The purple-haired man notices your imminent climax too. The sounds that you’re releasing, and the way your cunt grasps his length so desperately— it's not like you’re hiding it very well. His hand claps across your ass again, and a snarl leaves him at how you clench on his cock in response.

His hand leaves your head, making your face drop and your chin drag against the floor. His hands dig into your hips, spreading your cheeks and forcing your hips onto his with purpose. He thrusts upwards as your ass crashes down, soliciting the most delicious shriek from you. Shinsou groans, forcing a pace that repeats the action so swiftly your body hums and bright stars dance along the corners of your vision.

“Did you fucking hear me, kitten?”

Your eyes open blearily, tears dotting your lashes at the sheer pleasure he’s causing. His expression is malicious, slitted eyes glaring at your mirror image, as if tempting you to follow his command.

“Daddy says, he wants you to cum.”

The pressure in your stomach heightens suddenly, so much that your jaw drops and your legs shake, your body tightening up. And then you’re orgasming, cunt squeezing the life out of his cock and thrashing on his hips in ecstasy.

His hands only tighten on your hips, and his pace does not dwindle as he plows into you with ease. The continued stimulation on your g-spot makes a trail of drool run down the corner of your mouth, your eyes rolled back all the way. The persistent tempo of his thrusts draws out a string of unintelligible pleas from you, and he finally stops to give you a second to catch your breath.

Your body melts into a puddle on the floor, the forced orgasm having taken a startling amount of energy from you. Shinsou gives a tentative thrust, a soft whine dislodging from you. Wrapping his arms under and around your thighs with his hands landing beneath your ass, he pulls you off the ground, sinking to his knees in front of the mirror. He spreads your legs mercilessly, lowering your body and sinking his cock into your aching cunt.

“Mmmmph, Shinsou,” you whimper as you’re struggling for words, your body feeling a confusing mix of heaviness and lightness. Your mind is still foggy, trying to readjust after your orgasm has devastated you so harshly. You body hadn’t had enough time to prepare itself, Shinsou had just ripped the orgasm out of you before it was ready.

Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, another mewl releasing as he pushes his cock inside again.

“Shh, shh shh kitten, don’t you worry. Daddy’s gonna take good care of you, just like he always does,” Shinsou breathes into your ear, sending the butterflies in your stomach fluttering with renewed energy.

The moans just keep coming out of you as his strong arms guide you to sit on his dick, sheathing himself inside you all the way and then rutting his hips up into you to rub that spot that makes you quiver. Your head not as cloudy as before, your hand wanders to your breast and you tug your nipple with your fingers.

“Mhmm, doesn’t that feel good?” He inquires, dropping your body a bit quicker on his length. Your lips open in the shape of an ‘o’, your other hand trails down your thigh. “You wanna touch yourself, darling? Not so shy anymore, are you?”

You shake your head, licking your lips at the mirror before you. It displays the sinful image of Shinsou impaling you with his mighty cock, folding your body like a flimsy lawn chair.

“Daddy says, lick your fingers and rub them on your clit,” he orders, thrusting into you faster.

Your hand on your thigh instantly flies to your lips, parting them and shoving your fingers into your mouth. You moan as your tongue lathers the digits in your spit, making Shinsou bite down on the tip of your ear and growl. Your body lurches as your fingers meet your clit, your entire core tightening at the added pleasure. “Fuck! Shinsou, ahhh— I—  ughhh,” you can't stop the groan that slips out, your overstimulated g-spot sending euphoria rushing through you with every thrust.

“Ready to cum again, kitten?” He pesters, the tension amplifying in his stomach. Just the game had him all riled up, and now, after your intense orgasm and displaying yourself like this… well, he’s getting pretty close himself.

“Yes, please just… give it to me, Daddy,” you whine, your body bracing for the impact of another orgasm. With no control over your fingers on your clit, all you can do is accept the sparks zipping through your limbs.

Shinsou drops your hips to meet his as they buck upwards at a rapid pace, the breath in your lungs being stolen as you fall off the edge, your second orgasm slicing through you. The pressure alleviating from your core, your lips part and a long whine tumbles out. Clear fluid spurts onto the mirror and the floor as you tremble against his slick chest, cunt tightening and spasming violently.

Shinsou lets out a suspended groan, the image of your release splashing out of you combined with the feeling of you gripping his cock so forcefully coaxing out his orgasm. He fills your womb with warmth, his grip on your thighs weakening.

The room is filled with ragged breaths as you both remain in a state of bliss, Shinsou’s length massaging your raw pussy as he slowly cradles your body against his. Your eyes are closed, your cunt throbbing and tingling with the aftershocks of your climax.

Shinsou presses feathery kisses onto the mauled skin on your neck. There’s a ridiculously dark and large hickey forming there, but you can’t bring yourself to give a damn as he licks the bruising skin with care.

He intently watches a thick stream of white trickle out of your pink cunt and down his balls. Your body droops against his, exhaustion ebbing into your form. Shinsou pulls out of you and you whine as his heated cock leaves your trove, the stretch immediately being missed.

“How do you feel, kitten? You alright?” He asks, adjusting you in his arms as he stands, holding your body with discretion. He carries you over to the bed, laying you on the now-cold sheets.

Your overstimulated core throbs in protest as you shift, pushing the hair off your sweaty forehead. “I’m good, I'm just so tired… and I can’t believe I just—” you cut off, glancing at him with a slightly embarrassed look in your eyes.

Shinsou smirks, but the pride beams through his faux-suave expression. “Squirted? You sure did, kitten. And it was hot as hell.” He crawls onto the mattress next to you, his long arms encircling your waist.

Snuggled into his warm chest, you sigh in content, your body buzzing numbly from the lingering head-rush of your peak. He always knows what to say.

“You did so well, baby, I’m so proud of you.” His words are soft and sweet now, warm and considerate. “You proved it to me, darling, you’re such a good girl.”

Your lips mould into a sated smile, which you press into the smooth skin of his muscular chest. Before you can slip away into a restful slumber, Shinsou’s fingers collect your chin, gently tugging it up so your eyes meet his.

“Good girls don’t touch themselves though, kitten. This time you were lucky I came over here needing you just as bad as you needed me.” He pulls you into a deep kiss, making your arms wrap around his neck and your fingers glide into his soft, amethyst tresses. He hums deeply, pulling back and stealing your gaze with a lazy yet ominous glower.

“But if I ever find you touching yourself again,” he pauses, lavender eyes twinkling with a refreshed carnality that makes you shiver, “Daddy’s gonna figure out just how many orgasms it takes to make you soak these sheets all the way through.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

.

thank you so much for reading!! I hope it was alright, as I said, I’m not well versed in the Shinsou realm heheh 

make sure to let me know if you enjoyed ♥︎ 

➥ masterlist

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 © 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐩𝐢 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟎. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[theevangelion]

Red Bottom: Red Kryptonite D/S Supercorp Story (Complete)

Prompt Fill for Gabs: Redk!Kara wanting it fast and hard and lena fucking her gently until she's in tears? With lots of praise kink pls

*OR*

Under the effects of Red Kryptonite, Kara has to be kept somewhere secure. The L-Corp Laboratory is about the only location with enough lead lining to hide her heat signature while the DEO worries about bigger threats. Kara’s frustrated arousal and darkened mood is nothing compared to her girlfriend, Lena Luthor’s.

There’s a dark and evil side lurking inside Lena too. Always there, always out of sight. With Kara under the influence of the Red Kryptonite, Lena finds herself indulging in her own primal dark side in order to quell Kara’s own.

“Again?” Lena’s eyes fly wide open at the DEO circus.

“The red kryptonite particles went up with the explosion last week,” Alex says, overseeing the transfer of her sedated sister to the secure L-Corp laboratory. “And what goes up must come down. Jesus, I can’t believe we didn’t account for the rain.”

“Wouldn’t she be safer at DEO headquarters? It’s just, her safety should be the priority.” Lena doesn’t want to seem too eager to palm off her girlfriend.

“If the DEO headquarters were still secret, sure.” Alex rubs her temple, now suddenly thinking of other problems.

Her hazel eyes find Lena with a sense of exhaustion, as though there are too many things being juggled in the air and she needs someone to take Kara out of the equation.

Alex continues, “The League caught intel about our security protocols. Ironically, the one place Lex will probably not look is the place right beneath his nose. The building has enough lead-lining to hide her heat signature?”

“More than enough,” Lena confirms.

“Well,” Alex pats the chief executive’s shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight, and I’ll leave her in your capable hands for a few days.”

Lena laughs suddenly, the uncomfortable noise barely escaping through her tight teeth. “Please don’t.” She eyes Alex cautiously. “Just maybe let’s workshop this idea—”

“It will be fine,” Alex promises. “Just don’t listen to her, put your headphones in, think of it as babysitting duty. I’ll owe you one, big time.” Alex stares as though she means it regardless of the complications it might cause later down the line.

An unconditional favour from one of the higher-ups in the chain of command at the Department of Extranormal Operations… That could certainly come in handy one day.

“Not the holding cell. Put her in the observation suite, the glass is resistant to her heat vision.” Lena points to the clear glass room opposite the laboratory. “Extra restraints, green kryptonite lamps—”

“Green kryptonite could kill her,” Alex balks.

“In larger quantities, sure.” Lena nods. “In a smaller, medicinal dosage it nullifies her power for a short time. Like the small amount emitted by the kryptonite lamps your tech team developed last year in the event of…” Lena pauses, quirking her crimson lips as she searches for the right word. “Something unexpected.” Alex instantly closes her eyes. “Bring them, bring all of the equipment. And extra restraints too, please.”

“Why extra restraints?” Alex lifts her brow, confused.

Lena rolls her eyes, then turns to her personal assistant. “Jesse, clear my entire schedule from now until Tuesday. Alex, trust me, I’m doing you a favour, but I need the restraints and the kryptonite lamps. For my safety, you understand?” She glances at her girlfriend’s sister.

“Whatever you need, Lena.” Alex doesn’t ask further.

***

Kara awakes slowly and feels the tension in her arms. They’re captured around her ribcage, as though she is trapped in a suffocating hug. She shifts her shoulders, wiggling, unable to get herself loose from the poor, rough excuse for a blanket that has entwined her.

“You’ll forgive me for being cautious,” Lena says through the speaker. “It’s for your safety, mostly.”

Kara opens her eyes and simultaneously rolls them when she sees the applied restraints. Her arms are secured in a white strait-jacket, the tan leather straps buckled tightly, with another strap of leather secured between her nude legs to stop her wiggling out of it.

“For my safety or yours?” Kara flexes against the strait-jacket.

“Alright,” Lena levels seriously over the speaker. “For mine then.”

The strait-jacket isn’t torn to pieces when Kara flexes a second time, which strikes her as strange. She wiggles again, harder, flexing, stretching her arms as far as she can against the secured sleeves.

“Sorry baby,” Lena says, walking in to view as she stops in front of the glass door that separates them. “Another precaution. I can survive your bad mood, but only when we level the playing field.” Her emerald eyes glance to the industrial spotlights that emanate a low, dark green colour over the observation suite.

Green Kryptonite.

“If you think there’s such a big bad monster lurking inside of me—” Kara stops, heaving furious breaths. “Why risk it the other three-hundred and sixty-four days a year? Am I not capable of tearing you apart then, if I wanted to?”

“There is always a monster lurking inside of you, baby.” Lena folds her arms over her black cashmere sweater. “But you are the strongest, most level-headed woman I know. You would never let it hurt anyone.” Her eyes flicker with love. “The other days of the year, of course.” She pushes a small smile, but then it disappears as she dips her head.

Kara narrows her eyes. “Oh, you want to talk about monsters, Lena?” She can’t help but laugh.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you know the one that claws inside of your ribcage is so much more violent and hungry than mine.”

“Don’t do this, please,” Lena pleads. “I know you can’t help it, but could you… try and help it?”

“Sad, poor, angry little girl—lost and unlovable,” Kara scoffs, her lips forming an angry smirk. “How does it feel knowing that I am the only one capable of loving a creature as tortured as you?”

Lena’s mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.

Her face is beautiful and smooth like porcelain, but her eyes are utterly empty and her jaw flexes with the tiniest slip of anger. To Kara, she is still beautiful, still the finest human she has ever met, a bride to be made fit for House of El yet.

It’s simply a case of subjugating her first, Kara thinks. To teach Lena who exactly her better half is, metaphorically and literally speaking.

“You’re still pretty when you want to cry,” Kara says coldly, unbothered and unconcerned. “You should know that.”

“Funny,” Lena doesn’t skip a beat, her tone equally cold. “I’ve always thought the same of you.”

There’s a flash, a tiny strike of lightning. It hits Kara right in her belly and sends her flying backwards. The pain is the least of her concerns. She doesn’t understand what it was. Kara pants and opens her eyes, curled in the corner of the glass cage with a tight grimace.

“For my safety,” Lena explains, lifting the remote that controls the shock pulses. “In case I feel threatened.” She smirks slightly.

“You always feel threatened,” Kara laughs despite the painful ripples in her body from the electric shock. “Always threatened by other powerful women, always worried you’re too small, too unimportant, too weak to compete—”

“Whoops.” The powerful shock hits Kara again and makes her whimper. It leaves her crumpled and curling, sweating and gritting her teeth. “My finger slipped,” Lena says, unamused.

Despite the red kryptonite, despite the hubris it imbues her with, she is completely defenseless and that only compounds her anger. Kara wrangles as hard as she can, until she nearly dislocates her shoulder trying to get free from the pathetic little strait-jacket that on any ordinary day could be ripped apart with a sneeze.

The door alarm rings out. Lena steps inside the lion’s den, her Blahnik heels clicking quickly over the cold hard floor. Kara refuses to look at her, she tucks her sweaty head away as the pencil skirt gracefully bends at the knees to appraise her closer, as though she is some kind of small animal.

“See,” Lena whispers quietly, moving the damp blonde hair off her face. “Still so pretty when you want to cry, baby, I told you.”

“Don’t start a war you cannot win, Lena,” Kara growls with gravel in her throat. “I will still have my power and might when the weekend is out, and you—”

“Will still have mine, too.” Lena slips her hand over Kara’s bottom, pulling the curled up little monster close like a pet to be made tame. “Why don’t you be a good girl and let that nasty tongue of yours rest. I don’t want to sedate you. There is so much more productive fun to be had when you’re awake.”

Kara’s ears lift at that.

“Fun?” She looks at Lena with a craned eyebrow.

Lena looks different. Kara isn’t sure whether it’s the effect of the red kryptonite, or whether her girlfriend has always had that air of cruel arrogance and she’s only just noticing it now. But Lena’s eyes glean her as though she’s a wolfish little whore, a thing to conquer. Her crimson lips pull into a small smirk.

“Fun for me, yes.” Lena pets her damp, long blonde hair softly. “The way I see it, Kara Danvers, is that I’m going to marry you one day. That means for better or worse. And, if I can’t find a way to handle you at your worst—” Kara hisses when slender fingers yank her hair tight in a tight fistful. “Then what business do I have enjoying you at your best?” Their eyes lock seriously.

“You think this is me at my worst?” Kara’s eyes grow wide with indignation. “Oh just you wait. The Hell I will reign down upon you—” Material is quickly stuffed inside her open mouth as gag, stifling the threats.

The material is slightly damp, heady almost, the feminine taste that is so distinctly Lena Luthor coats Kara’s tongue… Kara realises that this isn’t a traditional gag.

“Hold my panties for me like a good girl,” Lena whispers and stuffs them a little deeper into her mouth. “Don’t spit them out, otherwise I’m going to push them in another hole. And believe me, I have such better, bigger plans for your pretty tight holes…” Her manicured fingers slipped over the tanned leather strap between Kara’s sweating thighs.

When Kara’s blue eyes fly open in surprise, the question doesn’t even need to be uttered. Lena can practically read her mind. The executive peers down at her with a loving smile, her palms gently taking each side of her face and cradling it close to her own.

“The red kryptonite cannot be chemically neutralised. That means I need to find another way to control you when you’re… under the influence of dangerous substances.” Lena trails her hand through Kara’s long hair, her nails dragging and gathering it neatly. “That means I need to condition you to see me as your handler, to prevent my brother ever using the red kryptonite compound as a weapon.”

“My handler?” Kara scoffs through the panties between her teeth, laughing. “You couldn’t handle a guinea pig without help—” The sentence is slapped out of her mouth, hard.

“Your ears work, how reassuring.” Lena remains blank-faced. “Now, come with me, let’s see how reward-motivated you can be, little one.”

The fingers entwined in the back of her scalp tug, pull, coax her to follow on her knees across the glass room towards a desk with a laptop on top of it in the corner. There’s a soft, plush cushion beside the chair. Kara realises too late what exactly her girlfriend has planned.

“No, no.” Lena stops when Kara stops, glancing down at the ravenous little creature digging her feet into the floor. “Wouldn’t you rather feel good, sweetheart?” She swiftly takes the panties out of her mouth.

Kara thinks, too optimistically, that it’s so she can reply clearly.

Instantaneously, Kara feels all of her muscles tighten at once. Something has started vibrating inside of her—quite literally, vibrating inside of her—it’s pressed deep inside of her folds, right behind her clit against that perfect spot that made her cunt feel tight and hot. The panties were removed from her mouth so they weren’t a choking hazard, she realises.

Then, it dwindles away to nothing.

“I am going to hurt you in ways you cannot fathom,” Kara growls furiously at the denial of her pleasure.

“No, you’re not.” Lena cranes down and pecks her temple. “Because I will crush you before you ever get the chance, little girl,” her soft voice becomes a stern tone against the ear, the responsive slither of crimson red kryptonite emanating from Kara’s temple not going unnoticed.

The moment Kara snatches at Lena’s throat with her teeth—she is made to learn the hard way around why it’s a regrettable idea.

A sudden shock of electricity hits her, but not externally, this time it’s deep inside of her cunt, attacking the back of her clit with needle-like precision. It hits her so hard that Kara squeals and releases Lena’s throat before the slightest amount of pressure can be applied with her teeth.

Unlike the earlier electric shock, this one is prolonged and hateful almost. Kara curls on her side and cries, clenching her thighs, yelping like a wounded little animal. Lena stands over her calmly, hands clasped in front of her neat black pencil skirt while her thumb continues to press the remote control.

“Please!” Kara squeals. “Please make it stop!”

“Good girl,” Lena whispers and lifts her thumb off the trigger. “Manners will get you everywhere, sweetheart. I would advise that you don’t ever try to hurt me, otherwise I will have to rectify the situation with some sense of equalism. You understand?”

“Yes,” Kara spits the affirmation between her clenching teeth.

“Yes Ma’am,” Lena insists.

“You have lost your soft little fucking mind if you think—” Kara wails a sharp sob that cuts her off, squirming her thighs together again as a small jolt hits her deep in the back of the cunt.

“When you’re like this, Kara, I don’t see my girlfriend,” Lena says firm. “My sweet, gentle, strong Supergirl... She would never try to hurt me, would never hurt a fly even. But you?” Her tone is suddenly accusatory. “You are not my Kara. You are the monster that lurks beneath the surface, and you will kneel and be made tame or you will be crushed into dust. I’m not your girlfriend, your little human, or your subordinate. I am the only authority in your tiny fucking insular world and you will obey me.” It isn’t posed as a question, simply posited as fact.

“We’ll see about that, Ma’am,” Kara growls sarcastically.

“Good girl,” Lena’s tone is suddenly praising, her eyes narrowing with pleased surprise. “You don’t have to enjoy saying it, baby, you just have to do as you’re told.”

Instinctively, Kara wants to protest and be difficult. But whatever Lena has buried deep inside of her cunt…it begins to strangely swell, filling her, vibrating and pulsing against her slick hot folds in a way that is entirely pleasurable. Kara understands too late what game they’re playing. Lena is operantly conditioning her. A game of punishment and reward.

The corner of Kara’s vision glitters, almost. The red kryptonite heightens everything, her emotions, her mood, her aggression, and apparently her arousal too. The wolfish creature can’t help but gasp, closing her eyes and unable to form coherent words.

“I think that’s enough baby,” Lena whispers softly.

Slowly, the strange new toy inside of her cunt recedes in size and slows its vibrations. It feels like a knot growing smaller, then a love egg, then it’s too small to be descriptively felt any more. Kara can still tell something is inside of her but it’s the smallest, most inoffensive intrusion. There, but not there, like a tiny pill-sized probe of sorts.

Kara glances down to the  leather strap buckled tight over her slit. She had assumed it was there to stop her slipping out of the strait-jacket, but Kara now understood it was also there to keep something buried inside of her.

Kara shifts slowly on the floor, twisting her hips, trying to feel out the sensations in her body that no longer seemed to exist without Lena deciding they should. It makes the chief executive smile this wolfish, chipper grin that looks strange on her usually dour face. Her beaming white teeth are on display with the breadth of her smile.

She looks beautiful, Kara can’t help but notice.

“What-” Kara blinks, completely confused. “What did you put inside of me?”

“A very, very special toy.” Lena gently takes her by the chin, guiding her shying face to meet her authoritative eyes. “I made it especially for you, though the punishment features were certainly a last-minute revision. If you’re a very, very good girl I’ll show you just how nice it feels when I decide that it should.”

“And if I’m not a good girl?” Kara lifts her brow defiantly. “If I don’t want to be your unconsenting little fucking pet slave?”

At that Lena’s eyes widen slightly.

“Baby,” Lena whispers with a knitted brow, her voice slow and loving. “I’m trying to help you here. The green kryptonite—” She nods at the deep green spotlights that cast the room in dark shadows. “I don’t know how much exposure is lethal, but I know that if you ever posed a risk to the general public then the DEO would ask questions later after they had put you down like a feral animal.” The theoretical possibility seems to make Lena tight with worry. “You don’t have to like this. It’s non-lethal, it’s for your own good, and my Kara would perfectly understand why it was necessary.”

“Then your Kara is a submissive little whore, and you probably know as much.” Kara glares at the unshakeable human she had underestimated.

Lena tucks a long weft of blonde hair behind Kara’s ear.

“Come along,” Lena instructs, turning on her heels to walk to the desk in the corner of the room. “You can either come willingly or I will give you a damn good reason to regret being so difficult.”

***

To Lena’s surprise, Kara did as she was told. Lena sat down in the chair and opened the laptop, her thumb on the shock button, ready to hit her girlfriend where it hurt once she reached zero on her mental countdown from ten.

But Kara crawls forward as best she can like a wounded little animal, her arms secured by the strait-jacket, her cheek pressed to the floor as she pushes forward indignantly on her knees.

The miracle happened. The pigs flew over the sky. The chickens had come home to roost. Lena felt her smile widen proudly, her fingers slipping around Kara’s neck and tickling the nape.

“Good girl,” Lena hushes, then she slips her hand around Kara’s jaw and brings her cheek to her lap. “There you go, just kneel there and show me you can be good.”

Lena rewards her in tangible, felt ways. The bullet-like toy inside of her cunt was activated with the remote, Lena’s thumb slipping over the control trigger to increase the swell in size, then the vibrations too.

Lena kept it on the minimal settings, flexing her thumb back and forth, giving her girlfriend just enough to coax her submission. She imagined that it probably felt like a pulse inside of her tight slick cunt, a pressure that grew and pressed into the back of her g-spot with delicious accuracy, then receded into nothing.

“Say thank you, princess.” Lena idly traces her fingertips on the panting jaw pressing to her thigh.

“Go fuck yourself you arrogant, precious little cunt.”

Lena just closes her eyes and presses the button.

Tense and tight and squealing, the wolfish little creature slumps to the floor and wrestles against the strait-jackets straps. Lena opens her eyes and peers down at her, guilty, curious, aroused beyond words and not ready to take her thumb off the trigger yet.

“Please!” Kara yelps with tears streaming down her red cheeks. “I’m sorry!”

“You’re sorry, what?” Lena lifts her eyebrow, waiting for the appellation.

“Oh go fuck yourself—” Kara regrets it instantly.

It was thrilling to bring a god to her squealing, tightly curled-up kneels. Lena knows it’s wrong, that it’s villainous in all the ways she holds herself to be morally higher than. But all Kara has to do is be polite, it really isn’t that hard. She increases the electricity until it feels like a thousand tiny needles digging and prodding, Lena has no doubts about it.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am!” Kara sobs. “Please make it stop, I’m sorry!”

“Good girl,” Lena hushes and takes her thumb off the trigger. “There’s a good, good girl.” She pets her long damp hair. “See, it isn’t that hard baby. You just have to do as you’re told, you just have to be a good girl.”

Lena replaces the pain with a flood of pleasure. It takes her girlfriend off her centre of gravity. Kara slumps again, her toes flexing and curling, her belly tightening until she is curling like a little kitten. Lena makes sure to show the submission an abundance of reward, her thumb flies upward on the control trigger and gives Kara a brief taste of how good obedience can truly feel.

The toy swells so big and wide inside of Kara that her weeping baby blues fly open, entire constellations mapped in the whites of her eyes. The vibrations are so powerful that Lena can hear them — thrumming, pulsing, mechanically growling away like a revving engine. She brings Kara down slowly, gently, backing her away from the cliff edge of a quick hard orgasm.

“Please!” Kara whines and brings her cheek back to Lena’s lap, kissing and digging her nose into the top of the chief executive’s thigh. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please just let me cum.”

“I think I’ll leave you right here.” Lena settles on a low, gentle vibration setting — enough that Kara can feel it stirring her orgasm, but not enough to push her over the edge. “If you’re still being a good girl by the time I’ve finished my ordinance paperwork, we can revisit things.”

“Please,” Kara whimpers, her voice barely a choking whisper. “Please, please, please—” She buries her face into Lena’s lap.

Lena ignores it and gets on with her tasks. It takes longer than it usually does, she’s more aware of the ticking time. The panting little mouth pressing to her thigh whimpers and moans, but Kara’s face is entirely slack and resting on the leg as though she has no energy to hold it up of her own volition.

“Please Ma’am,” Kara whimpers, “Please, Ma’am, make it feel good.”

Lena says nothing, offers nothing in response, but she pushes the trigger upwards and increases the vibrations and swelling size of the toy, incrementally and almost procedural. Then, she clicks into her emails for a quick update on the minute notes from the meeting she missed.

Ten minutes pass, if that.

“I need to cum,” Kara pants. “Please?”

“No.”

“Please Ma’am!”

“I said no—ow!” Lena glances down to where Kara had nipped her with teeth, hard. “What did I tell you?” Lena asks calmly, her fingers catching the shying chin. “I was fair, I warned you Kara, all you have to do is be a good girl and do as I tell you to.”

“Please no more shocks, I’m sorry—I didn’t, I didn’t mean to!”

“I’m not going to shock you,” Lena says reassuringly, closing the laptop lid. “You want to be fucked? You want to be pleasured? I’m going to show you exactly why you wait for my freely-given permission. You think this is degrading? Oh baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

***

Kara cries so hard it makes the veins in her throat bulge and stick out. Her legs thrash and kick, her arms wrangling desperately against the tight, taut sleeves of the jacket. Externally, it looked as though she might be in the worst pain one woman could possibly experience. Lena almost felt guilty. But, Kara wasn’t in pain.

She was in terminal pleasure.

“Spread your legs,” Lena only has to whisper the instruction.

Kara does as she’s told instantly, as best she can, opening her shaking legs as far and wide as she possibly can. Her cunt is pink and swollen against the wet leather strap, bucking desperately for an orgasm she isn’t permitted to have.

Whenever she gets too close, Lena dials the toy down—or gives her a tiny shock—depending on whichever is necessary to keep her an obedient and well-behaved girl.

“What a pretty girl,” Lena croons, brow furrowing deeply as she leaned against her chair and crossed her leg. “Tell me again, what are the rules baby?”

“I do as I’m told,” Kara pants. “That’s all I have to do, exactly as I’m told to do.”

“You’re such a good, obedient little girl.” Lena dials up her vibrations almost imperceptibly. “I wanted to break you in gently, Kara, but if you need to be brought under the thumb with ruthless efficiency then that works for me too. Come, hump my foot like a good pet.”

The red kryptonite glows and ebbs under her skin, everywhere, pulsing, from her temples to her toes, the slithers of red slip and glide beneath her skin and then reappear a moment later somewhere else. Lena surmises that her body, her primal aggression, it’s fighting her from the inside out and telling her this is wrong.

Kara ignores it and does as she’s told.

“What a good girl!” Lena cranes down and kisses her temple as the slick leather strap begins to work the top of her bare foot. “What do good girls get, Kara?”

“Rewards, Ma’am,” Kara whimpers.

“And what does the good girl want?”

“For you to fuck me hard, Ma’am,” Kara breaks into a sob and grinds her hips harder. “Please, please, it’s too gentle.” She dissolves into hiccuping tears.

“You’re sure you want a big hard orgasm?” Lena furrows her brow, as though she doesn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you rather a nice, soft, gentle little orgasm that just takes you over the edge—”

“Please let me cum hard,” Kara squeals, her face dipped down and cradled between her handler’s thighs. “Please, Ma’am! I’ll be a good girl, I promise!”

“No baby,” Lena says calmly. “Just a tiny soft orgasm tonight. If you are good, I’ll let you have a big one tomorrow.”

“Ma’am please!” Kara yelps as though agonised, her fingers digging tight into Lena’s kneecaps. “Please, please—”

It’s important that Kara learns the size and depth of a reward is Lena’s to call. She won’t get her own way all of the time, that’s Lena’s rationale with denying her. Lena dials down the vibrations incrementally, then makes the swell of the toy just a little bit smaller. Responsively, Kara sobs and bucks harder as she loses the pressure on her g-spot.

“The more you push the more pressure I’m going to take away,” Lena is stern because she feels that she has to be. “Are we going to be a good girl or a ruined girl?”

“Good girl,” Kara whimpers and bucks. “Can I cum, please? I’ll be a good girl, I’ll be obedient.”

“Chase it. I’ll cut you off when you’ve had enough baby, don’t you worry.” Lena cruelly smiles.

Kara bucks and grows silent for a moment, her pained expression slackening as the orgasm creeps up gently—nowhere near as forceful as the wolfish little thing desires it to be—but that will come in time, Lena thinks. She cups Kara’s chin and stares down at her, appraising, judging perfectly, grinning when the wild little thing comes undone with a sob and clutches at her leg like a humping little pet.

“There we go,” Lena whispers, turning the toy off suddenly just as Kara hit the peek. “What a very, very good girl. I’m pleased, Kara.” She cranes and pecks her temple, her tear-stained cheek, then her panting lips. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Kara stutters.

“Good, good girl.” Lena cradles her cheeks. “Let’s get you comfortable in bed. You’re not going to give me problems, are you?” Lena teases her thumb over the shock trigger.

“No Ma’am!” Kara shakes her head frantically. “No problems!”

“Good girl, that’s what I like to hear.” Lena kisses her more fervently this time.

It was a gamble with her life that paid off, Lena thinks with relief.

The green kryptonite lamps had died hours ago, the room was completely dim and dark save the backlight from the row of monitors opposite the other side of the glass. Unbeknownst to Kara, she had slowly regained her powers, or certainly enough of them to beat Lena in a fight if she so wished. But, she had been such a very good girl.

Lena had no concerns now that her little wolfish pet could be brought to heel.

FIND MORE STORIES/SUBMIT ME YOUR IDEAS HERE!

[greenninjagal-blog]

Deja Vu pt 7

Hey guys. Been a hot minute. If it makes you feel any better this was supposed to be a short chapter and it ended up being 25 pages long. :) If you’re new to the story, you can check out the first chapter [here] or if you need a refresher check out the previous chapter [here]!

Summary: Dee takes on The Prince in a fight, and Remus takes on the Prince’s sidekick.

Word Count: 12029

TW: temporary character death, blood, teargas, guns,

Read on Ao3 || Hero Worship Series || My General Writing Masterlist

Remus is twenty-one and he doesn’t think he’s ever been as terrified before in his life as he is the second he sees Dee launch across the stage. 

He’s been scared before though: scared from the moment he saw Roman hit the asphalt at eight years old and there was so much blood outside his body and Mom wouldn’t stop cradling the body even when the EMTs were trying to help; scared from the moment he stood in the gas station bathroom miles and miles from what he’d thought had been his home and trying to tell himself that that was going to be the last time he chose to look at a future where he tossed himself into the jaws of death; scared from the moment when he was laying in Dee’s lap with a million lies stuffed in his throat and still was choosing to tell him the truth about this stupid ability of his that only ever ended with him alone and forgotten and not missed at all. 

Remus has been scared out of his mind, scared in his mind, scared far beyond the way that he thinks that any other living person could understand. He’s been walking with one foot in the grave since he was eight years old and eleven minutes younger than Roman and people still-- since that was still-- since the first time it started mattering to him at all.

He’s been scared.

It’s still nothing compared to the horror that grips his heart in an icy fist as Dee throws himself mindlessly into a fight Remus can’t see the end of.

It’s stupid and Remus doesn’t quite know how it got to this point even though he had been listening so hard to what Dee was saying. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s the type of kid that grew up excelling in everything he touched and he liked touching everything. He does math in his head like the numbers work for him, he speaks French like his tongue had never known another language, he lies and steals and uses people without them ever knowing they were puppets in his show.

Dee is a genius among idiots.

And somehow Remus is still watching him pitch himself into a physical fight with The Prince despite how he spent the previous three days saying that physical fights weren’t his forte and that their best bet was to humiliate and discredit the man on stage instead.

The Prince is smart and fast and most likely expecting the attack, but even he doesn’t have a chance to dodge against the agility of Dee aided by a surplus of invisible animal speed traits. Dee is moving for less than a second and--

--his claws are morphing right there in front of Remus’s eyes, too slow to make out, too fast to miss and Remus is beyond time and space as he stands there feeling more stuck than he’s ever been before. Dee’s nails are sharp with hatred, with protectiveness, with a selfish defense that Remus had only ever seen in spurts before. The Prince’s throat is soft and fleshy and weak.

One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

Dee lunges for The Princes throat, but at the last second he dips down and aims for an upsweep of his claws, cutting clean through that sash, shallow, painful, but not deadly because Janus is not a murderer.--

--One hit would take him out, permanently. One hit could have him covered in his own red blood, one hit could remove him forever and Remus would be in love with a murderer.

Dee lunges for The Princes throat, but at the last second he dips down and aims for an upsweep of his claws, cutting clean through that sash, shallow, painful, but not deadly because Janus is not a murderer?--

--shallow, painful, but not deadly because Dee is not a murderer.--

--Dee is moving for less than a second, but The Prince is expecting an attack and raises his arm in a flash of green light, and rolls to the side. Dee’s fist misses his face by inches, but it’s enough for the superhero to stumble off the stage which is not right, which is not what Remus saw, not what is supposed to be happening. 

His head is screaming so loudly he can’t piece together a single thought. His stomach lurches up his esophagus, leaving him choking on something that might or might nor be real while Dee fights up on that stage. 

The police bodyguards nearest to the shapeshifter swing into action, with guns or tasers or whatever-- it doesn’t matter because Dee’s body turns to a golden jelly like substance and absorbs the bullets and negates the electrical charge with a near maniac grin.

((And god, is it alluring to see Dee go absolutely feral even when Remus thinks that his own body is trying to kill him. He’s always so posh, so sophisticated, so in control. This is the side of Dee that he hides under a pleasant smile, the part that matches the scales and the fangs and the claws, the part that is half animal and doesn’t care about empty words.))

The crowd screams, chaotic and messy and dangerous and it turns the atmosphere into a thick soup of confusion and desperation. Remus feels one of those stupid fucking signs crash into his shoulder blade as someone gets shoved or hit or slammed or run over-- Remus isn’t sure because his focus is only on Dee, only on The Prince, only on the absolute anarchy that is playing out on stage like a theater production.

Remus remembers suddenly that he’s never made it through the intermission of a theater show, never made it to the second act and never made it to see the lead actors take their bows. Remus always left early.

He can’t leave early now. 

He doesn’t even want to, not really, not in any way that matters. Remus’s lungs are burning and his heart is slamming against his ribcage like it’s trying to break out and taste the world for itself. He grips the crowd control fence, so hard he’s not sure anything short of a nuclear bomb can get him off of it-- there’s a cold feeling stroking his spine, a voice in his head that tells him he needs to go and go now or he’s going to end up in one of those futures he promised his seventeen year old self that he’d never go through with. 

He can’t move.

Call him a captive audience but Remus is on the edge of his seat, off his seat, one breath away from joining the actors on stage and ruining everything. 

Dee lunges forward at the police line while The Prince crawls back up to his feet in a stupid daze, too slow, too dumb, too much like someone who couldn’t actually believe this was happening and too thick-headed to keep up with the actions. 

Dee never told Remus that he was an acrobat, that he was as flexible as an Olympic Gymnast, that he could twist in the air and remove his own bones and make use of every breath between him and his enemy. Remus thinks of every time he’d counted the feet, inches, centimeters, between the two of them and for the first time he thinks that Dee might have been counting them too, thinking of every way in which he might be able to use that space as leverage to pin Remus up against the wall--

Dee said he wasn’t good at fighting. But Remus watches him grow claws that slice right through bullet proof armor and then flip in the turbulent air and drive his heel into the soft of someone’s neck. A bullet misses him by a hair’s breadth and Remus catches sight of his fangs dripping with blood or venom or something as he hisses at the unfortunate soul who shot at him, missed, and lost a bullet to the dissonant crowd.

The techie with the bright purple hair stumbles back to the van pressing his hands to his headphones and squeezing his eyes closed like he can make all the bad things go away if he pretends hard enough. Remus wants to laugh at him; can’t he see this is too real to be fake? 

Someone barrels into the side of him, knocking Remus nearly through the crowd barrier. His head rings at the collision, sending sparks of stars shattering over his vision that he thinks match the pattern of tire treads on an eighteen wheeler that once ran him over.

Someone with another ability lets it loose and there’s an explosion from down the street, sending more people running towards the stage and the battle up there. The winds twist unnaturally, ripping the confetti papers into the air again and throwing them straight up into the air along with any loose accessories not pinned down. 

A girl screams right in his ear, an arm jostles into her throat to make her stop and Remus isn’t entirely sure it’s not his arm. Her face is gone in the shifting crowd before Remus can even figure out what she looked like. People shove and jostle and move and tear apart so quickly that Remus can’t keep track of it. 

There’s so much noise Remus can’t think. Gunshots, screams, the screech of metal and whirl of the wind-- it’s so much and Remus is so small against it. He feels the world moving around him, feels the time breathing through his skin, detaching him from reality and yanking him into something else, somewhere else, somewhen else. He’s not breathing, his heart isn’t beating, he’s not moving and his vision is flickering, flashing, fleeting: there and then it’s not and he can’t stop any of it. He can’t figure out what to do, what he needs to do, what’s supposed to be--

There’s a coin in Remus’s hand, pressed in his palm cutting into this numbed skin and he clings to it like a lifeline. There’s a Barney in his hand, the Barney from the night he met Dee, the Barney that means nothing to Dee and everything to Remus, the Barney that represents a decision Remus made when he caught it in the air three days ago.

Who gives a fuck about what’s suppposed to happen? Remus stopped Roman from dying thirteen years ago and the universe is going to have to live with it because Remus is not going to get Dee die, either.

He’s somewhere in the crowd, coming into his body, unsure when he left it, and there’s something thick in his throat he swallows away before he figures out what it tastes like. An arm is in his gut, a body slams into his shoulder. The force of the crowd is tearing him back from the fight, and Remus can’t go against it.

The sky is tinged with a low hanging cloud; something grey green and the screams are largest near it, the people shoving vigorously forward and away as it sweeps over--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. Why are they screaming?

Remus opens his mouth and it’s a mistake, a mistake, a mistake. It smells like vinegar, sharp and pungent and it fights its way down Remus’s throat when he breathes it in. His skin burns and itches and smolders where the smoke touches, where it seeps into his clothes, where it floods over his eyes. He screams as his lungs warp and twist in on themselves, tight, tight, tight and he can’t breathe through it.

He’s dying, he’s dying again, he’s dying and he doesn’t know what he did--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. The gas is everywhere and Remus can’t see where he’s going and if he stops whoever is behind him will run him over.

He shoves forward burying his mouth and nose in his sleeve, but it's not enough. His heart is exploding in his chest splattering across, bursting so hard it shatters his ribs but not enough to break his skin. He claws at his chest certain there’s blood there even though he can’t see it. He dead and dying and he can’t even gasp an apology to Dee he’s sorry Dee please he’s sorrysorrysorry--

--them like a wispy wave. Remus feels it pass over him too, a force that he’s barely aware of for a second because it's so quick and then nothing happens at all. It's hard to see anything, hard to hear, hard to focus. He’s trapped, caught in a gaseous net of tear gas that lives up to its name because he’s sobbing at the burn that he’s sure is the worst death to have survived. He doubles over, and he’s gone and done and dead because he can’t do it a third time. 

He doesn’t have enough sense to brace himself before there’s someone else’s panicked foot on the small of his back. Remus curls on himself covering his head in the chaos to protect himself, but the agony over his body is shredding his insides like razor blades that could pass through anything.

He can’t breathe. He can’t think. His eyes flicker trying to catch an understanding of anything around him, but his tears make it hard to make out anything up close and the smoke obscures the world he knows is past that.

Someone is screaming something, but Remus can’t make out the words.

This is the exact thing Dee did not want to happen, he thinks as his body convulses, as a guy with horns trips over him and several more people without powers descend on him with signs and fists and whatever else they have. Remus’s tears are streaking down his face and he weakly raises an arm towards them like he can help anyone when his own body feels like it’s dying. This is the exact thing they were trying to avoid.

It doesn’t make sense, Remus curses as someone steps on his ankle and he feels the bone do something it probably shouldn’t and his throat cremates the air in his lungs. It doesn’t make sense. Dee is smart. He’s brilliant. He’s clever and witty and always seven steps ahead.

Dee was the one who said a fight would cause a riot in the crowd and it would make everything bad. A fight was the opposite of what they wanted. Dee had even said that if he couldn’t get The Prince to agree with him, he’d back off and find another way. 

“It’s not so much for The Prince,” Dee had said. “It’s about getting the message to the people.”

And Remus is twenty one years old and can’t think of what Dee was expecting to happen when he launched across the stage like that when his own head just got kicked again and his lungs are a birthday candle away from engulfing him in flames.

What The Prince was saying was stupid, but it wasn’t something that Dee would have let get on his nerves. Dee was better than that-- Remus had seen him be better than that. Remus had said things that were more annoying, more irksome, more cutthroat than The Pitiful Prince could have thought to say. Dee had been shot half a million times in futures that didn’t happen and Remus had plucked him from the jaws of death every time.

Dee trusted Remus to keep him safe and informed. Even against The Prince.

Dee shouldn’t have been attacking at that point. 

Someone kicks his stomach again, and Remus tastes the dregs of Dee’s latte wander back into his mouth with a burn that reminds him of his worst nights except this is worse than all that. He feels like he’s one open flame away from igniting which doesn’t make sense because fire needs oxygen and he’s not getting any. Something happened to Dee, something wasn’t right-- Dee wouldn’t have attacked unless The Prince did something to him. 

Remus thinks that if he gets up he’s going to put The Prince in the ground, permanently. His earpiece sings with noises from the fight: Dee’s grunts, his huffs, his ha’s. Remus latches on to the sound of them, of Dee being alive, of Dee being completely in the moment rather than his usual twenty steps ahead of it. He’s not sure if the terror is from the shoe that slams into his spine at that moment, the ache of being unable to help, the fear that the teargas is going to kill him, or the idea that whatever The Prince did to Dee is still happening.

He tries to sit up, but someone jumps over him just poorly enough to kick him in the side of the head as they go. Remus feels the sting of wet concrete at 3 AM shock through his body again, stupidly. His brain screams something about windshields and rain and Remus tells it to shut up because Dee was in trouble and Remus had made him a promise to stick around all those lifetimes ago in that Casino where they’d met, on the balcony when he’d been stuck rather than gone, when he was laying in Dee’s lap in their hotel room saying all the words he’d never told anyone else ever before.

There’s wind. Remus blinks hard, choking on a sob that claws through his esophagus far more effectively than glass from a windshield ever did. There’s wind and it’s moving like a storm front, a physical force, direct, and purposefully. The wind is twisting through the crowd and catching the greenish tear gas in its invisible hands; Remus watches in delirious disbelief as it funnels upwards with the remains of confetti and signs, hats and papers, trash and abandoned items, upwards and out of his lungs, upwards and saving his life.

He breathes in a breath that feels like his ribs are going straight through his lungs, and desperately scrubs the memories of things that he swore weren’t going to happen from his mind. Another foot slams down inches from his face, and loose gravel sprays up into this face.

“HEY!” a voice yells. There are hands on him, Remus realizes in the next second, someone helping move him out from under the current of people that are in too much of a panic to help him. “HEY!--

-- “Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out against the tears in his eyes. At first glance Remus thinks he looks like someone important, someone familiar: a teacher he had once, a youth pastor from a church that his family only went to on holidays, someone in the community that all the other kids flocked too, except that they had to be the same age, so Remus’s marks that as his brain spewing nonsense again. He’s got glasses with smudges on the lenses, freckles that dance across his cheeks like a dot-to-dot for adults, and a smile that looks increasingly stupid compared to the background setting.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps right as another round of gunshots go off to their left as the armed guard fires one someone in the crowd and the winds shrivel up and die in response. “We’re going to be okay!”--

 --“Are you okay?” the person says, and Remus has to squint to make him out as his eyes ache and burn and he can’t scrub them. At second glance Remus thinks he looks like someone inconsequential, someone familiar: a college student who came here to follow the rules and trust his government, a guy who is in over his head, a kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Remus hasn’t seen any sign of a power at all. He’s got a blue polo on speckled with dust, and bruises and scratches up his arms, a solid footprint on his abdomen that Remus doesn’t need two guesses to figure out where he got it from.

“You’re going to be okay, sir!” the man chirps, but Remus is busy spinning around just in time to see the armed guard fire at a civilian in the crowd and the winds overhead shrivel up and die because they lose whoever was telling them to move in the first place. “We’re going to be okay!”--

-- “Are you--OOP!” the person says as Remus throws himself up and bonelessly tackles that guard before he can fire his weapon. His throat is ragged and strangled and the noise that comes out of his is not even remotely human. His eyes are flashing with the futures he doesn’t want to see and he thinks for a moment if he stops moving he’ll forget which future is the present.

Dee should not have attacked. But he did, and every death that happens now is going to be pinned on him, on them, on anyone who isn’t the government and every plan Dee made will settle into ashes and fall through his fingertips.

Remus is twenty one and knows all too well that he can’t change the past. But he’s going to save the future, their future. His and Dee’s future.

The gun goes skidding across the ground and under the crowd barrier out of reach and out of touch and Remus’s head spins trying to orientate himself. Blood drips down his chin and spatters on the visor shield of the man under him, the would-be murderer, the all-to-willing homicidal maniac. Remus’s heart pounds in his throat, making its way to his mouth, until he’s not sure if he’s biting down on his tongue or the pulsating mass that keeps him alive and the tang of vinegar won’t leave him alone.

People stumble around the both of them, tripping over Remus’s legs, and someone stomps on his captive police guard's wrist so hard Remus feels it snap more than he hears it. The man lets out a yowl, as his eyes roll back and he gives in to the pain of it. 

The guy who does not look familiar in any way that Remus cares about is just a step behind them, grabbing Remus’s armpit as if to pick him up, but his focus is on the person in the crowd controlling the winds. Confetti screws through the air, a sign slams into the face of someone who gets too close to them and the two kids crouching behind them. They’re making a barrier. It’s for protection. They saved everyone who hadn’t been able to to get away from the teargas.

((They’re beautiful, Remus thinks, almost deliriously. The power and control and the fierceness. It’s like watching dancing, like watching pure strength, like seeing a miracle in first person. Remus never thought about other people with powers before, never thought about powers being a good thing when his ruined his life, but now he’s staring at this stranger with burning eyes and one foot in the grave, this stranger who is half wind and all power, this stranger who makes him think he might understand why Dee is so passionate about mutants like them.))

Remus is twenty one years old when he sees out of the corner of his eye, the man in the blue polo’s face screws up in concentration as he throws an arm out at the person controlling the winds and pale white light flickers from his fingers right next to Remus’s face. 

There’s a moment between Remus’s heartbeats where the sound disappears and Remus doesn’t need to breathe and time doesn’t pass at all. There’s a moment where Remus is frozen in place, half standing, half on the ground with his blood making him want to vomit. There’s a moment where he’s staring at the man right next to him and he thinks don’t you fucking dare--

But then the moment is over and Remus is watching the winds drop everything they’re carrying: the accessories, confetti, all of it that had been between them and the armed guard, falls to the ground and Remus watches the surrounding crowd descend on them like a pack of wild animals. His head rings with words that don’t make sense and he thinks that the smile the man gives him has a cold edge to it when he turns back to Remus like he’s expecting a thank you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Remus jerks the man’s hand down, rasping where the words grate on his sandpaper throat and shoving him away. “What is wrong with you?”

He blinks and tilts his head at Remus like he’s not sure where the question is coming from, why Remus is asking, like he didn’t see what just happened right there at all. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, okay? I think you might have hit your head a little hard.” He says, “Wait… Do I know you fr--?”

Something soars overhead, and Remus rolls to the side and hunkers down as Dee’s draconic form sweeps over the crowd and nearly decapitates everyone still standing. Piercing screams echo in the crowd so loud Remus doesn’t hear whatever else the man says.

The man who helped him up, the man who looks like no one to remember, the man who just did something to that other person that made them not use their power, that man shoves both his hands into the air toward where--

--Dee is and Remus watches in horror as Dee’s fierce expression flips to a confused one. His glorious golden wings flap, once, twice, and then they vanish without a trace.

He’s been confused before, he’s been terrified before, he’s been scared. He’s seen Dee get shot, get run over, get hit until he bleeds. He’s seen Dee laugh at broken bones, seen him choke on his own body fluids, seen his eyes good dark and empty and lifeless. Remus has been scared, but that’s nothing compared to his feelings when he watches Dee drop like a stone through the air.

Remus knows what that fall feels like, he knows how his stomach swoops at the sudden empty air, how the air feels like daggers, how dreadterrorregret fills his lungs until he can’t even take that last breath. He doesn’t want Dee to know. Please, he can’t know, please Remus needs to stop this, fix it, please pleasepleaseplease--

--Dee is and Remus moves before he even knows what he’s doing. His blood is pumping so hard he thinks it's amazing that all his blood vessels don’t pop on him. He swings his elbow back with everything that he has in him, everything he can spare and then the stuff he can’t, because that was Dee and Remus would do anything for him. The man’s glasses shatter under Remus’s attack and he stumbles backwards several steps in shock. Remus follows him with a kick to his stomach that throws the stranger who can take away the only thing protecting Dee at the moment to the ground.

“DEE!” Remus shouts, glancing up because he has to make sure that he’s still in the air.

“You!” The man chokes on his own breath, looking up at Remus with something that might have been betrayal. “You’re with him!” 

And then--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches there touching his skin. Remus inhales just as he realizes what it could be and then there’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus feels every joint he has lock up, feels pain wrack through his body and ricochet around his bones like the worst game of pingpong, feels the tortured scream carve out of his lungs as he falls forward and his skin bubbles and melts around the prongs of the taser that does not have a safety setting engaged.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Janus is screaming his name in the worst way possible--

--from behind him something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and pinches, hooking on his skin, and Remus lunges away, but he’s not fast enough. There’s white hot electricity coursing through his flesh. Remus hears the crackling of violent arcs break through his skin, hears the way that his scream terrorizes the air far worse than that time he dropped a toaster into the bathtub with himself, hears the way that Dee screams his name and lands on the ground next to them.

He head hits the asphalt and his vision fades and Dee wrapping his arms around him in the last embrace he’s going to get--

--from behind him and Remus twists to the side before something sticks into his back, barbed enough to go right into his jacket and stick there. He wants to vomit, but he’s more focused on throwing his body forward and tackling the police officer who just killed him twice and will not get the satisfaction of doing it again. Remus snarls as the man tries to bat him away. 

Remus might not have any intensive training, but he spent four years homeless, learning about the world from the streets of it. He spent more than his fair share of nights sleeping in alleys before he realized that he could use his power to find an empty hotel room for the night, a sucker that would give him money, an odd job that would get him off the street. 

He’s been in fights. This is nothing compared to those fights. 

He feels woozy, flighty: like his bones were replaced with helium and lead at the same time. He doesn’t dare let that stop him. He survived a 3 AM that never ended and he’ll survive this too. He didn’t need to see the future for that.

His knuckles hit the bullet proof padding, hard enough to send jolts through both of them. The officer swings an arm out, but Remus ducks under it and kicks his foot around the man’s ankle. There’s blood on his chin, screaming in his ears, the scent of burning flesh in his nose, and Remus grins as he shoves his palm into the officer’s face. Before the guy knows what is happening he’s on the ground again and Remus is slamming his heel into that visor so hard it shatters. 

He thinks he might be laughing, wheezing, as the blood welds up over the man’s nose and his eyes roll back. Remus brings a shaking palm up to his mouth and smears away his blood as much as he can, because it feels like he’s choking on it again. His eyes are searing and he’s almost surprised he’s not bleeding from them too.

Dee uses a brick wall of a building as a launch board to throw himself back at The Prince in the middle of the blocked off area. He flips mid flight, and whips his tail out of nowhere to land a blow that Remus can’t see if it hits or not.

“Motherfuck--” Dee’s shouts through that earpiece Remus forgot he’d been wearing. He hisses, with a stinging edge that matches pitch to the ringing in Remus’s head. “Do you know what this suit cost, you ingrate!”

Remus can’t breathe and is breathing too fast at the same time. He spins around searching through the chaos for something, someone, he doesn’t know-- what does Dee need from him? What is he supposed to do here? The man in the blue polo is gone and Remus can’t find him which means that he can’t see, not that he can see regularly, not that people aren’t still running around, screaming, the water pipes in a building didn’t burst and the metal of a few lamp posts isn’t warping, there aren’t trampled bodies everywhere he looks.

“Dee,” Remus coughs, choking on ragged words. “Hold on a moment. Let me get somewhere…. where I can... fucking see. Fuck!”

“That would be lovely dear,” Dee says although it sounds like he just ate asphalt and didn’t really hear what Remus said. “The Prince is being disagreeable.”

“I can’t...imagine why,” Remus says. “Personally, I love getting my... throat torn out.”

“We’re going to have a lovely conversation about your masochism, darling,” Dee says, and spits out whatever else is in his mouth and then grunts and swears again. There’s the startling sound of metal on asphalt and Remus’s brain tries and fails to configure the scene playing out where they are.

“It might be a pain kink at this point,” Remus says as he dodges between unfamiliar and panicking strangers he can barely see. He’s afraid if he wipes the tears from his eyes he’ll get whatever of the gas that’s in his jacket in them again. He can’t let that happen, not now, not when Dee needs him, and he knows that he can’t stifle the panic if he does. He sends a kick to the back of another armed policeman in the middle of aiming a taser at someone else.

Dee growls something at The Prince. Distantly, Remus hears what sounds like someone or something slamming into a car, and he thinks he sees the roof of the news van jostle along with the new round of screaming. 

“I would love to know all your kinks,” Dee manages after another second. “Fuck-- how is he doing this?”

Remus ducks out of the way of a blue post office mail box sailing through the air, missing him by inches, but taking out a police officer he hadn’t noticed before. He doesn’t get to see who threw it, but he thanks them, whoever they are. 

He needs to be closer to the fight again, closer to that eye of the hurricane that’s blocked off with crowd controlling barriers, closer than he is now so that he can do something. He jumps over a body, nearly tripping on an abandoned purse. A large shadow sweeps the area again, and Remus catches sight of Dee in the air, with his arm at a terrible unnatural angle. Remus thinks he feels his blood catch in his body freezing all at once despite the rapid pace of his throat bound heart.

Dee doesn’t seem to see him at all, his gaze is stuck solely on where Remus assumes The Perfect Punchable Prince is. There’s a shattering sound of gunshots from somewhere that echoes off of the walls of the surrounding buildings, but Dee remains in the air alright and fine and holding his shattered arm carefully.

His expression is contorted into something awful, something bad enough that even from the ground Remus can make it out perfectly and hates the sight of it-- the amount of pain he must be in, the pain that he never should have felt, the pain that Remus would take on wholeheartedly without a hesitation if he had the ability to sap it away from Dee. But before he can say anything Dee’s arm warps, twists, snaps back into place, and Dee snarls as he rolls his neck and flexes his fingers again.

“Did you just heal yourself?” Remus asks breathlessly, almost certain that his itching eyes are playing a trick on him. 

“Surely this came up in one of your futures before, darling,” Dee says without taking his gaze off his opponent.

Remus doesn’t say that in all of his futures Dee is too dead to show off, dead before Remus can get to him, dead before there’s even a hope for him to think about healing himself, dead, dead, dead. He doesn’t think it matters. There’s a feeling in his chest that blossoms and blooms and fills him like helium in a balloon threatening to take off with him. Dee’s wings flap powerfully to keep him in the air and Remus wonders how they would feel under his fingertips. Leathery, maybe? Somewhere between vinyl and bare skin maybe-- Remus doesn’t know enough about birds, bats, wings in general to know the answer. 

“Serpent!” The Prince shouts from somewhere on the ground. Remus thinks for a moment he can see the man through the crowd, but it's too much of a blur. There’s smoke in the air now, a fire from a nearby building, and Remus feels it burn acridly in his throat, heavy flumes of it sweeping through the crowd and obscuring the ground around them. Remus can almost hear the sirens in the background.

“I hope you aren’t referring to me, Prince,” Dee says with a bit of a hiss.

“Don’t you see what your actions have caused?” The Prince yells and Remus thinks the sound of his voice is grating. His knuckles crave to jam themselves down the superhero’s throat and rip out his voice box, just to make sure he stops talking forever.

“Me?” Dee says. “You are the one who wanted a crowd and a ceremony and a fight. I shouldn’t be surprised. One can’t pretend to be a hero without making someone else the villain!”

“You started this fight, Wyvern,” The Prince shouts back. “Crashing onto the stage and then attempting to kill me.”

“If you’re going to call names like a child, use my actual name,” Dee says, “Basilisk.”

The name sends shivers down Remus’s spine, and he isn’t sure if it's the good kind or the bad kind. His blood is pumping so heavily he thinks it should have drowned out all the other noise. 

Basilisk. Like the Casino where they had met. Like the mythical animal that could kill with a glance. Like a warning and a threat and a challenge. Remus swells with an emotion that’s so bright he’s not sure he can put a name to it, he just knows that he’s never felt it before: so proud, so happy, so thrilled. Dee chose his name and the rest of the world will know it.

((Part of Remus wonders how long he’s had it picked out, how long had he whispered it under his breath when Remus wasn’t there to hear it, how long Dee had thought about having his name up there in the lights outshining The Prince’s.))

“Basilisk,” The Prince snarls. “What type of person answers to the call of a monster’s name?!”

“The King of Serpents,” Dee shoots back. “The killer of foolish knights, and even stupider princes.”

“Now who’s name-calling like a child?!”  The Prince yells. 

It would have been comedic really, if it weren’t for the smoke and the screams and the gunfire. If it weren’t for Remus’s heart beating out of his chest and his mouth tasting like vinegarcopperasphalt and his ankle crying in a pain he can’t afford to actually think about. He thinks about leaving, about running away, about escaping alone but Dee’s life is on the line and Remus needs to make sure he makes it through this because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if Dee dies.

((That’s a lie. Remus does know what he’ll do if Dee dies because he’s seen it a million times before, in a million other places, with a million other feelings and still no one there to mourn whoever he was and whatever he could have been. Remus is twenty one and he knows that if Dee dies there will be no more reasons not to break that promise to his seventeen year old self. He knows, he knows, he knows.))

He’s closer to the fight now, back to where he had been before the riot chaos. Most of the crowd is gone, leaving smokey forms that Remus only semi recognizes from his nightmares. The crowd barriers have been shoved, there are bodies on the ground, the news van is jostled and the crew abandoned it in favor of maybe not ending up with their blood all over the place.

All of them except that techie in purple with the headphones and the face mask. 

“Hey,” Remus says, slamming against the van next to him. The techie stares at him like he’s lost his mind-- and to be honest, that’s fair. He’s got more blood outside of him than inside, and he’s pretty sure the imprint of him is plastered on the side of the car now: a red silhouette to go with the station logo. His eyes are red rimmed, his smile twisted and pained, and it’s only his own inertia that was holding him up. “Don’t mind me.”

The guy is holding a phone peaking, around the corner of the van, dutifully filming Dee barely dodging getting shish kabobbed by The Prince’s rapier and he looks very much like he minds  Remus��s presence within 10,000 feet of him, but is too terrified to move.

Remus doesn’t blame him; where would he go anyway? Into the disassembled crowd where the horror movie screams come with real blood and tear gas was just used on hoards of innocent people for no reason with no warning? Into the arena where The Prince and Dee were taking turns causing massive destruction to public property without a care in the world? Remus doesn’t blame him from hunkering down behind the cover of his news van and praying for this hell to end.

He is a bit curious as to who’s watching this video he’s taking, though. 

Dee twists in the air dodging The Prince’s attacks on his wings, by a hair's breadth. Remus swears for a second that the silver shining rapier slices through Dee entirely, but Dee’s back in the air the next moment, fluttering back out of reach and catching his breath for both of them.

“You fight like a coward!” The Prince yells from the ground, swiping his sword in a motion that is illegal in Fencing. His red mask gleams like blood, but Remus can’t see a speck of it anywhere else on him, not even a scuff from where he fell off the stage moments ago.

((Was it moments? Remus’s head rings with the question. Was it moments? An hour? Days? Lifetimes? He died, Dee died, the strangers in the street died-- how long ago was it that none of that ever happened?))

Dee looks scratched and scarred to high hell by comparison: his suit is in tatters, slices through his left side and his right shoulder, tears in both sleeves where he gave up human hands for scaled claws and sharpened talons, and he was missing a pant leg at the knee, as well as both his shoes that he loved so dearly. Despite his apparent healing abilities blood was trailing from scratches not fully closed up around his elbow, his shoulder, one cheek.

The two of them had to have been fighting this whole time but Remus gets the sinking, sickening, drowning feeling that Dee hasn’t landed a single blow at all.

Which considering the bodies of unconscious police officers piled around them all like lifeless dolls, seems incredibly unreal. Remus saw Dee fight. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

“It’s not fighting like a coward to use your own advantages over your enemies,” Dee says, to The Prince. He steadies himself in the air, his wings and scales glowing gold. “Surely you’re familiar with that idea? You have all the marks of her other training.”

The Prince steadies his stance, shifting his weight around on the toes of his feet like he’s considering the pros and cons of launching himself into the air. Remus hopes he does it just to see Dee catch him by the throat and send him hurling back to the ground hard enough to create a crater he can’t dig his mortal bones out of. 

“If you are trying to suggest something,” The Prince says, “your cryptic theatrics are getting in the way, villain.”

“You think you’re the first Hero she ever trained?” Dee asks. “Think your something special? Going to make all the difference in the world? She’s playing you like a fiddle!”

“You’re one to talk, Janus,” a voice says and Remus swears it comes from everywhere around him. His lungs seize so hard he chokes on the air, the shearing pain in his throat tearing at his vocal chords. The voice sounds like thunder, like a foghorn, like a car alarm at 3AM waking everyone who was previously enjoying their evening.

But Dee doesn’t shift like he heard it at all, and the The Prince doesn’t even look around. Remus’s heart hammers in his chest, stretching his skin, his muscles, his insides as far as they’ll go and the only thing he gets from it is the techie twisting glance at him with a semi raised eyebrow, before he turns back to the standoff in front of them.

Janus. Remus knows that name, doesn’t he? It’s on the tip of his tongue, the edges of his mind, the fog of futures he’s seen and hasn’t seen. He knows that name, he knows who that is, he knows--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he had blinked he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next his heel is slamming into The Prince’s sword arm shoulder, and from the way that the superhero’s body crumples Remus can bet that his whole foot had shifted into something that was probably lethal. 

The Prince hits the ground with a satisfying smack, letting Dee bounce off him and land another five feet away with a self satisfied, deeply relieved smirk. The Prince cradles his arm, his white outfit soaking with red, his face gnarled with painangerfear as Dee turns around methodically. The hero fruitlessly claws the ground for his rapier but Dee snaps his tail and knocks it out of reach. 

“Give up, Prince,” Dee tells him. “Unlike you, I don’t want a fight. That shoulder needs medical attention and there are people other there that need you.”

“A hero never gives up!” The Prince says and Remus swears that he’s heard that voice before, that tone before, those words before in a way that’s beyond time. They ring in his head, hollow and cold and empty: ghosts made of memories that Remus hated and couldn’t get rid of and that taste like a brother whom Remus once killed.

“She is using you,” Dee says stepping forward until he’s towering over the hero. “Don’t you see that, my prince? You’re worth more than being her puppet.”

“She saved me when I was at my lowest,” The Prince spits back.

“She probably put you there, too,” Dee says, clinically. “Dragana Witchall is not your friend. She’s not a savoir. She’s not a good person, no matter what she’s told you. She doesn’t want what's best for anyone other than herself and the moment you realize that she will do everything in her power to silence you. I’ve seen it happen before.”

There’s a twisted look on The Prince’s face, and Remus’s heart thumps in his chest, near to bursting, his tongue tastes like blood, and his eyes burn with the need to close them and never open them again, but he doesn’t want to miss a second of this.

“She…” 

Dee shakes his head. “Come with us, my Prince,” Dee says oh-so-softly, offering a hand to the Prince. “Shake off her lies and let us save the world before anyone gets hurt anymore. We can do it… together.”

The Prince stares at the hand and Remus, for all that he wants to punch the guy in his teeth, wants to rip out his vocal chords, wants to bury him alive, exhales giddily with Dee when the superhero takes Dee’s hand.--

--but he doesn’t have a chance to figure it out because Dee is lunging downwards at The Prince, so fast that Remus thinks if he hadn’t known it would happen he might have missed the movement entirely. One moment Dee is in the air, the next there’s a flicker of green light and Dee’s fist is--

What the fuck.

Remus hits the side of the news van, choking on blood that’s pouring from his nose and puddling in his throat where oxygen should be. His vision dances with static, buzzing in and out of focus, but he knows what’s going on: Dee’s fist came down on The Prince swinging with a velocity that might have killed a lesser man, but there was a flash of green, a slight side step, and suddenly Dee was on the ground grunting through the pain of a broken hand.

The Prince raises his rapier to Dee’s neck, millimeters from his skin, and Remus’s breathing shallows so sharply it gets clotted up with the blood as well. The Techie inches forward, his hands shaking as he tries to catch every moment of this nightmare. 

“Surrender, villain,” He says. “You cannot continue to heal yourself at this rate.”

Remus feels the scream trapped in his lungs, crushing against his ribs until he’s certain it will shatter outwards. He doesn’t… this isn’t… He didn’t see this. Why didn’t he see this? Why did Dee attack with his fist? How did the Prince know to side step? 

He can’t… It doesn’t make any sense. His palms tingle with the memories of futures that didn’t happen four years ago: shoving a body down the stairs, shattering a snowglobe against a temple, wrapping around a neck and squeezing for so long that his hand print follows Roman to the afterlife. Futures that didn’t happen based on a conversation that had but shouldn’t have. 

Remus’s head pounds, shooting pain from right behind his eyes, that mixes in with the ache from the tear gas. What happened? Why did it… why didn’t it...

“She is using you,” Dee spits up at the hero. “Don’t you see that?”

“You are blinded by your hatred and jealousy--”

“Oh please,” Dee hisses out. “As if I would deign myself to a motivation so cliché.”

“Snake,” The Prince says, but whatever else is drowned out by a strangled yelp when Dee shoves his injured hand up and catches the blade of the sword with enough force to knock it away from his neck. There’s a clattering of scales against metal that Remus thinks he heard once in a movie about slaying a dragon and Dee hisses out in pain as he vaults away to put distance between the two of them again, getting rid of his wings in favor of sharper claws.

“Darling,” Dee says, and it takes Remus a moment to realize he’s the one being addressed. “Enjoying the show?”

“If you aren’t careful... MARVEL is going to be stealing rights for this action sequence from under us,” Remus says, bringing a hand up to clutch at his chest and wondering for a second if it would make sense to tear open his ribcage so that his lungs would have better access to oxygen.

“Disney is a greed based cooperation that’s next on my list to take down, right after the FBE,” Dee says.

The Prince inhales sharply, angrily, offendly. “You would destroy Disney, you monster? I was going to have mercy on you but that’s too far!”

Dee spreads a hand towards the streets around them. “There are people in trouble, possibly dying out there and the thing that makes you upset is Disney?”

The Prince, at least, looks uncomfortable about that. 

“Re,” Dee says, “Lead me.”

The Prince steadies his blade, “I don’t know who you’re talking to but--”

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and, god, does Remus never get tired of that. Of Dee trusting him, of Dee not hesitating, of Dee believing in Remus. Dee soars across the road, taking The Prince in a razor sharp slice: Dee’s left arm laid out and sweeping under The Prince’s sword to take out his feet. 

The Prince slams forward and hits the ground so hard that Remus thinks his face imprints on the asphalt.

Dee picks up the rapier and lowers it at the hero’s neck just as he rolls over bleeding from every orifice on his face. “It’s over, my Prince. Give up.”--

--Remus doesn’t wait for him to finish. “Rush him while he’s talking, go low, and strong arm his legs from under him.”

Dee is moving almost before the words are out of Remus’s mouth and Remus is so caught up in the jubilee of being heard that he almost misses the flash of green that flickers around The Prince.

“WAIT--!” Remus yells, but The Prince is jumping in the air doing a perfect flip over Dee’s attack that he shouldn’t have ever seen coming and definitely shouldn’t have been able to dodge.

Dee lands with a roll that brings him back to his feet. “Re, what was that?”

“I don’t know,” Remus says, spitting blood from his mouth. “Shit.”

The techie swivels to look at him again, at the blood trailing down Remus’s chin, at the unsteadiness of Remus’s stance. If it weren’t for the headphones the guy would have been able to hear everything already, and Remus isn’t sure if he’d run away screaming, or drop into a dead faint. He wasn’t even thinking about what the guy’s recording was picking up.

That’s a problem for another day. Assuming they make it through this one.

Dee lunges backwards out of the way of The Prince’s next attack, avoiding it without Remus’s help, and part of Remus is grateful for that. He can’t tell which is the terror of Dee being in a fight with The Prince still or the panic of not being able to see what’s happening anymore but he knows he’s drowning in both in a way that’s unhelpful.

Dee rolls under--

--The Prince’s swipe, millimeters away from an unwanted haircut. Remus can hear the heavy huffing of his breath, of the ache of Dee’s bones, the shake in his limbs from exertion. He kicks a foot to force the hero back, but the reprieve is short. The Prince’s charismatic stupid smile is gone replaced with a determination that makes Remus’s teeth grind together.

The Prince lunges forward, blocking Dee from escaping with a motion that swings upwards and across and reminds Remus of how he drew 7’s before his kindergarten teacher verbally humiliated it out of him. Dee’s face snaps to the side glistening with a new cut that digs through his scales and leaves him hissing in pain.--

--The Prince’s swipe and Remus’s mouth is moving as fast as he can: “He’s leaving his right side wide open. If you duck you can get the back of his calf and decrease his range of motion.”

Dee makes a noise that Remus thinks is grateful, hopes is grateful, prays-to-gods-he-doesn’t-believe-in is grateful. Dee is slower than Remus would have wanted him to be, but when The Prince drags his rapier through the air, it sails over Dee’s head and Dee’s claws slice through his calf muscle as Dee slips away.

“Mother of Pearls!” The Prince shouts, stumbling. “How did you…?”

Dee heaves several breaths, flexing his claws dripping with patches of scarlet. “Finally.”

“Villain!” The Prince snarls.

“We’ve been over this, honey. It’s Basilisk,” Dee shows off his fangs. Remus thinks the relief is hysterical, a gulp of fresh air after he’s been underwater for so long. 

The Prince snarls, something animalistic and Remus wishes he could show the whole world it: this is your Prince, this is your fake hero, this is the idiot in charge of everything and look how angry he is over a little cut. Remus has had worse than him and he’s never complained about it!

“ZEAL!” The Prince yells to the open air, “A hand, please!”

“Just one?” A voice responds from across the area, and Remus feels his blood go cold, his knees go weak, his mind go silent in a way it’s definitely not supposed to.

Remus doesn’t know how the man in the blue cardigan who looks like no one at all got all the way over there, but there he is crouching next to a fallen police guard checking for a pulse. He stands up at the call, looking vastly out of place in the scenery.

“Well, if my prince requests it!” He says with his voice drifting like a dream in the chaos. “I’ll give you both of them!”

“Dee, move. Move, NOW!” Remus yells just as the character raises their hands and white lights begin to flicker on the fingertips. They look like stars, like spheres of sunlight, like little harmless rays that probably would feel nice, but Remus can still hear the sound of Dee’s body hitting the ground in a future that he stopped, a future he prevented, a future he does not ever want to see happen again. 

Dee throws himself into a back handspring and twists himself over the beams of light, and Remus can’t catch his breath anyway. 

“Do I want to know what those did, dearest?” Dee puffs out. 

“Bad,” Remus says.

“Delightful,” Dee says, taking another step back, except that he’s sandwiched between the Prince and that guy-- god the partner. Remus can’t believe they forgot about them, the mysterious person only alluded to, and never seen, except that now Remus is seeing him and can’t look away. Of course it would be someone who can take away powers. Of course it would. 

Remus is going to vomit.

 If Dee turns his back to the Prince he won’t see the sword, if he turns his back to the partner, he won’t see the angle of the rays; Remus has a sinking feeling in his… everything all of a sudden.

“I’m running out of patience, Dragon,” The Prince says.

“How hard is it to remember the term Basilisk?” Dee prods.

The Prince sets himself for another attack. “You’re trapped. There’s no way out. Come quietly and we can get you medical attention and discuss whatever it is that you deemed necessary to harm hundreds for.”

“Will that be before or after Dragana Witchall has my head removed from my body?” Dee asks. 

“If you just talk to her--”

“Heh.”

Remus feels the inside of his ears pop from pressure he didn’t know he was experiencing. That voice-- coming from everywhere and nowhere and why doesn’t anyone else hear it? 

“--most of my life actually,” Janus is… no that’s Dee. Remus knows that’s Dee talking. Who is Janus? The pain in his head is sharp, like a nail driving directly into his cranium, like brain surgery without putting him under, like dying but without the death part. He doesn’t know Janus.

Does he?

“She’s not who she says she is,” Dee finishes. “She’s--”

“I’m growing tired of your stubbornness,” The Prince says in an astounding moment of pure irony that twists Remus’s intestines into knots and loops them around his neck like a noose. “Surrender with dignity, snake.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the partner, Zeal, adds.

Dee doesn’t say anything to them. Remus focuses on the sound of his breaths, on the movement of his chest, on the phantom feel of Dee’s lips on his own from so long ago. Remus’s brain whispers about rain on a balcony, about fire in a mall, about gunshots in a casino, but he reaches past that, past everything, past the past itself.

His domain is the future. 

“Are you at your limit?” Dee asks him. “I can do this by myself if I must.”

“What’s a limit?” Remus says. “How much blood is a human supposed to have again?” 

“More than that, dumbass,” that voice says, and Remus blinks because Dee’s head tilts and he looks like he heard it too.

“Virgil,” Dee says in a tone Remus can’t describe. “Come to play?”

Remus is vaguely aware of the techie in purple shifting forward, leaning towards the fight, still shaking from every limb. For a moment, he thinks that maybe this mysterious voice is coming from him, but it’s too clear, too loud, too calm to be from someone wearing a face mask and shaking the way this guy is so far away from where Dee is having his standoff.

“You made a friend,” Virgil, whoever he is, from wherever he is, says. 

“I got lonely,” Dee says. “And bored.”

“Bored enough to become public enemy number one?”

“Enough, Basilisk!” The Prince yells, “Give yourself up! You’re surrounded and you have all of this carnage to take responsibility for! Your partner may continue to hide in the shadows, but you can tell him we will find him and bring him to justice as well!”

“Or her! Or them!” Zeal tacks on. “Or xem-- we’re all inclusive here.” 

“Right!” The Prince says, self righteously. He looks a lot like he does on TV and Remus’s fists itch to punch the screen all over again. “Surrender and end this.”

“You know what will happen if you do,” Virgil’s voice says.

“If the peanut gallery could please keep out of this,” Dee hisses. “That would be nice. I’m thinking.”

“Thinking just like you were when you leapt across that stage?” Remus asks. “Or actually thinking this time?”

Dee makes a face that’s vaguely affronted, a dusting of pink over his ears that Remus might have thought was from exertion if he didn’t know better.

“Do you want an apology?” He asks and Remus is only semi thinking about saying yes you motherfucker, when we get out of this I’m going to strangle you myself because somehow you don’t know what you mean to me at all and you just keep dying and cannot handle watching that again, how did I ever do it the first several billion times? 

“I think an apology is a good start,” The Prince says.

“I was not talking to you,” Dee snaps. 

“I’m giving you fifteen more seconds, snake,” The Prince says, anyway. “Put your hands up and get on the ground or I will put you on the ground myself.”--

-- Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it. The hero shifts as the seconds tick, inaudible and yet unmissable. Then The Prince sighs in disappointment and levels his rapier. 

“You leave me no choice,” he says. “Zeal.”

The man in the blue polo grins again at the call and flicks his hands towards Dee, with balls of white light dancing on his fingertips. Dee launches into the air with his wings flicking out, but the Prince is behind him in the next instant jumping and plunging his blade through the thin skin layers between the bones. 

Dee lets out a scream as the blade tears down and out of the wing, like a knife through a sail, like scissors through fabric, like an earring being ripped out of an ear. He flings downwards and hits the ground again and before he can think of moving a soft beam of white light hits him. 

Dee convulses, he yelps, he tries to get up, but the Prince’s boot is on his chest pinning him down again and Dee’s out of tricks.--

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and everything that comes with it.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing.” Remus says.

Dee nods, and then without giving anyone any warning he launches towards Zeal, who doesn’t loose his stupid smile at all. He raises a hand like he’s going to high five Dee, and those white lights come out and suck away Dee’s transformation immediately. He lands on the ground at Zeal’s feet, with the asphalt tearing through his human flesh like it’s butter. --

--Dee doesn’t answer, still mulling one of his brilliant plans, or maybe waiting for stage directions from Remus who still hates the theater and thinks he hates it even more now. If he ever has to see another theater he’s going to set it on fire.

“Zeal is going to shoot a beam, if you take the sky the Prince gets your wing. Don’t fucking get near Zeal, dumbass.”

Dee nods and then without any sort of warning he lunges at The Prince, who parries him with his blade. The scales meet metal again and Dee hisses like he might spit venom, but the superhero grunts and forces him back with brute strength and not even Remus screaming give him enough time to prevent The Prince from shifting them around so that Zeal’s white beams of light hit Dee’s back.--

-- Dee doesn’t answer the hero.

“Can’t you turn into a beetle or something? Fly out of this,” Remus says. “Please.”

“That hopeless?” Dee asks him. “Okay.” And then he takes a deep breath and his form ripples and waves and pulls in on himself, like the reverse magic trick of pulling a rabbit out of a hat. 

“ZEAL!” The Prince shouts, and the white lights are flying towards him, even as Dee turns into a beetle and takes to the air. Remus screams as Dee is hit, even in such a small form, even at such a far distance, even against those impossible odds.--

--Dee doesn’t answer and Remus feels like throwing up. They need to win this, they need to get out of this, they need to escape, but Dee can’t and Remus can’t make him and… and... 

And there’s a glint of metal in the corner of his vision.

“You leave me no choice,” The Prince says, and Remus barely hears him because he’s staring at a glock of some police guard long lost and long forgotten and long waiting with the safety off already. 

This is a bad idea. Remus knows this is a bad idea. Its a bad idea, bad idea, bad ide--

-- Dee doesn’t answer and Remus is twenty-one years old with nothing to lose if Dee dies.

“Take The Prince, he’ll parry, but you’re stronger.” Remus says lunging for the gun on the ground because he’s insane and courting Death as much as he’s courting Dee. He's never held a gun before. It feels bad in his hands, feels weird, and strange and not at all like what he thought it was going to feel like.

Dee nods and lunges towards The Prince and Remus points his new glock at Zeal. The trigger practically pulls itself. Isn't that crazy?

The kickback is a shockwave that flies through Remus’s arm making it numb and the sound explodes just like his heart does in his chest. The shot goes wide, but it’s close enough to Zeal that he lets out a scream and his little rays of white light sail over both Dee and the Prince. Remus slams back into the side of the van out of sight of the heroes while his body shakes and his face pulls into a grin for a reason he can't explain. The techie is on the ground, covering the muffs of his headphones to press them tighter to his head.

“PAT!” The Prince shouts. 

“Was that you?” Dee asks. “What the fuck, Re!”

Remus shoves his hands over his nose, stifling the blood flow as much as he can, teargas be damned. His head is thrumping with pain, and Remus wants to scream. His vision is blotchy and patchy like the world’s worst video game. He can barely breathe between the metallic taste in his mouth and the liquid flowing out his nostrils . It’s like throwing himself at a brick wall and expecting a different outcome; he’s at his limit, that limit that Dee told him not to cross, that limit that he’ll gladly ignore if it means that Dee will get out of this safe and sound and--

And he can see a flicker of green light and Dee gasps right before The Prince manages to get under his distracted guard and haul him up in the air. Then there’s green light flickering, dancing, flashing and fading and Dee’s body hits the ground so hard it forms a crater around him and--

-- The Prince steps forward gracefully, gallantly. He walks like he’s standing on the air, filled with an energy that Remus thought only came from drinking five Five Hour Energies and besting Death at hand to hand combat even with that torn up leg. His rapier sways through the air pointing down at Dee’s body.

“Tell your partner to surrender,” the hero commands. “Now.” 

“I didn’t... expect him to do it either!” Dee says and it’s funny, Remus almost thinks that Dee is mad at him. That can’t be right! 

“Give up, Basilisk.” The Prince says again, “Before someone gets hurt.” 

Dee spits a mouthful of blood on the hero’s shoes. “People are already hurt! You are leading them to be hurt more, Prince! The FBE won’t help anyone!”

The Prince hesitates, maybe even uses that rusty brain in his head. “I…You truly believe that? Why can't you just trust me at my word?”

“What is the worth of your word?” Dee shoots back, scales glittering on the side of his face. “Anyone can go back on their words!”

Remus clings to the side of the van with white knuckles, tasting blood on his tongue and in the back of his mouth and on his lips. The hero is thinking, he’s thinking, and Remus thinks that maybe he can cross the distance quick enough to tackle the hero away from Dee and he’ll have a chance to escape.

“That is true,” the hero says. “Perhaps a sign of trust is then in order, then.”

Remus freezes.

The Prince reaches up slowly, plucking at the mask.

He should look away. Remus can’t look away.

Because he knows…he knows that face. He recognizes it. He’s seen that face a hundred million times before. He knows those lips, those brown eyes, that crinkle between his eyebrows and those unruly curls. He knows those cheekbones, and that jawline and the way that head tilts back when he laughs, and curls forward when he cries. Remus knows that face because he’s seen it every time he’s looked in a mirror, he’s been haunted by it for years now, been terrorized in the nights by that face. He’d seen that face covered in blood, that face gasping for air, that face crying and begging and anything to get him to stop, that face staring at him with a hateful vengeful ugly expression and saying “You can’t see the fut--”--

Remus leaves a bloody handprint on the hood of the news van as he vaults it and the techie in purple. His lungs scream in agony, but Remus can’t hear it at all. His heartbeat is thunderous, yet even that is nothing compared to the bloodlust washing over his mind.

Dee’s head whips up, his mouth moving in some type of exclamation, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters other than the rage in his head, in his body, in his veins that floods his limbs with the need to move.

The Prince hears him coming and his rapier comes up in an offensive attack, that Remus blocks with his left forearm. The blade sinks into his flesh and blood pours down Remus’s elbow and on the asphalt and the only thing he can think is that falling off the balcony, that getting run over on highways, that falling asleep in a motel bathtub with bloody keys in his hands, all hurt a hundred times worse than this itty, bitty little scratch.

He laughs.

"Hey Roman!" Remus says in a parody of a delighted tone, and The Prince stumbles back. "It’s been a while!"

[Chapter Eight]

[stellar-starseed]

Closer Than That

Group: Stray Kids

Pairing: Changbin x reader, Jisung x reader, polyamory

Summary: Your best friends happen to be 3racha, but Changbin was your closest friend from childhood. When things start to take a different turn in your relationship, you’re left wondering which way is up.

Word Count: 2,250

Chapter: 13/14

Other Chapters: Master List

Warnings: 18+; sexual content, language

Chapter 13

You were so emotional when you saw Changbin heading in your direction, you felt tears stinging your eyes. You saw him long before he saw you, so you got to watch his bare tired face and sluggish walk up the path to the dorms. When he reached the point where he could see you, Changbin’s whole demeanor changed. He ran up to you and wrapped you in the tightest hug.

“Binnie.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his messy hair. You hurried your face in his neck and breathed in his familiar comforting scent. You missed that scent so much you didn’t wash your pillow cases the whole time they were gone.

“I’ve missed you princess.” He whispers, hugging you tighter. It took a long moment before either of you let go. Before you could tear yourself away from Changbin, Chan was cracking jokes about being in the relationship.

“Isn’t it too soon?” You laugh and smack Chan’s chest.

“Is it?” Chan questioned with a playful look. He held out his arms for a hug and you gladly gave him one. Seungmin came into view over Chan’s shoulder.

“Look how handsome you’re getting!” You shriek and let go of Chan. “Did you grow?” Seungmin beamed and gave you a light hug.

“I think he grew too.” Chan shook his head and gave Seungmin a fake disgusted look. Seungmin chuckled and mumbled something about sleep.

You see Minho coming and say, “Where’s out baby bread?” You pout. Minho’s face drops and you giggle and wrap your arms around him.

“I missed you.” You say to him.

“You too.” He says and pats your back. “Hyunjin and Jeongin are trying to get Jisung to come in.” Minho whispers to you. You felt sad all of a sudden and decided to head inside.

“I think I’m making it hard for Jeongin to come in. Maybe I should go.” You say to Changbin once you get into his room.

“What? No, Princess, I just got home. All I want is to lay right here with you. Also maybe a nice dinner but only something we can order in because I’m not moving from this spot.” He smiled up and you and you melted. You laid down facing him and kissed his soft lips. You lingered there for a moment and his hand slipped around your waist to pull you closer.

“God, I missed you.” He rocked you back and forth momentarily by your hip.

“Not nearly as much as I missed you.” You pout. Changbin suddenly got a bit solemn. You poked his partially protruding bottom lip. “What is it baby?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you.” Changbin picked at a loose string on your hoodie sleeve.

“Baby! You had work to do. Millions of adoring fans needing to hear that sexy voice of yours. Who cares that Jisung couldn’t handle the heat.” You shrug. Changbin was near shocked at your response. When you genuinely seemed okay he chuckled and kissed you hard.

“How are you so perfect?” He buried his face in your chest.

Jisung sat in the van with his head in his hands. Hyunjin moved quietly behind him.

“What’s you think was going to happen if you broke up with her through a letter.” Hyunjin sat next to Jisung and pat his back. “I don’t think it’s as bad as you think it is.”

“Hey,” Jeongin called as he came around the van. He noticed Jisung and Hyunjin. “We’re finally home. Let’s get in there.”

“I’m paralyzed.” Jisung says seriously.

“What?” Jeongin laughed.

“I feel like I can’t move. I feel so nervous about seeing her I feel like I can’t move.” Jeongin’s heart sank at seeing his older member like this. He ran over to the entrance. He didn’t see anyone and ran to check inside. When he saw you were in Changbin’s room, Jeongin ran back to the van.

“She’s not out there anymore.” Jeongin confirmed. Jisung nodded and followed the two boys inside and directly to his room. Hyunjin tucked Jisung in and pat his head before telling him to get some rest. Jeongin headed to take a shower.

After what felt like the most relaxing shower, Jeongin’s returned to his room to find a quietly sobbing Jisung. He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this situation. He climbed into his bed and tossed and turned for a while.

“Hey,” Jeongin whispered.

“Huh?” Jisung sniffed. He tried to cover up his crying.

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

“No, no. Thank you.” Jisung sniffled again. “I’m okay I promise.” Jeongin nodded at that and put on his headphones.

“So, I know this says it’s for Changbin, but I could really use this right about now.”

“You can have some.” You nod. Changbin sits up immediately.

“No he can’t.”

“Babe.” You chuckle and shake your head. Getting up to meet Chan half way, you grab the bag of food and wave Chan over. He gladly follows you and sits as far away from Changbin in the small bed as possible.

“The nicer you are to him the more he sticks around.” Changbin says as if Chan can’t hear him.

“Maybe I want him around!” You defend and then you look over at Chan who is beaming. “Maybe you were right.” You whisper to Changbin extremely loud. You try to keep a straight face but when Chan’s face falls so fast you burst out laughing. Changbin chuckles with you and gives you a high five before diving into his food. You pile a bunch of food on one of the plates Chan brought in and hand it to him.

“Did I mention I love you?” Chan says with his sweet smile.

“I love you too you brat.”

“I don’t love you.” Changbin says. Chan gives him a death glare momentarily before he tried hanging in Changbin and acting cute.

“Yah, okay, okay. I love you kind of.” He shrugs Chan off.

“Good, now, brat? I am so offended!”

“No you’re not.”

“You’re right I’m not. It is true.” Chan nods and digs in to his food. Instead of making your own plate you pick at Changbin’s plate.

“Why don’t you eat something for real, Princess?”

“Yours tastes better.” Your playful grin has Changbin leaning in to kiss you.

“Aww.” Chan exaggerates. “I did not miss this shit!”

“So, awkwardly,” You start as you turn to face Chan. “your girl toy came to ask me about you.” You tell Chan. He chuckles and nods. When you give him a questioning look he shrugs.

“If you wanna be my lover you gotta get with my friend.” He sings. When he gets no reaction he bursts out laughing. “Sorry, okay, I told her I value your opinion and if she gets past you I’d go on a real date with her.” He smiled wide.

“You did what? Now you’re just an ass. Why can’t you dump her without me?”

“I can, I just wanted to fuck with you while I was at it. Also maybe I didn’t want to be mean to her cute ass face.”

“It is a cute ass face right? She’s annoying though. You seem to have a type.”

“Fuck off.” Chan pouts. When Changbin gave you a look you pet his cheek and kissed him.

“You’re cuter.” You tell Changbin.

“Can I get in in this relationship yet I heard from Shane you fantasize about me!” Chan nearly shouts.

“What the fuck?” You were shocked and Chan laughed at you.

“One time.” Changbin chimes in. You slapped his chest causing him to choke on his food.

“It’s fucking true?” Chan jumps up and leans towards you. “I fucking knew it!”

“One god damned dream okay. One dream. It happens to the best of us now get over yourself!” You shove him away.

“I bet it was fucking good though!” He said next to your ear. You shivered at that with the image of his naked body in your mind.

“Yah!” Changbin shouted and shoved Chan away from you. “You’re not getting in on this!” He shook his head.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” You smile up at Changbin.

“You’re always so cute.” He quickly kisses you.

“Is this my cue to leave?” Chan questions as he starts to leave anyway. You glance over at him and nod.

“Close the door.” Changbin ordered.

“Fuck,” Changbin says in a low raspy voice as his hand slips around the back of your neck. You melt into his soft sensual kiss. He takes the opportunity to roll on top of you. It’s hard for both of your to break the amazing kiss you’d waited months for, but once you did you both scrambled to remove articles of clothing.

“Baby.” You nearly gasp touching his now extremely defined abs. “You weren’t this ripped when you left.” You kiss his chest and let your fingers caress his chiseled abdomen.

“Yah! I was ripped.” He whined.

“Yeah, but you’re like extra..”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Binnie, you look amazing...”

“But..”

“No but.” You smile up and him. “Just kiss me.” You say biting down on your lower lip.

“I can handle that.” He smirks and nearly devours your mouth. He continues his enthusiastic kissing attack down your neck and chest. His hands are eagerly roaming your body. He was harder that he could remember being for some time.

“I fucking missed you.” You whisper as you relax into the bed. Changbin’s lips trail up and down your legs. Your eyes flutter closed as you enjoy your boyfriends loving mouth and roaming hands. Your hand falls over his as he gently massages your breast. He slows down as he kisses his way back up your thighs. Once Changbin reaches your center he spreads your legs apart and kisses your already wet lips. He gently licks a strip and another, this time dipping his tongue between your lips to grace your clit. You squirm underneath him and let out a breath you’d been holding.

“Fuck.” You say as you push your hips down trying to find that magical tongue of his. Changbin’s hands quickly pin down your hips. You whimper underneath him, but his seeming punishment doesn’t last for long.

Changbin dips right back in and dips his tongue between your lips with purpose he uses two fingers to spread you open a bit more and sucks on your clit. You call out and grasp the pillow to cover your face. Changbin reaches up and pulls it away from you.

“I wanna hear that beautiful voice.” He says as he kisses your pussy. “And I want to see that beautiful face.”

You nod and let your head fall back down on the bed as his tongue circled around your clit. You had dreamt of this since you had been away from Changbin but he was always so much better than your dreams. You wriggled underneath him as you met your climax, grabbing on to his shaggy hair you called out his name.

“I forgot how good it is to taste you.” Changbin’s raspy voice had you biting down on your lip. You opened your eyes to see him admiring you. You immediately become embarrassed and try to hide your face in his chest.

“No, baby. I want to see you.” He pulls you away from his chest and kisses your forehead. “There’s nothing more beautiful than you. I learned a few things on this tour.”

“Oh yeah?” You say propping yourself up on your elbow.

“Of course, but now isn’t the time to discuss those things.” He smirks and gently guides your hand down to his cock. You take it in your hands and begin to pump. You ached for him to be inside you for these past few weeks and now that he was here you couldn’t wait any longer. You pulled him closer, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your soaked pussy.

“Shit, Princess. I never want to leave you again.” He nearly growled. It was your turn to smirk at him. Changbin positioned himself better and pushed inside of you. You gasped and he cut you off with a kiss. His tongue massaged yours and he pulled you as close as he cloud. He found his rhythm and it was amazing to have him inside you again. Your hips matched his thrusts and he nibbles on parts of your skin he could reach. Your nails absentmindedly dug into his back causing him to hiss. He bit his lip as his head fell back. He hit just the right spot and your were calling out in the fast track to your next climax. Changbin thrust inside you harder and you swore you heard him grunting.

“Princess, cum with me. I’m so close.” He grabs your neck and kisses you hard as he continues his pumping into you. You didn’t need his direction because you were falling apart in his arms. You both came and he collapsed on top of you burying his face in your neck.

Chan found Jeongin fast asleep on the couch and chuckled to himself. He decided to check on Jisung. Chan tip toed into the room and found Jisung was asleep with his arms wrapped around his pillow. Chan smiled and turned to leave when he started to hear a faint sob. He turned back to look at Jisung but he was still sleeping. Chan sighed to himself and left to go to his own bed.

———————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed you lovely soul!

Stay hydrated. Stay healthy. Stay golden.

You are important.

I hope to see you on the next episode.

♥️.

[jinx-on-mars-19xx]

Just a little something I wrote last night...

Couldn't really sleep last night and so I just started writing to distract myself, it's pretty short and probably sucks. Somewhat inspired by Daywalker. It's not at all connected to Interlude, I'm so sorry I will get back to that soon I think I just got scared of writing anything after my last Tumblr was shut down. I hope you like it though. There may be more to it, I haven't decided yet. Let me know if you want a part two.

Some Nights

Pairing: Dom/Colson (Yungblud/Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: None really, swearing of course and implied stuff, mentions of violence to oneself but overall innocent I think. (Sorry, I'm terrible at warnings)

Rating: PG-13/Mature

There are nights where I lay in bed, music blasting loud in my headphones, my eyes glued to the ceiling as I think over everything I've ever done wrong. Nights where it feels like even the smallest failure is weighing me down until I can't breathe. Nights where every little thing someone says to me feels like a cut, well meaning or not. Where every touch from another soul has me close to breaking down. Nights where I feel like I might explode from all of it, where I feel like finding some brick wall to punch. Better yet someone's teeth. For some reason this is one of those fucking nights. This is one of those nights where the music is blaring and the weed has all been smoked and the wall has been hit until my knuckles are bleeding… not that I could explain why it's one of those.

I'd signed the wrong paper at work today, put the wrong hashtag on the wrong picture, I'd made my breakfast just a little too burnt, tossed the whole fucking plate in the trash, called probably the wrong person and hung up too fast. Nothing was too big of a deal, nothing that should have led to this feeling of rage and… sadness I guess. But here it is, weighing me into my mattress and keeping me awake until the sun rises, just to do it all over again. A different sound beeps through my headphones but I just ignore it, too focused on the voice screaming lyrics of emotions too close to home, to care who's calling. Or texting. No one needs to deal with me like this anyway. I'd just bring them down too. Plus, it's the middle of the fucking morning. Have some damn decency.

I roll to my side, curling in on myself and watching out my glass windows. You can barely see the stars in LA and even that pisses me off right now. I grumble to myself, curling up and trying to close my eyes, if I can't do anything else some sleep would be nice. The beep goes off again and there's a part of me that wants to throw my phone across the room, watch it shatter the windows and fall to the depths of LA streets. But no, I like my music right now. It makes the damn world quiet. I'm so curled in on myself I don't notice the light spilling into the room, my music so loud I don't hear the door bang against the wall. So engrossed in my own mind that won't release me I don't notice anything until I feel the bed dip and bounce behind me.

My earbud gets ripped out of my ear a little roughly and I turn, fully on the offensive because, "What the fuck!" I growl, rolling over to see who was stupid enough to poke the bear. "What the fuck is right Col, fuck ya doing? All I can figure in this atmosphere is a little self play, listening tooooo…" My British Energizer Bunny friend trails off as he raises the bud to his ear. I rub my eyes enough to see clearly in the new bright light, watching as his eyes twinkle and his pouty lips smirk. "Well now, could've asked for a live rendition if ya needed a bit o' help bruv." He teases, handing me back my ear piece and flopping down on my bed to get comfortable.

His messy red hair shines in the hall light, his teasing face a mask to cover his worry. "Come on, talk to daddy. Tell me every'fin." He soothes, tapping the bed between us. I roll my eyes but obey, turning to face him and settling down in bed. His black lacquered nails card gently through my hair and somehow it's comforting. "I honestly don't know…" I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face. "It's just one of those days." My eyes flick up to his wide jade ones and he nods, a soft smile on his face. "We all get 'em. But it's smart to call in backup so we don't break our hands bloody." He chides, picking up my still bleeding hand and kissing it softly. I can't hold back a gasp at the feeling of his lips on my skin. Finally something isn't irritating. Finally. But does it have to be him?

"I tried calling you earlier." I eventually say as he drops my hand and goes back to teasing his nails through my hair. He just huffs a small laugh and nods. "Fink I didn't notice? Tried calling ya back. Even texts. Ya wouldn't answer nothing." I look away a bit sheepishly, of course it had been him. Those annoying little beeps. "Sorry, was too far gone by that point." I sigh, knowing he'll understand what I mean. Somehow I know he knows. "Well luv, best fing about a shitty day is a shitty night, cause finally you can sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be better ya know?" He asks, his accent so thick. Fuck he must be tired too but he came over. Just to check on me. Because he was worried. Because I stupidly called and hung up. I'm still too in a mood to really apologize, or even to ask why. There's obviously a larger conversation there.

My gaze locks on him as he stands up, pulling his tee shirt off over his head and tossing it aside, his pants dropping next. My eyes go a little wide as he crawls back on the bed and takes my wrists to pull me up too. "Too bloody hot to sleep in all this. Easiest first step to calming down is getting comfortable. So come on Mr. Machine Gun. Up." He teases, laughing as he wrestles my long sleeve tee over my head before gripping my basketball shorts tight and tugging. He's so fucking fast I can't even get a word out, I sleep in those damnit. His cheeks go a little pink as he throws them across the room, his eyes darting down then back up quick. "Comfy?" He near squeaks, crawling up to the other side of the bed and covering himself quick. Not fast enough though, Dom always wears tight underwear and I definitely saw what he's trying to hide. I force myself to ignore it though, at least for now, swallowing hard and trying to wet my suddenly dry lips. I ease myself back in bed, covering up with our shared blanket, our thighs ghosting against each other as we try to settle. "Surprisingly yeah. Thanks brother." I sigh, turning on my side and curling up again. He's right, tomorrow is a new day and now I really don't know what it holds. I'm not sure how I'll get my racing pulse to calm enough for sleep but at least now I'm not as angry. Or sad. He scoots a little closer behind me, his fingers playing in my hair again before I feel his nails trail down my spine. "Tomorrow's a new day luv, just let it come." He whispers and I'd almost swear I feel a kiss pressed to my neck. But it's hard to wonder about when I'm fucking finally falling asleep.

@domlovescolson com content

[mycomfortblanket]

Written in Ink

Chapter 2

“You’re Aang,” there was no question in her voice.

“You’re Toph.”

“And we’re leaving, come on Zuko,” Katara says, pulling Zuko away from the other two.

The air between the two of them gets immensely awkward. Aang can't take his eyes off of her, his thoughts are running a million miles an hour, and the only thought that would come to the forefront of his mind was of all the soulmates out there, he certainly could have gotten worse.

“Listen, I really don’t want to come off as this arrogant bitch who is always unsatisfied, but the whole soulmate thing doesn’t sit well with me. It’s nothing against-” Toph started but Aang lets out a big sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank god. I was trying to figure out how to break it to you that I didn’t want to do the soulmate thing either.”

“Seriously?” Toph asks, her eyebrows raised, “Well, alright then. Uh, I’m going to head home. Long day and all,” she says, standing up and begins to walk towards the front door.

Aang immediately jumps up and reaches for her elbow, “Wait, you’re walking all the way home?”

Toph turns towards him, “Yeah. I do it all the time, Katara and Zuko are dating, and I don’t exactly like to be third wheel.”

“Let me walk you home.”

“Ha. Aang, no offense, but I’m not some damsel in distress. I can get home fine on my own.”

“I’m not saying you’re a damsel in distress, but it’s not polite for me to just watch you walk out the door at this time of night and let you walk home,” he says, his voice taking on a frustrated tone.

“Whatever. But, you’re wasting your time.”

“How long have you worked at Iroh’s place?” she asks, her cane clicking against the concrete every now and then.

“About a year now, I think. I’m not entirely sure.”

Toph looks over in his direction, “You mean to tell me you’ve worked there for a year and I’m just now meeting you? Katara and I go there all the time.”

“Well, Zuko and I didn’t get along too well at the beginning so Iroh had us working different shifts, so that’s probably why we never met. Or I wasn’t assigned to your table, although, all things considering, I think I would have remembered seeing you,” he says, muttering the last part.

A blush spreads across Toph’s cheeks and she dips her head hoping that he doesn’t notice. She really wasn’t liking this. The small butterflies that she had been feeling all night while talking to him had erupted to giant ass pterodactyls seconds after she learned his name.

She was trying her damn hardest not to walk closer to him or lean into his space to smell him. She kept repeating in her mind her beliefs about the Names and how horribly suffocating they were. She should be free to choose who she wants and when she wants, not when some stupid inscription shows up on her skin.

Toph was trying to keep the distance between them and not ask any personal questions but somehow, they seemed to be pulled together by an invisible wire until their hands brushed. She would pull herself away and she could feel him pull away as well, the blush rising higher on her cheeks.

They finally come to her apartment building and she begins walking up the steps but stops and turned back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home. Sorry about the Names.”

“It’s fine. Was bound to happen, right? Anyways, I’ll see you later,” he steps off the bottom step and watches her walk into the building and punch the button for the elevator.

--------------------

“I just don’t see how a guy working with Zuko that he didn’t get along with never came up!” Toph says harshly into the phone. She’s pacing back in forth in her living room trying not to lose her cool too much.

“I’m sorry! I thought the name was familiar but it was so long ago that it didn’t even register who it was.

“Whatever. Did you tell Zuko anything?” Toph asks slightly more calmly.

“No, you told me not to. When he asked, I just... distracted him.”

“I don’t want to think about how you distracted him. It’s fine. I probably won’t see him again. I mean, he worked at Iroh’s place for a year and we never bumped into each other, so it’s fine!”

It was not fine. Now that they have met, they couldn’t seem to stop running into each other. Literally. The first time was a complete accident. Aang had opened the door to the Jasmine Dragon, Iroh’s restaurant, rather quickly and Toph’s cane became stuck underneath the door. The two of them spent at least ten minutes trying to get it unstuck and arguing about whose fault it was.

The next time is in her own home. She had walks out into the living room after a shower in nothing but a towel and her headphones in and makes her way over to the kitchen. Apparently, Katara, Zuko, and Aang were hanging around the kitchen table doing various forms of homework.

She's digging around in the fridge looking for her Naked smoothies (ironic right) when a gentle hand came to her shoulder and takes out an earbud, “Toph, people are here.”

“WHAT?!” Toph whips around and rips out the other earbud. She clutches the towel close to her body, “Who is here?!”

“Uh, it’s me, Zuko, and uhhh… Aang,” her voice going low when she says his name.

Toph’s face immediately went blood red, “Why didn’t you tell me we had people over?!” she hisses.

“Well, you were in the shower and I wasn’t paying attention when you got out, I’m sorry.”

“Whatever, it’s fine. Fuck. Just warn a girl next time,” and with that, she opens the fridge back up and continued looking for her drink.

--------------------

He's focused on the algebraic equation but glances up with he heard a soft voice singing along to Black by Pearl Jam, his favorite song. Toph’s walking through the living room, skirting the furniture and reaching out to lightly set her fingers on corners as she passes.

She’s in nothing but a short towel, her hair piled on top of her head and her earbuds placed firmly in her ear. She walks over to the fridge and begins rummaging around, her fingers dancing from item to item. When she leans over, more of her legs become visible, and Aang can’t help but stare. She’s fucking gorgeous and the more skin that exposed to him, the more he wants to see.

As soon as Toph bends over, Katara is out of her seat and moving over to Toph to let her know of the audience in the kitchen. Even though Katara spoke low when she said his name, he instantly knew when it registers with Toph that he is seeing her in little to nothing.

Her eyes scan the kitchen listening for a sound that would direct her to him. Somehow, her eyes land right on him and they make unintentional eye contact which steals his breath away.

He immediately drops his head onto the table unable to keep looking at her. Toph’s bare shoulders were free of any freckles or acne and looked as smooth as silk. He so badly wanted to run his fingers across her shoulders to see if his assumption is correct.

Once Toph’s freak out is over, she bends back down and continues looking for something before she snatches it out of the fridge and walks back to her room.

Katara sits down, her cheeks having a slight blush to them. She glances up at Aang who still has his head down on the table.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. It's just a lot harder to stay away from her than I thought.”

“I still don't understand why you two won't just talk to each other and get together. You guys had such a great time at the party,” Katara says in a low voice so Toph doesn't hear from her room.

“I just… I can't get emotionally attached to someone right now. It's… complicated,” Aang says, hoping that's the end of the discussion.

“Explain it to me then,” Katara says smartly, leaning back in her chair with her arms over her chest. She raises an eyebrow at him and waits for him to start talking.

“I just… I don't know. My guardian, Monk Gyatso, he past away a year or two ago from some form of rare lung cancer. And just, ever since, I- I don't know. I just haven't wanted to be close to anyone I guess? It sounds stupid when I say it out loud but, in my head it makes sense to me…” Aang says, his voice trailing off at the end of his sentence.

Katara makes a humming noise in the back of her throat in acknowledgment and cuts her eyes away from Aang and over to Zuko.

“Has Zuko ever told you about his family?”

Zuko's eyes go wide when she brings the topic up. Why on earth would she want to talk about that?

“Long story short, when I met him, he was this super angry person, could barely get a word in without his temper flaring up,” she says, waving her hand in the air.

“That's not true,” Zuko grumbles.l

“It totally is true. When his Name first appeared on his skin, we had actually just made eye contact. He immediately came up to me and started giving me shit for walking into his life, saying that he had enough to deal with and I didn't need to add to it.”

“Oh whatever, I did not say that!”

“You most certainly did. And being the stubborn person I am, I poked a finger in his chest and made him back down. It was slow and hard work, some serious fights broke out between us that I won't go into. But, in the end, it was completely worth it,” she says, her eyes softening when she looks back at Zuko.

Aang takes a deep breath and sits back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table in front of him, “Yeah, that's great and all, but it's not always like that. Plus, she doesn't want it either.”

“Oh, I know her reasoning and it's because she's stubborn about having things decided for her, that's it. Her parents growing up were incredibly over protective cause she’s blind,” she gestured towards Toph’s room, “She would act out any chance she could, which honestly, just made the whole situation that much worse.”

Aang looks over to the hallway that Toph had disappeared down. Glancing back at Katara, he just shrugs his shoulder before picking up his pen and continuing his homework.

--------------------

Later that night, Toph heard Katara yell for her from the kitchen. She walks in there in a large tshirt and sweatpants, her hair down and falling over her shoulders. She had put on her baggiest clothes to hide herself after the incident that had happened earlier

“Sokka and his girlfriend are coming over to watch some movie that Zuko has been raving about. Do you want to watch with us?”

Toph just nods her head as she walks into the kitchen and hops up on the counter as Katara rummaged around the kitchen, preparing something to eat.

“Is Aang going to be there?” She asks, fiddling with the wooden spoon Katara had just taken out.

“Uh, I'm actually still here,” he says from the kitchen table.

“Oh. My bad. So, princess, what's for dinner?” Toph asks, trying to ignore Aang and the butterflies that erupt in her tummy.

“Zuko ordered some pizza, I'm making brownies, Sokka is bringing snacks and yes, before you ask, he did get you your blue sour straws,” Katara says, cutting off any outburst Toph may have had.

An hour later, everyone had arrived and Aang had been introduced to Sokka as Zuko’s coworker and nothing more, and Sokka’s date had been introduced at Suki, and nothing more. Katara had set up the tv to the opening scene of the movie and wis waiting for everyone to grab their slice of pizza, snacks, and drinks and pick their spots for the movie.

Toph was the last one into the living room as usual, “Okay all you seeing-eyed creatures, let’s just make this easier for everyone, where am I sitting?

“Mmm,” Katara says, swallowing her bite of pizza, “Other end of the main couch, next to Aang.”

“Shocker,” Toph mumbles, too low for anyone to hear. She makes her way over to her spot and sits down between Aang and the arm of the couch. She leans her elbow on the arm of the couch and attempts to move herself a little further away from him nonchalantly.

Aang leans into her a little more and she can feel his breath move the hairs around her neck just before he says, “You’re being totally obvious you know.” His light laugh causes the corners of her lips to turn up involuntarily.

“My bad,” she says, sitting back normally on the couch.

“If my cooties really bother you that much, I can sit on the floor.”

Toph snorts which draws the attention of Katara and Suki but they say nothing, “No, sorry. I’ll behave. I’ll be normal.” She pulls her legs up on the couch with her, sitting criss cross applesauce, her knee resting against Aang’s thigh and the other resting on the arm of the couch. She puts her elbow on the arm as well and leans her cheek against her fist and listens to the movie.

The heat from Toph’s knee seeps into his pants and it’s all he can think about as the movie continues. She opens her bag of sour straws and points them over his way, offering him one. It takes him a full three seconds to take his mind off her knee touching his thigh to acknowledge the fact that she is offering him some of her snack. Grabbing on quickly, he shoves it in his mouth and looks over at her.

She is still looking straight ahead, although a lot more bored. “You bored?” he whispers to her.

She jumps slightly, but turns her head to whisper back, “Yeah. Action movies are kind of hard to follow along with since, you know, I can’t see the ‘action scenes’,” she says, using quotation marks around ‘action scenes'.

About half way through the movie, she shifts so that both of her feet are curled up on the couch with her, resting against the arm of the couch and just barely touching him. She lays her head down fully onto the arm of the couch as well and closes her eyes.

He honestly doesn’t blame her for being bored. He’s bored.

He’s always hated action movies so he can’t imagine how bored she must be trying to decipher people with British accents talk during loud car chasing scenes. Eventually, he leans his head back against the couch and closes his eyes as well.

--------------------

The screen finally fades to black and it seems that only Katara and Zuko are still awake. She looks around the room and notes that Aang is leaning against Toph, his head resting against her shoulder as she rests against the arm of the couch.

Sokka is spread out longways across the other couch with his back tucked into the corner and Suki in between his legs, using his chest as a makeshift pillow.

“No offense, but that movie sucked,” Katara whispers standing up from the couch and stretching, popping her back in multiple places.

“Hey, 007 movies are amazing, you just don’t appreciate them correctly…” the two of them head towards her bed room as he continues ranting about the cinematic wonder world of Agent Bond.

[lordseochangbin]

scene stealers

3racha imagine + smut— this is so filthy im so sorry i don’t know what this msksks

the dim, neon lights of the large studio and the consistent beat that allured your attention kept you distant from the few people around you. headphones covered your ears as your fingers brushed the dust off of the mix board in front of you and when the song came to an end, you quickly took them off.

“it’s perfect!” you said to the three boys sitting in the small black sofa behind you.

“dope!! now lets get this shit on the new album” chan winked before getting up to get the door.

“look who’s here” changbin smirked as jennifer walked in, her long legs practically glowing in her tight green shorts despite the dim lighting. you let out an annoyed sigh before waving at her and pretending to go back to work. 

how many times has jennifer been joining the four of you in the studio now? 15.. no no.. 20 times now? you didn’t know what it was about her. when she was around you seemed somehow.. lacking. the presence of three handsome men around you made you feel loved but when their eyes were on someone else you felt at loss. their eyes were definitely on jennifer, in fact if you didn’t have such a harsh deadline to meet you probably would’ve drooled over her in gay as well. just like the three men behind you, their focus entirely on her figure as she sat on chan’s lap.

enough about jennifer, what about this harsh deadline in front of you? you were no where close to finished, in fact jennifer’s arrival made it all the worse. for no reason you just felt the need to slap that dumbass bitch in the face. but you had no reason to. 

well, no justifiable reason. 

your feelings for jisung were the only things in sight, like it contaminated your occipital and the only thing that functioned was your beating heart and the jealously practically raging inside. if jennifer dared to look at jisung for one second, you would slit your throat- no. no... too dramatic. if she even touched if swear to motherfucking-

“y/n.. why are your shoulder’s so tense babe” changbin whispered in your ear, his hands wrapped around your neck as he slowly pressed on your pleasure points. changbin knew your body like a map, your midnight conversations about your kinks and expectations practically drawing the road for him. but he never took advantage of this.

you stretched your back when changbin’s hands drifted to your waist, his eyes glued to the screen realizing you hadn’t gotten any work done. “i’m just... not feeling it today changbin” you sighed, taking a sip of water before chan could seat himself on the chair next to you.

oh no, not this again. chan and changbin, they were like your two little horndogs. always wanting to get their hands on you, and you only encouraged it. letting them get a taste before leaving them to fend for themselves.

chan slyly placed a hand on your thigh, massaging it through the denim as he stared at the screen as well. “your not doing so well, huh princess?”

yes, these words did get you dripping wet. yes, you did want to take these two boys to the private rooms upstairs and...and maybe do things you shouldn’t do with your two best friends. wait, two?!

you turned your spinney chair around, ignoring the two men beside you before seeing the sight before you. jisung and jennifer literally making out on the couch, fucking disgusting. 

you got up in your seat, causing jisung to look up and chan to jump. “i’m leaving, i’ll finish it tomorrow” you said, grabbing your bag and exiting the room. the slightest of tears blurring your vision before you could whip them off and call it a night. 

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

after a long night of tossing and turning, you decided to start the morning fresh and brand new. you, and i mean you, were going to confess your feelings to han jisung. there was a little hope for mutual feelings but mutual or not you decided this was the only way to move past him. just rip it off like a bandage, and then you can give chan and changbin a real chance. 

you wore a black crop top with a plaid skirt and jisung’s favorite combat boots and headed out for the door. by the end of the day, you would be smiling in satisfaction whether you liked it or not.

small skips made your trip down the hallway to your studio cheerful before jisung could step in your tracks, making you stop abruptly in front of him

“hey, y/n! are you good? i saw the way you looked last night before you left”

“yeah, i’m doing alright.. thanks jisung!” you exclaimed before continuing your way to the studio. wait shit, maybe you should tell him now?? later??

you turned on your heels to see jisung facing you as well. “wait!” you both said in unison. laughing at the coincidence you two quickly met again

“you go first” jisung said eagerly before you could stop him, “no..no you go first!!” you replied with a smile on your face. you were sure what you had to say was going to end the conversation. 

“i...ummm” jisung started. 

“mhmm” you hummed, waiting for him to get over what he had to say as butterflies flipped your stomach

“i... i think i’m falling for jennifer. i’m gonna confess to her tonight”

you almost choked on your breath before you could pull a quick cover, “i’m sorry.. what?”

“i really like her y/n, only you and me know about this”

“well.. good for you jisung!” you said, giving him a pat on the back before looking back at your studio door. “well i have to get working now, good luck with jennifer” you winked before running back. 

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

seven hours later, you found yourself writing a track about how you should “never follow your heart” and “it leads to heartbreak, dont trust yourself folks”. completely different from stray kids message. as one of their producers you knew this was a failed production, pulling down your pair of headphones and throwing them to the ground

what was up with you? you told yourself by the end of the day you were going to feel brand new. at the moment you felt raged over past lovers. it was devastating, to see jisung find a girl like that but it was the only truth.

finishing off the song on a terrible note you grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you walked past the hall in the full moon’s midnight.

the building was dead silent, only for the slightest of sounds to be heard. your instinct asked you to follow it, the sounds leading to the spare room. you stood by the doorway, taking a peek inside to see jisung and jennifer.

“shit” you cursed, quickly turning away and blinking quickly a few times. this wasn’t real right?? they weren’t seriously fucking in your company building right?

you took another peek inside to find yourself taken back. jisung found on the edge of the table, his hips thrusting into jennifer’s at rapid pace and it only got you thinking, ‘what if that were me?’

shit, bad move y/n. it was one thing to imagine it, but after you said it to yourself it became real. what if that were you? you felt the all too familiar wetness build up near your core as the need to fulfill it came by.

screw it, if they thought they could make out in the company building, what’s wrong with pleasuring yourself? your felt your hand unconsciously pull your jeans down, your fingers brushing over your folds as you teased yourself before dipping them in. you knew it wasn’t jisung but the thought of him kept you doing as your fingers came in and out.

adding a third finger in, you felt yourself come your orgasm, the juices falling over your fingers. taking a second to regain your posture you grabbed a few tissues from your bag to clean up.

after you pulled up your jeans you took a second to look back before walking away, leaving all your feelings at the door.

“y/n!” you heard a voice call from behind you.

you were hoping to not be disturbed as you tried to runaway, but you quickly found yourself running into chan’s arms.

“y/n...” chan whispered, his arms inviting you in for a hug. “what’s wrong?” he asked, his fingers running through your hair.

“nothing’s wrong chan” you replied with a shaky voice.

chan grabbed your cheeks in his hand, giving it a little squeeze before responding.

“don’t lie y/n, im not a stranger you know”

you chuckled at how well he knew you before giving him a tight hug.

“ill explain later, now can we grab some food or something? im starving”

“of course, my treat” chan said before dragging you to the elevators nearby

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

the next day you had to work with jisung to finish the song you had been procrastinating on ironically because of him. a few hours were dedicated to purely finishing the track before you two could plop down on the couch, sharing a burger and fries like you two always did.

“hold on.. wait jisung you have a little something” you said, grabbing a napkin to wipe the ketchup off his face

jisung watched as your leaned closer, slowing leaning himself back

“jisung, quit it!!” you giggled as jisungs expressioned turned into a smile.

you reached out to wipe the sauce off because you could lose your balance, falling on jisungs chest.

jisung panted in relief, his chest rising and falling below your cheek. “y/n...” he whispered, his hands finding themselves wrapped around your waist.

he missed times like this, and so did you. the sudden comfort you two brought each together was indescribable and that’s why you two worked so well with music. you were each other’s muse, each other’s inspiration.

you got up from his chest, smiling as his smirk turned into a frown. your cheeks flustered red as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

“i missed you, you seemed off these past few days but i want you to know im here- okay?”

“okay...” you whispered in a soft voice, “im gonna go to the bathroom” you continued, trying to break the awkward vibe in the room.

“no problem” jisung said, grabbing the bag of french fries as he watched you leave the room.

you walked out the door, your heart beating out of your chest. not being able to handle it, you had to get yourself out of there. seconds could’ve slipped by and you would’ve kissed him. you really wanted to kiss him.

checking the clock, you realized time passed by much quicker with jisung and it was already late in the night. the quiet halls of the building gave it away, except this time you knew you weren’t alone with jisung.

funny thing was, you heard those voices one again. was this like... some sort of ghost trying to remind you of what happened last night? the sounds felt all too real, all too heated as you followed them to the same room from last night...

and you saw what you never thought you’d have to witness.

it was jennifer and chan.

your jaw dropped at the night, chan biting his lip and jennifer’s naked figure ahead of him. but this time you didn’t feel the same.

cut chan some slack, you remembered jisung mentioning you were the only two who knew about the relationship. but jennifer, god you knew there was just something about her. you should’ve followed your first impressions.

you made your way to the door, taking a second to catch your breath before contemplating about what you were about to do. should you tell him what you just saw?

without a response, you unconsciously opened the door. jisung was playing on his phone before you could interrupt him.

“jisung! jisung look im..” you said in a ‘hate to break it to you’ tone

“what’s up?” jisung said, putting his phone away to listen to you

“look... i was walking past the hallway and in one of the rooms i saw chan.. and jennifer”

“chan and jennifer?” he said, unsure of what you were trying to point out

“and jennifer was naked” you put emphasis on the last word to see if it’ll help jisung connect the dots but nothing seemed to happen

“y/n...” he chuckled, “look i know what you’re thinking. jennifer is some soft or slut or whorebag and she’s stealing all my attention for you but that’s why im here today!! you didnt have to make up a lie or something” he explained, getting up from his seat

“no..no wait! im serious!!” you responded anxiously, stopping jisung from leaving before he could grab your wrists and give it a small squeeze

“y/n, stop being such a spoiled brat. i know we’re best friends but i can’t always be there.”

“spoiled brat?” you repeated jisungs words. as shocked as you were to see him call you that, you were even more surprised that he had chosen to believe his girlfriend over the girl friend he had for 14 year.

“fuck you, jisung. leave. just go” you said, pointing at the door before watching him shrug his shoulders and leave.

sobbing into the napkins from your mcdonalds order,youre trying to be as quiet as possible now that you’re aware of how the walls fail to be soundproof.

your thinking about apologizing, just going back into jisungs arms when you feel the comfort of two buff arms above you.

“y/n, you good?!” changbin asks in a worried tone, bring your head to his chest.

“i really need someone to hug right now” you said, your voice shaky as you broke into tears again.

“im all arms” changbin said. you grabbed his biceps, pulling him into a hug before finding comfort in his warm upper body

“literally” you giggled, giving his arms a little squeeze

⊱ ────── {⋅. ♪ .⋅} ────── ⊰

the next day, you found yourself stuck with jisung again. he seemed quite sympathetic however, not apologizing for last night but still treating you with a kinder tone.

chan and jisung seemed closer, and it gave you chills. your mind wondered around, what if chan knew jennifer was jisung’s girlfriend?

you shook your head, no.. no that can’t be.

diverting your attention to the boys, you walked out on them again. they watched you leave the room in silence before you could, once again, hear that all too familiar sound.

taking a few steps towards the room, you placed your ear next to the door.

soon your senses forced you to look inside, seeing jennifer seating herself on changbin’s leg.

jisung... god jennifer needs to just fuck off. before you knew it jisung was staggering out of your studio, running towards the door you were listening into.

“jisung...”

“y/n.. what are you looking at?” jisung said, taking a peek inside before gasping

“you were right, she was cheating on us” chan said, not hesistating to take a step forward and open the door.

in a split second, jennifer turned her head, startled for your arrival. “guys!” she exclaimed, before changbin could softly push her off her leg.

“guys... what do you mean guys? fuck off jennifer” jisung said, making you smile at the words you had wanted to say to her so badly

“look changbin...jisung.. chan i can explain” she started before being interrupted by chan

“there’s no explaining, just leave before we embarrass you even more”

chan’s words made jennifer’s cheeks red before she could run out of the room.

you gasped at the way she left, looking towards the boys who were now standing side by side in front of you.

“wait, you guys knew?!” you asked, looking at jisung

“yes y/n.. im so sorry i didn’t listen to you”

you shook your head in disbelief, “well how did you find out?”

this question left changbin and chan laughing before chan could grab jisung’s steady shoulder

“y-you won’t believe it y/n, she said jisung’s name while making out with me! you think this beauty could even compare to that?!” chan asked sarcastically

“ i hope you’ll forgive me.. i didn’t mean to get mad at you. i only found out last night” jisung said, his hands tight in his pockets as he waiting for you to reply

you looked down at the ground trying to put the pieces together before responding “it’s alright jisung, i won’t let some girl get in between the three of us”you smiled.

looking at the three boys in silence was something of a rare occasion. your legs squeeze together as you remember how well they worked around jennifer... just thinking.. hoping

“fuck, y/n” changbin said, biting him lip. “if you could be any more obvious”

jisung snickered at changbin’s comment, “who is y/n looking at with her pussy so wet like that? i really can’t tell”

you inhaled sharply at chan’s words.

“now tell us y/n... who do you like out of the three of us?” chan asked, his arms crossed as he looked down on you

“uh…i don’t know. i used to like jisung but now i like all three of you?” you replied with a stutter.

in the three years of being with 3racha you never knew it’d end up like this. the sexual tension in the room made your heart beat fast and their presense intimidated you like no other.

“pfft, you hear that hyung? she likes all three of us” jisung said with a smirk, taking you by surprise that your own friend could call you out.

this excitement only reached its peak when changbin stepped forward, placing a finger beneath your chin so your eyes can meet his

“that’s right… y/n is our little slut” he smirked. you let out a whine at his tone before chan’s arms could wrap around your waist from behind, “and what should we do with our little slut?” he asked, making your body fall into his touch like putty

jisung let out a chuckle before he could join the three of you, his hand slithering underneath your dress.

“hyungs, we fuck her senseless until she can decide who she likes

chan was quick to grab your hips, grinding your ass over his hard member as jisung slowly tugged down your pretty skirt

“babygirl, who are you so wet for?” changbin whispered in your ear before his hands could rip open your shirt, quickly reaching for your bra.

with chan’s assistance your bra was taken off, jisung’s fingers giving you no mercy and thrusting his fingers in and out of your core.

the three boys set you on fire, your back arching for more of each boy. changbin’s lips met your erected nipple and he sucked on it harshly. chan’s pants coming off as you continued to grind on his member. jisungs fingers working wonders on your clit.

it felt like an endless cycle of pleasures, receiving and giving with no stops. you were so close to your high, your ass moving on chan so jisung’s fingers could meet your sweet spot.

hands were all over your body, each exposed piece of skin warm as the boys spoiled you with love.

“fuck.. fuck y/n are you close?” jisung said, groaning at the sight of you tightening around his fingers.

“g-god yes!” you squealed as you cummed all over jisung’s fingers.

chan smirked, making eye contact with changbin as they held onto your shaking legs.

“you think you can help us out now babygirl?” chan asked, placing a few kisses on your neck to help you calm down from your high.

you nodded submissively before you could lie down on the ground. not knowing how this was going to work, you lied on your back hoping the three would figure it out and oh boy did they figure it out.

changbin held his member to near your lips. “open up, princess” he commanded, you politely obeying and letting his slip his cock into your mouth.

he started off with slow movements, your tongue playing around as he stroked your cheeks. “you’re doing so well” he praised, smiling as tears came across your eyes while he sped up.

the pain soon turned into pleasure, your hips squirming before chan could hold them tight.

“you ready babygirl?” chan asked, placing a few kisses on your abdomen. you nodded, bobbing your head up and down on changbin’s member as you did so causing him to moan.

at the sudden movement, chan entered his member into your dripping core. one hand held onto your hip, nailing digging into your skin whil the other grabbed changbin’s shoulder to pace himself.

both boys groaned as their high was approaching, jisung pumping himself as he watched the masterpiece before himself. it seemed almost like a porn clip, something people would throw their money at if broadcasted.

three beautiful boys and you, the two of them reaching their high. chan’s thrusts slowed down as his nails digged deeper into your skin.

“im close y/n” chan said before he could cum inside you.

a line full of curses followed as your tongue swirled around changbin’s cock, causing him to cum inside your mouth as well.

to make sure you were okay, changbin got off you and watched as your heavy panting could take over. you licked your lips dry before collapsing onto the ground, “fuck, that was so hot” you chuckled to yourself.

“that was..” chan agree before the three boys could sit side by side next to you.

jisung came closer to your lips, pressing a small kiss before pushing away the stranded pieces of hair that stuck to your forehead with sweat

“you did amazing love” jisung whispered with a smile

changbin joined in as well, his hand rubbing your inner thigh as he kissed a few spots near your core making you whine from the pain

“don’t worry baby, you did so well”

you smiled as the three boys looked at you with such satisfaction before chan could grab your hand

“but i guess the original question was... who do you like out of the three of us?”

you took a deep breath as they looked at you with anticipation, waiting for an answer. you took a second to look at chan, jisung, and changbin before licking your lips.

“i like....”

a/n: you choose reader ! :D

[katsukikitten]

Weighted

A/N @zbops for you bb as per your request. I hope that this lives up to at least half of your expectations. Thank you so much for supporting me and for encouraging me. Enjoy it and may it help you just a bit more. I send my love XOXO Kitten 💋

It was not unlike you to occasionally stay up late into the night. Late enough to see the moon rise high in the inky black sky watching the constellations move by at a lazy pace.

But to lie awake long enough to greet the sun was abnormal.

At least it was supposed to be abnormal now. Before it was your normal to lose sleep as fat droplets slid from unblinking eyes. Thoughts consuming you with nothing and everything at once.

You thought yourself better.

Not cured, not immune, but well.

Fine and level headed for once.

Yet here you lie again unable to will your exhausted body to sleep as you replay failures from pasted years.

Like an old film one must study to improve but every time it is rewatched another haunting flaw jumps out.

And there is nothing you can do to right your wrong.

Frustrated tears well in your eyes now as you watch the clock for the second week in a row burn an obnoxious 3 am into your retina.

Furious as you thought you had put this problem in its place. That you had long ago learned how to make your demon small and to lock it away.

As with everything in life it adapted, slipping through the bars of its cage only to find itself looming over you once more. Delighting in your anguish as it exploits the coping mechanism you developed.

Turning it on its head to haunt you, to hurt you. To put you in your place as you thought you did it.

Although it knows this will be enough to pain you, it wants to do more.

Truly a petty being as it steals your voice, worming into your head just to whisper.

"Did you really think a few extra hours of training a day would make a difference? That you would suddenly be  sought after as a pro hero? You could barely get an apprenticeship and look at how you're failing at that!"*

This dredges up your failure from last week, your first offical mission as apprentice.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol quickly unraveled into a full on street brawl.

You aided your hero holding down the perpetrators bodies with your quirk, straining to keep them in place.

There were tenty or so overpowered drug enhanced strength quirks fighting the pull you placed on them. 

Your arm pangs now, reminding you of how it threatened to snap beneath the own weight of your quirk.

"Useless." Its laugh echoes in your ear.

Your temper flares, fist smashing the small black box that mocks you with the time before you rise. Dressing into your training clothes, sliding on your weighted vest as your bruises groan against it. You push your already consistent 1.5 times Earth's gravity pull to a consistent 2.5 for now.

Hands grab for your phone and headphones before fumbling to find your key in your amassed returning symptoms. Throwing piles of clothes, books, and homework onto other piles of  long neglected items.

Irritation mixed with a twinge of panic sets in as you look for your FOB that accesses not only the gym you are so desperate to use but also it accesses your dorm building as your dorm room key rests on a chain around your neck. Your memory works overtime as you wonder where it could have been placed.

Was it it Kirishima's room?

Or Bakugou's?

Who's room did the three of you spend the night in last?

You cannot remember, time all runs together much like a watercolor painting caught in the rain.

Colors bleed and the world dips into sun bleached greys as you think of the two of them.

Had you even texted either of them good night?

When was the last time you told them you loved them?

You pick up your phone, bloomed bruised hand winking back at you before the phone obliterates into metal and glass confetti at your feet.

"Fuck." You hiss having forgotten that you had the gravitational pull around your hands as well. Damning yourself for being so careless although you are still careless enough to walk over the shrapnel with bare feet.

It is then you find your key FOB lying in the middle of the chaotic room which you snatch greedily before locking your post nuclear bomb room away.

And with that the thoughts of ash blonde and ruby red hair.

You slink on guilty feet in the shadows of the hall, the moon your only witness as you make your way outside.

The air is cool agaisnt your heated skin, hinting that fall is almost over. That winter will be sure to rear its ugly head and harshly at that.

As if to prove a point an icy wind cuts through your skin deep into your bones, you sigh out upping the force on your body.

The gym is a short walk from the dorm, the night caressing you with soft fingers as it guides you to the thick metal door.

A worried gulp echoes back at you as your hand hovers just before the panel. FOB just out of range to be scanned.

Last time a student was on rest probation their key could only work if Sensei scanned theirs as well.

With gritted teeth you bring the key to kiss smooth plastic. For a moment you're sure it will flash red but when it beeps with a flash of glorious green you cannot help the small smile that spreads across your lips.

They must have forgotten to add those restrictions to yours, that or they didn't think you would disobey your physical therapist and other Sensei.

It doesn't take long before you're sweating.

And the more you swing the harder you make the gravitational pull on your body. The floor groans from the pressure as you push the pull towards you beyond limits for a recovering body, 3.5 times Earth's normal pull.  Sweat slides down a bruised nape and drips into now stinging eyes.

You do little to alleviate the pain or sweat that is trying so hard to blind you.

Another swing of your weighted fists has your bones creaking, muscles burning while you have half a mind to add more sand to your wrist and ankle bands.

Hell maybe even more to your vest although it presses against your sternum harshly with each step, threatening to snap a rib. You begin to lose the concentration on the areas you want to afflict as the incresed gravitational begins to spread out. The floor groans harder depsite being designed to withstand many powerful quirks.

A hairline fraction fissures through the smooth wood, attempting to snake up the cinderblock wall.

"None of this is going to change anything. You will still be..."

A heated punch hits the dummy hard, causing it to skid but you advance without letting up, snarling.

"Don't fucking say it."

Another hit to the dummy and you've got it cornered agaisnt the wall but still the voice goes on, a smile dancing along its tone as it purrs.

*"Worthless"*

You begin to jab agaisnt the dummy with enough momentum and force that the padding begins to fall away from its "face" revealing unforgiving metal beneath.

Metal that you pound into anyway.

Metal that warps for a moment from being too close to your pull, still your barrage of fists and feet cease to let up.

You follow up a punch with a round house kick increasing the force on your body subconsciously. As you rotate your vest slams heavily into your ribs and an audible crack echoes around the room. 

"Fuck!" You huff slamming your foot against the cool surface, the dummy implodes as you land on your feet.

In that moment the room pops from the pressure as you let up the force. The floor creaks, almost breathing as it returns to normal although now heavily warped. Suddenly you feel as light as a feather. As if at any moment you could float up to the ceiling like a lazy balloon only to get tangled in the harsh overhead lights.

Crimson splatters the floor from your knuckles and spit, hand feathering over your ribs. Sliding beneath dampened fabric, smoothing over already bruised skin. You're sure it will only worsen now that you count, one, two.

Three fucking cracked ribs. Your breaths come out in heavy puffs all echoing back to you as you right your self, eyes seeking out another dummy, ignoring the pain begging you to stop.

But feeling pain was better than feeling that weighted void in your chest.

As if you were a super nova that imploded, pulling everything around you into the darkened abyss.

Turning it all into hollowed nothingness.

The first sparring dummy you spy seems to look at you funny, you rear your fist but before it can make contact a growl cuts out.

"You've done enough little one."

His voice dips low, borderline pissed. It is a warning and one you must obey as the air permeates with salted caramel.

But you're in no mood to deal with Katsuki, no mood to be submissive, obedient or anything relative to feeling at all.

Regardless if it's clearly for your own good. 

All you wanted, needed, was for everything to fade.

And maybe to black.

But it doesn't instead he advances hand finding your wrist with a sharp grip, that softens only to assess. Turning your wrist this way and that with heated calculating eyes, before he rips off your weighted vest with a growl. Lifting your shirt to reveal blush black painted beneath your smooth skin.  His finger prods your ribs and when he counts them in his head he snarls. You watch his muscles twitch as he holds himself. Muscles that had grown twice their size since first year and yet you were left unchanging.

"Training is futile, you'll always be puny."

You rip your wrist free, teeth bared at an already snarling Bakugou.

"Not. Now." You misread his actions beneath the initial rage. He is concerned but all you see is punishment in his eyes 

Disappointment.

You look over Katsuki's sculpted shoulder to see Kirishima waiting at the door with glistening ruby eyes that seem to be torn.

Who does he support? How can he defuse this? 

"You're fucking hurt." The blonde bites out venom.

"I'm fucking fine. Drop it!" You shove past him slamming your shoulder into his. He wants so badly to reach for you. To yank you back to him so you can look him in his angry scarlet eyes.

"Oh so the blood on the floor means you're fine? Your cracked ribs and bruised to fuck all body means you're fine?!" His temper shows with deadly pops that dance along his skin.

You weight him and Kirishima down gently as you leave, hoping it slows them down long enough for you to return to the safety of your dorm room.

Katuski snarls as he walks with leaded feet, as if walking through mud under the influence of a muscle relaxer.  But he and Kirishima have trained with you plenty of times, not to mention they are exposed to your increased pull.

"Maybe we should give them sometime? They are upset, babe." Kirishima offers only to be met with a glowering glare. 

"I've tried listening to you, I've tried it your way and look what has happened." A snarl so low that Kirishima feels his gut twist.

"But..."

"But what?" He turns on his lover quickly, "We gave them two weeks of no contact. This is clearly a symptom we need to bisect before they kill themselves over some stupid fucking training."

Kirishima can do nothing but follow as Bakugou stalks you up the steps that you stomp.

You're seething, steam rising from your skin with each heavy breath as your vision blurs between rational thought and white hot rage.

Rage that is always so easy to give into. Especially when your only other option is immobilzing sadness. Before you know it Bakugou is barking at you from the jamb of the door while your ruby haired boyfriend presses gently against his back.

Trying to remind him that his own irate reaction could further the situation, Bakugou feels it but it is lost as you strip to change. You rip the velcro from your wrists, dropping the fifty pounds weights with a harsh thud. The floor rattles the items on your desk and even the window before you move onto the hundred pound weights on your ankles.

Grumbling as you think of your two hundred and fifty pound vest abandoned in the gym. How hard had Bakugou torn it from your strong yet sleek frame?

Would you have to take it to the support class?

You strip your shirt and then your pants as two sets of red eyes gauge different reactions. 

Rubies widen, shining with the threat of tears. While blood scarlet narrow with burning, hot, wrath.

Katsuki knew you were bruised, he knew you had those broken ribs and he knew you were set out of rehabilitation probation due to injuries but he did not know the extent of them.

And how the fuck could he? What with you locking yourself away in your room, refusing to text them, refusing to eat the meals cooked and left for you.

Refusing help as you promised you would not do.

Katsuki's warning signs of blowing do not go unnoticed, a strong hand wraps around his hip. Squeezing, hoping to convey the softness the ash blonde so desperately needs.

It works, at least as far as his quirk goes. Bakugou Katsuki  could erupt in more than one way.

"What. The. FUCK?!" He goes to take a step in but Kirishima keeps his grip tight. But that does not stop the tongue lashing you get. Bakugou takes a large slow breath, as you once taught him and snorts it out like a dragon.

"You promised you would stop doing this..." His voice, once soothing now grating your last nerve, "You fucking promised, damn it."

Kirishima gives another small squeeze before piping up.

"We are just worried about you, love. Very worried." His voice cracks at the end, causing Katsuki to look over his shoulder.

The tears well faster over dancing garnets.

From the weight of the guilt something in you finally snaps. The room blurs as you subconsciously pull the force to you, items slowly crushing beneath the weight as you lunge for the first thing you can wrap burning hands on.

Your desk chair to which your hurl while screaming

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Your hot headed boyfriend catches the chair with ease, exploding it on impact.

With an angry enough blast that the paint on the ceiling and walls peel.

Oh if Bakugou wasn't pissed at you before he was now.

And not angry over the fact that you've thrown something at him.

But over the simple fact that you were hurting in deadly silence. So badly suffering that you cannot even rationally express yourself anymore.

And more over he is pissed he has let it get this far.

The glass of your window shatters behind you, both from your exertion and his explosion pulling you into the here and now.

The room spirals as quickly as you do, suddenly forgetting how to breath. Gasping as a fish does out of water before you fall to your knees. The two men rush to you, fearing you'll lose yourself in your panic. Two sets of strong arms wrap around you both crushing you between them.

"You're okay." Kirishima soothes, "You're okay. Just breathe."

Nails bite into toned flesh though you are unsure which unfortunate mail is receiving the half blood moons as tears prick your eyes. Falling towards the Earth as much as you wish they wouldn't. Your stomach lurches, your side screams but it does not stop the racks of sobs that tremor through your body.

You come undone in the worst way before the very two men you wanted, needed to be strong in front of. There was already a detrimental gap between your development and theirs.  In every fucking aspect you could think of.

Muscle mass.

Durability.

Capability.

The list could go on.

After some time Bakugou coos to you.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

Kirishima places his head between your shoulder blades, reaching out for Bakugou's hand.

"I...I'm behind. I... I cannot even train right." Tears slip over ruddy cheeks that Katuski gently wipes away.

"Behind how?" Kirishima prompts, letting lazy circles trace your stomach.

"On my first mission I get put on recovery suspension, I worked so so so *hard* to even get that hero to agree to take me on and yet I fucked it all up!" Another frustrated sob that has you hiccuping for a moment. You watch Bakugou's face turn to stone as he tries to calm himself.

"I almost died on one of my first big missions. I sat out for a long time, this was a little bit before you transferred." Kirishima admits, "Resting and PT made me stronger."

"Hell I was behind at one point too. I couldn't even fucking pass the provisional!" Katsuki growls at the thought.

"Neither could Todoroki-kun." Kirishima adds.

"But you three...you three are strong. I'm so....weak." With that Bakugou snaps.

"You think I can run with a two hundred fifty pound weight on my chest and keep pace with Iida's jog? Do you think Kirishima could hold down twenty fucking tweaked out villians at once?" His voice is gruff but his hands are soft as he lifts your chin, purposefully making you hold his gaze as he speaks, "Answer me, little one."

"N...no." You sob, Kirishima's strong arm squeezes tigher around your middle, careful to avoid your ribs, as he peppers kisses over your blackened shoulders.

"Just because your body does not reflect mine or Eijiro's does not mean you are weak. You are strong Y/N. Real fucking strong." He kisses you softly, capturing your lips tenderly as Kirishima kisses along your throat.

"Share this weight with us." Bakugou breathes out after pulling away.

"Its not weak to cry or ask for help baby." Kirishima whispers in your ear, your eyes look over your sturdy shoulder before they fall to their hands intertwined. You notice Bakugou's knuckles turning white. Had you really made them worry this much?

"Isn't that right Suki?" Eji asks, resting his chin in your shoulder. Katsuki looks at him for a long time, this man and you have helped him more than he would ever like to admit. But if this is what brought that natural magnetism about you that attracted him in the first place he'd say it 

Fuck, if it brought that blinding smile of yours back to your kissable lips he'd scream if from the fucking roof.

"Yes." He lets out a shaky sigh, "Now please, please let us help you little one."

Searching his eyes you wonder if there will ever be a time when you will stop feeling this way.

When you will stop feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders over little to nothing at all.

When you will stop feeling that black hole that crawled into your chest weighing you down and making you weightless all at once.

When you will stop the haunting feeling of sadness that lingers on the fringes of your every thought, tainting every memory and moment with its shimmering darkness.

You wonder if this cancer, if this demon that has since crawled into your chest and devoured your heart whole will ever die.

Scarlet eyes soften as they rove over your lovely features, strong arms support you from behind and you know what the answer is.

The answer is no.

It will never die, never cease to exist, never leave you alone. It will stay with you until you lie motionless forever and even then it will crawl into your casket cradling your cooling skin.

But you will not stop fighting.

Cannot stop fighting because of the small sliver of a feeling you have now.

The love that resiliently blooms despite the pressure, despite the darkness, despite it being trampled over and fucking over.

You know that these two men are not your worth nor or they your reason for being and even if, Kamisama forbid, you three broke up, you would fight on.

Tooth and nail keeping this demon under the ball of your steel toed boot.

Because in the end, after it is all said in done you will do anything to feel this.

This hope and love that radiates from within. You sigh out a shaky sigh, releasing the tension of your shoulders and the constant pressure you've kept on yourself since that mission, your shoulders sag from relief.

"Thank you, thank you for baring this with me." You squeeze their arms respectively as you speak to them both at once, "I love you."

They speak in unison their two tones melding together and soothing over your skin like an ointment.

"I love you too." 

[hobidreams]

Everything Slow | KNJ {M}

your boyfriend catches you missing him with your hand between your legs, his name a moan on your tongue. it looks like you need a little help...

pairing: namjoon x reader genre: smut, fluff words: 2.0k contains: unprotected sex, dirty talk, light spanking, soft, pwp, inspired by ‘forever rain’

Sitting alone in Namjoon’s room, the cologne of him subtly infiltrates your system with each breath you take. It’s the closest you’ve been to him in weeks, and god, how you miss him. You’ve replayed the short voice clip he sent you over messenger about two dozen times, memorized the way he whispers your name so despite his exhaustion. He’s said sorry so many times it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore, but you don’t want apologies.

You just want him in your arms again. Want his full lips on yours, softly devouring with need. Want his hands wrapped around your waist, holding you still. Want his forehead pressed to yours while he’s sliding inside you, lovingly feeding you every inch of his cock until your voice is hoarse from moaning his name.

You spin slightly in his chair before letting your fingers fall between your thighs. Your eyes slide shut, lips half parted to allow your first gasp to escape when you circle over the thin fabric, relishing the friction. You’re imagining they’re Namjoon’s teasing fingers, so infuriatingly predisposed to driving you wild with elongated torture. It’s not enough, but it’ll suffice for another lonely evening.

Outside, rain splatters against the huge windows, but you can’t hear it. Your ears are covered with Namjoon’s best noise-cancelling headphones, blocking out everything except the steady beat that runs beneath sparse notes. You’ve set Namjoon’s new playlist (or at least the samples he’s sent you) on a loop. And with the volume turned all the way up, you can’t help but imagine its his voice whispering right in your ear. You know that husky tone he gets too well; it comes out to play when he’s past the point of self-control, murmuring, “do you feel good, baby? Come on, I know you can take more for me.” A shiver sweeps down your spine, and you smile.

Slow rap, slow jam, slow rain, everything slow.

As if obeying, you keep that lazy pace. The cotton clings to the slickness pooling at the crux of your ache, hungry for a thickness only one man can satisfy. You push the base of your bare foot against the desk, leveraging for more space as your breath exhales heat. The collar of your stolen button-up now feels constricting so you undo another button, letting the shirt hang practically fully open.

If Namjoon was here… He would be reaching for your chest already, never able to resist when you flashed him glimpses of your skin. Hell, he couldn’t resist when you were showing nothing either. A man who always made you feel loved and craved. And a man who would drive you fucking insane with want.

Yes, those talented hands would glide up your sides, cup your breast so tenderly you would never expect the pinch he would inflict on your nipples. The sudden jolt is always painful pleasure in the best of ways. You’d want more. You would arch your back to push yourself closer into his grasp, trust him implicitly to know exactly how to push your boundaries until you were satisfied.

When it rains, it pours, it pours, it pours.

You’re drowning in wetness that’s insistently begging for a cock to cling to, and damn if you wouldn’t give anything to make that come true. “Namjoon…” Even his fingers would do, stretching the waistband of your panties, heat on heat, dipping into—

When you feel a sudden, foreign pressure at your cunt, your eyes flash open.

And you find your boyfriend grinning up at you from where he kneels, dimple on full display, looking like he’s just caught his prey. Perhaps he has. Okay, he definitely has.

You burst into a smile as his mouth makes shapes you can’t discern. Hurriedly, you yank the headphones down, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt so you can crush your lips to his. Your tongues move together in the way only lovers can, practiced yet electric as you finally taste him. You only let go when you have to breathe, or risk passing out.

“Damn, angel,” Namjoon murmurs, staring at your lips shiny with his saliva, thinking it’s a damn good look on you. He wants to see what else that mouth can do. His hands twitch as he considers picking you up and tossing you onto the bed. Ultimately, he reigns himself in for now, though he’s sure you wouldn’t mind. “Been too long.”

“You didn’t say you were coming back today,” you grumble, just a bit accusatory.

“Wanted it to be a surprise. And by the looks of it, you were really surprised.” He smirks, pants getting just a bit tighter when he thinks of the position he caught you in. He straightens up, swivels the chair around so you face him. You’re distracted by the growing bulge in his jeans, looking delectable. “What were you listening to anyway?”

He leans close and you catch a whiff of his cologne as he presses an ear to the open headset. It only takes him a second before his eyes widen and he makes a guttural growl so low, so sexy it should be a damn crime for what it does to your heart and cunt. “You were listening to my voice? To my playlist? As you… Oh, baby…”

The look in his eye has changed. Eclipsed with lust unbridled, he sweeps his gaze, jaw set, over his haphazardly-buttoned top, loose on your frame. No doubt, you would taste so fucking sweet on his tongue, grinding against his mouth in that wanton way he’s so fond of, but Namjoon can’t wait any longer to have you. He tears the headphones away, tossing them onto the desk as he sweeps you from the chair.

Your ass hits the bed by the next second, buttons flying when Namjoon rips the shirt open. His mouth plants purple on your collarbone, fingers making your panties obsolete. He can’t bring himself to pull away from your skin, not even while he strips off his pants and throws them somewhere. You take him into your palm, feel the veins rippling beneath your fingertips as he gets harder still with a groan.

“If you get any bigger, you’ll rip me apart,” you tease.

“You’d fucking love that.”

You can’t even deny it. Not when just the prospect soaks you. “How do you want me?”

“On your knees.” It’s not a request.

But… you’re still feeling a little miffed about his earlier surprise. “What, no please or thank you?” You roll over onto your side, peering at him through half-lidded eyes and thick lashes.

“Is that how you wanna play this?” His erection twitches when he rears back, his shirt a distraction so it goes the way of the jeans. “Well, if you don’t please get on your knees for me right now, I won’t give you what you want.”

The warning in his tone only encourages you. “And what do I want, Joon?” You flip over just a bit more, knowing his eyes must be glued to your ass.

His impatient hands finish the rest of the journey for you. You grin as he shoves you onto your front then tugs your hips up to give him full access. “I know you want my cock.” He guides it between your legs, undulating his hips to wet it with your arousal. His lips find the base of your neck and he plants a kiss before moving aside your ear to murmur, “I know you want me sliding into that tight cunt of yours until you’re stuffed full with me.”

“Mnn…” A whine slips unchecked at his words because that sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard. He feels molten against your clit, grinding down your slit to only promise bliss. You can’t help but lift your butt, shifting against his crotch.

Suddenly, the heat over your back is gone. He’s rocked onto his haunches. You want to complain at the sudden loss, but you’re silenced when his fingers squeeze your cheeks while he spreads you for the best view. Then that sensation vanishes too, only to find its way back in the form of a palm and a loud smack.

You jolt, body surging forward as a fresh sting spreads from impact, even as he soothes. “Fuck,” you moan when he slips a finger into you, knowing it’s not even close when compared to what you’re really craving. “Joon, Namjoon, ahh…”

“Give up, baby?”

He punctuates his question with another spank, lighter this time, but pleasurable all the same. Finally, the head of his cock is pushed flush against your cunt, and it would only take a simple thrust to have him where he belongs.

“Yes, god, yes!” You’re joined by the third syllable as he makes the first thrust and you feel that addicting stretch when he enters you, when he claims you as his in the most primal way he knows how. It’s been too long since you’ve had him, and each pulse of bliss only reaffirms that fact. Nothing, no fingers, no toys, could ever compare to him. The only man who could sate your hunger while tempting more.

“You’re so tight for me. Needed my cock so badly?”

He takes his time burying every inch of himself, even though instinct claws at his restraint. He loves the color frustration paints on your cheeks. You’re crushed deeper into the mattress, face intimate with the pillows. At his mercy. You’re pretty sure your clit is swollen with longing, but he refuses to even brush past it.

The noises you both make when he’s finally hilted are honest and lewd. You’re more than ready for him to fuck you until your eyes roll back and your toes curl. The last thing you expected was for him to stop.

With his crotch pressed right against your ass, he leans forward, knowing how the pressure must be gathering, excruciating. “You like that?” He asks, extracting himself just a few centimetres before he slams himself home with the next roll of his hips. “How about this?” He repositions, shifting just enough that he rocks into a different spot.

You answer him with a squeeze, a flexing of your kegel muscles that rewards you in turn when he gasps. Could you entice him into abandoning the tease? The begs are already on your lips. But it seems like Namjoon’s doing it to himself. His control is slipping with each fresh wave of pleasure, each time he hears you mewl under him. “Damn, you’re beautiful.” His hands move to grasp your waist, hard enough to redden but careful not to bruise. “I’m so fucking lucky.”

The bed starts to creak and shudder beneath the weight of Namjoon’s sudden pounding. The room is filled with the smacks of flesh on flesh and the moans forced from your mouth.

You wish there was a mirror in front of you, so you could see how Namjoon breaks his inhibitions, how his pumps and thrusts become wild and punishing in their pace. You match his every stroke because you’re the only one who can. Your whimpers are joined by his grunts and the wet squelching of slippery bliss. And when his hand moves down to capture your needy clit between his fingers, you’re in climax before you can stop yourself.

“That’s it… Cum for me, babe. Cum all over my cock.” His voice leads you along and you let it all go, coating his shaft so thoroughly. He joins you a few seconds later with a desperate groan and he shoves himself so deeply into you that it almost hurts, how he pushes against your cervix. But you’re too full to care, still riding the high of your quivering cunt.

He tugs you up, gathering you against his chest as he kisses you ravenously, needing to taste his girl as you’re speared on him. When you’re both breathless, he lets you go, and you seek the bed. You let yourself fall upon it, exhausted but oh-so-satisfied. There’s a subtle ache in your cunt that reminds you just how well fucked you are.

“Thank you,” he finally says with a laugh, collapsing beside you before he rolls back around, unable to stop from cuddling up despite the sweat and sticky heat still swirling between your bodies. “So, I can assume you liked the album?”

You press a fingertip into his dimpled cheek, then drop lazy kisses on his nose. “Loved it.”

[scorchviox]

Your Touch [ShigarakixOC]: Chapter 7

Chapter Index

Three in the morning was said to be the witching hour. Spirits and restless ghosts were to be haunting those unfortunate enough to be awake at such an hour; however, neither of these swirled around the brunette cackling or taunting her. To her dismay, it was the sound of an extremely loud video game’s soundtrack that woke her up, lulled her to sleep, then startled her awake once again with intense music. It was a vicious cycle all throughout the night. Souseiki tried from wrapping her pillow around her head to ripping pieces of her sheets and stuffing them in her ear canal in an attempt to drown out the noise, neither helped. She had half a mind to get out of bed and demand whoever was playing to turn it off or at least use some headphones. In the end, she knew she was nowhere near confrontational, so she stayed put under the covers.

   For the following four hours, Souseiki went in and out of sleep. Eventually, around seven in the morning, she decided to make an appearance in the common room. The brunette rubbed her irritated eyes as she walked down the hall and pushed the door open. “Morning,” she muttered in a tired tone. Once again, there was food on the counter, but this time Shigaraki was already present.

   “You look like shit,” he deadpanned as he watched her occupy the seat at his side.

   In response, Souseiki gave a small groan and began eating. He stared at her without restraint until she seemed to give in to the silent peer-pressure and gave an actual answer, “A bad spirit was haunting me last night. Couldn’t shake it,” she said picking at the rice on her plate.

   A scoff rang through the room, then turned into a laugh, “You believe in ghosts? What are you? A child?”

   Souseiki gripped her fork and gave a forced nod, “Maybe,” she said through gritted teeth before shoving food into her mouth to keep from making any unnecessary comments.

   “Anyway, we’re going out,” he states as he grips the wooden counter with trembling limbs. His body screams fatigue, but he gives no indication of wanting to rest. Those bloodshot eyes seem to be stuck on the promise of a mission. His movements are slow and sluggish, but his aura says ‘I’m fine!’ with the tone dipped in authority. Shigaraki surely was someone that, despite his bratty attitude, completed tasks he needed to be done. “Are you going to keep staring at me like a dumbass or are you going to go get changed?”

   Souseiki huffed and pushed herself up with the same fatigue, but with no determination. She followed the man with blue tresses out the door and down towards their respective rooms. From what she’s just witnessed, it was safe to assume that the ghost haunting her the night before was his doing, so why wasn’t he wanting to fall to the floor asleep like she was? He certainly was a force to be reckoned with if his own fatigue didn’t hinder him from moving forward with his day. On the other hand, she stood staring blankly at the bag on the floor full of her clothing. A stare as blank as a canvas watched the discarded items as if her nonexistent quirk would get her dressed. The brunette lazily tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a lightweight hoodie to hide her complexion from the crowds. Something told her today was going to be longer than it should be.

   There was something about the way Shigaraki continued to fiddle with his hands within his pockets that made Souseiki far more nervous than she should have been. The duo currently walked through the streets of Musutafu with their hoods worn high on their head. Souseiki wore a mask over her face and glanced over to Shigaraki in concern. He wasn’t the most notorious fellow, but he was the oddest looking lad of the year. Anyone would look over to his complexion and stare in astonishment if they had the time of day. His lips were dry while the scratches under his eyes and along his neck were red and angry. The hood and those blue locks could only do so much to cover his features. “Where are we going?”

   Shigaraki stared at the pavement as he walked, something about watching the cracks fall behind him with every step either piqued his interest or allowed him to calmly walk the streets without reliving a horrible past of gasps and dirty looks. “Kurogiri said we ran out of coffee,” he shrugs in reply. It was completely nonchalant and odd to think that was just it. Who would be fidgeting over such a mundane task? There had to be more to this, yet Souseiki didn’t voice any of her concerns as he leads the way into a convenience store. “He likes the shitty generic brand from this place for some reason,” he muttered looking down the aisles until he caught eye of the instant coffee mix. “One day,” he continued as he browsed the boxes on the shelves, “he wouldn’t talk to me for an entire day because I bought the wrong one,” he said reaching for a box.

   “Don’t you think that’s a little silly?” She questioned watching him inspect the detailed ingredients on the item. “Too specific actually,” Souseiki added. The comment was more in accordance with his overly verbose behavior rather than the story.

   “Tasted like shit,” He said walking past her and to the register to check out. “Personally, I thought all coffee tasted the same, but there’s just a way about how this one mixes well with those little boiling bubbles that make it taste really good.”

   With the item paid, he handed the bag to her and they walked out. Souseiki pondered on the conversation as they walked further into the city. Shigaraki didn’t dwell any longer on it as he led the girl through an empty path. Two large buildings encased the sidewalk that held no other pedestrians. “I’m sorry, but am I the boiling water and you’re the shitty brown color?”

   Such an outburst caused the blue-haired teen to halt and turn his entire attention to her, “What?” He spat out with a complexion twisted between disgust and confusion. “Are you stupid or something?”

   The response caught her off guard and had embarrassment skidding its way across her nose leaving a red trail on its way. “I thought you were making an analogy,” she spoke in a meek voice as she shrunk back where she stood.

   “I was telling you a story, idiot,” Shigaraki said with a scratch of his neck, “If I knew you were this dense I wouldn’t have said anything,” he mumbled. He turned down the street and left Souseiki standing against the building.

   “Wait!”

   Shigaraki looked over his shoulder, his crimson eyes shooting daggers in her direction; causing her to stay put in her spot. “Stay there!” He demanded after taking a few steps forward, then turning back to shout, “And that’s not a fucking analogy!” Before turning the corner and disappearing around the corner.

   Souseiki stared wide-eyed after the man before leaning against the building. The thought of him having to run another errand on his own popped into her head, so she did as told. Her initial embarrassment was still visible and she ruthlessly tried to calm her blood cells as she shook her head. She could understand now why her friends use to want her to stop reading so many mystery books. Her conclusions were insanely out there if she thought too much. Instead, to clear her head she rummaged through her pocket and pulled out her phone. The data to her carrier had been long disconnected, so she relied on a nearby hotspot to scroll through news articles. Everything hero related, from All Might saving an entire burning apartment building to Midnight assisting some market festival, filled the media. She was no longer in the headlines.

   “Who would even be out here? This is literally the boonies of this city,” groaned a voice down the path.

   The footsteps grew closer causing Souseiki’s blood to run cold as she slowly looked up, “There was a call saying a suspicious person was hanging around here,” voiced another man. When she looked up her eyes met his, Seiichi, her older brother. Right at his side was Yuu as well. The two were decked out in their hero gear, no doubt patrolling together to kill time. “Oh, miss!”  He called out seeing her. “We received a call concerning-”

   His voice slowly drowned out as the ringing in her ears grew louder and he closer. She watched the two approach slowly as she took a step back. “Hey, she’s moving away,” Yuu muttered to his brother. Without another word the two closed in on Souseiki quicker and demanded her to stop unless she wanted to be apprehended.

   She obeyed and stopped moving.

   Seiichi’s brow creased as he secured eye contact, “Would you answer a few questions?” He asked. The two brothers awaited an answer, but nothing verbal was received. The brunette merely nodded and held onto the plastic bag with a tighter grip. “There was a call concerning a strange individual. We’re not saying it’s you, but we just need you to answer some simple questions. It’s just procedure,” Seiichi explained calmly with a reassuring smile, yet it did nothing to calm her nerves.

   Where in the hell was Shigaraki?

   Yuu stood beside his brother with arms akimbo, eyes narrowed and set on his sister. “You look familiar,” he remarked leaning forward to get a better view of her, “Holy shit, Souseiki?”

   The two brothers stood waiting for her to decline such a statement or remove the mask to reveal her identity, but Souseiki was now focused on the figure standing behind the two. Shigaraki stood still between the two men. He now wore that dismembered hand on his face. “Yeah,” she muttered pulling down the mask without looking either brother in the eye. She was locked on Shigaraki, watching him raise his hands.

   He was going to kill them.

   “Isn’t this bad news?” Yuu asked with eyes trained on the youngest sibling, “If she’s alive then we’ll look like fools.”

   “Better,” Seiichi said with a smile that could put any villain’s to shame, “It’d be a miracle. We’d get more press.”

   Souseiki nodded, now looking at her brothers, “You know, I didn’t hate you guys all that much,” she said with a crack in her voice. “You two were okay,” The brunette smiled and waved a hand at the two, “I’ll see you around,” she said taking two large steps back.

   Before either brother could reach out to her, a hand was placed at the nape of their necks. “It was nice meeting you,” Shigaraki muttered to the two as their bodies decayed in a matter of seconds. Their ashes, it seemed like, piled onto the pavement before her eyes. “You’d never kill a person?” Shigaraki asked taking the hand off his face and placing it in his pocket.

   The brunette walked past him and said, “I didn’t kill anyone.”

Next

[validatio-n]

Dying To Live

I first met death when I was very young. I didn’t know what it was, and it never really took a form until I was around 16. I quietened his voice like we all try do to at the start, by ignoring it, partying, or seeking validation from people who don’t deserve you to glance in their direction.

It appeared as though the demons in my head I feebly tried to still had noticed what I tried to do, and they were angry. The thoughts I had of worthlessness, insignificance, unlovability and self-loathing festered from a light, continual hum that I learnt to deal with, to something likened to when you plug your headphones in and the volume is turned up the whole way. You get such a fright and rip the headphones out of your ear. Except with me, I can’t rip them out of my ear. For a long time, I couldn’t even turn the volume down. For 24 hours a day, even in sleep, no matter who I was with or what I was doing, I constantly had this music in my ears telling me I was nothing, I was no one, I was ugly and I deserved everything that had happened to me. Sure, a lot of the time it wasn’t blaring loud and sometimes I barely noticed it, but after years of trying to fight off that voice, you begin to accept it. You begin to believe it, and it becomes a natural part of your everyday life.

Once that’s happened, you’ve successfully opened yourself up for Death to manifest him self in your body. He will creep in and start slow, so you don’t notice him planting seeds in your mind that he watches grow, spreading a thick black toxic throughout your body, turning your blood to poison and your skin to ice. You’re trapped, your body doesn’t feel like your own. You pinch at your skin in disgust and dream of hacking away your non-existent fat with a meat cleaver. Slicing your arms like you’re playing the violin and staring at the blood rushing out even if the mere thought of blood makes you queasy. You’ll wonder, although you’ve gone through some shit, why you are so fucking sad. You’ll wonder why people did what they did to you, how they did what they did to you. You’ll go to the doctors and you’ll get diagnosed and you’ll go through the therapy and you’ll use your support systems and you’ll swear you’re going to beat this sadistic fuck that is depression and anxiety and panic disorder and night terror (Death, in other words), and some days, you believe you will. But when its 3am and its you and Death lying in your tear-soaked bed, Death is the only one there for you.

He’s telling you how you’re going to hurt yourself to feel better. He’s saying it’s going to take the pain away; it’s going to make you have the best sleep ever with no nightmares and no panic attacks. Hurting yourself will make you in control again, he’s saying one scratch won’t do any damage, just try it, see how it feels to inflict physical pain to quash the mental pain. You know the mental pain is your brain playing tricks on you. You know it’s a chemical imbalance. You know the anxiety and the PTSD is from your past relationships. You know Death isn’t actually sitting next to you, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t feel it, because at this time you don’t even know that it’s Death you’re dealing with. Your rational side is gone. You’re sitting in a room where oxygen has turned into a venomous gas that you’re breathing in as you hyperventilate and choke as it constricts your airways.

He watches you as you pull out a shitty pink razor, the crappy ones that you get angry at your mum for buying because you can’t get a good shave with them. Upon looking at it, you’re glad she bought the shit ones because the quality ones would be way too hard to pry open. He’s looking at you, salivating, telling you to pick apart the razor, its easy, just get a knife, wedge it in and flick up the top bit of plastic. Your hands don’t feel like your own. It feels like somebody is controlling your brain making your body move, yet you don’t stop it. Like a puppet on a string. Death doesn’t get angry when you look at yourself in the mirror, sobbing as you can’t even manage to take apart a fucking razor. He watches you throw it across your bedroom full of photos of you and your girlfriends, you and your mum, you and your boyfriends. Your little white cat gets a fright as the razor smashes against the wall and falls behind your dresser. He says in a voice so sweet yet condescending that it’s okay to be so pathetic. He watches you slide the knife under your bed. He holds you in his ice cold arms as you curl up in bed, shaking, crying, nauseous over the fact that you almost cut yourself. Death is with you as the immense loneliness washes over you, suffocating you between sobs. Death rocks you to sleep with a smile on his face, because those seeds he planted are growing, and it’s only a matter of time until they blossom.

You wake up.

You scared yourself.

You reach out to friends, therapists, family. You promise yourself you’re never going to get that close to doing something so stupid again. And you don’t. Death is gone, you’ve beaten him.

For a while.

You haven’t beaten death. You haven’t softened his voice. Sure, he wasn’t prominent in the whole ‘slice your arm into pieces’ front, but rest assured, death was still floating around your room. He’s looking through all your stuff, watching you sleep as he dips in and out of your brain, learning as much about you as he can, feeding toxic sludge to your mind as you’re unaware. Sleep paralysis. Death is smart. He knows he hasn’t worn you down enough to hurt yourself. He knows how to manifest himself in his prey and seep poison into their minds until they have been manipulated and tortured enough to snatch up and take with his mouth wide open, pupils wide, ready to swallow whole as he drags your lifeless body bloody and limp through the realms until he dumps you next to the millions of others who’ve succumbed to the disease. You haven’t gotten away that easily. It’s a waiting game now.

In the orchestral catastrophe that is depression, this was the intermission. The entertainment during this time can be called anorexia.

Death renders you weaker than you know. Anxiety grows so alarmingly fast that your appetite is reduced to practically nothing. You become intolerant to your own body. This is ok, because you’re not cutting yourself. It’s okay, because it isn’t deliberate. You repeat this to yourself over and over as you revel in the bruises that appear on the inside of your knees from trying to sleep on your side; the bones crushing in to each other. You repeat this to yourself as you watch in awe at your ribcage expand and deflate as you inhale and exhale. You can see where your rib was cracked by the hands of those who vowed to never hurt you, by those who vowed to fix you. Your skin stretched tight over protruding bones fascinate you for hours as you trace your fingers over your body in a trance like state of wonder.

You’re hungry, and it’s not for food.

Then, it becomes deliberate.

You’ve always been skinny regardless of what you ate. You’ve loved your body. Never hesitant to run around half naked no matter who was around or where you were. Not provocatively, not attention seeking, just comfortable. Your body was your safeguard. Compliments came naturally, envy was apparent. Then your mind wanders and you think to yourself I wonder what people would say if I lost just a little more weight. And then the floodgates open, and like a tidal wave crashing through an entire city Death whooshes in, appearing in the mirror behind you, his claws on your shoulders, smiling down at you like an old friend you hadn’t seen in years.

If you were just a little bit skinner, you wouldn’t be sad. You’d be beautiful.

Death knew it was time now. He didn’t tell you to say this. You thought this on your own.

30 degree summer nights lying on your side under a European cotton sheet, you feel your thighs touching. Your eyes well up with tears. You are sickened, disgusted. You want to scream, you want to vomit, you want to punch yourself. You sneak out the window of your family home and you run laps of the park you used to walk your golden retriever or smoke weed with your friends, doing cartwheels and rolling around the grass without a care in the world. You run laps until you nearly pass out and limp home at 3am in the fucking morning. The panic attacks return because all your eating is an apple a day with some almonds and a black coffee. You’re jacked up on caffeine that your already shaky hands shake even more. You can’t look people in the eye. You look sick. You want to stop but you can’t. You need your hip bones to poke holes in your lace underwear. You want to be able to hold water in the crevice that appears between your collarbones and shoulders when you shrug.

The results come fast and you love it, you’re an addict who is itching for a little bit more. You’ve never felt the way you feel when you step on the scales and its lower than it was before. The comments people made feed your addiction. The alarm you sense from them as they hug you elates you like getting another fix. You and Death are a team now, he cheers you on and tells you how strong you are for not eating the cake, or saying no to the chips, or making excuses to your friends at dinner as to why you’re not eating. Dinner at home. Already ate. Fasting for a blood test. You knew ‘too poor’ would never work as they’d just pay for you. You have an app on your phone that you log all your calories and exercise in to. 500 a day maximum and you must burn off at least 100 more calories than you consumed that day.

You’re in control of your body. For a short window of time, you were in control of most of your emotions and feelings, too. You felt powerful. You felt happy. You’re never hungry and when you are you know how to burn it off. But then you take it too far. You become so thin that people start to notice. You look like a bobble head with your head too big for your body, your jaw bone looking like it could cut ice. Doctors’ appointments start because your body isn’t working properly. They weigh you and they know the tricks you think you’re a genius for. They know you’d have loaded up on salty food. They’ll know you drank so much water you almost threw up before hand. They’ll check your pockets. Hair down because you can’t hide anything that can contribute to the scale reading. By the end of it you have to strip off completely. Scared parent, scared family, scared friends forcing you to eat, and you would, because they have to believe that this isn’t deliberate. You can’t get admitted. You’d eat to shut them up and you’d become such a good fucking liar. You would laugh and joke and talk about anything while you were eating. You would be having fun. Then you’d be alone again with your hatred for yourself. Hatred that you were too pathetic to be bulimic because of your fear of vomit. Hatred of food. Hatred of yourself.

You weren’t alone though, were you? You know who was sitting right next to you, holding your feet down as you did as many sit ups as you could until your spine was bruised. Then the star jumps until you thought you were going to have a heart attack. Then the push ups. Then the laxatives. Then you felt better.

You were skinny. You were beautiful. 

But were you? 

Your hair was falling out. Your lips were white. Your skin was yellowing. You’re constantly cold. Your body wasn’t functioning properly. You lost your period. You don’t care. You’re skinny.

Then you’re happy again. You’re hi fiving death. You’ve done it. You felt skinny enough.

But there lies the issue itself, it’s never enough. It’s never ‘done.’

‘You can’t stop now, you have to maintain this or else you’ll put on weight again and you won’t be beautiful,’ death would say, and you know he’s right. Then comes the fear.

Food scares you. Going out to eat scares you. You are so afraid of eating and losing your progress that you don’t realise that Death has crawled back to his original spot in your brain and he’s beginning to untie all his puppet strings, preparing your brain for his next act of torment as the intermission concludes and the music starts again, sinister and slow. His malevolent eyes so eager to consume your soul, fangs salivating with the blood you’re about to draw from your wrists. You’re exercising too much with no food which causes you both physical and mental exhaustion. Couple this with the partying on the weekends and you’ve lost the game. You’re as good as dead, and at this rate you will be soon.

The sadness comes creeping back in as you lie in your bed at night, hunched on your side clutching at your ribs letting out slow sobs as you beg the pain to ease. You cry and you cry and you don’t even know what the fuck you’re crying for. You cry for the father that never loved you and spat such venomous words at you that you didn’t want to exist anymore. You cry for the men that threw beer bottles at your head and bruised your oesophagus choke slamming you against a wall rendering you as good as speechless for a week. You cry for the people you loved most cheating on you with your best friend, cheating on you with everyone. You cry for the lies, the betrayal, the drink spiking, the hitting, the screaming, the drugs taken behind your back, for the fact you can’t trust anyone. Abortion. Abuse. Agony. You cry because you’re confused. You cry because no one knows that you’re feeling this way. You cry because you’ve never felt so alone. You cry because you realise that you just don’t want to be here anymore. You cry because you know you need to hurt yourself. You cry because you know that Death was right, it will make you feel better. It does.

You remembered where the shitty pink razor you threw across the room a year or so back landed and you float to your dresser, reaching behind it and grasp the razor, its handle dethatched from the smash against the wall. You feel for the knife under your bed – you remember the one it was, with a red handle, your mum’s been looking for it for a while. You usher your precious cat out of your room, she doesn’t need to see this, as you sit cross legged on your bed. The crying has stopped. You’re focused. Your fingers feel like they’re being controlled as you pry apart the three blades from the plastic. You slip and get a cut on your thumb but that’s okay, you wipe a tear that’s escaped, and you keep trying. It takes a little while.

Then, the softest, most delicate and angelic metal chime rings in your ears as the plastic flies off and the three blades clink together, falling lightly onto your thigh.

You’ve done it.

Ever so carefully you pick one up and examine it for about half a second before you’re holding it against your left wrist. This is the arm you started on. The world has stopped spinning, there is no sound except for your breathing that went from erratic and irregular to slow and steady. You press down lightly and slide it across your wrist.

It stings. Death is holding you, stroking your hair. He is so proud.

Small bubbles of bright red blood surface. It’s pretty. You feel light. Dizzy, but not sick dizzy. You feel tired, really, really tired. You don’t feel overwhelmed anymore, you feel numb. Disconnected from anything that isn’t the small sting and the red bubbles coming from your wrist. You want that feeling again, so you slice four more little cuts across the plethora of vital veins that run so dangerously close to the surface of your skin. You wrap your arm in a tea towel and put a hair scrunchie over the top of it. Light, superficial cuts that heal quickly. It’s not even bad. You sleep, wrapped up in Deaths’ arms as he rocks you back and forth into dreams that he is controlling. Vivid dreams of your childhood, when you were 6 years old wearing matching floral pyjamas in New Zealand with your entire family. Your mum and dad are together. Your grandma’s there. Your brother is there. Relatives you don’t even know now are there. You dream of the purple and yellow bubble machine you got. The entire dream is you running barefoot on the grass in those pyjamas, making bubbles for everyone. You smile in your sleep.

Flash forward a couple of months and you’re a veteran. No more little scratches. These are scary fucking cuts that will scar your body forever and you don’t give a fuck. Why should you, you deserve this pain. You are so twisted and sick that the only thing that will make you go the fuck to sleep and stop sobbing so goddamn much is playing fruit ninja on your wrists.

Long sleeves no matter the heat.

Broken promises to family, to friends.

Psychologists and Psychiatrists.

Medication upon medication.

You get better, honestly, you do. You go longer and longer between cuts, but every time you cut, its worse. You have your walk of shame to chemist warehouse where the staff look at you and know what you’ve done. You switch chemist warehouse locations from Chapel Street to Glenferrie Road in case they try and ask you if you’re okay. The aisle on the left when you walk in. Gauze. Bandages. Betadine. Friends who don’t yell at you, they help you, they drive you there, but they look down at your arm and cannot shield their disgust of such large and deep gashes that have completely split your skin in half. You can see the veins. When its bad, they get the gauze for you. They wash your arms as you scream from the burning pain. They carry you to the shower and wash your hair as you hold the victim arm in the air so it doesn’t get wet. They change your sheets and sit at a café for hours with you as they try to get you to finish a bowl of porridge. They see the lights gone out in your eyes. They cry. You cry. You don’t want to hurt them. You want to hurt you.

Cutting doesn’t make you sleepy anymore because you have to stay up to apply pressure to your arm to stop the bleeding. The tea towel sticks to your arm. There are bloodstains on your carpet, perfect little circles. There are razors everywhere. Inside your phone case. In your makeup bag. In your schoolbag. You’ve moved up from the shitty plastic ones. Sometimes you can’t even be bothered taking the razor apart  - its messier, but its quicker.

You want to stop. You want to stop so badly especially after the time that you went too far and called a friend who couldn’t get to you. You were at home, returned from a night of drinking with your friends. Something triggered you, someone may have just raised their voice and it all comes back to you. Him screaming in your face, smashed tv’s. Violence. Police stations. Restraining orders. Changed phone numbers. Running down the street in underwear and a t-shirt with a dead phone. You might’ve been at a friends’ place and seen their fathers care not only about their daughters and sons, but about you too, and that sets you off. You get home and you’re sad, you are so fucking sad. You know what you’re going to do even before you leave wherever the fuck you were. You know, even though all the razors have been hidden, you know where there MIGHT be one, gathering dust, wedged accidentally between one of the storage cabinets at the base of your inbuilt bookshelf that carried the hundreds of books you read to escape from the reality that is your life. If it’s not there, you’ll just use a knife. You get out of the car and the tears have already started. You hold them in until you open your front door and throw all your shit on the bed. You brush past Death who was ready to welcome you with open arms. You’re in a frenzy to get to where you think that last razor might be. Death is jumping up and down excitedly. He knows it’s there, waiting for you. You find it, grab it, and there is no relief though you expected there to be.

Come on Alian, you’ve got to push down deeper this time. That’s the only way you’ll feel better. Just this one last time, it will be fine. Death said. He was right about everything else, why shouldn’t you believe him about this? It’s your right arm now, the left has way too many scars on it. The right arm has half as many, but they’re big, raised and menacing scars. There’s still room for about 5 more.

You press hard. Too hard. No matter how much pressure you apply, the blood isn’t stopping.

Death is encouraging you to go further. You can’t, you can’t keep your head up and you can’t stop the blood. Death is angry at you now. He’s mean and nasty, he’s not the understanding and supportive demon who ruins your life kindly, he’s completely turned. He’s grabbing at your fat, he’s taunting you with it. He’s making you remember memories you’d rather die than re live. He is making his voice inside your head so fucking loud that you can’t shut it out and it hurts, it hurts, you need it to stop, you reach for your pill box and open your mouth and wash down whatever pills you just took with whatever is left in the Smirnoff Vodka bottle you drank that night.

Darkness.

You’re black out drunk and you don’t know why there’s another one of your friends at your window. You’re asleep on your bedroom floor with the Little Mermaid playing in the background. Valium on the floor. Seroquel on the floor. You are covered in blood you can barely stand up to let him in. You fall asleep again in his arms. He was on the phone. 

Darkness

He’s gone. 

You don’t know where Death is either. 

Red and blue flashing lights. 

Sirens. 

Banging on the door. 

Darkness.

Two ambulance paramedics shaking you.

Your mum in tears.

You’re protesting. You don’t want to go with them. You’re fine. It’s just a cut, it’s not bad. It’s just like the other ones.

They need stitches. You can’t stay awake.

Darkness.

You’re getting carried out of your room like a baby by the male paramedic.

Stop, please, you’re hurting my arm.

Mum 

Mum

Mum?

She doesn’t come. 

Darkness.

You have your soft toy with you. You got her when you first moved to Melbourne when you were 7.

You watch your Mum and Death standing in the doorway as you’re lifted into the ambulance. You hate Death now. You’re not on the same team. You never were. He only wants to kill you.

Darkness.

You’re angry because the paramedics won’t let you sleep. You remember being really angry and really scared. Your arm is so sore. They keep saying how skinny you are. Asking what you took, how much you drank. You don’t know. The male paramedic is holding your hand with one of his and your arm with his other. You say that you want to go home. He can’t take you home, because your friend called them and told them that you’re going to kill yourself. You’re not, you promise, just please take you home. Please let go of your arm. He can’t let go because you need a lot of stitches. You’re lucky that you didn’t move half a millimetre to the left or the right or press down any harder, because they couldn’t save you if you did. Your holding on to your toy cat and he asks what her name is. Her name is Pearls. He asks who got you her and you tell him your mummy got her for you. You cry. Your mum who gave you the world, who loved you more than 50 parents combined. Your mum who would do anything for you. Your mum who told you she’ll stop fighting you if you want to leave this earth so badly. You’re not angry anymore. 

You are sad. You are so fucking sad. You bury your head into the paramedics’ lap and you cry.  You ask him to please just let you die.

Darkness.

You’re with a nice female doctor and she is interrogating you. You’re used to this. She tells you that if you end up here one more time (it’s not your first), you will be admitted even if you don’t want to be. You know this. You’re done with Death. You want him gone. You want to try and eat. You want to hug your mum. You want your yellow and purple bubble blowing machine. She tells you that you need stitches on the cuts you did tonight. You beg her not to have them, the blood has stopped and they can just heal over like the others. She refuses. It’s either stitches or glue. You’re scared. You’re alone and scared and Pearls the cat isn’t being much comfort. You call your friend and they stay on the phone while you have your arm sewed back together like a broken toy. You want to vomit. You’re thankful for the Valium and the Seroquel and the alcohol because you could not handle this any other way.

You have to stay a little bit longer so they can monitor you. They wanted to pump your stomach.

You’re at home now. There’s a pool of dried blood on the carpet. Lucky its dark grey carpet. That one will be a hard one to clean. Your mum hasn’t spoken to you. Your brother is overseas. You miss him.

You crawl into bed and watch Gossip Girl until you fall asleep.

You see your psychologist after you get your stitches out, and you tell him everything. You tell your doctor everything. You’re ready to get better. You tell them about the eating thing. It’s going to be hard and its not going to be pretty, but you’re going to get better. You enrol in university and you get another job. You do yoga and you go for runs. You eat when you feel like it and you eat a lot of fruit. If you feel like a burger, you get a burger. It takes years for you to have this relationship with food, but you get there. You stop getting black out drunk and you stop doing party drugs. You promise to stop for at least a year. You achieve it. You face your pain head on. You process what happened to you with the ex boyfriends. You know it’s not your fault. You know that what your feeling is a normal reaction, and you move past it. You have bad moments just like everybody else, but yours are a little worse. Yours are dangerous.

You sit on the bathroom floor clutching your head as you hyperventilate. Razors are allowed in the house again and you’ve ripped one apart and you’re rotating it between your thumb and index finger. Your heart is beating out of your chest because fucking hell you want nothing more than to slide that piece of metal over your skin and feel that rush again. You hold it to your wrist and you are uncontrollably crying. You’ve been so good when you’ve had the urgers, you’ve gone to your mum, you’ve called your friends, you’ve gone for a walk, you’ve gone to sleep, but you’re here now and there’s nothing stopping you except for your own willpower. You scream silently as the tears fall down. You’re not filled with stardust, you’re not filled with snowflakes or sparkles, you are filled with blood that has spilled too many times onto the floor. Your insides are spilling onto the fucking floor, your veins splitting at the seams. Your first kiss, your bubble blowing machine, the times you laughed so hard you cry, the year you had Christmas twice is dripping down your arm and rolling out of you. You’re coughing up and sobbing out every memory of getting in trouble with your friends or holding hands with the boy you thought you loved more than anything in the world. All your memories of the beautiful life you’ve lived are melting into the carpet of your bedroom floor staining it, reminding you of how much you hate yourself when you should love yourself. These red bubbles aren’t pretty rubies rushing out of your skin, this isn’t glamorous nor poetic, its not mysterious or romantic, its mutualization, its sickening. It’s death and you are dying. It’s you, everything you have been, everything you are, and everything you are yet to be, if you just give yourself the fucking chance.

And just like that,

You put the razors on your mum’s dresser, wrists intact, and you walk down the stairs. You go to the kitchen and you peel open a banana and you eat it. You put your headphones in, you go outside and you go for a walk around the botanical gardens. You enter through Gate D and you lie in the sun for a while as you throw bread for the ducks. The white ones with the orange beaks are your favourite. You give them nicknames. You know that in all honesty, you’re going to have more shitty boyfriends who might break your heart. You’ll also have good ones that even though it didn’t work, you grew. You know that you and your dad aren’t ever going to have a relationship. You know that you’re going to have trust issues and post-traumatic stress for quite a long time. You’ll fight with girlfriends, you’ll get too drunk and do something stupid like kiss someone you shouldn’t or break your nose at a music festival. You’ll laugh at it. You’ll have days where you hate your body and days where you love it. Days where you want the world to end and days where you never believed you could ever be so happy. 

And for the first time in your 21 years of living, you’re okay with this. For the first time in 21 years, you’re at peace. You haven’t touched a razor since.