#Rolling on the floor screeching bawling

[leconcombrerit]

To anyone wondering if Non was manipulating Phee, or didn't love him : to whose benefit would that little smile upon getting a text have been? The heart as his contact name?

Then think of that little kiss he stole at the beginning of the episode and tell me you still have doubts. God could descend upon Earth to tell me Non didn't love Phee and I'd still give him a judgemental eyebrow raise.

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Daddy Dom!Simon "Ghost"Riley x Bratty!reader

Fandom: Call of Duty

Character(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: As a new recruit, you should not have the gall to talk back to your superior officer like you do. He's tried it all, trying to work the insubordination out of you, but to no avail. Your antics have really gotten under his skin lately, but is it really because you won't listen and follow orders...or is there something more to it that he can't admit? The way his cock throbs might indicate the latter and what he thinks about as he touches himself might just speak to that as well.

Author's Note: As we wait for the next part of Lieutenant's Whore, have this as a treat! Something I just whipped up quick as I couldn't get the thought out of my mind 😏😘

Word Count: 3.3 k

Warnings:

Part 2:

Fucking hell, what was wrong with him? Something had crawled its way under Ghost’s skin today, sticking with him through to the evening now, and no matter how he tried to push the thoughts into the back of his mind they only seemed to lodge themselves more permanently in the foreground. No distraction or mundane daily task that took even most of his focus could ease the impact of influence on his mood as the thoughts constantly assaulted his mind. Even now as he stood in the bathroom of his private quarters, his anger at would not cease.

The screech of the shower handle turning sounded just beneath the heated phrases being whispered under his breath, the pipes coming to life with the distinct hiss of water as it pelted the floor of the shower. An earlier altercation had Ghost in a goddamn tizzy, his pulse elevated and his heartbeat in his ears as he undressed; perhaps being doused under the steady flow of the water would wash it all away.

“Fucking bloody slag,” he snapped as he pulled each article of clothing off one by one and dropped them onto the cool titled floor around his feet. Even his customary face covering he removed, wrenching it off and up over his head without a care as he was too absorbed in his rage which made everything feel far too binding. “Thinking that she can just speak to me like that. Goddammit, she knows exactly how to push each and every one of my fucking buttons.”

This wasn’t the first time he had encountered this very same problem, though this was the first time he had such a raw, visceral reaction to it. Usually he would let the disrespect go once he was away from the source, but today it just seemed to linger in an unhealthy amount until the Lieutenant could not see straight; his vision was only red.

He had not realized how much his skin was burning until he stepped under the stream of cool water, his chest getting hit first and making him grown at the sudden change in temperature. The soothing liquid rolled down the front of him, snaking its way through the shallow cracks left in his skin by the scars scattered across his pectorals and down his torso, but it did little to calm the fire still raging steadily inside.

The day you showed up on base with the newest set of recruits he knew by the way you unashamedly held his gaze when the others had immediately flinched and did not cower whenever he barked his orders would mean trouble and he hated to be right. Try as he might, there was no getting through your snarky, self-assured cocky attitude and most of his days were spent metaphorically pulling out his hair as no matter how many drills he had you run or sets of pull-ups or push-ups he had you complete, you could not be disciplined into obedience. A bitch like you was not easily broken and why you had not been discharged yet was a mystery; you must be more than worth the trouble.

A bawled fist slammed into the side of the shower, the percussive sound echoing and vibrating off the tight walls. “What the fuck is wrong with her?” he questioned aloud to no one. “Why can’t she just fucking listen, the little cunt? Why does she always have to pull that fucking shit?”

The wetness splashed over to his back as he took a step forward under the shower head, the engorged beads of water slithering their way down the curves of the muscles lining his shoulders and following the path to his ass and on towards his thighs and calves. Both of those bulky hands palmed the wall before him, allowing him to lean his torso forward and get the full length of his back under the water as his head hung limp. Heavy breaths, each one just as laboured as the last, continued even as he counted the water droplets falling down off his back and into the bottom of the shower as a way to ground himself, watching them slowly gather and swirl down the drain.

“I’ve tried it all,” he reassured himself, though even as the words left his lips, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. There was a whisper of a thought that reappeared just now that perhaps illustrated his true feelings about this problem. “Well, not exactly all.”

There was a spark of an idea that had appeared some weeks ago, one that he had not completely allowed himself to delve further into, one that had slunk its shrewd way at the edge of his thoughts. It had caught the cool and collected officer off guard at how his mind had conjured such a filthy concept… or that he did not outright despise that his imagination had led him there.

That exact day it happened he remembered well. The blazing sun and humid atmosphere had led to everyone being on edge, their bad attitudes matching the rising temperatures, and that meant the crude, underhanded remarks and balking that was a part of your usual repartee became even more grating on the Lieutenant’s nerves. With jaw sore from clenching so hard, the anger had finally reached its peak when you had told him to "make you" and with enough fury to make his presence suffocating to anyone within range, he stepped up aggressively into your face for the insubordination. There, standing with mere inches between you, your eyes ablaze with a fury for everything from the weather to the man barking orders before you, it happened.

It very well could have been the proximity of your bodies, the intense, dizzying heat, or the way the sweat around your neck slipped in glistening trails down your chest and caught his bird’s eye view as it nestled between the tops of your breasts. Maybe he had simply lost his goddamn mind due to the weather or the long hours he had been working lately or a random intrusive thought that caught him by surprise; whatever it was he could feel a stirring within the crotch of his pants in a sensation he had never felt towards you. His entire form froze in that moment and he was unable to do anything except stare straight ahead, even though the voice in his head was yelling at him to get it together, he paused long enough that by the smug expression on your face you felt you had gotten the last word and that was dangerous for him. The near two hundred push-ups forced upon you after that went by more easily than he would have liked; it was clear that that euphoric feeling you had from seemingly winning in that battle of wills against him was enough to see you through the strain on your arms and the pounding in your chest from the exertion of your punishment.

It was after that day that Ghost noticed a few strange happenings that only added fuel to the fire that had sparked to life inside him. Had your shirts always been so fucking tight or was it just the way they had always fit across your torso, pulling and straining at your chest as if it could barely contain it? Had your lips always been that juicy looking or were you just staying extra hydrated and he only caught you just after taking a drink so that your mouth mimicked another pair of lips that lay much, much lower down your body? You did not let up on your usual behavior of driving him up the goddamn wall, but did you always stand this close to him, brushing up against him randomly and somehow constantly bumping your plump ass on him whenever you bent over? It was believable as only an accident the first time it happened, but after he had to wonder.

And it only infuriated him more that the longer this went on the more he could not get you out of his head.

“Fucking slag, she probably does that shit on purpose just to screw with my head,” he growled angrily. His spine lengthened as he moved to stand up straighter, wiping the stray beads of water that had fallen into his eyes. The idea that had been born that day crept back into that devious mind of his once again and he chuckled maliciously as he indulged it a little. “If I had it my way, I know exactly how I’d like to make a little princess like her come to heel. She would regret ever trying to get my attention, especially when I fucking give it to her.”

Whenever he thought of you before this, it was with his teeth gritted and his fists balled so tight that his short nails cut into the skin of his palms, so what had changed? What right had his mind to pull this bullshit? Sure, the streamlined curves of your hips visible even through your bulky fatigues and the fullness of your perky tits were enough to draw even a lingering eye from time to time, but that was a far as he had allowed it to go until now. Now his thoughts were constantly on traveling back to those soft lips of yours and how he would kill to see how pretty they’d look wrapped around his cock or how he'd like to take you over his knee and spank that taut bare ass of yours until his handprintnwas fully visible, red and angry against your supple skin. Even the thought of your pussy entered his mind as it would probably be so tight it could barely be able to take all that he had to give. Bitchy girls always had the best equipment.

“I’d stuff that little cunt so good, she’d never fucking disobey me again; make that mouth useful for something else other than swearin at me,” he smirked with a flash of his teeth as he could not stop the progress of his thoughts. “I’d keep her dicked down nice and proper until she’s followin me around like a lost pup beggin for a treat.”

Moving his head back so that his thick neck and pecks were now exposed to the water, he could not stop the onslaught of his imagination from drawing out this thought further. Pandora’s box was now open and there was no shutting that shit down. Ghost closed his eyes as he conjured images of the way he’d drag you to his room and rip you out of your fucking shirt, taking those beautiful, soft breasts into his mouth to bite, lick, and suck at the bright pink nipples that would be stiff as his mouth claimed them. Shite, how velvety they would feel between his lips, how pliable they would give in his teeth. He’d make you undress quickly the rest of the way for him under threat of punishment if you didn't follow orders and drag you to the shower to pull you in with him, your naked body slamming up harshly up against the wall of the shower as he overpowered you with his much larger one. He pictured your bare chest, the water flowing over the crest of your breasts as he picked you up just enough that your legs could wrap themselves around his thick torso to secure you to him before he thrust harshly and buried himself within you. What sounds would you make as he plowed through your petals and into your entrance? Would you whimper piteously as you folded like a good little girl; would you cry and swear out loudly as his girth stretch your core to capacity so that anyone within earshot could hear you taking him?

There was so question that he’d fuck you so good, making your back constantly slip and slide around all the damp surfaces as his overwhelming thrusts pounded into your cunt over and over again with a vigor that would not let up until that burning desire that has been building for weeks could finally be satisfied. A shiver ran up his spine as he imagined your finger nails clawing at his back, leaving read, angry marks as you held on for dear life. How they’d sting as the water washed over them; oh, it would hurt so, so good. The brief fantasy left his hand trembling and had his phallus springing to life with a sudden tightness that made him breathless.

This is how it had been since that day, though he had done everything in his power to not touch himself; if he did he knew that would mean his ruin. But that deep ache throbbing down below just between his legs was more than he could handle anymore and now that he had allowed himself to fantasize about what he could have, there was no getting rid of it expect by taking action.

His large hand moved down past the sparse light brown hair that covered his abdominals as it trailed down his body, the skin was already nice and lubricated from the water running its way down the length of him. Taking his lower lip between his teeth he bit down with a whimper as his long, calloused fingers brushed against the tip of his tender, engorged cock before he was able to take it fully into his grasp.

Goddamn what he would have given in that moment to make that fantasy a reality; he would have sold his soul to Satan himself for the feeling of you clenching down around him right now as his own hand paled in comparison to the fabricated assumptions in his mind.

"Fucking bitch, you’ve put me under your spell," Ghost growled in a raspy whisper, as if insulting you would somehow make his desperate need of you any less pathetic to himself.

Putting pressure in his grip he began to rub his length from base to tip in steady, even strokes. Deep, guttural grunts began to fill the bathroom as that beefy forearm worked itself forward and back over and over again. Goddammit he was so hard and tender it almost hurt to touch.

His mind's eye wandered back to visions of you perched on top of him now in his bed, riding him desperately into the scant bit of plushness he called a mattress, as his greedy hands clasped around your hips to force you to bob up and down on his dick as hard and as fast as he wished. Faster and faster he’d make your body work for him, shoving you as far down onto him as he could until your hips were grinding into one another; his perfect fuck toy. You’d be so out of your mind with evstasy, would you be able to form words? No, you’d only be able to muster a few simple mewls as he hit that perfect little button of pleasure inside you time and time again.

“Got you quiet now, yeah,” he groaned desperately at the vision as he licked his hungry lips. “You like that, princess? So fucking full on my cock you can hardly think straight? Come on now, use your words sweetheart. Tell me how much you like it; you’ve never had a problem speaking up before."

The imagined music of your moans emanating from your open mouth from his cock being buried deep within you made his skin tingle like an electrical current. The drawn out strokes from his hand began to become more sloppy as the images continued to flood their way into his thoughts. Again they wandered to conjure even more depraved things as he pictured himself taking control in the moment, grabbing you around the throat and flipping you on your back as he pinned your arms up above your head. He’d hold secure those slender wrists together with just one of his large hands so that he could have free reign to do whatever he wished without your interference. There would not be a single piece of flesh that did not know how he felt.

Ghost’s pace again quicken. “A-ah, fuck….!” he hissed. He was certain you had probably had guys before him, it was obvious a woman like you knew what she wanted, but there would absolutely be no one after; he’d make sure of that by leaving his mark anywhere he thought someone who try to touch.

His breathing faltered along with his strokes as he imagined hurriedly switching positions so that he would not have to pull out for long, propping your legs up on those broad shoulders so that he could push deeper into you down to the very end of his shaft until there was nothing left to give. Oh, the way he knew you would whine and buck against him as he bottomed out inside of you, but there would be no backing out now. That cunt now belonged to him and only him as if it had 'Property of Simon' tattooed across it.

Ghost had to swallow the saliva in his mouth that had gathered from that delicious bit of imagery. “Take it, take it all, sweetheart,” he panted. “Every last goddamn inch like the filthy fucking slag you are. That's it.”

You’d be whimpering, begging him to stop as the tears gathered in the corner of your eyes from the over-stimulation being almost to much to bear. So full, you’d be far too full with him and yet to really stop would be catastrophic as that delicious pressure setting you on a one way course directly towards your immediate release would end and that would be a far worse crime. He knew you wouldn’t want him to do anything except keep the rhythm steady and that is exactly what he intended to do, though he would wipe away a few of those stray droplet’s with his thumb as he continued to plow you; he was a gentlemen at his core after all.

“Look beautiful like this, luv,” he groaned under his breath. “On your back getting absolutely wrecked by me. Cry all you like, you know you can't get enough.”

Again he pounded his free fist into the side of the shower wall, this time from being so close to blowing that he could taste it in the back of his throat. More aggressively he yanked at his cock, the wet, sloppy sounds from skin working over moistened skin were loud and distinct over the sound of the running water from the shower head. That familiar fire was right there in the pit of his stomach as he envisioned the way you’d bear down on him as you came, fluttering around his cock as your orgasm overtook you in a violent burst that threatened to rip you apart.

“That’s it baby, that’s…it,” he stumbled over his words. It was there, right there; just a bit more and he’d be painting the walls.

The envisioned sound of your voice crying out his name in the throws of ecstasy was all he needed to finally finish with a bang. He grunted as the cheeks of his toned ass clenched while he milked every last fucking bit of cum that he could from himself. Knees began wobbling as they nearly buckled out from under him as the intensity of his release took all his strength and he had to brace his forearm against the wall to stop from slipping as the stroking of his hand slowed until it came to a stop. That arm propped up the exhausted mess of a hulking man as he breathed through his orgasm, wanting to ride out every last second he could.

The fruit of his endeavors were rinsed down into the bottom of the shower and were quickly whisked away, removing any evidence of the filthy thoughts that had plagued him minutes before, though their ghost still lingered in the back of his mind as if he had just awoken from a very good dream. There was a part of him that wished that all his desires for you had been sucked down the drain along with his cum, as this was certain to become am issue in a short amount of time, but he knew he would not be that lucky.

He craved you in a most unholy way and that meant at some point this little problem was going to come to a head. There was no telling what would happen to him when he saw you next now that he had entertained the full extent of his fantasies, but one thing he did know was that if there was a way to have you just as he wanted, he would find it...and God fucking help you when he did.

[savagesphinx]

Tous les moulins de mon cœur

Chapter 2

TW : Violence, blood, sexual subject.

The characters belong to Gatobob.

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Mike was floating in a cotton ocean. Lost in complete torpor, he let himself drift into nothingness. There was something comfortable and reassuring about the void. There was no pain, no fear. He let himself slide even deeper into the darkness. After a while of wandering, her back gently hugged the flat surface of the floor. He groped the surface. The sand slipped through his fingers, lodged under his black-painted fingernails. Distant sounds reached his ears. Laughs. They were laughing in the distance, sitting together around the camp.

The noise of the beers being uncapped made him thirsty. The laughter of the others made him envious. As stuck in the sand, he saw them from afar. He saw himself in the middle of the group. They weren't really friends. Absolutely not. But the excitement of the hunt and the rarity of the event made them more inclined to talk. Only Machete remained at a distance. Jak offered a coke rail which « Dragon » declined. They needed clear ideas for what was to follow. The sacrifice. Derek was bawling his exploits of the day out loud. He saw himself, He saw himself staring at « Dragon ». Seek his touch. Look for excuses. Get his attention. Impress him.

Mike bit his tongue so hard he felt the taste of blood flood his mouth.

He tried to look away. He wanted to sink deeper into the void. Where he would feel absolutely nothing. Where he could forget himself and all those missed opportunities.

He managed to let himself slide further.

A slap in the face brought him back to reality.

He growled an incomprehensible insult. His head was on fire. He was struggling to breathe, sweating profusely and his tongue felt like it was about to turn to ashes. He opened his eyes with great pain. His head was swaying, he took long seconds before realizing where he was. What position he was in.

His wrists were tied above his head with heavy tape. They rested on the back of his office chair, held back by some tie. His legs were raised, firmly taped on the armrests of the chair. He was in boxers and a t-shirt. The position was as humiliating as it was uncomfortable. Everything came back to him like a slap in the face.

« Are you comfortable ? » The voice came from behind him. Mike felt his blood run cold with anguish.

« Jace... ? » He called, with a faint hope. It was a misunderstanding, a fucking nightmare. His friend's voice answered with amusement. « If it makes you happy... »

Making him happy was probably the last of his intentions.

Jace walked around the chair and appeared in front of him, still sporting those unnatural green eyes. « You passed out in the trunk. Long road. You must have had heatstroke. Or did I hit too hard... Anyway, do you want some water ? »

Mike nodded softly, and Jace returned in no time with something to quench his thirst. Water dripped down his chin and he downed the glass in one gulp. It wasn't enough but he would be content with it for now. Jace stepped back. He looked at him, his face impregnated with a wide and terrible smile. A few minutes passed. Mike felt his blood pressure rise. Cold sweat rolled down his neck. The thing didn't seem to blink once.

His tongue dry, Mike attempted to say something. As long as it can break the leaden silence... « ...What do you want from me? I...I didn't think this was going to work okay? It was just bullshit...If you want more blood, I'm sure we can work out a deal... We'll do it for you, okay ? We'll kill some more if we have to! »

The creature nodded slowly, watching him intently. Then he let out a sordid, screeching laugh. Mike felt his hopes melt like snow in the sun. He sank a little deeper into the chair. The thing approached dangerously, almost pressed its forehead against his. It was Jace's face, Jace's smile. But everything was out of shape. « Thank for the proposal boy. I take good note of it. »

Mike felt him dig his fingernails into the tender skin of his legs. He gritted his teeth. « For now, I think I want to have a little fun. I stayed asleep for so long... » The scratch became a caress, went up too high on the inside of his thighs. Mike suppressed a horrified shudder. He convinced himself that it was horror.

It was weird seeing Jace act like that. His hands touch him like this. Their relationship had never been so... close. Apart of him wanted more. So much more. But it was more prudent to abstain. Ruining their friendship would have been the worst mistake.

Jace was his soulmate. A precious being in his life. Purely platonic, of course - putting aside the murders they committed together, the victims they fucked together. It was a very special friendship, that's all.

« You’re still with me buddy ? » A snap of his fingers in front of his eyes brought him back to sad reality. That thing wasn't Jace. It had simply taken his form. He tried to imprint the information into his head. « Can he hear me? »

The question was unexpected. The creature looked surprised and, after a silence, tapped its fingertip on its head. « Yes. He hears and sees everything. But he is too... Far away to act. He's a spectator, if you prefer. He doesn't have enough strength to fight. But he is still there. Inside. »

Mike was overcome with a surge of survival and bawled so loudly that he hoped to alert the neighbors. « Dude please ! Come back ! » The rest died in the back of his throat and became a vague sob. « Don't leave me like this… Come back Jace… Please, please, please... »

But Jace remained deaf to his call. The thing sighed heavily. « Shut the fuck up… I didn't think you would open it so much. You seemed like a pretty quiet guy... »

The other straightened up abruptly and left to rummage through the rest of the apartment. He heard him pass in the kitchen, in their bathroom. « Don't get me wrong, I usually love to hear them yelling and cry… But until I get a safer place, you're going to have to shut it up. »

He came back and stuffed a piece of cloth in his mouth, before securing it with tape. Mike tried to bite him but the man threw back his head with a weak slap. « There. Good boy. »

He rewarded him with a pat on the top of the head. « Good. I'm reassured. You're going to stay here for a while. I don't want you to tear your throat. Not like this I mean… »

Mike gave him a half-questioning, half-angry look. The man raised an eyebrow and stretched a smirk across his pale lips. « I told you, I want to have fun. In my own way. And you're a lovely candidate. »

Mike didn't immediately understand where he was talking about, but seeing him approach armed with the ceremonial dagger gave him a good idea of what awaited him. He tried to struggle, to move back while rolling the chair, but the creature grabbed his leg without any difficulty.

He shook his head, growled his panic through the fabric and the tape. He hoped to dissuade him with a look.

The tip of the blade dug into his calf. He jumped back. It sliced through the flesh, showing blood and muscle down the length of his leg. Tears welled up in his eyes. His leg burned violently. He had never particularly liked pain. Inflicting it on others was easier. More exciting. He had never wanted to end up on the other side of the blade. A few smacks during sex were enough. This was too much.

« C’mon ! You're not going to freak out just because of that, you're a big boy! I saw you doing those things in the cave. No fun swapping places huh ? »

Mike shakes his head. Maybe if he went his way, the thing would let him go. He was ready to humble himself for that. But the blade cut his skin to the ankle. He caught his breath, swallowed his saliva with pain because of the gag. He was hot. Her back was sticking to the desk chair from sweat.

« Hold on buddy. We're just getting started. » He barely gave him time to regain his composure and slid his tongue over the blood flowing from the wound. The hot, wet muscle wrung a complaint of pain from him. The tongue slowly moved up the wound. The creature growled, seeming to enjoy the meal. Maybe a little too much. Mike looked down and noticed his erection, horrified. He had seen Jace get hard before. It was not a first time. But knowing that it was for him… He was mortified. He twitched by reflex in the hope of avoiding the worst.

But the creature just cut him again. More lightly this time, all along his leg. The cuts were sometimes superficial and purely dedicated to hurting him, sometimes deeper to draw a little more blood out of him. Each time, he came to lick his wounds, shivering with pleasure. « Your blood is really good. You’re really good. »

It was a growl. A dull, cavernous rumble. It was obvious he was fighting his excitement, down there. When he attacked the other leg, Mike had already started to dissociate. The pain was relegated to the background of his mind. He already felt like leaving. The iron smell of his own blood flooded his nostrils.

It was a nightmare. No… It was deserved. It was revenge for all the souls he had buried in the desert. It made him laugh nervously which made the crouching thing in front of him smile. « He's begging me to stop, inside. It's crazy this...Connection you have. I saw it in the cave. It's like you two were one person. »

This was the case. At least there. In the desert. It was an opportunity to forget himself a little. To no longer be two but one. Him instead of them. Then they returned and plunged back into their daily life full of unspoken things. Mike would have given anything to get back to their stupid habits.

A hand brushed his hair back, tucking it behind his pierced ears. It wiped the sweat from his brow and stroked it almost tenderly. « I feel like the three of us are going to have a fucking good time. »

Gag or not, he had nothing to say. He just wanted to find Jace. The comfort of their sofa, the stupid shows they shared after work. Annoy him with his concerts, accompany him to his stupid game shops, paint his toenails when he slept. Mike realized he was crying again. He was sure Jace was too. Trapped inside his own head.

It was your idea.

It should have been me.

He remained inert until the other locked his door. He heard him move around the apartment, go to his room. No. Jace room. Take possession of it. Making himself at home. Mike allowed himself to cry harder until night falls.

[quest-for-pluto]

“If you wrote a book where the first and last sentence were the same, but had different meanings, what would they be?”

Warnings: Dark content, suicide, implied/attempted homicide, blood, violence and major feels.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” she hummed under her breath, smiling down at the bundle in her arms and rocking her ever so gently. “You make me happy, when skies are gray.”

•

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” she hiccuped under her breath as warm tears rolled down her cheeks, fingers combing through her daughter’s long, lovely strands of hair. The girl didn’t move, forever motionless as she laid in a growing pool of her own blood that seeped slowly from her wrists. “Y-You make me happy, when skies are gray.”

— Inspired by Avatar-of-Greed’s YouTube comment

************

“Make a wish!” Her brother laughed joyously, tugging insistently on her arm. She giggled, blowing out the ten candles on her cake. Everyone cheered around her as her mother tried ushering them into a family picture.

•

“Make a wish,” she murmured to herself in the silent house, staring numbly at the single, flickering candle that lit up the old picture beside her. She blew gently, and the dim light extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

************

“You’re my best friend,” she whispered with a grin, burying her face into the stuffed animal’s plush chest.

“You’re my best friend,” the stuffed animal sang, tilting its head as it inched closer, its razor claws screeching loudly as they dragged against the floor. The girl sobbed, crawling backwards on her bed until she hit the wall.

************

“Go, Leo!” He laughed, launching the frisbee with all of his strength. His dog raced across the open field, jumping up and catching it in his mouth.

“Go, Leo,” he coughed from under the debris, reaching out a hand to pat gently on his dog’s head. His chest was pinned down by layers of concrete, slowly crushing him with the weight. Leo whimpered, nudging his hand insistently with his nose.

************

This one’s not mine but it was too beautiful not to include:

************

Here’s the prompt source: CLICK TO BAWL YOUR EYES OUT

[prettywhenibleed]

𝕶𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝕱𝖔𝖗 𝖄𝖔𝖚 (Kill For You)

Pt 2

Fem!Reader x Paul

Most of this chapter is just the reader, Paul doesn’t make an appearance until the end. 

TW: Physical abuse, not the happiest chapter, language

That night, I found it kind of difficult to fall asleep. I was tired, very tired, but I was also really excited about tomorrow night. As I lay in bed, my head swimming with thoughts of Paul, I sat up a bit and I picked up the necklace from where I had put it on the bedside table. I held it up to admire it for a moment before clasping it around my neck. It was a pretty simple necklace. Just a chain with a bat on it. But I loved it so much. I don’t know what it is about bats, but I’ve always just loved them. Besides, since Paul had gifted it to me, it made it all the more special to me. Its weird to say this about someone that I have only just met.. But I feel like I can really, and I mean truly trust Paul. I feel so comfortable and safe with him. God! I must sound completely insane. I let out a huff and flopped my head back down onto the pillow. I laid there in the dark for what seemed like hours, before I eventually managed to drift off to sleep.

I woke up the next day later than usual. I rolled over onto my side to check the time on my alarm clock. 1:12 pm. Shit! I cant believe that I slept in that long. I guess I shouldn’t really be that surprised since I did stay out until nearly 2am. I quickly got up and made my way to my bathroom. It's times like these where I'm glad that I have a bathroom connected to my bedroom. I stripped out of my clothes from last night, only now realising that in my daze from last night, I had forgotten to change. Once in the shower, I felt my muscles relax under the, admittedly very hot, water. I let our a content sigh.

After my shower and getting dressed for the day, I carefully made my way downstairs. Trying to be as quiet as possible. I didn't want to do anything that might set my parents off. I hated the weekends. Purely for the fact that both of my parents would be home all day for the next two days. I silently prayed that, for whatever reason, they had decided to go out today. As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I found that I was out of luck. I could hear my parents in the kitchen. I almost debated turning back around and going back to my room before they noticed me..... But yet again, I was shit out of luck. "Get your ass in here now!" I heard my dad yell from the kitchen. I closed my eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, and slowly made my way into the room. As soon as I stepped foot in there, I was met with a swift and harsh slap to the face. I stumbled back, not expecting to be attacked. I held my now throbbing cheek with my hand. I tried my best stop the tears from making their way out of my eyes. I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I just remained silent as I looked at her with a blank look in my eyes. "Where the HELL were you last night?" My mom screeched. Hands on her hips and a rage in her blue eyes that I've become all to familiar with. I wracked my brain, trying to come up with an excuse that would be believable. "Well? Answer your mother you disrespectful little shit." My dad said, walking up behind me and smacking me in the back of the head. I flinched in pain as his large hand made contact with my head. "I-I’m sorry. I just.. I went for a walk and lost track of time." I tried to tell them. My plan of not letting them see me cry, quickly getting harder and harder to achieve. I tried taking deep, shaky breaths to calm myself and bury the need to cry deep down. "Fucking idiot. Can’t do anything right." My dad said in a low, patronizing voice.

After they decided that they had had their fill of abusing me, I was able to make my way back up to my room. The second I reached my room I locked myself in my bathroom, fell to the floor, and proceeded to bawl my eyes out. I have never, and probably will never, understand why my parents hate me so much. I never did anything to them.... At least, I don’t think I did. Either way, I am stuck here. This is just my life. At least now, for the first time in my life, I have something... Someone to look forward to seeing. Paul. The thought of him was enough to bring me back down to earth. I lifted my head from my knees and leaned it back to rest on the cabinet, under the sink, that I was sitting on the floor in front of. I tried to steady my breathing, taking long, deep breaths. Focusing on the fact that I needed to pull myself together so I didn’t look a complete mess when I meet up with Paul later tonight. I was sat on the bathroom floor for another half hour or so, before I felt composed enough to slowly pull myself to my feet. I turned around and looked at myself in the mirror. I sighed at what I saw. I looked like a complete mess. And to make matters worse, I had a swollen, red mark that almost completely covered my left cheek. I really hope it goes down before I am supposed to meet Paul. I have no idea what I am going to say to him if it doesn’t. I filled up the sink with cold water and used that to clean my face and maybe try and make myself NOT look like I had just been hit and then bawled my eyes out.

It was about 7 pm now, and thankfully, I looked almost completely back to normal.. Save for a bit of lingering redness, but that can be covered up with a little bit of makeup. I'll be having to start my walk to the boardwalk soon. I've already gotten ready. I don’t really have to do that much besides get dressed, brush my hair and, when needed, put makeup in certain places to cover any evidence of my parents hatred towards me. I felt around the back of my head to check on how that was feeling. It wasn’t really that bad anymore. I mean when it happened, it felt like my dad almost knocked me out, but now it was only slightly tender. I should be grateful it didn't get any worse than it did. I tried to shake away those feelings and thoughts, and just focus on the night ahead. Ready, I walked over to my window and climbed through. Repeating the actions from last night. My heart always raced like crazy when I did this. Knowing that at any moment, one or both of my parents could catch me, and that... That punishment would put me out of commission for weeks. I didn't sneak out too often. Only when I really needed to get out for a few hours, but I was never gone for too long, knowing that if my parents walked into my room to find me missing, there would be hell to pay. But now.. Now I felt this unexplainable pull to leave. To spend as much time as I possibly could, with Paul. I didn't know what it was or why he could elicit such strong emotions from me, only having met him last night, but I didn't care. All I knew was that I wanted to see him. To be near him.

After my semi long walk, my feet were finally met with the boardwalk. I sighed with relief. Instantly feeling calmer, knowing that I was only moments away from another amazing night with Paul and the others. As I made my way through the crowd, occasionally bumping into people, I kept my eyes peeled for three blonde heads and one brunette. My search was put to a quick end when I felt someone suddenly grab me and pick me up from behind. My mind immediately going into panic mode and I started to desperately try to free myself. "Hey calm down sugar! It's only me" Paul assured me as he put me down, obviously getting the hint that I probably didn't like being snuck up on and grabbed like that. He honestly didn't mean any harm by it. He was just excited to see you and well, Paul's a very handsy guy. I let out a breath and turned to face him. "Sorry Paul. I just wasn't really expecting to be grabbed like that." I told him before pulling him into a hug. I wanted to let him know that, I too was glad to see him, and that I was fine. Paul instantly, but more gently this time, reciprocated my hug. "I didn't mean to scare you sugar pie. Just happy to see you is all." He said as he pulled away. I just shook my head and waved my hands in a dismissive gesture. "It's okay Paul. Really. I guess I just startle easily." I told him with a small laugh. He raised a brow at me and smirked. "Oh yeah?" He said in a tone that I could only guess meant he had something nefarious going on up in that head of his. "Don't even think about it Paul." I told him with a knowing look. He just broke out in a genuine, sweet smile and laughed. "Ahh! I'm only messing with ya babe." He reassured. Paul wrapped his arm around my shoulders and started to lead me to, I'm guessing, where the others were. I leaned into his side and wrapped my own arm around his waist. Enjoying the comfortable closeness and feeling of safety he provided. Paul looked down and just smiled to himself. He was ecstatic that you was warming up to him so quickly. He would have been pretty bummed out if his mate didn't like him all that much. So he just held onto you a little tighter.

Spam liking without reblogging = blocked

[gaoau]

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is there color in your world? warnings — none. word count — 1.4k

prev. — next.

summer passed him by. like a car to a civilian in a traffic accident, it rolled over suna with waves of unbearable heat and muscle-straining serve practices. july blended into august the same way blue faded into orange during those late sunsets. he had never thought he'd be willingly staring at the sun fall into the sky. he accidentally caught a glimpse one dull afternoon and unconsciously incorporated it into his routine.

was it gold? sunset orange? pale cyan? he didn't know any colors beside the ordinary red, yellow, blue, and their mixtures.

much like the sun sinking into the horizon, august disappeared when he flipped the page of his calendar. september rose above the heat as if it were the moon illuminating the night sky.

suna concluded he didn't like the moon. it never bothered him, he never paid any mind to it. but it was so bright and white and blinding and it drowned out the deep blue around it.

maybe he was starting to understand why [surname] called him black and white; why [surname] called him blinding and hard to read. he found annoyance in understanding.

[surname] [name] was annoying—not really. if she hadn't approached him, suna would've never acknowledged she existed anywhere near him. but once he did, there was no going back.

she had a strong presence he couldn't ignore. she forced herself into a routinely part of his life, dyeing his days with vibrant hues he hadn't even thought of. those weekend good mornin's and daily doses of sugar became a welcomed change.

of course he missed it. it felt odd to abruptly stop something that had been going on for months. it impressed him how [surname] simply managed to make herself click seamlessly some place she didn't belong. all until she decided to pull away and find herself a new, more interesting place.

it was so annoying how she just never stayed put.

if he slumped over his desk any longer, his spine would adopt an unhealthy curve forever. his back will be eternally thankful towards [surname] and her deafening group of friends.

the door slammed open, making suna jolt his shoulders in sleepy surprise. [surname] skipped inside and to the center of the classroom. a glistening smile stretched her lips into her cheeks.

"good mornin', everybody!"

shijiki was the first one to scramble out of her seat. the corner of a neighboring desk dug into her hip and her ankles twisted as she toppled to the floor. she caught her fall with her palms, pushing herself back onto her feet in an instant. her arms wrapped around [surname]'s waist before anyone could blink.

had suna been any more drowsy with his usual morning daze, he would've mistaken shijiki for a feral wolf. as she bawled into [surname]'s chest and offered to carry her satchel for her, she looked more like a clingy puppy. compared to her, suna didn't get to say he had missed [surname].

the squeals of her friends were too much to handle first thing in the morning after month and a half of peace. they engulfed [surname] in a group-hug. suna heard yelps and stomps as they stumbled to the floor. among the intelligible screeches, he started making out coherent sentences.

"we missed ya so much!"

"'twas worse than last year!"

"summer's long without ya, [name]-chan!"

yeah, suna could agree, but he wasn't hollering it to the wind.

"hey, [surname]-chan," called a deep voice, keeping a safe distance from the dog-pile of tears and cackles, "take us with ya next year, will ya?"

[surname] laughed her trademark ahahaha! giggles. "don't hold me to it, nabu-kun."

"up ya go," nabu-kun grunted. suna craned his neck backwards to see a fellow classmate—nabuhiko something—pulling the rumbustious girls to their feet.

they chirped a friendly thanks! in return as they collectively smoothed out the wrinkles on their skirts. someone squeaked when her friend started swiping at her back to dust off her blazer. nabuhiko laughed with them, patted [surname]'s head, and returned to his seat with a grin on his face.

suna felt his skin crawl. he wondered for half a second if he had a colony of ants trailing up and down his arms. it didn't take too long to realize he was feeling [surname]'s eyes pricking him like needles.

he had nearly forgotten that sensation. so intense and uncomfortable and annoying.

shijiki's brows dipped into a scowl. she flung a poisonous, uncalled-for glare at him while looming behind [surname]. her limbs locked onto [surname] as she hugged her like a koala to a tree.

suna cocked a brow at shijiki's unnecessary hostility. he couldn't decide if he preferred that venomous glower or [surname]'s razor-sharp, unnerving staring. when he faced front again, he decided that—despite not being an option—anything was better than osamu's smug smirks.

definitely the worse twin. osamu's shoulder bounced when he laughed. "sure didn't miss her, didja?" his brows motioned towards [surname] prying shijiki's arms off her.

suna massaged his temples, grumbling, "how was i so blind? you're much worse than atsumu."

"who's atsumu?"

he almost choked on his spit at the sound of [surname]'s voice. his eyes flew wide open in surprise. osamu snickered as suna turned to meet her gaze.

[surname] grinned at him. she really did like carving herself a place to belong. it was probably uncomfortable to stay for too long. "good mornin', suna-kun, miya-kun. hope yer summer break went well."

"same to ya, [surname]-san, how was it?" well, maybe osamu wasn't that bad. he was either trying to spite him or give him time to recover.

"spent my time stuffin' math info in my brain."

osamu chuckled, "flunkin' math?"

[surname] shrugged. she seemed to be laughing at her own bad grades with that smile of her. "i just don't get asymptotes, y'know?"

yeah, suna didn't get her either, but he wasn't whining.

"how's studyin' at a farm like?" maybe osamu was trying to spite him.

he felt her knife dig into his arm. "ah, never woulda thought suna-kun talked 'bout me, 'm flattered." her palm tore the blade away when it fell on his shoulder. it was warm.

her fingers used him as an instrument, drumming at a steady beat that invited him to join the conversation.  "i mean, atsumu was practically willing to kill just to know about you."

"oh." her fingers halted. her grip was weak but very noticeable. "i'm topic of gossip in yer locker room?"

"something like that." he shrugged his shoulders on instinct. maybe if he hadn't, [surname] wouldn't have pulled away.

she instead placed her hand on her chest. her nail polish was colorless but shiny. "'m honored," she giggled.

"ya should drop by and watch practice."

osamu was, without a shadow of doubt, trying to spite him. and boy, was he succeeding. suna could physically feel the color drain from his face—not that he had any, so nobody noticed.

[surname] hummed. "i was plannin' to, actually. now that i've an invitation, can't say no, can i?"

"lookin' forward to seein' ya there, right, suna?" osamu nudged him with his elbow. suna's glare swore no mercy.

"i make no promises. don't miss me too much, you two." she patted suna's head twice, narrowing her eyes and smiling. she used that same hand to wave her fingers. "see ya guys 'round."

suna followed her with his gaze. he nodded, muttering, "see you," almost as if it were second nature.

he regretted sitting behind osamu when he met his smug expression a second time in less than an hour. osamu snickered. "she patted yer head."

"i'm aware."

"must be nice."

"i'm not a dog."

"ya seein' colors now?"

"ow, fuck!" suna hissed. he cradled his head in hands, grimacing in fake-pain. "i feel it! it's a—my braincells! they're killing themselves!"

osamu cackled and threw his head back. "yer so whipped."

"i'm not." any energy he could've had vanished with that sarcastic show of his. he buried his face in his arms. the background chatter lulled him to sleep.

[surname] had said she made no promises. [surname] had said to not hold her to it. she didn't show up to practice that afternoon.

osamu's question tapped at his brain.

he could see colors. he didn't know their names.

[magnumversumplus]

Aswang Force

Chapter 5: Rebellion

Written By Joseph M.

Manananggals, leyaks and penanggalans crowded the steps leading up to courthouse–a section of courthouses attached to The Tribunal Palace–shrieking and demanding answers for the recent events. A manananggal named Councilwoman Lagg of The Tribunal Second Council further stepping out of line by showing the Philippine public that manananggals were real and chasing after Diego Bayani and now his son, classified documents telling how enforcer squadrons randomly entered and searched the homes of manananggals reaching the public through anonymous government insiders, a manananggal member of The Tribunal Second Council accepting payoffs from an unknown source, and bombshell documents detailing a shocking fact: all three judges in The Tribunal First Council tried to withdraw their respective factions from The Tribunal.

And the most shocking reveal: evidence emerged to show that all three judges in the First Council were murdering humans and devouring their flesh. This primitive way of life, these secrets being kept from the mythological public, these injustices outraged the community, and constituents of the Muka Layu, Band Kelima and the Fraksi Hantu screeched at Judge Memerintah as she left the courthouse, crying for her to give answers to these pressing rumors. She declined to give any.

Amongst the crowd was a shared expression of outrage and disappointment–bushy eyebrows pointed down, the screeches parched from crying, pleading for the rumors to not be true. Judge Memerintah’s bodyguards pushed the crowd away, using brute force to the point of even slashing their wings apart, gray aswang blood sprouting up like fountain springs, spraying onto the crowd and onto the concrete pavement. The agonized cries of rebels dropping and bleeding onto the floor was heard from far away, as even the trees couldn’t mask the wails of terror and the resilient screams for justice.

Judge Memerintah ducked down as her escorts followed her into the palace foyer, slashing apart the glistening eyes of the penanggalans and swiping at the tongues of the manananggals. She heard the raspy howls of her constituents, the bawling of subversives bawling loudly over their revolutionary loved ones. She crawled back into her shelter beneath her high seat at the bench, trembling.

One of her bodyguards, Ipatupad, opened up the compartment where she stowed away, reached out his shriveled hand of fuzz and grease and posed a question to her. “You’re a great leader and I’ll guard you with my life, but you need to step up and be the pangulo I know you to be. Tell me, what’s going on?”

Judge Memerintah looked at Ipatupad. His claws trembled quietly. The judge’s eyes watered, salty tears rolling down her grizzly face and dissipating on her tongue, a watery pink snake that slithered up and down and moistened her face. She lashed at Ipatupad, he dropped and she crumpled over the dead body of her fallen friend.

Tears streamed down her downy cheeks like mildew rolling down a hare on a summery morning. Ipatupad’s ghost drifted away from her, now walking on two gnarled bat legs into the light. His apparition turned around to look at the judge he served for so long, gazing one last time into her eyes; and though she couldn’t see him, Ipatupad could see the distress in her teary eyes, and he solemnly walked away.

Judge Memerintah carefully laid down Ipatupad’s corpse and rose, her intestines slithering upwards like a dead jellyfish’s stingers lifted from the sand. She droned through the halls of her and her people’s palace, her crooked fingernails out in front of her, still trying to give her passed friend a hug. She pried away the gates, the undeceived calls for truth filling the entrance, and she admitted everything.

Her words were marked with devastation, a need to make right what was done wrong. She admitted to the judges–as well as several other members of different Councils in The Tribunal resorting to primordial attacks on humankind when food shortages plagued the factions. Her voice, a once calming presence to those under her protection, was now an untrustworthy whisper, and her words were the utterances of a traitor.

Members of the police force that governed The Tribunal ordered her to stand down, and she was cuffed on the very podium of grass blades from which she spoke, and the other judges were lined up alongside her. A baton struck her back, forcing her to move. The harrowing creatures of Southeast Asian mythos paraded her around the crowd of protestors, and she drifted on the very blood of those who she ordered dead.

She hovered over the bodies of protestors, mutinies that picketed to a bitter end, revolutionaries with calls for a reformed government etched into placards. She was walked back into her own palace by her own police force, escorted into a place even she had never been to; it was a dim dungeon, the walls consisted of mud and stone, and a rag in the corner was her bed.

She was locked into her own mind in a sense, an empty, compact void where she and another voice shared a space. There was another inmate sharing this dingy cell with her–where the only light came from a small crack in the back wall and a flickering light bulb above their heads. There was a repugnant smell in the room, a filthy odor that reminded her of cigarettes and urine, a scent that caused her to turn away in disgust.

The prisoner whom Memerintah shared the cramped chamber with seemed to be the cause of this aroma, a cellmate who seemingly hadn’t showered in weeks. He was sitting on his own rag, blue, and his puffy hair of head was buried into his legs. He was human, this one, and though Memerintah didn’t know it, this man’s personality was so charming nobody would think he’d end up in a place like this.

Memerintah called out to him, deciding that any conversation was better than complete silence–even a drunken one, as Memerintah perceived a talk with this stranger might be, was better than nothing. “Answer me this, weak mortal: who are you, and why are you in here?” The ex-judge almost deduced that her delivery could’ve been kinder, but Memerintah stopped examining her own words for flaws when she realized where she was.

The man poked his head up, The Sun stabbing his bloodshot eyes with light. Not a spoken thought. No words; he just smiled a vicious smile, shared at that exact same moment by Grim Blood as he fought off the fabled creatures that lived in the Malay Archipelago and the humans that aided them.

Grim Blood drew a katana and carved shaved a tangle of black manananggal wool from Makisig’s shoulder, speckles of deteriorated gray flesh trapped in a web of black fuzz. Agung, the leyak, bit Grim Blood’s knee, a scene all too familiar to this villain. Efren gnashed at Grim Blood’s arm with his teeth, blunt vices that ripped off his flesh.

Grim Blood got down to his knees, and Efren, Danilo and Leon bashed at his spine with the butts of their rifles. It was like three metal baseball bats were belligerently pummeling him into the ground, buffeting him until his vertebral column could become a gravel walkway. All he could see was nothing, and then he saw his body getting hauled away, and then he found himself lying in a bed in a cell.

[dimsummy]

Me : stares, starts crying, bawling, rolling on the floor, screeching 😭😭😭😭✨✨

[burnedbyshoto]

i wonder

i wonder (if you remember the way we looked at each other)

— Living as roommates with your best friend is easy until someone fucks up and catches feelings.

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut fem!reader, and they were roommates, childhood friends!au, university!au, quirkless!au, modern!au, americanized university experience, alcohol consumption, drug consumption, the plot is for the sex AHA, womanizer!shouto, shouto and reader are bad roommates but seiji is worse, shouto has sex at 16 for the first time, vouyerism-ish, iffy shouto tendencies, jealous!shouto, jealous!reader, drunk sex so dubcon depending on you, nipplegasms, reader has nipple piercings, blowjob, switching, marking, biting, scratching, praise kink, missing tag ;)

word count: 20,141

a/n: this is for the roommates bnharem collab! please check out all the other amazing fics and art! note to self, dont get drunk the night before this is due and I hope you guys enjoy this!!! I had a lot of fun writing it!!! also,,, sorry if mobile doesn’t correctly format!

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You cracked your eyes open.

The gentle white stream of light permeated through soft cotton curtains, lighting the room in pale stripes and careful touches. Dust particles danced within the shining light, bending and twirling with the flowing air and moving winds. You breathed in deeply, your body still tired, your head still foggy from a night of distractions and too many drinks. 

Your eyes are closed once again, your still hazy mind trying to ignore the bitter, rank taste of the alcohol and cum on your tongue and your hands scratching as your naked cleavage. There was still enough time in the day; it was Sunday after—

Wait.

CUM?!

Your eyes flew open, your lips smacking each other as you confirm the awful, salty taste of cum on your tongue. Your hands swiping up and down your front to confirm your state of undress. Your heart starts hammering in your chest, your palms immediately sweating as you try to think about just who the fuck you ended up back in bed with.

Think, y/n, think!

A small grunt came from behind you, and you felt your entire body go rigid immediately. The soft expel of air fanning against your sticky neck is both welcomed and untrusted. With what can only be described as you, as stiff as a stick, peering behind your shoulder similar to a mother who definitely heard her child throw up on her bed but is somehow praying that she was hearing shit, you turned around.

A messy bedhead of red and white greeted you: unfocused, sleepy grey, and brilliant blue eyes staring back at you with fond familiarity and welcome.

“‘Morning, y/n,” Todoroki Shouto grumbles, voice husky, scratchy, deeply warm from his slumber. His next words are damning, though, the slight pride and knowing implications in the small breathe he uttered next. “Had fun last night?”

There was silence, a stroke of hesitancy, then crushing all-consuming fear.

You screamed.

At the top of your lungs.

O N E  W E E K  A N D  A  D A Y  E A R L I E R

“Who the fuck touched my fucking Angry Orchard Rosés?!” a voice snapped from the kitchen; the tone was fed up, seconds from blasting to smithereens.

You were in the living room, a pair of sweats on, your hair not put together, your face still bare. The music you played as part of your pregame ritual was practically vibrating the wooden floor as you sang along to your music. The telling glass bottle of deliciously pink alcohol swinging inconspicuously between your fingers as you drank it between verses. Despite your other roommate (who you repeatedly told your friends to be ‘like Bakugou but a gazillion times worse because you don’t and can’t like him,’) being seconds from trying to start another feud or possibly a lawsuit against you, your mouth dropped in mock shock before guzzling down the rest of the drink.

“I saw that you fucking skank!” Shishikura Seiji screeched from the kitchen; his stomps were long and heavy as he made his way from the kitchen to the living room where you were. “There were two bottles left in there! Don’t tell me your alcoholic ass drank them both! So help me, I’ll press on your damn chest until you’re puking out my drink.”

“Shishikura, stop,” Shouto spoke up, his own arm raising as he took a long, slow drink from the other missing rosé bottle. “These are 2% alcohol, you’ve had them in the fridge for months now, and you never drink them anyways.”

You grinned as you pulled the glass bottle from your lip, your face failing at the fake look of surprise, guilt, and sorrow for your unwanted and unneeded roommate.

“Sorry, they’re such girly drinks. I figured I’d take them off your hands,” you speak with distractingly bright amusement. “Alcoholics like me, we don’t care. Watch out; I might go for your mouth wash if you’re not too careful.”

“You do that, and I’ll poison you like a damn bitch,” Shishikura threatened, his voice in a menacing growl.

“Ooooo, you want me to bark for you, Shishikura? Want me on my hands and knees?” you taunt back, walking backward until you’re collapsing onto the couch besides Shouto. Your arm quickly sneaks between his, and you lay your head on his shoulder. Shishikura’s face is flushed red, his pupils beady as he trembles with concealed rage.

“She’s quite good at it,” Shouto chimes in, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smirk as he takes another drink of the weak liquor. He shifts on the couch, allowing you to curl more comfortably at his side; the both of you know just how much your incredibly prude roommate hates any sort of PDA. “Want to hear her bark? She’s also quite good with her tongue.”

As if to emphasize Shouto’s point, you stuck out your tongue, refusing to break eye contact with Shishikura as the tip of your tongue breached the opening of the bottle.

“The actual fuck is wrong with the both of you?!” Shishikura spluttered, his face somehow turning purple and green and red. A truly incredible sight to be had. “‘Childhood friends are great roommates to have’ my fucking ass, you both are monstrosities!”

Shishikura stormed out of the living room, his ears neon red as his purple hair fell to cover his face. As soon as he was out of sight, you turned to Shouto, your tongue removing itself from the bottle and back into your mouth as you began to laugh loudly.

Childhood friends to roommates, ah, what a remarkable story you had with Todoroki Shouto.

It was accurate to relay that you had known Shouto for more than seventeen years now at your current age of twenty-one. Seventeen years of being what is easily seen as the best of friends, the closest companions, and indeed a bond that would withstand time and situation. 

The two of you met during the first week of what was preschool. Although both of you could not remember a single instance of events during this time, your mothers had always been excited to relay this story to you for many years that you could remember. It was odd to try to remember it, but even as they painted a picture of your first interaction, you could do nothing but admit that it sounded exactly like how it could have gone. 

You couldn’t remember being four years old; you don’t recall what it was like to strain your neck to look up at your parents or how it felt to be so utterly dependent but to scream brazenly about your childish independence. Your mother smiles when she retells the story of your first interaction, of how you were holding her hand as she walked you to the building where your preschool was to be had. 

Your hand was so small in hers. Tightly clutching onto her fingers as you looked around at the other children who were also arriving or had already arrived. Some children were bawling by their parents, others aimlessly playing with toys, and some were attempting to talk to one another, but by the apparent looks of curiosity surrounding the babbling and rambling tangents that could only be understood by a firing toddler brain, everyone was getting along. 

A teacher greeted you kindly, squatting down to reach your eye level as they excitedly introduced themselves and asked for your name. You, of course, with your hands clutching the skirts of your mother’s dress, responded with hesitant confidence.

“You’re such a brave girl!” the teacher awed happily, stretching out a hand for you. “Is it okay if I take you from your mom and show you which cubby is yours?”

There was a moment of confusion, then clear understanding hovering over your little head. Your mom looked down with an encouraging smile and pushed you forward.

“Do I get a middle cubby? I don’t want a top one,” you admit, your hand stretching out to grab the teacher’s stretched-out hand. 

Your mother watched on happily as you removed your schoolbag and lunchpail and placed them neatly within the somehow middle cubby marked with your name. The teacher also helped you put on your white school slippers before gesturing towards the bright, colorful room, their mouth moving as if explaining every little detail before pointing at the corner. Your mother tilted her head, curious as she followed the teachers point to the corner of the room where a boy with exceptional red and white hair — split perfectly in the middle — sat quietly, with fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

(Shouto, although he can not remember this day himself, will argue with you and only you that he was, in fact, NOT crying.)

Trying to not allow the shock of the unnatural hair color affect her, your mother watched as you nodded to your new teacher and walked over with clenched fist confidence to the small boy.

She watched as you approached him, your jaw moving as you so obviously spoke, hopefully introducing yourself. The boy looked up at you with bright, wet eyes but seemed to speak right back to you. 

“Alright, parents! Thank you all for dropping off your children! Do not worry. We will take great care of them all, and they are in competent hands! First days are hard for everyone, so if you can exit quietly, I, and the rest of us teachers, would appreciate that greatly!”

Or at least that’s what Rei claimed the teacher said.  However, your mother was watching on with increasing exponential horror as she watched you throw a punch at the air before twisting around and pointing right at her and saying with a voice that was much too loud.

“Punch whoever made you cry, Shouto-chan! My mama says that it is okay to punch bullies!”

Thankfully no one but your mother heard you, and even though she scolded you on the way out, whisper yelling that you “better not punch anyone!” her relief was for naught.

When she would return in the afternoon, a bit late because there had been a hold up on the train, you were pouting sitting on the floor with a scuffled uniform, your arms crossed definitely. Next to you was the boy with red and white hair, equally scuffed next to a white-haired woman and an older white-haired boy.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” she shrieked, racing over to you.

“Y/l/n-san,” the teacher spoke with a tone that indicated disappointment with the subtle undertone of amusement. “Y/n-chan has something to tell you.”

Your mother had taught you many things, she will admit, in your very short life. But sass and annoyment was something not often seen in your household or in you, and to see it so blatantly on your chubby-cheeked face was quickly giving your mother greys.

“Shouto-chan told me that his stupid bully brother Touya was being a meanie, and so I helped him punch him back!” you said with tears in your eyes because you didn’t want to back down from your actions, but you also did not like being scolded. “I don’t regret it!”

“Y/n!”

“Y/n-chan!”

“I don’t either,” Shouto-chan grumbled as your mother collapsed to her knees and began to profusely apologize for you to the woman who was undoubtedly Shouto’s mother. “Touya-nii was making fun of my hair again… y/n-chan helped me, though. Please don’t scold her!”

To say the most in the shortest amount of time, you were, in fact, scolded despite Shouto’s begging. Touya stopped making fun of Shouto’s natural hair. Rei accepted your mother’s apology. The teachers were given two bottles of sake.

And, of course, the most important, the most paramount thing to arise from this first day of school was that your and Todoroki Shouto’s friendship was now bound by blood, sweat, and tears.

Preschool became elementary school, which became middle school, and fading into highschool.

It was without saying that your relationship, your friendship with Todoroki Shouto, was probably one of the biggest, most defining parts of your entire life. He was there when your first tooth fell out, when he dropped ice cubes down people’s shirts, you two had bathed together when you were young, had sleepovers well past the age where him being a boy and you being a girl should have made things weird. You laughed when his voice cracked and dropped, he elbowed your chest plenty when you began growing boobs, you taunted his lack of body hair, he bought you your favorite ice cream and heating packs on your first period. You attended cram school together, went to the park and beaches on days off from school. You were partners in every school activity except under specific circumstances. He had listened to you when you told him excitedly about your first kiss when you turned fourteen, and you laughed when he said at the age of fifteen that he had still yet to kiss anyone.

Everyone always claimed, always asked, wondered, and whispered if the two of you were dating. Childhood friends still this close and not dating? Unheard of; practically illegal! Nevertheless, you ignored the disappointed frowns or the hopeful grins as you and Shouto both denied any sort of romantic connection.

Soon the both of you were in high school, and Shouto was mere days from turning sixteen. Much like when the both of you were when you were four years old, you seemed to be the one spouting many words — sometimes unnecessary words that wound you both up in trouble — of wisdom. You were loud when you needed, talking most of the time only to him and your surprisingly large group of friends. (You weren’t that surprised. Everyone wanted to be friends with the handsome, could easily be royalty or a model, Todoroki Shouto.) Shouto remained, for better or worse, quiet, reserved, and a bit awkward. He was a sweet boy, don’t get it wrong, and you would protect him until the end of your days, but the boy was a complete airhead and relied on you for interpreting social interactions.

“Camie-senpai wants me to go over to her house after my birthday,” Shouto explains, his hands exchanging his school shoes for his outdoor ones. “Something about wanting to do that one second-year first-year student project thing for the third years right away.”

“You have Camie?” you ask, slumping against the metal lockers with a slight thud. “Lucky, she’s so nice… I have stupid Agoyamato. Have you had a conversation with him? It’s actually the worst! He thinks he’s all that!”

“I’m sure it’ll be okay; you’re nice enough that he won’t be like… that,” Shouto smiles, slinging his bag on his shoulders before nudging his head towards the exit. “Ready?”

“Am I ever ready?” you ask with a whine but nevertheless proceed onward.

Time passed, and between cram school, actual school, some clubs, eventually January 11th passed and you held an ice cream cake that Shouto loved. You ate the cake together, relaxing as you sat in the warmth of his kitchen.

“Happy birthday, Shoucchan, never change!” you chirp, shoving his arm that rose to place the piece of cake in his mouth with your shoulder and watched as the sweet pastry splattered on top of the table. “...um?”

“I’ll give you ten seconds to run.”

“Only ten?! What about the happy birthday boy.”

“Oh, true. Three seconds to run.”

“Why?!”

“It’s my birthday.”

An hour later, when your stomach hurt from laughing too much and the sickly sweet weight of too much ice cream cake, you lay snuggled into Shouto’s side as the both of you watched some old movie.

“Thanks for always being here for me,” you mumble, eyes growing heavy as the heat of Shouto’s body began to lull you to sleep.

“I’m always here for you,” Shouto softly responded, hand gliding up and down the curve of your spine. “We should get you home. Your mom yelled and nearly skinned us both the last time you fell asleep here.”

“Only cuz she’s scared that we’ll have some sudden revelation we like each other and fuck each other’s brains out,” you groaned, absolutely not content with having to move. With your face buried in your hands now, you missed the weird pattern in Shouto’s chest over that.

“Come on, let’s go.”

“...fine, just because it’s your birthday.”

The next day, when Shouto followed Camie home instead of you, there was something that made you feel off as you waved at them goodbye. It wasn’t jealousy, that much you knew, but something worse when you watched the way your never-been-kissed-before best friend was ignorant to the dark eyes Camie sent his way.

To be quite honest, you’re not sure if you should be as surprised as you are when you get a phone call at ten p.m. to the sound of a confused, suppressed, overwhelmed voice of your best friend asking if you could confirm if Camie had fucked him. You then stayed on the phone for Shouto until well past two a.m., your heart hurting as he recounted the memory over and over again. You weren’t sure as to why your heart was breaking. By the sounds of it, Shouto had actually enjoyed it, but with every stammer to his voice, you felt lightyears away.

Most shockingly, however, was the effects this had on Shouto and his overall persona.

From ages four until fifteen, Todoroki Shouto was someone who was quiet, observant, took things a bit too literally, at all times was entirely precious in the way he interacted with people, and most importantly, unaware of the female population who lusted after him. It worked well for you because it was fun to tease him about things, nag him about how he was sixteen, and hadn’t been kissed even though if he asked any girl at school to kiss him, they definitely would. 

But sixteen-year-old Todoroki Shouto was a new shift, a new paradigm for you to learn. It wasn’t that he wasn’t confident before, but now he emitted a sense of confidence that he was aware of, that everyone was aware of. He became mature, sophisticated, styled even. He was still at times quiet, always completely observant. He rarely took things literally and understood rhetoric and sarcasm and hyperboles. Long gone were the days of preciousness, and instead, there was a sense of a predator on the hunt that bled in the way that he talked to people. Most importantly, however, he was fully aware of the female population and precisely who was lusting after him.

He flirted with women and girls. You would find him leaning against the lockers talking with them, somehow trapping them despite not actually trapping them. A new girl was sitting at your table with him practically every week in high school, each girl asking for the hundredth millionth time that the both of you were not dating. Some girls were even bold enough to apologize to you for stealing your best friend — as if you wanted Shouto.

You had already seen his dick, thank you very much (although the last time you saw it was well before you were nine years old), you weren’t missing out on how it probably looked now! Honestly, you had no idea how Shouto never managed to run out of female students to fuck, the school wasn’t that large, and he seemed to go through a few a week sometimes.

But he was your best friend, your childhood friend, and no matter how many girls came crawling back to your lunch table, bawling to Shouto to take him back, soaking the fabric of your skirt to help convince him to take her back, you stayed. You stayed, accepting the fact that your best friend had become an awkward teenage boy and turned into some high school sex freak.

You stayed when his shaggy hairstyle was clipped and became short.

Overnight, just as he went from being a complete virgin to not one, he went from a scrawny sixteen-year-old boy to a leanly built eighteen-year-old hot-ass heartthrob womanizer.

High school wasn’t forever. Even though it took you about a year to accept and integrate Shouto’s new sex life and behavior into your daily lifestyle with him (he always left four of the three days open for you as all his relationships were casual only). Soon enough, the both of you relaxed and found your own relationship to be entirely the same, and when university exams and applications came about, it was decided that yet again, the both of you would follow each other anywhere.

Which is where you were now.

Tokyo University,  a third-year student, living in an upscale three-person apartment with your best friend, of course. Shouto plus someone who practically begged in the most unbegging way to live with you.

Todoroki Shouto and Shishikura Seiji in the same apartment as you made for an interesting combination.

You hadn’t wanted Shishikura Seiji as a roommate at all. Period. 

There were about eleven other people you only considered asking, but they all said no for their own reasons. Bakugou and Midoriya had found their own apartment closer to the University, and for much cheaper, Kirishima and Mina were RA’s and could not move in. Kaminari said he liked Sero’s couch too much to leave, and Sero couldn’t live in an apartment without a balcony. Momo said the room was too small, Jirou said she’d rather continue living with Momo, Uraraka said it was a tad bit too much for her to afford (to be fair, you didn’t have to pay because the Todoroki’s were paying for your housing, but you understood), Tsuyu and Hagakure said they were living at home. Iida said he would be too uncomfortable living with a couple.

Everyone you found on the street wouldn’t accept your offer. Hence, Shouto invited the meatball and rosé obsessed Shishikura Seiji to live with the two of you simply because he was Shouto’s lab partner in one of his advanced physics classes. Stupid chemical engineering nerd.

At twenty-one years, you can now say that you’ve entirely adjusted to Shouto’s womanizer ways. Too often do you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, a steaming cup of tea in your hand as you drink it in slowly, watching with much amusement as either a no-name girl leaves or a walk of shame Shouto enters. It happens at most five times a week; you were used to it. While the unease had finally left, you had to admit you were impressed your best friend could easily sleep around as he did and maintain his outstanding grades.

However, just because you were finally used to Shouto’s womanizer tendencies didn’t mean the world was. Even in University, your fellow students would ask with wide eyes and behind flat palms if the two of you were dating — specifically if Shouto was cheating on you or if it was an open relationship. You would each and every time, smile cheekily, shake your head and say with a roll of your eyes: “No, we’re not dating. He’s not cheating, and no, this is nothing more than us being best friends. Sho is too much of a jealous person to allow for an open relationship.”

Somehow, the constant begging of approval and the erasure of any romantic connection between you and Shouto from the plethora of female students at Tokyo University wasn’t even the most annoying part of it all. No, not at all.

What really ground your nerves was a pattern you noticed when you were eighteen.

Unlike Shouto, you hadn’t had the chance to lose your virginity until you were eighteen. Most of the boys who liked you always assumed you and Shouto were dating, the ones who gathered the courage to ask you out anyways were boys you were less than impressed with. By some act of some higher god, your crush — the school's third-year baseball team's captain when you were a first-year — reappeared in your life and asked you out. It wasn’t your best decision, you can fully admit it, but he was friendly and sweet as he fucked you in his small bed.

You hadn’t expected sex to be like that, and if you had enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but wonder just how Shouto was in bed to have girls behaving like that.

However, the spell was broken when he helped you change back into your clothes, and he begged you not to tell Shouto he was the person you cheated on him with.

It was on this day that it clicked.

What went for him, unfortunately, went for you too.

Except where girls rose to the challenge to dethrone you from Shouto’s side (a shame because they were vying for a seat that you had no claim over), the boys lowered their head like some damn omega to Shouto’s alpha.

Disgusting.

Even with the plentiful, plethora, consistent denial of your relationship with Shouto, even with the tally of girls, Shouto’s bedded (and more excitedly, deflowered — ugh!) rose consistently, no one ever really believed you weren’t dating him! Too many a time, you had been centimeters from making out with a guy for them to pull away, screeching that they couldn’t allow you to betray Shouto. The men who didn’t care were sleezebags, and thus, with a growl and a snarl, you found that you were only able to fuck men who thought jackhammering their fingers into your labia — yes, your labia — would make you cum.

You didn’t want to say you hated your childhood best friend for such duplicitous, selfish reasons… but you did.

But today was Saturday, a few months into the new second semester of the school year, and with school spirit once again high and workload low. The entire campus was brimming with parties, celebrations, alcohol drinking competition, sleazy dancing, and enough sexual tension to kill all celibate people.

So, we look back to where we started.

Shishikura Seiji running away as you nestled back against Shouto’s chest.

“I didn’t think he was actually going to drink these things,” Shouto sighed, spinning the last few remaining drinks of his rosé in his hand. “It’s been in the fridge for almost five months.”

“He probably made his meatballs again and needed something terrible to blame the flavor on,” you half joke half say in complete seriousness. You were not fond of Shishikura at all, and he was not fond of you either. He had a tendency to mansplain everything, which continuously ground on your nerves, especially when he had no jurisdiction to act so confidently.

He was a physics major, not a goddamn god.

Fuck off.

“I feel sorta bad,” Shouto sighs, his hand low and warm on your waist. “But I will admit, these drinks are practically like carbonated water.”

“2% alcohol,” you stress, your grin widening as you pull away from his chest to stare at him. Your gaze is bright, and his eyes are filled with amusement. “You’re either the world's lightest lightweight or a child with no tolerance to actually expect to get drunk off this shit.”

“I think you’re slurring your words already though, you sure you’re okay, lightweight?” Shouto teases, his soft smirk teasing.

“Who was the one who took three shots and passed out?” you wonder innocently, finger to your chin as if you were trying to remember.

“At least I don’t throw up when I crossfade.”

“IT'S NOT MY FAULT. MY BIOLOGY JUST HAPPENS TO WORKS THAT WAY!”

“Alright, bitch,” Shouto snorts, completely unattractively, “hurry up and get ready, yeah? We have a party we’re already late to, and we have no drinks for an actual pregame.”

You squeal excitedly, having forgotten the massive party that was being held a few blocks away. “I’ll be ready in ten!”

Typically, when you went out partying, you went with the group of eleven people you would have rather replaced Shishikura as a roommate. To get ready for said parties, you would always find yourself at Momo’s place with an outfit change, makeup bag, and hair styling items. You had made it a tradition with the other girls to get ready together. The only exceptions to which this wouldn’t happen was when someone had a work event or some family thing come up.

In your case, you had been stuck at a professor's office, diligently helping to put together their research journal as they were in their final steps of publishing their findings. Due to your friendly relationship with your professor, the time had been lost, and your ten p.m. call time to arrive at Momo’s had been missed with a quick:

↳ held up at work! go on without me, sorry! see you at the party!!!!

When you crashed through the front door of your apartment, you froze, seeing Shouto in the hallway by the mirror. Sometime between getting his haircut to be shorter and from this day, he had begun to style his hair by threading it back by his fingers, and boy, it looked fucking good. He was already dressed up for the party. Black joggers, a white t-shirt that was a bit too small if the tight, seductive way it clung to his muscles spoke of anything, and a hoodie he had no care about in case he lost it after taking it off once getting there. Shouto was practically immune to all weather types, he could be in both snow or fire without a single worry, but he knew that a large sweatshirt that smelled like him was enough to hook and line any truly desperate female.

Shouto had chuckled, taking in your frazzled state with years of practice and nudged toward the fridge, already knowing that you had missed your pregaming with the girls.

“Shishikura has two rosés left. Grab ‘em, and we can pregame together.”

But that was all unimportant and already said.

In the end, it took you thirty minutes to get ready.

You had practically smeared on your makeup, hoping the warm, crazy miscoloring would be hidden within the crazy light show the party would definitely be displaying. Your outfit consisted of a tank top that exposed your cleavage and a skirt that hugged your legs and ass just right.

You came stumbling out of your room, fingers trying to shove on your earrings, the rings on your fingers clicking loudly against each other. You smiled breathily, gratefully accepting Shouto’s sweater as you slipped on your comfortable heels at the doorway before hurrying out.

Shouto kept an arm around your shoulder the entire way out, the immense heat of his body keeping you warm as his sweater rested lazily, awkwardly, around your shoulders and arms. You didn’t want to put it entirely on to save your makeup, and in case anyone had any fucking thing to say about the show you and Shouto were putting on. Eventually, the bright and comical conversation between you and Shouto began to grow louder as the pounding of dance music began to ring in your ears. Soon enough, you passed a few drunk people, more and more, until you reached the house where the party was.

Shoving the sweatshirt into Shouto’s chest, you grinned as the smell of alcohol, weed, over-cologne men and women, the faint smell of puke, and the gross crawl of BO flooded your nose.

Ah yes, nothing like a university party.

Shouto laughs at your evident piqued excitement, and after he pulls on the light blue sweatshirt, he grabs your hand, and into the overcrowded home you go.

The intense heat of overcrowded bodies on a dance floor that also makes up a drinking game floor makes you grateful for your choice of clothes. Everyone around you is already drunk, sloshed, intoxicated off their ass as unknown drinks spill from their red Solo cups, sometimes even raining down on you. You grimace as Shouto continues to pull you through. You can taste the Hennesy on your upper lip and somehow know that whoever was drinking it was a freshman with a vendetta to kill his liver and love for drinking before coming of legal age.

“What do you want to drink?” Shouto yells over the nearly obnoxiously loud music. He has his sight on the drinks counter. “Mixed or the juice?”

“Fuck me up with the jungle juice!” you yell right back, pressing to his side as two dancing (see, vigorously dry-humping) nearly trample on top of you. “Parties are meant to be a non-sober event. I need to be borderline blacked out five hours ago!”

The agreeing chuckle from Shouto isn’t heard by you at all, but you can feel his chest give a familiar vibration as finally, he pulls you from the sea of bodies to where the floor is especially wet and sticky. You’ve reached the bar area.

Grabbing your own red Solo Cup, you watch as Shouto makes his own drink. Heavy on the alcohol, light on the mixer, and a good handful of ice (he’s always liked the cold better). His hand reaches for your cup and you offer your cup up as he opens up an ice chest filled with neon-colored jungle juice.

When the drink is returned to you, the both of you cheers and take a long drink.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N-CHAN!”

“You’re finally here, you fucking slut! Getcha fat ass over here now!”

Your neck is twisted to see the absolutely plastered group of girls you considered to be your closest friends, and you laugh loudly.

“Seems like I’m needed,” you yell at Shouto, trying your best to act nonchalantly as he smiles knowingly at you. “Text me about what you decide to do if we don’t see each other?”

“Of course,” he simply responds before placing the curve of his cup back onto his lip as hands grabbed your arms and whisked you away.

In a matter of sixty minutes, you all had played five drinking games.

The girls felt it was imperative to get you to their level right away, so they started off with a game of King’s Cup. Not only was the deck rigged against you — you pulled all four of the four cards and thus had to chug four times — but you had drawn the last King and drank some weird concoction of jungle juice, a tequila shot, a vodka shot, and whatever the fucking hell Mina was drinking. How you managed to chug that and stay on your feet was beyond you, but it was without saying that you had utterly and inevitably caught up with the girls.

After the King's Cup came the Flip Cup game, your team won thankfully due to Mina’s one flip wonder as Kaminari struggled to down the shot in the cup.

After Flip Cup came Smoke or Fire, a game that had Tsuyu stuck on the bus for a record-breaking one round. No one could believe she did that.

Then came a round of Shot Roulette to end with what you were currently doing now, using a drinking card game Momo had made in her spare time to do embarrassing things at random.

Five games in an hour… you questioned if there was by any chance illegal substances in the jungle juice because it had felt like a whopping two minutes.

“It’s midnight!” Hagakure hollered, stumbling backward as she grinned in drunken, stupid happiness. She giggled before singing, “Midnight… memoriessss~!”

Mina groaned at the reference but completely perked up as the dance music changed suddenly from its slightly mellow, good vibe song to none other than Everytime We Touch by Cascada. By tradition, by applicable law by all and every god, when this one song played, everyone needed to stop what they were doing and immediately head to the dance floor.

With your hand slightly sticky with alcohol, and your mind absolutely clouded with alcohol, you whooped loudly as Mina dragged you to the dancefloor. 

You, seven girls, formed a closed circle, your Solo cups sloshing over with alcohol, and your faces scrunched tight as you danced and sang as loudly as you could. Each pounding beat of music vibrated in your chest, each offkey note sung by the party-goers making you feel light, happy, dizzy, and oh so perfectly drunk. For just a split moment, you lock eyes with Shouto, who’s across the dance floor, his arms wrapped around some girl you don’t recognize, eyes drinking you in. You smile for a bit before turning back around, arms rocketing up to the air with your excitement.

Although the song ended, the DJ continued to play bangers, and you never once stopped in your mirthful dancing and grinding against your friends as the night continued to carry on. But when you spun out from Mina, your entire world spinning with it, a pair of warm, heavy, large hands rested on your waist, and you laughed.

“Who is this?” you ask, head slamming backward to try and look at the person who had caught you yet hadn’t tried grinding against you. “Oh, Inasa? Hi!”

Yoarashi Inasa was one of your University's well-known jocks. He was a skilled runner, one of the best Japan has ever seen despite his body type telling you he was a bodybuilder. Immediately your smile of idiotic stupor became intentful, seductive, still bordering extreme intoxication. Was Inasa your type? No, not really, but you could reasonably and accurately say that he was a handsome man, with a fantastic body, not to mention a pleasant personality.

You also itched to know what his dick looked like.

This was definitely someone you could see yourself fucking tonight.

“Hi, y/l/n,” Inasa said, his naturally loud voice easily picked up on despite the music being blasted in your ear. “How’s your night going?”

You lick your dry lips, eyes blinking a few times before you turn in his arms, your arms stretching so that you could wrap them around his neck. “Better now that you’re here,” you smile shyly. “How’s yours.”

“Ahem,” Inasa blushes, his eyes staring straight at your cleavage before looking back up at you. “H-Hoping to get better from here! Well, I’m sure it will be.”

“Oh?” you ask, your confidence building faster and faster as you press further against him. “Anything you have in mind?” —you press your thigh suggestively against the semi-hard spot against his jeans. — “Anyway... I can... help?”

Inasa groans deep in his chest, his head knocking backward at your implications, the pleasant vibrations passing on to you. You grin, fingers scraping against the bottom of his buzzcut and bringing him closer, praying for a kiss. But as he returns his head back down, his gaze leaves yours for a split second, and you watch in horror as a sobering look washes over him.

“Actually… you’re here with some random dude, right? I don’t want to step on his toes. I thought I saw you come in with some guy; sorry y/l/n, I can’t do this.”

And just as quickly as he was against you, he was gone.

It took everything in you not to screech bloody murder over the fact that you were once again left horny with no man to take responsibility for it.

Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party With Shouto: 78% Calculated Rate of Not Getting Dicked Down When I Want to Get Dicked Down When Coming to a Party Without Shouto: 22%

Walking home alone, cold, and with extreme bitterness towards Yoarashi Inasa was a sadly sobering experience. By the time you collapsed onto your bed, you were only slightly buzzed, boarding sobriety while not being sober exactly.

Fuck men.

Fuck their cowardness over a nonexistent romantic/sexual relationship between you and Shouto.

But also… you really wanted to fuck men right now.

The slicked horniness of the potential thought of bedding Inasa had made its unignorable appearance via your soaked panties. You hated yourself, hated your biological needs and lusts.

“I’ll wring Shouto’s neck in front of all of them next time,” you grumble to yourself. “Stage a fake breakup for an imaginary thing…”

Nestling further into your pillows, your eyes closed, body relaxing against the bed when a peculiar sound seemed to echo in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

Your eyes slammed open, your jaw-dropping at the very obvious, entirely embarrassing sound of Shouto having sex on his desk sounded in your room! Of course it sounded in your room. His desk was pressed to your wall because that would mean whenever he was his icky womanizer self, you wouldn’t have to hear anything! Your rooms were soundproof but apparently not movement proof.

The thwack of the wood desk slammed against the wall, and with your ear so close to the wall, you began to hear the shaky, intense breathing of Shouto. The whines, keens, and screams of the girl he was fucking as she begged for more. Sobbing that his cock was too much for her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Your panties soaked even more, and with a brain that somehow retracted back into its state of stupor, your fingers brushed against your swollen, ready clit.

This was wrong, so very, very wrong, you thought, the sounds of pitched whining against the stupidly impressive, steady, consistent fucking.

Your mind was a drunken fever. 

Your eyes closed not all the way, yet blind to the wall before you as your finger danced and teased against your demanding clit.

You whined softly, matching the groaning of Shouto, who banged something other than the desk into the wall.

For a moment, just this once, you wanted to be the one desperately clinging to Shouto’s back, hips snapping and circling in tandem to his, allowing him to drill his cock deep within you. Your back arched, heat reaching your toes, buzzing filling your lips.

“Yes, fuck, right there, Todoroki!” the girl screamed, begged, and prayed. “Oh my god, yes, yes yes, right there, right the— mmph!”

You find your teeth sinking into your fist, trying to keep your pounding, horny induced brain from crying out. You wanted to know what he was doing to her, if he had kissed her silent, shoved his fingers in her mouth. Maybe he had fucked her so good she couldn’t possibly say more.

There is nothing from Shouto you can hear, no noises of praise, nothing except the occasional ragged breath that seems to permeate through the walls and whisper sweetly, teasingly, like a succumbs in your ear.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It increases, in noise, the wall separating your room from his beginning to rattle, shake in his conquest.

Your fingers are wet, entirely slippery with your conquest, your hips thrashing against your touch, clinging to a phantom memory of the last male you had managed to fuck. Then, as your stomach trembles with the orgasm that's mere seconds from blessing you with a release, you hear him—Shouto.

“Fuck.”

It’s not much. If anything, this girl should be so embarrassed she hasn’t been able to elicit a loud response from Shouto, but it’s a verbal gift from heaven above for you. His voice, tight, husky, drenched with a driving lust, whispers to you and only you, wrapping you in this blanket of solitude and need. 

With your back arching from the mattress, your hips leaving the soft surface, and your jaw growing slack, your moan is silent, unheard by no one but the heavens as you cum. Heat floods throughout your entire body, tickling and twirling in you until you can’t do anything but shudder, shaking as you fall back down on your bed, dizzy and completely satisfied. 

You don’t think about it.

Don’t try to unpack just what happened right now because the reality that you had just masturbated to the sound of your childhood best friend fucking some random girl is a bit too much. Even for you.

So you don’t think about it, and soon the thudding of the desk on the wall is nothing but a drumming lullaby, and sleep consumes you.

When you wake up, you don’t remember what you did.

You get up and trudge to the bathroom, your party clothes abandoned completely so that you’re wearing nothing but a large shirt you had stolen from Shouto years ago. You scratch your belly as you walk into the bathroom, eyes caked with your sleep still as you begin brushing your teeth.

As you brush your teeth, you begin to take off last night's makeup — well, whatever remained of it.

Spitting out the last foamy remains of the paste from your mouth, you rinsed your mouth before washing your skin. You looked much more awake now. Slapping your cheeks in an encouraging, ‘im a functional human adult taking part in some random face wash commercial,’ you exited the bathroom and went to the kitchen. 

Shishikura was already in the kitchen, his face expressionless, entirely dead to the world as he scooped some rice into a bowl and topped it off with some eggs.

“Morning,” you yawn, arms stretching over your head as you near closer to your unwanted roommate.

Shishikura sneers at you, but even he was more polite in the morning, sometimes.

“I heard the both of you get back last night,” Shishikura mocked, slamming the lid to his rice cooker with an unimpressed scowl. “You were thirty minutes apart. You know, if you two still want to be partying like a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, do it respectfully.”

Your smile back at him is as fake as he is, and you refuse to move out of the way as he tries to walk back to his room. He growls — gross? — and sidesteps you, grumbling the entire way back to his room as you roll your eyes at his retreating form.

What a child.

You entered the kitchen, fixing up your own things for breakfast.

Kettle brewing hot water for tea, rice cooker on for your own rice (you make enough for Shouto too), and you begin cooking some ham and eggs, readying yourself for a Sunday for going to the library and studying. You hummed to yourself, your phone plugged into the speaker as your music filled the quiet morning air.

You bobbed your head in rhythm with the music, your eyes concentrating on slowly cooking eggs as you poured the hot water from your kettle into the teacup. As you placed your teabag in, you looked up to the sound of a creaking door and grinned wickedly as a girl with light blue hair walked out of the hall you and Shouto’s room were in.

Her dress was rumbled, a few blooming red and purple marks sitting prettily on her collarbone, and her face flushed red as she began to scurry out.

“Bye!” you call out, laughing at the scared eep from the girl and the disgruntled groan from Shouto’s room.

You set down your tea, flipping the eggs in the pan as you heard more shuffling before finally, Shouto made his appearance. He was in nothing but grey sweatpants that sat so low on his waist you could not only see the band of his boxer-briefs, but you were entirely aware of the v-lines, the abs, the pecs, and the small happy trail from his belly button down. You also noted that there was not a single mark on his body, and you wondered if he had ever taken a single mark from a one-night fuck before.

God really cursed you with an objectively attractive best friend, huh.

“Morning, slut,” you sing, noticing with happiness that your rice cooker sang a merry tune, indicating that the rice was done. “Breakfast?”

“Mm,” Shouto grumbled, his hands rubbing his face as he trudged closer to the kitchen, taking a spot on one of the stools. “Depends. Did you make it?”

“...I always make it.”

“I think I like Shishikura’s breakfast better.”

Silence.

You glare at Shouto, and in turn, his lips press to a comfortable, teasing smile.

“Fend for your damn self then.”

Shouto laughed loudly as you began to stubbornly fix yourself a bowl of both your servings. You ate far less than he did, but still enough to fill you until after three pm, so the size of your bowl was hysterical. 

“You’re such a horrible wife-roommate,” Shouto accuses, standing up from the stool and entering the kitchen to try and persuade you otherwise to give him his own food. “And here I thought that you liked cooking for me.”

“Go tell your stupid wife-roommate Shishikura instead,” you cry loudly, the faux sniffles from you stupidly fake as you begin to shovel a mouthful of rice and eggs into your mouth. “I’m shwure you’chll beh happ t’gther!”

“That’s absolutely disgusting, y/l/n,” Shouto accuses, his nose scrunching as he traps you in his arms, mouth trying to intercept the food moving from your bowl and into your mouth. 

With another desire to prove how unsatisfied in your roommate-marriage you were, you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue full of uneaten, partially chewed rice.

“Ea’ eh!” you mocked, your grin growing as Shouto’s initial instinct was to whip his head away from you.

But as always, because Shouto enjoyed being incredibly annoying, he went after your tongue, readying to eat the chewed-up food off your very tongue. 

Eventually, you gave Shouto back his part of the breakfast, laughing as the both of you chatted about who was going to repay Shishikura for the used rosés. Neither one of you could decide, and so it was something to be solved later. Noon, however, came and with a nod, you accepted Shouto’s hug goodbye, to which you twisted his nose triumphantly as you waddled out of the front door, clothed in your winter gear, textbooks, and laptop,

It was time to brave the world and get this paper done.

“Mina, I mean… absolutely no offense when I say this, but it still shocks me every time you say you’re a chemistry major. You just seem so…”

“Dumb?”

“Yeah.”

“You gotta be some kind of stupid to willingly take inorganic chem,” Mina laughed, balancing her textbooks on her head as the both of you climbed the stairwell to the library’s study rooms. “That's why I have the dance minor! Best of both worlds!”

“Could never forget about that,” you laughed as the both of you neared the top of the stairwell.

You didn’t mean to notice him. As a matter of fact, most of your failed conquests at parties never amounted to much anger from you, but seeing Inasa from across the way, his face buried in some aerodynamics textbook, anger boiled in you. On the way to meeting with Mina, you had realized your mistake last night and how you wouldn’t have made said mistake if it hadn’t been for Inasa! You could’ve been dicked down, slammed against your bed and wall as the giant of a man fucked you!

“I’ll be right back,” you sneered, eyes narrowing as you passed your textbook to Mina.

With fire following in ever long, powerful stride, you blinked and immediately found yourself before Inasa.

“Hi. Wanna explain what happened last night?”

Inasa reacted as if you had shot him, his knees coming up to hit the table, his body knocking backward, and he tumbled, crashing to the floor as you watched with a gaping mouth.

“Y-Y/L/N!” Inasa shouted, his face going through half a billion emotions before settling in anxiety-filled fear. You watched, horrified yourself, as he swung to his knees, his head crashing to the floor as he began apologizing to you. “GOODMORNING, HOW ARE YOU TODAY?!”

“Pipe it down, Inasa!” you hiss, your cheeks flooding with embarrassed heat as you garnered the attention of everyone on the floor. “I’m not going to hurt you! I just wanted to talk!”

“Aha, yes, of course!” Inasa laughs, a full belly laugh. He sits up and you freeze seeing the bloodied cut on his forehead. He stands up, completely unaffected by the gash on his forehead, and uprights his chair before sitting comfortably. “How can I help you?”

“What happened to you last night?” you try again, eyebrow raised, arms crossed definitely and awkwardly because yeah… you were confronting a guy who didn't want to sleep with you. “You were into me and then suddenly wasn’t.”

Inasa laughs more, although nothing you said, implied, or did was even remotely funny.

Irritation runs through your veins.

“Inasa, please,” you sigh in helplessness, your eyes annoyed, pleading, and hopeful that he would be the one to finally give you an actual reason.

“It’s… it’s not you. If that’s what you’re wondering,” Inasa finally sighs. His face turns uncharacteristically solemn as his tongue passes through his lips, his shoulders raising to a shrug. “Typically speaking, you are exactly who and what I want when I endeavor in less than chivalrous but still passionate activities. I wanted you last night, and I will not lie that even as I left, I regretted behaving as I did.”

“Well, you did it, and it sorta really sucked,” you laugh, your mouth taut in a frown as your feelings are genuinely hurt.

You keep being put down, and there’s no reason for it.

Why couldn’t you be as sexually active as you wish you could be?

“...Todoroki has a claim on you,” Inasa spoke slowly, his mouth dipping from a usual smile to a frown. “I know you guys aren’t together, but in a way, you two are.”

“No,” you say with complete certainty, anger burning in your chest, “we’re not.”

“Try telling Todoroki that,” Inasa shrugs, his fingers scratching through his buzz cut. “Listen, I wanted to have intercourse with you last night; I did. I also am aware that Todoroki is a womanizer, but he said you were off-limits for all of us.”

“He said that?” your voice is perfectly calm, not showing the raging fire in you.

“Well, no, he definitely did not,” Inasa sighs, the palm of his hands pressing tightly against his eyes. “He has never said it… but it’s the way he talks about you, how he looks at you. It’s a claim on you, even if it’s not a verbal one, and well, no one wants to defy him.”

Your nostrils flare in your irritation, and you find that you’re stepping into Inasa’s personal space, his eyes going wide as you step between his legs and press your hands on his chest.

“I’ll be going home in about five hours. If you still want to fuck me, wait for me,” you say slowly, trying to make sure he understands. “I don’t care if Sho looks at me the way he does; he is not my boyfriend.”

Inasa gulps, his tan skin sporting a healthy pink flush, “Yes, ma’am.”

Five hours later, you’re walking into your apartment with Inasa behind you, his warm, slightly sweaty hand clasped in yours. You make eye contact with both your roommates, Shishikura, whose eyes are rolling to the depths of his skull, and Shouto, who looks like a wall. You, despite the anger you’re feeling for Shouto, smile prettily, then grin wolfishly as you corral Inasa towards your room. You send your roommates a wink before closing the door with a decisive click.

Much like you assumed the night prior, your drunken hazed, lust-driven, anger-flared thoughts proved to be right. Inasa fucked you against the wall, deep into the mattress, he drilled and fucked you until his dick was wet with your slick, and his leg was trembling with his plentiful unleashed loads. But you weren’t done yet, too many times have you been denied, and even though Inasa was trembling, his voice shaking with desperate pleas to slow down or he would cum too fast, you rode him with powerful, swiveling hips.

Once he left, you felt light again.

Your head light, body glowing as you dressed your bruised, cum slick body in a robe as you trudged to the bathroom. You showered, letting the warm water and sweet-smelling oils drench your body before you eventually exited, your hair in a towel, Shouto’s shirt on your person again.

Waltzing to the living room, you grinned as you collapsed on the couch, every grievance you held when you walked in forgotten at the moment.

“Hello,” you smile, your head falling onto Shouto’s lap who was, at the moment, very interested in his phone. Shishikura was gone, undoubtedly leaving in case he heard something he didn’t want to hear during your little four-hour sexscapade. “I am a leaf flowing through the river right now, if you’re wondering.”

“Don’t need to wonder. You were perfectly loud enough,” Shouto grumbled, his eyes rolling. “Says something that I could, considering the rooms are soundproof.”

“I should hope so! After you, the girls rave that Inasa is the best fuck on campus,” you hum, still on a delirious high as you attempt to reach for your best friend's hand to grasp. But to your shock, Shouto jerks away from your touch, and he stands, letting your head fall roughly on the couch. And just like that, your anger is back. The emotion Inasa had managed to fuck out of you for a bit returned at full force. “Shouto?!”

“What?” he snaps.

“What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that you brought someone to fuck at fucking five p.m.,” Shouto explains, his expression like the void, empty, dark, menacing. “We agreed to keep it until past ten.”

Your face screws up as you push up off the couch, “Are you kidding me?! I’ve seen you constantly bring girls to fuck at any and all times of the day! Don’t suddenly bring that shit in when it clearly isn’t an actual rule in this apartment!”

“You were also being obnoxiously loud,” Shouto narrows his eyes at you.

“You are too!”

“When am I ever?”

“I literally listened to you fuck that girl last night against our shared wall!”

“You moved your bed to our shared wall?! When?!”

“Doesn’t matter! I would’ve heard it just fine on the other side!”

“The girl wasn’t even that fucking loud!” 

“You can’t ever remember the names of the girls you fuck! Do you know anything about them ever? Are you even using condoms?!”

“You only ever fuck men with questionable personalities.”

“Gee, I wonder fucking why!”

The two of you were nose to nose, anger flaring and near tangible between the two of you.

“What do you mean?” he grits slowly.

“I’m talking about you mad dogging any male human who so much as looks or thinks of me!” you snap, finger shoving between his pecs. “No one touches me because somehow they respect the way a womanizer looks at me.”

“I’m not looking at you in any special way,” Shouto squints his eyes, completely not having your accusations.

“Even if you don’t, this fucking behavior is pathetic of you!” you say, hands motioning between you two and the room. “I had sex, and you’re acting like some pathetic child! I have been putting up with your sex-craze tendencies since we were sixteen, asshole! Sixteen! If I want to gloat and float about having sex, then I fucking deserve to.”

His nostrils flare, his upper lip curling in a small twitch before he rolls his eyes and walks away.

“That’s right, Todoroki,” you laugh bitterly at his retreating form. “Walk away from a fight because you can never win them.”

It took a bit for the dust to settle, but as soon as it did, you realized in horror that you and Shouto had, for the first time ever, fought.

Being roommates with Shouto was always a fun thing. Having your childhood best friend right at your disposal meant that you could have dinner nights, movie nights, game nights, morning waffles, hikes, and literally anything whenever and wherever you wanted. He was a person to talk to when the days were long, and there was no one else in the world, the person who was there for you through thick and thin. But for two days, he had been locked away in his room, unwilling to look at you, refusing to be anywhere near you.

Your friends had noticed immediately.

The way the both of you hadn’t shown up together, the way you sat at opposite ends of the table, refusing to be trapped in a conversation together. Separate the two of you were, and the world acted as if Earth had dropped out of gravity.

You could care less right now.

You were rightfully mad at him! How dare he act so pettily over you having a sex life when you were expected to blink, turn the other way, and laugh when he would shower after a girl would leave before joining you on the couch to watch a movie. He was in the wrong, not you!

But even if you were unwilling to budge and he was refusing to see things the way they should be, you were now incredibly lonesome. So as you sat with your back on the mattress. Your butt to the wall, and your legs kicking against the wall, you thought of what you could do. With a bitter sigh, you rolled off your bed and scurried out of the apartment. Nothing but your wallet and ID on you so that you could get to the store on the first floor of the complex.

Holding the item in hand, you knocked on a door, your gaze already on the floor, embarrassed that you were going to do what you had to do.

“What?” came the annoyed voice of Shishikura, the door to his room opening as he looked at you unimpressed and very obviously unwelcomed.

“Truce?” you asked, raising the six-pack of Angry Orchard Rosé Cider. 

Shishikura looks at you, at the ciders, then back at you.

“Fine.”

How in the world you’re drunk off of four rosé ciders is beyond you, but you are. You’re in the living room, laughing so hard that your stomach hurts as you’re trying not to snort the liquid from your mouth and out your nose. Shishikura is equally plastered off of one drink, his red a ruby red against his purple hair. He’s leaning against you, his breathing ragged, near asthmatic as he tries to once explain just how Shouto looked like when some girl slapped him across the face yesterday for ghosting her after sex.

“He was so shocked!” Shishikura squeaked out, his voice pitchy and incredibly high as he laughed more and more. “You should have seen it!”

Your feet kicked at the air, your face and lungs burning with a fire you hadn’t felt in so long as your laughter turned silent. You gasped for air, trying to contain yourself but failing hysterically.

“Do you wa’ another meatballsh?” Shishikura suddenly asked, his hands flailing to grab his plate of meat. “I think you want another o’.”

“I wan’ ‘ne!” you cried with a slight slur, tears of joy slipping past your eyes to which you haphazardly scrubbed them off your face. “They’re soooo good! I didn’t think they could be so… be so good!”

You find yourself eating another meatball, drinking it down with the cider and feeling happy again. Shishikura goes still by your side, and you hum in wonder, unfocused eyes trying to find what had caught his attention and falling onto the one man you were mad at currently.

Shouto was standing at the apartment entrance, dressed in ripped black jeans, a tight grey turtleneck sweater, and his backpack slung on his shoulder. It was, without a doubt, a studying-only outfit. You knew and have discussed too many times with Shouto about how he never trusted women to take his turtlenecks off without potentially ruining the fabric.

“Well, someone’s finally home... from a night of beddin mo’ women, huh?” a voice spoke, but you were completely unsure if it was you or Shishikura who said it.

Judging by the way Shouto’s eyes locked on Shishikura and not yours, it seemed it was him who said it.

“No, I was doing something,” Shouto retorted, his hand gripping the strap of his backpack, his eyes shifting between you and Shishikura. “A paper for class.”

“Sure,” you end up speaking up, your voice sounding completely sober. You sit up so that your elbow is resting on Shishikura’s nearest shoulder. You raise the glass bottle to your lips, drinking its content without care, never once breaking eye contact. “What was the paper's name? You going after your TA? Or was it a professor by chance?”

Shouto’s eyebrows furrow, his face completely unimpressed by your comeback, but he remains silent.

“He looks like he’s trying to cosplay that one Young The Rock picture, no way would a dignified professor or TA fuck him!” Shishikura laughed with a loud bark, and all of a sudden, that was all you could see too.

The both of you howled with laughter, laughing and slapping each other as you attempted to drink the last bits of the rosés as Shouto rolled his eyes and walked away.

“This is fun. No wonder why you guys do it to me so often.”

-

As time does, it moves forward.

It seemed as if the entire campus had tuned in to what had transpired between you and Shouto. No one the slightest bit sure as to what happened, but everyone knew something big had happened. There was no more walking together before classes or after classes, no weird Instagram or Snapchat stories of the other, both of you never having to excuse yourself because you had plans with the other. Even though they claimed to not care about other people’s business, the school was suddenly invested in the single speculation that Todoroki Shouto’s and Y/l/n Y/n’s relationship was over.

“Breaking News, it was never a real relationship!” you would scream the first few times you heard it, which only worked to make them whisper louder that you were in further denial.

For the last seventeen years of your life, you had never gone more than two days without talking or seeing your childhood best friend. Those two days happened when Rei had experienced a staggering, hospital-inducing breakdown from stress and had subsequently burned Shouto when you were five years old. The two days were because he spent four days in the hospital. The first two days, he was not allowed visitors as the hospital staff put him under a coma to help his body from entering shock and heal. Of course, the moment he was awakened, you were dragging your mother to his bedside.

That was the only time you hadn’t seen or spoken to Shouto consistently.

But since Sunday evening, you had only seen Shouto once when you were drunk with Shishikura. You had only spoken to him then too.

For the first time in seventeen years, you broke your record of not talking or seeing Shouto.

From two days to five.

It was weird.

You felt almost empty.

So when Mina and Uraraka placed their arms around your shoulders, their eyes dead serious, you knew that they had a distraction for you.

“The deltas are throwing a party,” Uraraka spoke with mystery. “It is on Saturday.”

“It is only right that we go, get our asses so drunk our blood is practically a distillery, and fuck anyone who looks at us a second longer than anyone else,” Mina agrees, her tone wise and knowing as she nods her head.

“Our question to you is:” they spoke together, their voices weirdly, obviously practiced, in synch. “Are you in?”

Your tongue is pressed between your lips, your fingers pressing against the textbook you were using to help support your essay’s thesis, and you roll your eyes.

You grin.

“Obviously.”

And as time promises each and every time, Saturday finally came.

“What is our objective tonight?!” Mina screams over the background music that Jirou is blasting in Momo’s larger-than-life bathroom.

“To fuck bitches and get money!” Hagakure, the only one currently not downing a drink, screams back.

“NO, WRONG!” Mina shakes her head, climbing onto the white marble countertops and pointing at Jirou. “Kyo! Your turn!”

“To beat that prick in the sound booth and prove that I’m—”

“NO! Wrong again! Yaomomo!”

“Um, to make everlasting mem—”

“INCORRECT, YOU GORGEOUS PRINCESS! Tsuyu, don’t fail me, babe!”

“Well, it’s to prove to Todoroki that y/n-chan should be able to fuck any person she wants.”

“A bit lengthy, a bit focused on the wrong parts of it, but YES! Tonight’s operation: get y/n a man — preferably Inasa — who fucks the negativity out of her!”

You laugh loudly, rolling your eyes as you lean in closer to the mirror. You hold a Mike’s Hard in one hand, and in the other is your eyeliner as you paint on your makeup. You’re not really hearing the conversations that the girls are having, your own mind too lost in the music, and the swaying you’ve picked up as the three bottles of Mike’s you’ve had in the past thirty minutes are calming down your still frazzled nerves.

You don’t pull away from your reflection until after you’re done smoothing over your favorite lipstick on your pouty lips. You look over at your reflection and see Mina dancing with an awkwardly stiff Jirou and a delightfully giggling Momo on the bathroom countertops. A smile forms on your face, happiness radiating in your chest, and you grin looking at your friends.

But Shouto still sat in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder why.

Why did it hurt knowing that he was avoiding you as much as you were him?

Why didn’t he just try to corner you?

Why did you care that he didn’t?

He was your best friend in the entire world, since your earliest memories, he’s been there, you reason, your whooping not quite as loud as you watch Jirou awkwardly be sandwich between a grinding Mina and a complacent Momo.

It was his fault you, you further reasoned, smiling widely at Hagakure, who was twirling around you, applying her lipstick as a super crazy never before seen talent of hers. He was the one acting like an idiot over the people you slept with even though you let all the people he slept with slide!

But why did you?

Your brows furrowed slightly, unfurrowing just as quickly as Mina pulled you and Uraraka up onto the countertop with her as Jirou and Momo dropped to the floor.

You fucking were in love with Shouto, damnit! Of course you let the stupid personal things go just to appease him! Your back straightened, your eyes rolling as you began to dance with the Kehlani music thumping in the background, but then you freeze.

You were in love with him.

You loved Shouto.

Not in a friendly, platonic, family way.

In an ‘I would date you if I could and marry you on the prettiest beach in front of the most beautiful sunset’ way.

You found that your body was dancing on autopilot as you began to reassess your thoughts, your actions, your wants with Shouto, desperately trying to disprove this love for him. But no matter what you did, you found that it was true no matter what angle you looked at it.

The bass dropped, and you went stiff, your body standing straight and tall although you felt incredibly, terribly small.

“I love him,” you spoke, although you’re not sure who to. Maybe it was to the laughing gods above you or the crying spirits around you. But the girls heard it for some reason, and they, as they were patiently waiting for these past six, nearly seven days, caught you as you went weak.

Finally, realizing that you were in love with your childhood best friend was not the conclusion you expected from a week's silence from Shouto and you. But as you were currently in a crop top with a mesh shirt underneath and the most ripped jeans you owned, chugging down a neon green and blue nearly toxic alcoholic drink, you realized that being at this party was the right way to conclude this circus of a week.

The rush of the liquid dropping down the beer bong was something you found yourself struggling to keep up with, and you felt some of the liquid pour out of your mouth as you grunt, trailing down your heaving chest, creating an image in your onlookers as you refused to choke or pull away. Swallowing the last bit of the drink, ripping the plastic tube out of your mouth, you threw your hands in the air, Tsuyu, who had held and poured the contents for you, screaming too as she lifted your arm in victory.

You couldn’t really hear the music anymore, much more entranced with the music you were singing on your own, and you were currently holding Mina’s face, touching foreheads with her as you spoke a mantra of your love for her.

“Ashido Mina, you are the baddest bitch in the whole wide world. I love your pink hair and your fat ass, and I would die for you. I love you… so fucking much,” is what you said. How it was actually said and how it was perceived is a whole other story because Mina laughed loudly and allowed you to hug her despite your sticky alcohol body.

Your twenties were the new two’s, it seemed.

“Yo, y/l/n!” a voice yelled, and although you let go of Mina’s face, your arms found a new home around her neck as you turned around.

“Hm?”

Your terrible drunk eyes looked all over before falling on a man wearing a basketball jersey and joggers.

Shindou Yo, one of campus’ manwhores. He had a reputation similar to Shouto, you knew that very well, but you were aware that he was disturbingly creepy. According to many vital witnesses, the man slept with just about anyone willing regardless of gender, so not only did you know what the girls thought of him, experienced with him, there was a wider demographic not even Shouto had entered. Number one thing to be told was the fact that Shindou was into some heavy, dark shit to an extreme, his room reeked of sex, and he himself smelled like booze, weed, and BO. But a strong dick was a strong dick at the end of the day.

“Come play beer pong with me?” he asked, his hands shoved into his pockets as he smiled innocently. “I’ve heard some pretty solid shit about your skills, and I want to see how I add up.”

“I’ll play!” you agree immediately, jumping at the thought of drinking more. “Bu I don’t wa’ beer… ish nashty.”

“Anything for you, darling.”

With your arm still holding onto Mina, you accepted Shindou’s hand and allowed him to drag you off to where he wanted to play the game of beer pong.

The game of beer pong went without a single thing going wrong. You were paired up with Shindou, and Mina had managed to find Kirishima in the crowd before you got to your destination and demanded she have him as a partner and not Monoma.

It was safe to say that you were drunk, disgustingly out of your mind. It was an intense game of Cup Pong, the two different teams equally as bad in the drunken stupor, but finally, the two teams were down to a single cup and Kirishima — who was the only reason why they were winning!!!! — had the last ball. You watched in terrible apprehension, fingers digging into Shinsou’s biceps as Kirishima rose the wet ping pong ball to Mina’s lips and let her blow on it for good luck before bringing it back in and began a few steadying practice throws.

“You know, I’m glad I saw you at this party,” Shindou whispers to you, his head ducking down so that you and only you could hear that.

“Why?” you say a lot louder than you wanted, your heart hammering in fear that you would lose this game.

“Because you’re sexy as fuck,” Shindou spoke, his voice turning deeper, huskier, “and now you’re single.”

You blink, attention stolen from the game as you forgot about the final cup and looked at Shindou with a blank stare and an open mouth.

“What?”

“Cuz you and Todoroki are over,” Shindou explains to you as if you’re a child. “You guys are over, right? That’s all everyone’s talking about, and all us guys are ready to fuck you whenever you’re ready.”

His smirk irritates you, the lust in his eyes angering you as you drop your hold on his arm.

“We weren’t together, and you knew that,” you say, eyes narrowing as the crowd watching the game explodes in raging cheers as Kirishima sinks the ball into the cup. “Why the fuck would Shouto be fucking every girl that walks if we were together? What makes you think I’d be okay with it?”

“You’re a cuck,” Shindou continues on, confidence unaffected. “Oh, are the two of you maybe changing roles now? Does the big guy want me to fuck you in front of him?”

Your fist makes contact with his throat before you can even stop yourself and the cheers quickly turn into gasps.

After apologizing profusely to the party holders, they decided that you could, in fact, stay at the party. Your knuckles throbbed in pain, the alcohol in your system buzzing in you in a way that wasn’t fun or relaxing as you made a simple side-step dance move in the middle of the dance floor. The girls, who had at the beginning of the party, drifted ways, had once more glued themselves at your side on the floor. You weren’t in a dancing mood as you took a drink of what you assumed to be a Moscow mule made by Mina for you to keep you at a high for the rest of the party.

Like hell you would ever let Shouto cuck you!

Let him fuck another woman in front of you?

You would go insane if he ever thought that would be acceptable.

“Down girl, relax!” Mina yelled by your ear. “I thought I was babysitting y/n, not Bakugou Katsuki!”

You startled, realizing that your frown had become a fierce snarl as you danced on the floor.

“Come on, babe, let’s get you feeling good again; let’s enjoy this night!” Mina exclaimed, her hands pushing your drink to your mouth and forcing you to chug the contents of the drink. The red Solo Cup is dropped to the floor as soon as you finish. She grabbed your wrists and began to fluidly move your arms — or as well as she could manage herself because she, too, was drunk.

But with Mina winking and smiling at you, the rest of the girls eventually throw themselves into your linked dance circle, your own negative emotions left and in came joy.

It took about another round of ten songs for the dance circle to be destroyed and to have all of you resuming a rave-like jumping and scream-singing as Jirou finally snuck her way into the DJ booth and succeeded to take over. You spun around at the end of one song, laughing completely out of breath as you clapped your hands together. You often forget that while Jirou only listened to a very specific genre, she was a musical genius who had banger playlists for every occasion.

It seemed frat parties were one of them.

However, the next song had your head tilting backward, your grin spreading even wider as you began to move your hips in slow, distinct movements. Dancing with your hips was something you had learned, something you instilled into your dancing category for as long as you could remember.

The beats were loud, deep, thumping deep in the ground and vibrating with great strength in your chest as you pointed a finger at Mina, who was also dancing similarly to you. Your lips moved as you sang the song quietly, the heat and humidity of the room suddenly pressing onto you like another person. You hummed, flicking the parts of your hair sticking to the nape of your neck off, grateful for the slightly cooler air hitting your sweaty skin.

As you rolled your hips down, your hands fanning yourself, trying to cool down your deliriously warm, alcohol-heated body, you froze for just a bit. A person pressed to your back, your ass pressing against a hot thigh, and a hand resting upon the curve of your thigh, keeping you in place. You might have cared, but the body against yours was a welcomed one. Your hips and ass continuing to move in tandem with the music, deliberate highs and lows, and you worked your way up and down the man's body who met yours with spinning accuracy that made you began to pant, your heart racing because this was hot to you. You raised your arms behind you, clasping onto his neck, keeping him on you.

His hair was soft under your touch, slightly sweaty but threaded and parted between your fingers just too easily. His left hand, which had found a spot on your stomach, was radiating heat, something easily felt due to you only having mesh cloth there.

It was slow.

Sensual.

Somehow familiar.

Absolutely mind-numbing.

His chest broad against your back, muscles strong and tight against you.

He was skilled, practiced. Someone you knew was not going to disappoint you, and as your lust-glazed eyes took in the entirely shocked looks of your friends, you finally turned to look.

Somehow, someway, you weren’t shocked at all to see Shouto’s clouded, dark eyes locking on yours. Your world seems to freeze as something between you and Shouto is so obviously broken between you, forever changing, no longer able to go back. It didn’t matter that this was the first time in almost a week you had seen him, had talked to him, he was there, and you wanted to feel his skin scorching against yours. His touch screamed of his want for you, your recognition of your love for him, and your current lust for him. You were angry, hurt, confused, but you were too drunk to care, too intoxicated on the spell the two of you created on this dance floor.

But even as your world froze, the music continued on.

Grabbing Shouto’s hand, you spun around so that his chest was now pressed against yours, your legs between his. You continued dancing, continued to roll your hips down as you sunk down to the ground as Shouto remained standing, his hand supporting and balancing you as you went down and up. He began to dance with you again, the world seemingly disappearing as the two of you ground and panted heavily in each other's ears.

He pushed forward, and you whined, feeling the blazing swollen heat of his semi-hard cock against your stomach, but you met him there.

Your fingers fisting in his hair as his hands found their way into your back pockets, gripping your ass, and your eyes fluttered shut as his mouth, blazing, intense, and intentful, mashed against yours. You kissed him back immediately, all defenses abandoned to that of your lust, wants, and needs. His mouth was a fire, his kiss a blaze that consumed you, drowned you, made you push for more.

It was a kiss that lasted who knows how long, but by the time you had separated, you could feel the familiar sting to your slowly swelling lips and the song that had ended.

His eyes were a near black, his cheeks flushed, and his arms kept you so close you had to think if you were in the privacy of your home or in public.

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice begging, pleading for him.

“I need you,” he responded, his voice equally wishing.

“Take me home,” you speak, lips pressing sloppy, desperate hot kisses to his neck. “Take me home and fuck me.”

“Fuck, yes, okay. Let’s go,” Shouto pants, his hands leaving your ass and grabbing onto one of yours before taking you and dragging you away.

It wouldn’t hit you until much later, but the very first kiss you had ever had with Shouto was in the middle of a dance floor, at a party where the male population had been ready to snatch you up after your relationship with Shouto was so-called over.

You were breathless.

No matter how deep you inhaled, you felt like you weren’t having enough oxygen flooding your veins, filling your lungs. You laugh loudly in the night, uncaring about the strangers you passed looking at you and Shouto, who chuckled and snorted with every giggle you made.

This felt crazy, insane, something serendipitous and not real even in the smallest of bits.

He kissed you.

He wanted you.

He said he needed you.

Wants and needs were different things, but he said need.

He needed you.

Just you.

Your feet ached from the running, but you could only focus on Shouto, your mind filling and swimming in the memory of his body pressed to you. The way his lips ghosted over your neck, and the way he danced against you — with you. The four-block walk back to your apartment seemed too far, and your eyes locked on a nearing alleyway.

With much more strength than you should have, you shoved Shouto into the alleyway, your mouth immediately pressing onto his.

Shouto groaned into your mouth, letting you drink his noises as you pulled him close, consuming him in a messy clash of teeth, spit, and tongue. You whined back, your legs slotting between his thigh and grinding down on the hard muscle. It alleviated the growing, scorching heat in your panties but also intensified it, making you want for more and more and more.

“You drive me fucking insane,” Shouto groaned in your mouth, shifting and guiding your rolling hips his thigh better, more fluid, more intense.

Your eyes barely cracked open, your mouth no longer kissing him put pressing against his in an open mouth pant. Your drunken breath saying nothing but implying the world.

Something Shouto was more than keen on giving you.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered for you to hear, so reverent, so holy. And so that you, the center of his world, the only thing he saw and believed in, knew how passionately, how ardently he believed in you, his mouth slid down your neck, and his teeth sunk in your flesh. He claimed you, praised you, making you a part of him.

“I’m still so mad at you!” you moan, voice pitched, whiny, and deliriously high. “I love you, asshole. I love you, and you sleep around! I love you, and I don’t care if you sleep around, but you care that I sleep around?!”

“I love you too,” Shouto mumbles against your neck, his teeth continuing to press into your skin that seems to explode with heat at the revelation. “I love, and I’m an idiot; I’m so sorry.”

And then he does something with his tongue against your neck, the soft of swipes, the wet tickling heat making your head slam back against the brick wall, and a mangled, strangled moan of unadulterated want emits from you.

“We'll talk about this in the morning,” you pant, fingers fisting in his shirt. “We can fix this, but right now, shut up and fuck me.”

“Y/n—”

“I’m horny,” you interrupt, hips sharply jutting into his leg. “You made me horny. Take responsibility.”

His eyes flashed dark, his nostrils flaring, and your words cemented in his head. He resumed his painting, his worship on your neck as you cried loudly in the alleyway, desperate, needy for more.

It was dizzying to have him on you like this.

For so long, you had only touched him in a few ways, had only ever felt a specific type of warmth. But this was unlike anything you’ve ever done with him, to him. It felt like you were burning and freezing, consumed by heat and energy and everything Shouto. His all too familiar cologne filled your nose, drowning your brain, invading your senses. His frantic heartbeat felt against your own body, telling you exactly how you were affecting him, how you made his heart speed and jump with every breathy whine.

“Fuck, I can’t do this. We need to get home now!” Shouto growls, his hands grabbing you by the wrist yet again and pulling you away.

His strides are long, quick, and powerful. You’re running to keep up, beautifully out of breath, staggering and stumbling to keep up in his objective to get back to the apartment now.

It doesn’t seem to take long before he’s pushing open the doors to the apartment complex, corralling you through the doors and into the elevator to get to the eleventh floor. The elevator doors are behind you, and with no one else in the life, you turn on him and immediately resume your own endeavor of claiming Shouto with your mouth, body, and soul. He matches your intensity, hands roaming from where the clasp of your bra sat to the curve of your ass. He grabbed you, pulled you in closer, the air in his nose staggering as you stammer against his mouth.

Teeth touch lips, tongues in each other's cheeks, and Shouto leads you out of the elevator backward, his one hand on your waist forever steady and the other one holding the key. Your fingers are back in his hair, pulling and tugging sharply on the soft, short strands with nearly disappeared gel. He gets to the door, fumbling with the key as you continue to kiss him, distracting him with the smallest of movements.

“Which room?” he asks against your mouth, pushing you through the threshold, his foot closing the door behind him.

The shoes are haphazardly kicked off and you’re now on your tiptoes to continue kissing him as you were. You tried to think, tried to figure out if you wanted to be surrounded by Shouto’s scent or to have him displayed in your room. His teeth then suckle on your bottom lip, biting down on the swollen, hot flesh just gentle enough that your mind draws a blank and your voice responds on its own.

“Mine.”

You shriek then, Shouto swiftly picking you up off the floor and you panic, hands swatting and beating on him as you scream to let you down. He continues walking, holding you without a worry, his arms remaining strong and firm beneath you. But with your distraction, with your lips no longer pressed sinfully against his, Shouto’s mouth finds a junction point on your clavicle and sinks his teeth down again, claiming you once more.

“S-Sho—” your voice hitches, the feeling too intense for you to process all at once. You hear your room door open and close, and without warning, you’re soaring through the air before collapsing on the bed.

“You think I go to the gym to get muscles for fun?” Shouto taunts, his fingers hooking under the dark grey t-shirt he’s wearing. “Angel, I go to the gym to make sure I can fuck you in any position, against any surface or wall you want.”

Your body feels like it's scorching as he removes his shirt, his muscles rippling and moving seductively with the devious, intentional movement.

“What’s wrong, y/n?” Shouto asks, the shirt dropping to the floor, removing all traces of oxygen from your person. He steps closer, fingers circling around your ankle and suddenly pulling you in toward him until you were sitting at the edge, his lips hovering over yours. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your tongue feels dry in your mouth, but your eyes narrow before you push up and capture his mouth back with yours. He kisses you back deeply, bending down so that you begin to shift backward, allowing him the space to crawl onto the bed with you, and at the last moment, your leg wraps around his waist and spins the both of you. Shouto gasps as you pin him onto the mattress, your tongue invading his mouth, brushing and swirling against his, coaxing his own tongue back into your own mouth. With the wet heat in your mouth, your teeth playfully, just gently dig into his appendage and tug.

“No, but it seems like I got yours,” you humor him, your teeth releasing his tongue, and Shouto looks up at you like you were both the sun and the moon, and the stars were a gift to him.

It takes your breath away.

Shouto grins, shifting onto his elbows so that he’s closer to you before kissing you again.

The kiss is growing louder, both your mouths ever so consuming, trying to relay years of repressed, unknown emotions and feelings within a drastic, incredible touch. Your hips begin shifting against his crotch, humping his clothed erection, demonstrating yet again the power and grace you hold in your body.

Shouto’s hands move from your ribs up to your breasts, and with the hot, rough flesh of his skin, he squeezes your tender flesh. You moan into his mouth, hips bucking wildly against him at the sensation. It isn’t a powerful flesh, but a reminder, a demonstration of just what and where he could inflect passionate actions.

Your hands scour his chest, fingernails dragging teasingly down his firm, developed muscles, fingers flicking and teasing at his own exposed nipples. Shouto grunts into your mouth, hips bucking powerfully upward into your clothed cunt, and you splutter at the power behind it. But it seems as though Shouto is over the fishnet mesh shirt and crop top you’re wearing because he’s tugging it out of the waistband of your jeans and commands in a deep, lust-ridden voice: “Off.”

Goosebumps flash across your skin, bubbling and spraying across your sensitive skin as your shirt and crop top join Shouto’s on the floor. Your gasp loudly when Shouto rolls the both of you over swiftly, his mouth immediately pressing hot, viper kisses on your breasts. All thought and reason leave your mind as his teeth nip and pull. His fingers pushing the straps of your bra off your shoulders and shoving your boobs out of the bra in a firm hold.

“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to touch you, kiss you, fuck you,” Shouto whispers, his tone almost dark as his hot air fans against your already pebbling nipples. “Fuck, angel, you’re better than anything I’ve ever dreamed about.”

You whine loudly, fingers tangling in his hair as you desperately, wordlessly try to persuade him to put his lips around your attentive, eager nipples.

“I always forget you got these things,” Shouto says in wonder, his fingers touching the metal bars sitting so innocently, deviously on through your nipple. He tugs on the bar, and all the nerves in your breast fire and tingle, and your feet curl by his back as you whimper. “Fuck... I can’t believe I forgot…”

“S-Shouto, I fucking swear!” you almost screech, hands desperately pulling at strands of red and white, wanting his teeth and tongue and the suction of his mouth on your nipple. “Stop. Fucking. Talking!”

Shouto chuckles, his eyes of blue and grey flashing up at you dangerously, knowingly.

“Okay,” he says cheekily, and as if he read your thoughts, his teeth gently bit down on your all too ready nipple. Your head slams against the mattress, your chest feeling alive as if you had been electrocuted. He sucks your nipple, teeth tugging on the sensitive flesh, clacking against the metal in your flesh. His fingers taking care of your lonesome nipple, keeping it company with gentle, purposeful rolls as he has you sobbing his name.

“Please, please, please,” you beg, although you have no idea what you’re begging for. Your hips pathetically grinding into his clothed cock, trying to get yourself to cum while not having been touched. “Sho— Shouto!”

Shouto pulls away from your nipple with a loud pop. His breath panting, short, and overwhelmingly strained as if simply sucking your throbbing, needy nipple had given him the same amount of pleasure as it did you before consuming your forgotten one. Just as before, you melted against him, begging please, pretty please to him but never telling him what you were wanting. You didn’t know what you were wanting.

But unlike before, his hands leave their attentive position on your free nipple and slam your hips back down onto the mattress, keeping you down and still as he continued his ministrations until you were nipplegasming. You choked as the orgasm consumed you, your body going rigid and your eyes rolling to the depths of your head as his hot mouth was all you could think of. For a moment, the needy wet heat between your thighs was easily ignorable, something unneeded until Shouto was pulling away and kissing you again.

His chest was pressed tight against your own chest, your sensitive, overstimulated nipples rubbing against his chest with the welcomed friction as you let out a wordless, near-dizzy sigh into Shouto’s mouth. He kissed you with incredible passion, with dizzying heat, and consuming lust.

Your voice was so small, your voice easily drowned in Shouto’s mouth as your fingernails dug into his back and raked down pathetically, desperately proving that you were still here. Still fighting him on just who would win this night. Your fingers went down the curve of his spine, trailing down until you found the waistband of his sweats, and with his mouth everso distractingly on the swell of your breasts, biting, marking, and sucking hickies and his print on you for forever, he helped you slide the pants off.

In an almost dramatic fashion, his eyes burning deep into yours, leaving you stunned and a worshiper at his feet, he rose off your bed and let the pants fall. You shakily inhaled, your eyes suddenly transfixed and only seeing the hard, leaking dick that stood tall and proud against his twitching stomach. At the mere sight of him, you now truly, completely, and entirely understood just why the girls were obsessed.

From tip to the base, he was thick, the flush of his skin gorgeous, the curve of his cock optimal to fuck anyone. He was long, thick, and delicious—trimmed pubes of red and white and balls that had your mouth watering and going dry. You wondered, imagined, tried to visualize just how much it was going to hurt getting that in you. You’ve never had a man with a dick like that, never had to choke or fuck on something that looked like it would possibly render you stupid the moment you were impaled.

“Can I?” you ask, ‘can I touch you? Can I suck you?’ go unsaid.

“You owe me one,” Shouto says, his words teasing if it wasn’t for the way his voice betrayed him with the eagerness, the want and inexplicable tell that says if you don’t touch him, he will lose his fucking mind. “Please, do it.”

You’re dragging him back onto the bed, sitting him by your headboard, spreading his legs apart as you situate yourself between them. With a tentative, shaky hand, you reach out and grab on his dick.

His flesh is hot to the touch; it's hard and twitches just so at your grasp. Shouto lets out a gasp mixed with a whine, and you look at him with wide eyes and parted lips. Unable to help yourself, you lean in, your nose touching the underside of his length and nuzzling into the flesh. You look back up at him with hooded eyes, eyes dark with mirth, lust, and an overwhelming need to please Shouto. He stares back, eyes entirely too bright, almost scared, almost as if he can’t believe this is happening.

You smile softly, eyes breaking contact to look at the swelling cock in your hand, and then back at him as your tongue pokes out of your mouth and puts a long, wet stripe against his length.

And Shouto?

Shouto moans like a man who’s had warm food after days of starving.

You lick from base to tip, saliva mixing with precum as your mouth presses teasing, open mouth kisses down the length of his cock, tongue pressing against the sweltering heat of his balls.

“Fuck, y/n, stop teasing,” Shouto grits, his hips pathetically snapping into nothing, his hands desperately trying to touch you, to which you swatted him away each and every time. You tut, shaking your head. With both your hands fisting his dick at the middle of his length, your squeeze and pull in opposite directions.

The reaction is one that you were hoping for, Shouto’s head slamming to the headboard with a clash, his legs jumping just a bit, and precum coming out in even heavy drops. You laugh breathlessly at his display, enamored with how fucking easy he is to get to make noises. He’d never made noises before, no other girl had him the way you did, and that made you crazy with power.

Before you wanted to, your mouth consumed to head of his cock, allowing the musky smell that was completely and only Shouto to fully consume you. You sucked on his thick swollen head, tongue pressing on the leaking slit on his head as he choked on your name. You smile, taking him in further, straining against the weight in your mouth, the pressure on the back of your throat, and the stretch of your throat. As soon as you had him a bit way in, you were pushing out, his hips driving to find you but missing you. Shouto’s noise was almost broken, near needy, and your head spun with his noises. Unable to stop, you pushed in again, allowing the drive of his hips to send his cock further down your throat.

Tears filled your eyes at the action, his cock much too large, much too thick to be fucked into your throat as such. Your fists acted as a barrier as you adjusted, your throat humming, mouth moaning as Shouto lost himself to the heat of your wet mouth. You bobbed your head, fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks. You sucked his dick with the intention of ruining him, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you needed to consume. You let go of one hand, allowing it to fondle with his balls as his cock went further into your mouth, the sounds of your choking, gagging, and crying egging him on.

“You take me so good,” Shouto sang to you, whispering words that only you’ve heard. “Fuck, angel, take me all the way. I know you can do it.”

With his hands at the back of your head, your fingers squeezing his balls, and the shaky removal of your final hand on his cock, he drives his hips all the way up. Shouto curses loudly, and you choke, feeling the rush of cum shooting down your throat, and you’re let free.

“Swallow it all, don’t spit it up,” Shouto breathes, his body shifting upward, eyes intent, focused. “Let me see.”

You cough violently, mouth closed as you swallow the salty cum, only letting your mouth open to allow the drool and spit to drip from your flat tongue as you show him that you swallowed every last seed. He groaned, grasping you by the chin and pulling you back in for a passionate, all-consuming kiss. The taste of Shouto and his cum sat heavily in your throat, and you were shaking as he began to unbutton your jeans, shedding them off of you as he flipped you back around so that your back was resting against the mattress.

Salt sweat dripped down your neck, and Shouto left fingertip bruises on your waist, your knees and legs awkwardly kicking as you finally got your jeans off your ankles. You shuttered, feeling Shouto’s hot, spit-slick dick pressing against your stomach, your cunt flipping and twisting at the thought of taking him all in.

“You’re still, fuck… you’re still hard?” you gasp, Shouto’s fingers tracing the innards of your thighs, scratching at your ass, slapping it once, twice, leaving you pitched and shaking.

“How can I not be when you’re down beneath me?” Shouto asks, his eyes looking at you as if he was burning the very naked image to you in his brain for him forever. “You’re mine, right?”

The question itself, while unexpected, was not unwanted.

You feel yourself nodding, your fingers scratching up his flexed arms, “Yours and only yours.”

“Good,” Shouto smirks, leaning in, his entire weight on the one hand beside your head, making you groan as his lips were so close yet so far away. “I’m yours as you are mine.”

With that, his fingers pressed to your thus far, unattended to clit, your legs shaking, kicking the air as you howled in pleasure. But it was such an intimate place, something you never expected Shouto to ever touch, and so, in a voice so pathetic you couldn’t even recognize it as yours, you screeched: “D-Don’t touch that!”

Shouto cocked an eyebrow, his head tilting as his fingers swirled around your swollen nub, sending just enough electrifying pleasure through every neuron in your body. “Why not?” he asked, voice authoritative and curious and sadistic. “It’s mine — you’re mine. I can play with what’s mine whenever I want.”

The words make your entire will collapse, the words liquid heat in your ears and mind. You moan loudly, feeling Shouto adjust your hips, lining your spasming cunt with his cock, and with his tongue delving into your mouth, his lips pressing against yours, he slowly pushed into you.

Shouto was loud the entire way into you, the deep grunts, breathless moans, and mindless babble of how this was unlike anything he’s had before, better than anything he’s ever imagined. He bottoms out quickly, hands leaving purple bruises against your skin as you lay on the bed silent.

Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single tone noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whisper over and over, your legs tight around Shouto’s hips, shaking with the feeling in you. “God, y-you’re so big, Sho… I’m—”

You can’t finish your sentence because he shifts just enough that his cock is meeting places in you that had never been encountered before. Your eyes roll back again, your fingers pressing ruby red scars to his back as you scratch and tear his back.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit,” Shouto pants, his mouth panting against the sweat on your collarbone, his own breathing heavy and spaced. “You’re perfect, y/n, so fucking perfect.”

You preen with those words, your mouth finding a home at his temple to which you kiss him, drag your lips down to his ear. You bite and nibble as you adjust to him buried deep within you. And he heaves a sigh and pushes up off you, eyes daring to stare into you as he huffs almost in disbelief of this entire night.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says, fingers scratching down your sides to your thighs. “Are you ready?”

Not trusting your voice, you nod. Shouto smiles, leaning back down for one last kiss to which you quickly returned, staying there as his hips moved backward before thrusting back into you. It's the first thrust of many, but your arms wrap even tighter underneath his own, your nails scarring his back as he goes again and again. You fucks into you deliberately, readily, with purpose and skill that speaks wonders and lives up to the many rumors you’ve ever heard.

His thrusts are powerful, slapping into your thighs with a mighty smack, making you whimper and wail into his salty neck as your hips lift up to meet his. It's a powerful dance, a dizzying cycle. His cock sliding up and down your puffy velvet walls, your weeping walls clenching him in a vice, unforgiving and unwilling to let go.

He speaks praises into your ear, your yours, your mouth.

“Such a pretty angel, moaning for me, crying for me, tell me you want my cock. Tell me you want me buried in your fucking stomach.”

You are converted to him in return, seeing him, speaking to him, devoted to him.

“Fuck, I want you more. Faster, harder! Don’t stop! I can feel you in my stomach, Sho! Fuck! Fuck me, fuck me fuck me!”

His weight is pressed on your thighs, spreading your thighs further apart, fucking into deeper, fucking you so powerfully, so desperately your soaked cunt squelches and drips your essence, soaking your bed and his legs. Your teeth sink into his skin, copper filling your mouth, and your vision feels missing as you are slamming your hips up, rolling them desperately to fuck back into him. You can feel his hand clutching yours, pressing it into the mattress as he somehow speeds up again, drilling you into the mattress, the bed creaking and bending under both your weight.

“More, more, more!”

And he gives, and gives, and gives.

You wail his name, the heat in your skin, tickling your clit and innards making you sweat, the alcohol on your skin sticking you to Shouto.

Shouto grunts your name, hisses your name, damns you heaven and back for having such a fucking grip on him. It's when he looks into your eyes, cock drilling into you at a speed and power that no human should ever obtain, one hand gripping yours and the other pinching and teasing your clit, you cum, bursting open at the seams.

Your orgasm is loud, clenching, all-consuming, and you drag Shouto down with you as he stammers, shudders, and cums deep within your womb. His seed spilling out of you as the both of you collapse onto the bed with breathless, thoughtless minds.

“Fuck,” he says.

“Right?” you chuckle.

And with your nose pressed to his sweaty, sex-lulled body, you fall asleep with his hands traveling up and down your spine. Hopefully, things would be well when you woke up.

P R E S E N T

To stop you from screeching so loudly you woke up the entire world, Shouto held his hand to your mouth, his eyes wide, terrified, and completely confused.

“Please stop yelling… my head hurts…” Shouto begs, his face completely exhausted but with that post-orgasm sleep glow.

“We had sex?!” you shriek, throwing his hand off your mouth. “We were mad at each other, and we had sex?!”

“Oh,” Shouto seems to remember, his head rolling before he sat up, bringing you up with him. “Right, we should talk about that, huh?”

“You think?!” you shriek, entirely overwhelmed with the fact that you had done so much embarrassing shit last night.

It’s quiet for a bit. The birds chirping outside an almost cheerful taunt as the both of you, for the first time in seventeen years, find it too awkward to talk. No one wants to speak first, to mention the elephant in the room, for once it happened, there really was no going back. Not that there was much to go back from.

“I’m in love with you,” Shouto finally says. It’s an admittance, a whisper that's strong despite it told in such a hushed voice as if you would laugh at him as he confessed. “I’ve actually been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

Now that shocks you.

Your eyes are wide, and you’re staring at Shouto, unsure what to say, what to ask, but you know you need more answers.

“I know, hard to believe, huh?” Shouto chuckles, his hand running through his sex and sleep disheveled hair. “It’s true, though… I don’t remember not ever being in love with you.”

“No… no way,” you say, your body running cold, and you shiver. You remember then that you’re sitting up, and you’re very incredibly naked. Shouto notices and moves to grab a blanket at the foot of the bed and wraps it around you. “That doesn’t make sense,” you argue, your furrowed brows making your skin crease as you try to think back on all your years and memories, looking for signs in which Todoroki Shouto loved you. “You never showed it.”

“Camie said the same thing,” Shouto sighed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he shrugged nonchalantly. “Before I was sixteen… I don’t know; I guess I could understand why. I only ever talked to you, always paired up with you. I let you hold my hand, and I let you hug me… I thought me telling you that I had never been kissed before would make you want to kiss me, but it never did. I know I was awkward and a little different when we were younger, so when I was paired up with Camie… I thought she would help me.”

“By fucking you?” you asked, your frown deepening as you remembered your bitter feelings over Camie stealing Shouto’s virginity.

“She… she said that by being sexual, maybe you would see me as a man, and not the four-year-old crying boy in preschool,” Shouto smiled sadly, his fingers picking at one another. “Me having sex was supposed to show you that I was a man who wanted to see you as a woman in return, but it didn’t work.”

“Well, no shit,” you snort, relaxing a bit although you felt limp. You found yourself leaning against Shouto’s strong shoulders, your head landing heavily on him. “You went from a virgin to fucking anything with a wet hole.”

“...yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Shouto said with regret, his shoulders sagging just a bit. “At first, I thought I needed to fuck more girls to prove I was a man to you because you acted like nothing had happened after Camie… but sex was fun, it felt good.”

“Sex is good,” you agree with a soft chuckle to which he returned.

He shifted a bit, arms tightening and relaxing before he finally admitted, “It helped distract me from you because you looked at others the way I wanted you to look at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back.

“No, don’t be,” Shouto speaks firmly, his arm wrapping around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple. “It was my fault. I was never assertive enough, confident enough to simply confess.”

“So, does you being in love with me having anything to do with you driving the entire male population away from me?”

Your eyes look up at him, finding his embarrassed gaze before he glances away.

“That actually wasn’t intentional… I guess I just talk about you a lot.”

“Yeah, but still doesn’t mean you couldn’t ever deny it yourself!”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Apologize then.”

“Y/l/n Y/n, I am sorry for making the entire male population we’ve ever come across think we were an item and not telling them otherwise. I am sorry for keeping you from enjoying sex while I continued to. I am lousy, and my love for you should be unreturned because that was ass of me.”

You sigh, your lips pursed to keep from smiling as you looked back at his handsome face.

“Now, ask me the damn question, crybaby.”

“Crybaby?”

“You finally admitted that you were, in fact, crying!!!!!”

If you asked Shishikura Seiji what the worst thing about being the third roommate to Todoroki Shouto and you was, he would give a million and three answers as to why it was the worst.

One: he absolutely hated how loud the both of you were. Todoroki Shouto was someone he thought was quiet and introverted, but whenever he was around you, he was loud. You were just plain old loud, and he thought it was annoying.

Two: he absolutely hated your rice. Call it petty, but after you fed him on his first night and tried putting him into a chokehold for saying the song your rice cooker sang at its end was the stupidest fucking thing ever made, everything you made taste like ash and dirt.

Twenty: he hated that there were biweekly karaoke nights. He would be studying away in his room and wanted to die when he heard the all too familiar sound of Mamma Mia’s Here We Go Again blasting in the living room.

Hundred fifty-seven: SO. MUCH. FUCKING. SEX.

Three hundred thirteen: SO. MUCH. DRINKING.

Five thousand: SO. MUCH. WEED.

Ten thousand three: you put his toilet seat up whenever you’re drunk, so he falls in when he goes to pee in the morning.

Five hundred: the way the both of you looked at each other, fucking disgusting.

To say the least, there were a lot of many different reasons scaling from actual issues to petty small shit, but Shishikura was not in any position to find a new apartment, so he stayed. To be quite honest, having been living with Dumb and Dumber (you and Shouto, respectively), he only thought there would be one thing that would make him lose his actual mind.

The day that would inevitably come and the both of you realized your feelings were, in fact, returned. He didn’t want to even imagine how the animalistic sex he often had to hear coming from your hallway would increase, or the sappy stupid romantic love he would see in the living room because as best friends, you both had no care for PDA and if you were allowed to kiss? Allowed to have sex? He feared he would have to wear a hazmat suit in every corner of the apartment. You both were already incredibly loud as a duo (see reason one as to why he hates living here); he feared the worst when the mutual love was realized.

But he exited his room a week after that Sunday morning with a fully loaded water gun just in case. His eyes narrowed, the hair on his neck raised as his beady eyes focused in on the living room.

Shouto sat on the couch, his back on the armrest, and you sitting between his thighs as you watched him play some game on his Switch, your smile large and annoyingly bright, but he realized that he couldn’t hear you screaming or speaking so loudly he could listen to the conversation.

No, as a matter of fact, Shishikura couldn’t hear a single word; the words being exchanged between you and Shouto spoke so softly, so intimately, it shocked him. Shishikura noticed with an almost awed surprise that even though your smile was as annoyingly bright as before. It wasn’t directed at anything but Shouto, and Shouto’s smile, while nowhere near as big, just as warm and full to you.

It was intimate, romantic even.

Nothing had changed in your relationship except now, finally, now, you were allowed to kiss and fuck each other like heat-driven animals.

Shishikura was shocked to his core, unable to comprehend the sight in front of him.

You nor Shouto paid him any mind, too lost in the game and in each other to look his way as he made his way into the kitchen for his lunch. Shishikura set the water gun on the counter, a small smile spreading on his face despite himself, and chuckled.

Maybe the two of you together weren’t something to hate on after all.

“Hey, is that a water gun?!”

[ysljoon]

Good Little Girl|Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Summary: You were brat and Jungkook was going to make you deal with the consequences to make sure you weren’t a brat ever again.

Warnings: DD/LG?/Age regression? themes, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), begging, hair pulling, use of pet names, face fucking, pussy spanking, ass spanking, edging, PWP (there really is no plot if I’m being honest this is pure smut)

“Little girl, you do not give me back talk when I tell you to clean up your things. So this is the last time I will warn you nicely.” You and Jungkook were currently in a standoff since you were having a blast playing with your toys in the living room, but he decided that it was your nap time so right now you’re on the brink of a tantrum because how could he interrupt your playtime! You started to stomp your feet and tears were dotting the corners of your eyes. He started to get annoyed with your behavior and in hopes toencourage you to start cleaning up your toys he picked up one and threw it in your toy chest. This was enough to send you over the edge and you went on into a full on temper tantrum. You started bawling and to put the cherry on top you decided to hit your caregiver (you will learn very soon how much of a mistake this was). 

“No Daddy!” You screeched while deciding to land some blows on his chest to push him away from you and after the third hit he grasped your wrists with a vice grip. Your eyes widened when you realized just exactly what you did and you started to shrink back and pull away from Jungkook. His dark eyes met with your terrified ones and you knew you had a big punishment coming your way.

“I gave you your warning little girl and you decided to be the bitchiest brat I’ve ever dealt with so now you’re going to deal with the punishments. If I hear any complaints about the punishment it’ll just go on longer and longer till you’re so sore.” His grasp on your wrists never lightened up as he dragged you up the stairs to your shared bedroom. He threw you down on the mattress and you landed with a soft thud. 

“Safe word, lemme hear it babygirl.” He looked at you expectantly and you tried to compose yourself through the sniffles. “R-raspberry daddy.”

“Good girl. Now strip for daddy so we can start your punishment.” You started to slide off your clothes and let it pool on the floor and in the meantime he started to situate himself on the edge of the bed. Once you were fully naked he coaxed you over to him and you obeyed. You didn’t need to make this more difficult for yourself than it already was. “Lay yourself over my lap and you will count every single spank I give you and you better say thank you. If I don’t hear the count or a thank you we will start right at one each time you forget so you better remember your manners little girl.” You stretched yourself across his lap and flinched when you felt his cold hand starting to rub your backside. 

Strike. “One, thank you Daddy.” Strike. “Two, thank you Daddy.” Strike.“Three, thank you Daddy.”

The spanks continued until you made it to twenty and it was hard to count through the white hot pain you felt on your skin. You knew it was going to be uncomfortable to sit for the next week or so. “That’s my good little girl. Look at how fucking wet you are after recieving your punishment. You’re such a dirty whore for daddy and it better stay that way. Nobody else can make you this wet from spanking or this wet period.” Jungkook pats your head to let you know to get off his lap. “On your knees now baby.” He was courteous enough to throw you a pillow to protect your knees.

He started to unzip his jeans to free his hard length that was straining to be freed from the denim. You started to move your mouth close to his pelvis, but before you got the chance to open your mouth he gripped your jaw to look up at him. “Bratty girls have to beg to suck cock. Are you gonna beg or be even more of a fucking brat?” You whimpered at the way he cussed at you, but it turned you on even more. You discreetly rubbed your thighs together for a little friction, but you were so wet that the slickness dripped to your thighs. “I-I want to suck your cock Daddy. Please let me make you feel good.” Jungkook sighed as he felt like you could beg a little harder, but still obliged. You took his thick length on your mouth and started to swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, but Jungkook wanted more. “Don’t fucking tease me little girl. Take my whole cock down your throat if you wanna be good for me.” He gripped your hair and started to push your head down until your nose was pressed to his waist. Tears were rolling down your cheeks and this made Jungkook groan seeing your wrecked state. “That’s it babygirl. Cry for Daddy’s cock. Show me how much you love your small mouth being filled with my big cock.” 

He started to fuck your face with a quick pace and watching you gag made him close to his release. Once he was close to cumming he quickly pulled out of your mouth and you tried to catch your breath. Instead Jungkook grabbed your face and came all over it. “You look so good covered in my cum baby. You’re mine and mine only you understand?” You nodded but he wanted to hear it from your mouth. “Use your words littel girl.” “Yes, Daddy I’m only yours.”

“Good girl, now get back on the bed for me.” You crawled up and laid on your back and Jungkook hovered over you. He pressed his thumb against your clit and started to rub in agonizingly slow circles. Your back arched off of the bed and this made him let out a dark chuckle. “Look at you. You’re such a dirty slut for my fingers only I can make your feel this fucking good little girl.” He increased the speed of his thumb and you were already close to reaching your high. “D-daddy can I please cum? I-I’m so close daddy.” “No, I don’t let dirty brats cum. The only time you’re gonna get to cum is on my cock.” With those words he inserted two of his long fingers into your wet cunt and pumped them deep into you and curled them to the perfect angle. This had you moaning loud and gripping the sheets till with a tight grip. You felt so close to cumming and your pussy was clenching around his fingers and Jungkook felt this. He slipped his fingers out and you whined and your cunt feeling empty. 

‘What. Did. I. Just. Say. Little. Girl.” You received a slap to your pussy after each punctuated word and this left you writhing and whining after each wet slap. “Just for that you don’t get my cock at all. You’re gonna stay a horny mess all night and I better not catch you trying to touch yourself.” And with that Jungkook went to the bathroom to start the shower for himself and you were left on the bed feeling so sensitive and itching to be touched. It was agonizing.

Notes: I hope you guys enjoyed this! I’m trying to get better with smut so I hope this shows sign of improvement lmao. I always appreciate likes and reblogs! If you would like to support me even further you can give me a Kofi! Thank you so much for reading.

[metukika]

the “screaming and crying” excited response but you just add something random and unrelated:

screaming and crying and eating beef jerky

rolling on the floor and bawling and petting dogs

screeching and wailing and doing the worm

banging my head against the floor and rocking like a baby and booting up steam

[honey-hippie-harper]

Successful Parenting

MY DEAREST @the-wee-woo-rita​ I HEARD IT’S YOUR BIRTHDAY TODAY AFGSHAGASHA

I’m coming back from the death just to give you this, because you asked for it some time ago, and agshjaghsj I’m sorry I couldn’t give you something better, I’m super busy finishing HCTTR :’) But yeah, here is it!<3 I translated it from the start because the original translation was awful and you deserved something better than that x’d Still, I really hope you like it.

Rita, you’re super important to me :’) You have no idea on how much your comments make me happy, and I love you dearly even if I’m mostly dead because school’s been driving me crazy afsghjafgsh but yeah, you’re very kind, and sweet, and I hope you know your existence makes me very happy afghjaysu so, I wish you the best of birthdays! <3

Take care :’) <3

Successful Parenting.

Two days after the event, they start calling it The Day of Triumph. It’s only in that moment that Nova experiences that annoying itch people refer to as “resignation”, and she lays in her side of the bed she shares with Honey, with her arms at her side, limp, staring at the mold that grows in the ceiling of a house Nova can’t identify, which is the same one she was taken to while her eyes were folded. They knew she wouldn’t dare to do it, but they still feared she would try to find her way back to Gatlon to go look for Uncle Ace.

The many –and long- hours she spends laying, she feels nothing. She’s so invested in her own pain, that she doesn’t even notice the moment when Honey doesn’t lay next to her, nor does she curl up in a ball and spends the rest of the night bawling. 

Even when Ingrid comes into the room and violently takes her out of bed, wrapping her up in a blanket, Nova has no idea of what’s happening. 

Her heart is racing aggressively, but she can’t move, not even when the blanket falls into the floor and Ingrid almost stumbles the moment she steps on it. She doesn’t fall, but she does bark a couple of words Nova is sure she’s not allowed to repeat.

And then, among the bumpy ride, she sees them there. 

The air smells weird, and these people are screaming, like they always do. 

Nova spots Honey down on her knees, hugging herself and shouting up to the sky. Leroy Flinn is standing in front of her, and next to them both, there’s his yellow car. 

Winston, nonchalant and chewing on gum, is removing the tube that peeks from the car’s gas tank. 

And Honey is just there, repeating the phrase “Make it stop” like a mantra, shaking her head and screaming as if one of her knees was being amputated. Nova stares at her from Ingrid’s arms, still not knowing what’s happening, until she puts her down with such violence she ends up hiccupping.  

“LET ME GO! I DON’T WANNA BE HERE ANYMORE!”

“Look. That’s fine by me. You can go if you want to. But don’t drag us into it. Some of us want to stay here. You understand?”

“Leroy, where should I put this?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, WINSTON!” Scream Honey and Leroy at the same time. For a second, it almost seems like Honey is lucid. 

“Geez.”

That’s when Ingrid intervenes too. 

“You are such a useless prick. Go on, Winston! Bring that thing over here!”

Nova jumps, because her voice sounds louder out of a sudden, and then she starts walking towards Winston, stomping her feet like she is marching, until she’s close enough to take the tube from his hands and start taking it to the trapdoor by the side of the house, which, Nova supposes, leads to the basement. 

For Nova, it’s a scene that’s as surreal as it is bizarre, with Honey knelt down on the ground that way, and all the windows and doors wide open. Then, everyone acting as if that tube thing peeking out of the car and getting into the house was such a big deal. 

After trying to connect the dots for a while, Nova decides she doesn’t understand. 

It’s only then that she hears a very familiar “Bang!” that deafens her for a couple of seconds. 

Frowning and taking her hands to her ears, Nova looks ahead. 

In her hands, Honey holds the gun Leroy always has in his belt, and Nova doesn’t need to be any more clever to know who was she aiming at; it wasn’t Leroy, or Winston, or her, Nova. 

Honey was aiming at herself. 

Leroy throws himself at her, to grab her, while Winston tries to snatch the gun from her hands, and she fights back so much it reminds Nova of a whirlwind. She’s screaming again, and she’s crying a lot, to the point the long lines of mascara are starting to reach her neck. 

She looks so sad and ready to die, that Nova knows she should be feeling some type of sympathy for her.

Yet, she doesn’t. 

She doesn’t, because bullets were the ones to take everything she had away from her, and the mere idea of somebody thinking about ending their life that way repulses her. 

So Nova stares at her with teary eyes while she wishes something would fall on top of her and kill her for real this time, because if she’s dead she will stop crying. 

She says something intelligible yet again (probably a very dumb thing) the moment Winston manages to take the gun out of her hands and, for instance, out of her reach. 

Now that she’s defenseless, Nova gets closer to her. Honey seems reluctant to calm down at first, but when she stares at Nova she recognizes the features papà got from Uncle Ace, and that at the same time Nova got from papà. Then, she goes still. 

Just like that, she becomes quiet, though still breathing like an angry bull and with the tears rolling down her face. 

She looks at Nova like she’s an odd being who just came through a portal from another dimension, and Nova feels her entire body catching fire. 

There’s so, so many ways to release her power on people...

And yet, she chooses the bad way, and she slaps Honey so hard that by the time she collapses into Leroy’s arms, the palm of her hand is itching.

-.-

The ladder trembles, and Nova holds on to it, even when she feels that, on the floor, Leroy has tightened his grip. 

Once settled down, Nova gulps and continues going up. 

“That’s it, sweetie! That internet won’t connect itself!” Screams Honey Harper, in a melodic voice. 

Stars. Nova hoped it would connect itself. 

It’s been a couple of weeks since they’ve moved down to the tunnels, and their condition could be better. However, Nova considers they’ve been managing perfectly well with almost everything, except this...electricity issue. 

And, apparently, these people are very dependent from their electronic devices. 

It would’ve been easier if they had money but, evidently, they don’t have any; and it could’ve been easier, too, if they had access to any of the public services, but it seems to be they don’t have such thing either. Nova doesn’t know much about that, but she remembers her father explaining some of it to her. 

There’s no water or electricity down in the tunnels, nor gas or those type of things. It reminds her of everything she’s been told, about how, before Uncle Ace, Prodigies were treated this way.

The Renegades are gross.

For that reason, and that reason only, Nova agrees to climb up the ladder to steal some power and internet from the fuse box from a restaurant that happens to be close to the tunnels.

It’s not like she had another option whatsoever. Even if she had said no, they would’ve forced her to anyway. She was starting to get used to that. 

Feeling her legs shaking from the effort to keep her balance, she continues going up until she’s face to face with the fuse box. 

“Okay, Nightmare. Can you see anything?” Asks Leroy. 

Nova narrows her eyes and, after analyzing the issue, she concludes: 

“Just a little.” 

Immediately, Honey enhances the flashlight’s illumination and rises it up to the fuse box, to which Nova nods. 

“That’s better.” 

“Great. Now, you should plug in the wire you have in your right hand to the ports at the bottom of the box.”

It doesn’t take much searching for her to find them. There’s a couple of available ports, and the fact she can’t stay here longer, to analyze how do they work, makes her really sad. 

Nevertheless, it doesn’t make her sadder than what comes next. Apparently, they didn’t took the time to research about the restaurant’s owner before sending her up here, but the very moment a wire separates from the box, in a physically impossible way, and whips her face, Nova suspects that must be an electric prodigy work, who was able to alter the fuse box to turn it into a security system that...does this. 

The burning sensation in her face comes immediately, and Nova screeches so loudly she can’t even believe that terrifying sound is coming from her (Because she knows she’s way better than this). 

By instinct, she lets go of the wires and even from the ladder, but before a disaster can happen, Leroy intervenes. 

“Don’t let go of the ladder, just come down here! Quick, Nighmare! Get down here!”

Hiccuping and feeling ridiculous, she obeys, and when she’s –more or less- five steps away from the ground, she feels someone grabbing her by the waist and putting her down. At first, she thinks is Honey, for the smooth way their hands feel, but once the person tightens their hold, their arms brush against hers, and she can’t help but remember how Honey rips every hair that grows in every part of her body except her head. 

Even if she didn’t do that, Nova highly doubted her body hair would be this curly. 

So, carefully, Winston places her on the ground, on a sitting position, and Nova presses her hands against her face, still screaming...though, not much time has to go by before somebody else tries to pull them away, grabbing her by the wrists.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

“LEROY, ACE IS GOING TO ANNIHILATE US!”

“Hey, little flea, let us see your face.” 

“IT BURNS! IT BURNS REALLY BAD!”

“WOW, THAT’S SUCH A TRAGEDY! WHERE DID THIS GIRL COMES FROM!? WAS SHE RAISED BY THE RICH?!”

“INGRID, THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT!”

“JUST...JUST BRING HER WATER! SHE CAN’T CRY AND DRINK WATER AT THE SAME TIME!”

“OF COURSE SHE CAN! AREN’T YOU SEEING HER?!”

“YEAH, BUT SHE WOULD CHOKE!”

“EXACTLY! SHE’S CHOKING ON HER OWN SALIVA! SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING, CRYING, AND CHOKING BECAUSE SHE’S CRYING WHILE SHE’S DRINKING SOMETHING!”

“NIGHTMARE, LET US SEE YOUR FACE!”

And amongst the chaos, they get her to do it. Nova stares at them with one single eye, for she’s not able to see with the other one. 

They remain in silence, just looking, and Winston runs his finger throught the upper part of her forehead, on a spot she can’t identify. She just knows it hurts a little. 

“We just need to disinfect it. It’s not too bad.”

“Eugh.” Honey frowns in disgust. “Will that big ass browless chunk grow again?” 

Winston tilts his head to the side, and touches Nova’s brow again, carefully. His hands are so cold she even finds them conforting. 

“Yep.” He saids, very casual. “It should grow again in no time. No biggie.”

But it doesn’t.

Nova’s eyebrow gets scarred. 

And that one specific chunk never grows hair.

-.-

“Don’t expect other people to respect you just because you’re young. That’s not how the world works.” 

Nova gulps and tries to dry her face with her hand, putting on her better brave face while Leroy graps her ankle (that’s starting to turn purple) in some bandages that Lord-knows-where they came from. 

“So if you want to learn how to take care of yourself, you’ll have to obey Ingrid. And she won’t have pity on you either, because nobody had pity on her when she was your age. Bear with her.” 

That is such an awful advice. It’s so awful, that Nova feels her eyes becoming blurry with tears again, but she manages to make them go away. 

“I don’t have to bear with her. In fact, she could break my other ankle and that would be completely fine by me because it didn’t hurt when she broke the first one.” She said, in the most broken voice she had ever heard coming from herself in her entire life. “If she breaks my two ankles, I’ll still have two arms.” 

“Mmhm.” 

“And two balls.” 

“Nova, you don’t have balls. You have ovaries, and you can’t walk with them. Are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“Can I kick Ingrid on the ovaries?” 

Leroy doesn’t respond. At least, not for a couple of seconds. 

“Nova, are the bandages too tight on your foot?”

“...It didn’t hurt, Leroy.” 

Leroy shoots a glance at her again, mockingly. 

“Good. That means you can still train today. Do you want to run a marathon through...?”

“NO!”

“Go to sleep, then.” Says Leroy.

And it’s not funny.

It’s not funny at all.

-.-

It’s a ridiculous backpack. It’s too shiny, too colorful, too…too much. That’s the word.

At least it doesn’t have any of the member of the Council’s faces on it. Though, undoubtedly, she has to give them some credit for their merch-making choices, because the only colorful things they sell are the billion photoshoots Captain Chromium and Dread Warden do during Pride Month, every single year (Ingrid uses the magazine covers to throw darts at them). 

Nova respects every fool whose personal taste combines with these types of backpacks, but she’s not one of those fools.

It has a unicorn with mobile eyes, and every time she moves, the little bells make too much noise. As if that weren’t enough, the unicorn’s tail is made out of threads that hang from the backpack.

It’s disgusting, and though the only thing she wants at the moment is to throw it at the trash can, she limits herself to place it next to her, carelessly, and then she sits in the worst humanly possible position one can think of, sitting on her right leg, and putting the left one over her right thigh. 

The pigtails are resting over her shoulders, but since the scrunchies aren’t helping at all, she feels as if her hair were dong. Besides, these clothes are itchy on her. What can one expect from an outfit that has been put together to fit with the backpack?

Mad at life, she sighs, and instead of staring at the road, she looks at the opposite way. 

Right across the imports market, which is where she’s sitting, there’s a small park. From here, she can see a small group of children playing, while their parents watch over them from the benches. One of the couples has a baby carriage. 

It’s not the best park to take your children to, and it occurs to her that it’s so ugly there’s no way this would’ve been anyone’s first option. Maybe she went there with her parents, but, if she did, she doesn’t have any memory of that day. 

By the time she hears the commotion, she’s looking at how one of the kids helps his little sister move on the swings. She immediately knows that’s her cue, to which Nova glares. 

Here comes Winston, dressed in full black, using a facemask to hide the most eye-catching elements of his makeup, wearing sunglasses, and with his hair looking like an orange broccoli, because it’s tied on a ponytail. 

He’s crossing the street like he is the reincarnated Messiah. At the same time, there are at least five cars honking at him, to which he responds standing in the middle for a couple of seconds, before walking like he’s carrying the Prophecy again. 

Once he arrives, he removes his sunglasses and glares at Nova so bad she almost believes it’s her fault. Nevertheless, all his chances of winning reduce to dust when he says: 

“For fuck’s sake. You know I have a shit memory. If you see I’m walking away without you, you have to scream.”

Nova frowns until she feels that her forehead is catching flames, and throws the hideous backpack at him. 

“Here’s your crap.” She tells him. “I hope your blood sugar levels go all the way up to 400 and you get all comatose.”

She doesn’t have the guts to wish the Hi-Chew candies he asked her to steal for him are expired, because it took a lot of sacrifice from her part to put the candy in the backpack. And, after all, she already had to dress like an idiot not to seem suspicious.

-.-

Honey’s relapse into depression is so severe she can’t take care of herself. She can’t bathe on her own, she forgets about basic things, like drinking water or eating, and she’s not even in the mood to play around with her bees. 

They’re both staring at her. Nova is sitting on the floor, while Ingrid is by the edge of the old bathtub (which Winston and Leroy stole back when they moved here), running a sponge through Honey’s back. In the end, she stares back at Nova, who does her best to smile at her…or, at least, to put on something similar to a smile. 

Honey has her legs up to her chest. She looks spaced out, but Nova wouldn’t say she’s uncomfortable. Thanks to that position, it’s easy for her to see the exact moment when she sighs, because her whole body goes up, and then down again. 

“I can sense my time has finally come.” She says. “I’m finally gonna die.” 

Ingrid clicks her tongue, and presses the sponge tighter against Honey’ back to get rid of the water excess. 

“Quit it with the bullshit.” She tells her. “We need honey. That’s one of the few things stopping us from starving to death.” 

“Can you believe that, for a second, I actually thought you were referring to me in third person because you cared about my well-being?”

Nova rolls her eyes, deciding she has had enough of this conversation, and then she goes back to her ball of wool and her knitting needles, taking the last to detach herself from the situation. Life can become boring when you don’t sleep at all, so Nova tries to keep herself busy when she isn’t training or stealing things, following the commands of these adults that are supposed to be taking care of her. 

She just wishes she had inherited her mother’s patience. She still remembers the story about how, when she met her dad, she made a very long blanket, saying that would be her wedding blanket, and one day she left the tent for a couple of hours, somebody stole it from her and then, in her words, she wasn’t the same after that.

For a moment, Honey follows Nova’s fingers with her eyes; how they manipulate the needles and the wool, awkward at times. She stares in an absent way until, from one moment to another, she asks: 

“What are you knitting, Little Nightmare?”

Nova stares back at her, and lifts the wool square so she can look at it. 

“It’s a blanket.” She responds. “I think.”

“Pff.” Ingrid scoffs. “Why does it have that many types of wool? Uh?”

“Pardon me for not stopping to carefully choose what type of wool I’m stealing.” 

“Perhaps you should.” Honey says in a hoarse voice. “Because that thing is hideous.”

“…Thank you.”

That’s why, two weeks after that, on Mother’s Day, Nova gifts it to her out of spite.

-.-

During her eleventh birthday, she doesn’t ask for anything besides ice-cream that doesn’t taste like garbage, so, reluctantly, they cramp themselves up in Leroy’s car. 

Honey is on the passenger’s seat, wrapped up in the ugly blanket Nova gave her two weeks ago, like it is a cocoon, annoyed to death thanks to Winston, who is behind her in an almost fetal position, with both his legs up to the passenger’s seat backrest. Very, very close to his face, there’s the Nintendo DS with a case that says Evander; Ingrid is staring out the window, and Nova is in the middle, like a very uncomfortable ham.

Nova doesn’t know where they’re planning to get her ice-cream but, at this point, she just wishes they don’t kill each other before they get there. 

After a while, she stops trying to guess where they’re taking her, and limits herself to sit still. If they want to take her to cross the gates from Hell, then she will just let it be that way. 

At some point, Honey asks Winston, in a very rude way, to get his legs off the backrest, but she’s not obeyed, so they begin having the type of discussion kindergarten children would have in the playground, going all like “Leroy, do something! It’s your car! It’s YOUR car, just kick him out of here!”. 

Half an hour later, they finally stop, and Nova recognizes the humid smell, not from the sea, but, more likely from a river or a canal. Then, Winston finally sits properly and proceed to damage his image once again, by opening the door with his foot. 

“You’re an animal.” Honey spits.

“Eat dirt.”

Honey manages to escape her blanket burrito in less than a second, and tries to slap Winston or at least poke one his eyes out with her nails but, first: Her seatbelt starts suffocating her as soon as she stretches back and, second: Winston is already out of her reach. At least, until he comes back, saying: 

“That is, if we don’t have to cover you in dirt first, you old mess.”

Honey goes berserk. She whimpers and screeches so much Nova feels a migraine growing at the back of her head, and Ingrid starts massaging her temples and threatening Honey, telling her that, if she doesn’t shut her ass she will make that wrinkled face of her explode (which, of course, doesn’t help at all). 

With all that chaos going on around her, Nova is barely able to witness the true tragedy. Nevertheless, she’s “fortunate” enough to look back, the very moment Winston and Leroy take the black garbage bag that seems to contain a body out of the trunk, and then they throw it directly onto the water. 

The weird sounds she had been hearing at the back of the car throughout the whole ride suddenly come back to her and, suddenly, she doesn’t feel like eating ice-cream anymore.

In fact, Nova doesn’t feel like eating anything in weeks.

-.-

She sees the whole scene from the roof, like a stray cat, attired in the costume they gifted her barely a couple of hours ago. Nightmare’s official costume. Because, of course, there’s no better gift for a child during Christmas. 

It is cloaked as a normal, polite conversation, but truth to be told, if it weren’t against the peace treaty, there would be heads rolling. Simon Westwood –The Dread Warden- and Hugh Everhart –Captain Chromium- are right there, at plain sight, talking to Honey and Leroy, who have their arms crossed across their chests, and frowning deeply. The rest of the Council members are inspecting the wagons, allowing, at the same time, Ingrid and Winston to supervise them (Lord-only-knows where Phobia is). 

Upon confirming everything’s under control, Nova manages to jump through the structure and stops where she can see Evander and Winston, inside the wagon of the last one. 

“You’re not gonna find it, egghead.” Says Winston, in an almost singing voice. Nova can spot Evander on the floor, looking for something under the few pieces of furniture he owns. 

He’s not going to find it, indeed. Nova can see the Nintendo DS in his back pocket, inside a Pop Tarts wrapping. 

“But if I find something else, you’ll be fucked.” 

“And your mom too.” 

“If you keep talking to me that way, I’m gonna fuck your mom.” 

Nova rolls her eyes, and decides this isn’t worth her time, so she chooses to place on a spot where she has a clear view of Ingrid’s wagon, looking at Tamaya Rae –Thunderbird- and Kasumi Hasegawa –Tsunami- going through her stuff. 

“If you think what you’re seeing here is interesting, just wait until you see Queen Bee’s wagon, she—“ 

“What is this, Detonator?”

“That’s the device I use to pull drugs through my eyes. I can get you one if you want to, Angel Fish.” 

“Ugh.” Nova groans under her breathe and adjusts her hoodie, before coming back where she started, to focus on Leroy and Honey.

“I don’t know how much damage was caused by this shooting/explosion you’re talking about, but we’ve been here all night.” Says Leroy with a monotonous, yet calm and almost soothing voice, in a volume that was nor too high or too low. 

“Even the Detonator?” Asks Hugh. “How sure are you about that?” 

“Very. If Ingrid’s not here by this hour, she doesn’t come back until the next day. So, it’s safe to say we’re very sure.” Honey answers. “Go on and “investigate” other people. It’s Christmas, there are many drunk people out there. And alcohol does weird things to your brain, like making you think starting a shooting it’s a fun thing to do.”

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Leroy asks. “Taking care of that zygote you adopted, for example?” 

“Let’s calm down, Cyanide.” Simon warns. “We don’t intend to cause conflict.”

“I see. Well, if you weren’t intending to cause conflict, you wouldn’t have come here in the first place, my little honeydew.” Says Honey. “We’d normally appreciate the company, but it’s getting late. You better leave.” 

“We’re not leaving until the inspection concludes.” Says Hugh. “You think you’re very clever, don’t you, Queen Bee?”

Honey laughs graciously, taking her hand up to her chest. 

“We find our own flaws in the people who don’t have them, Captain.”

“Captain, just…don’t. Bring the breathalyzer.”

“Stay there.” Leroy said, talking to Hugh. “You’re not bringing anything.” 

“And why is that, exactly?” Hugh challenged him.

“Because you don’t have our permission, and you’re in our territory.” 

Simon Westwood sighed. 

“Mr. Flinn, this isn’t personal. You have to understand this is just part of the protocol, established by—“ 

“Shove your protocol up your…”

But just as he was about to finish his insult, his gaze finds Nova’s shadow, who stares back at him from the darkness, immutable. Honey follows his stare, trying to go unnoticed, but when she sees Nova, her face expression becomes somber. Nevertheless, Nova can’t think of another thing besides all the insults she has heard coming from them, and tries to think about the most creative one. 

Then, it hits her. 

And it’s perfect. 

“Shove it up where Hugh shoves it.” She says, out loud, and then she jumps out of the scene, just as Leroy and Honey smile at her with so much pride, that Nova feels they could’ve hugged her. Hugh, from his part, turns around like a bull. 

“Who said that?! Was it the Puppeteer?!” 

“Alright, guys. Who said that?” Simon asks, way more calm than Hugh, even if the insult has been directed at him. 

“Shut up, you fucking bottom.” Honey smiles.

Nova has to choke back a laugh upon noticing the way Simon’s face becomes wrinkled, not it a pout, but in an expression of pure rage. 

“My husband is not a fucking bottom.” 

Oh?” Leroy smiles too, showing all his missing teeth. “So you’re the bottom then?” 

“OF COURSE NOT!”

Leroy and Honey stare at Hugh, and their grins almost look like an evil cat’s. From her part, Nova stares at Simon. 

And in the moment Hugh stares at him too, she knows that he knows what he did wrong. 

“Wow.” Simon takes his hands up his hips. “Wow.”

Hugh rubs his nose. 

“Honey…”

“Ow!” Honey screeches. “You’re using my name as his bottom nickname! That’s lovely!”

“Miss Harper, you stay out of this!” Hugh screams. 

“That’s what you always tell Simon, don’t you?” Leroy mocks. 

And that’s enough. 

Simon bumps his foot against the ground and spins around his own toes, already leaving. 

“SIMON, PLEASE, DON’T BE LIKE THAT!”

“HUGH! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING TO ME?! I’M MAD AT YOU AND IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT I’M GONNA START CRYING!” 

Naturally, Leroy and Honey laugh a lot.

-.-

It’s a really bad day for Winston to be home. Or, at least, for him to get out of his wagon. 

The tea is getting cold in front of her, intact, while she just looks at it. Ingrid’s is intact too, Honey’s cup is half empty and Winston doesn’t even have one because, at the moment, he’s not welcome here. 

The way they have chosen to let him know, is by ignoring him, but Nova still directs her best death stare at him, which go unnoticed because Winston is too busy trying to access his brand new stolen computer. 

“So, Little Nightmare.” Honey clicks her tongue. “What is it, that you wanted to tell us?”

Nova opens her mouth, but then closes it again. She shoots a glance at Winston, and then comes back to them. 

Then, she finds herself going back to Winston. 

“Winston.”  Nova says, in a flat tone. Upon hearing his name, Winston responds with a mild head movement, letting her know she’s been heard. “Would you mind?” 

“No, not at all. Go ahead.”

Nova has to bite her tongue to avoid telling him he’s not understanding anything, but Ingrid intervenes before she can. 

“Nova, just...ignore this clown and hurry up. We have things to do.” She says, rolling her eyes all the way to the back of her head. 

Maybe she’s right. 

Like, she can’t think of a way in which people that literally live in tunnels like sewer rats could be busy. But, after all, Ingrid is the one who leaves the tunnels the most. Sometimes she brings food. Sometimes she brings clothes…things like that. 

Besides, she’s not in the mood to dance around the issue for long. For that reason, she just lets it out. 

“I think I’m menstruating.” 

And after a couple of seconds of silence, the phrases arrive at the same time. 

“ARE YOU?!”

“Lucky are the ones who bleed.” 

“Holy shit. Monstruation.” 

Nova stares at all three of them in disgust, but they’re too busy minding their own businesses. Honey’s smile falls immediately, and she turns to Ingrid, who at the same time is looking at Winston, who’s looking at Nova. 

Knowing they’re about to start making it about themselves, she interrupts. Not today. The one having the crisis is her.

“So? What we going to do about it? Are you gonna help me with it or do I have to go and steal my stuff alone?” 

Ingrid finally gets the courage to face Honey, who blinks one single time. 

“Who’s not bleeding?”

“I don’t know.” Ingrid responded, no hesitation. “Are you still?” 

“No. No. No. No. This isn’t about me, you little shit.” 

It’s not, indeed.

“…So don’t you go a try to pull that card.”

“You were the one who asked.”

“Why aren’t you bleeding, Ingrid?” 

They all wait for the answer, but the answer never comes. And, she has to admit, she’s as surprised as they are, but that doesn’t change the fact this is not about Ingrid. It shouldn’t be about Ingrid, at least. 

“Guys.”

But they don’t mind her. 

There are more important things to pay attention to, apparently. 

For example, the way Honey gets up and crosses her arms over her chest. 

Then, after groaning, she turns around and presses her palms over her eyes, and exhales loudly, before spinning on her toes again. 

“I need my pills.” She whispers under breath, but not enough for them not to hear her. “Get your fucking coat.” 

“Uh?”

“GET YOUR COAT, AND PUT YOUR SHOES ON!” 

It escalates so fast, that Ingrid has no choice but to obey. But, even as she’s walking away, Nova can’t help but think she’s relieved. She looks relieved. 

Good for her.

At least someone is getting what she needs. 

-.-

Nova is trembling on her “bed” by the time Winston comes into her wagon. She tries to ignore him, and he doesn’t talk to her either, but he does place the black bag he’s carrying in his hand next to her. A big black bag. 

Then, he sits on the floor, and starts playing with a rubik cube. That’s, in fact, the first time he talks to her. 

“I don’t know what’s that thing about wings, and some of them might be adult diapers because all the models on the boxes were girls. I also brought those ghost thingies because they’re funny, and I’ve brought them a couple of times for Ingrid.” Says Winston. 

A couple of seconds later, he adds: 

“I tried.” 

She blinks and gulps, before answering. 

“I know. Thanks.”

-.-

As the hours go by, the pain gets worse, and worse, and worse, until she’s shaking even more, and she’s basically curled up in a ball.

Once the sun goes down, Nova hears Ingrid and Honey outside, but she doesn’t mind them. For a short while, she hears them talking to Leroy and Winston under their breath, to then go on with their lives. It’s in that very moment, that Nova hates everything.

She hates the way in which Ingrid has to make everything about herself. She hates the way in which, once again, she’s not coming first. She hates that it hurts…

And she hates that, when Honey comes into her wagon, she stares at her, and Nova can’t help but to stare back.

Then, she comes into the mattress, holding a white plastic bag, where Nova can see she’s carrying some pills. Honey is already in her pajamas, and her face is free of makeup. 

As the mattress shrinks beneath her weight, Nova tries to pull away from her but, for some reason, she’s scared she’ll make a mess because of her…situation. Honey remains right where she is, and, a couple of seconds later, Nova feels her hand over her back. She’s very cold. 

Very cold.

But she doesn’t mind. It’s relieving.

It’s relieving until Nova remembers she’s mad at her. 

“Do you need a painkiller, honeybun?” 

And Nova takes it irrationally personal. 

“Oh, so…now you care.” She snaps. “Now you care about me. Weren’t you too busy with Ingrid? Why don’t you ask her if she needs a painkiller?!” 

With that being said, Honey goes silent, until she just…finishes laying down, and she feels her hand over her again. This time, on her shoulder. 

For a second, Nova feels lucid, but all that lucidity is blinded by the overwhelming pain at the bottom of her stomach, and how everything is horrible and sad and everything hurts. 

And when there is nothing left, she still finds Honey. When the first tears start flowing from her eyes, Nova turns around, and allows her body to interlock between Honey’s, and accepts her hug. Honey stroked her hair and hummed in her ear. 

Nova doesn’t fall asleep, of course. But Honey does. 

And even then, they don’t move.

For the longest time, they don’t move. 

Two blocks later, Ingrid’s limp gets worse. 

And worse. 

And worse.

And worse, until Nova’s own ankle starts hurting just by thinking about in how much pain she must be in; so she tries wrapping her arm around her waist so Ingrid can use her as a human crutch, but in the moment she feels Nova’s touch, Ingrid snaps. 

“Let go. You’re short. If I try to hold on to you, you’ll break my spine too.”

Nova rolls her eyes. 

“Fuck you, then.”

As expected, it takes them forever to get to the tunnels, and they finally arrive, Leroy’s waiting for them awake, and it takes Winston and Honey less than ten minutes to wake up too, when they hear all the movement coming from Ingrid’s wagon. 

Once they’ve arrived there, Leroy dismisses himself from the duty of taking care of Ingrid’s swollen ankle, and throws the ball to Honey instead, who doesn’t complain, but she doesn’t treat Ingrid more tenderly than Leroy either. 

Nova watches the scene as she bites her nails. Ingrid’s ankle has gotten so big she can’t help but compare it to a frog, and as Honey pokes it (instead of massaging it) to try to find out what’s wrong with it, the bruises on her skin become more evident. 

“I don’t think it’s broken.” Honey concludes. “It’s more likely…”

“Sprained.” Leroy nods. 

“Yes. Sprained. Little Nightmare, would you please hand me some bandages?” 

She skips the part where she asks Honey to not call her that (Little Nightmare) and obeys without hesitation. After all, she knows where Ingrid keeps that type of stuff. She’s been here bleeding or with injured limbs many times before. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Winston laughs. “Are you still this dumb? Really?”

Nova holds her breath as she takes the bandages. 

“Actually, no. Like, you’re not gonna believe what happened.” 

“Please, if any of the Renegades’ little brainless patrolling units did this to you, just…skip the story, because I’ll get really mad.” 

“Nova tackled the shit out of me during training.” 

She hugs the bandages really tightly against her chest, waiting for someone, anyone, to say something. It feels like a small piece of glass trapped in her skin and she wants it out as fast as possible. She wants the lecture to be over before it has even started. She wants…

“She did?”

“She did. And it was awesome.”

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the

“OH MY GOSH! NOVA!” Ingrid screams in pain as Honey violently lets go of her ankle and runs towards Nova, who turns around and accepts her effusive hug just because it’s too late to reject it. The bandages fall to the ground as she pats Honey’s back, confused. 

“Really, you should’ve seen her!” Ingrid screeches, already recovered. “She was great! HECK, WAS I IMPRESSED.”

“Ingrid, what the fu—“ 

“SHE TACKLED ME! TO THE GROUND! THERE’S NO WAY SHE COULD’VE DONE THAT LAST MONTH! SHE WAS AMAZING!” 

“Sounds like she was.” Leroy smiles. It’s not a wide smile, but still a smile. “Congratulations, Nova.”

Honey, who has stopped hugging her and now has her arms around her shoulders, laughs. 

“We knew you were better than that. You were just playing dumb, weren’t you?”

“I…”

“So…she…sprained your ankle when she tackled you to the floor?” Winston asks. 

“NO, NO, NO! BECAUSE AFTER SHE TACKLED ME, SHE MANAGED TO THROW ME OFF A FUCKING FENCE! I MEAN, HOW COOL IS THAT?!” 

Winston blinks. And for a moment, she sees something weird in his expression. Something…different. 

But maybe she’s just paranoid. 

“…Yeah. Pretty cool.” 

Nova blinks too. 

And the only thing she knows right now is that…

Well.

Perhaps she doesn’t know anything. 

“Heck. I’m proud of you.”

And Ingrid smiles. At her. 

And Nova feels the corner of her lips shaking as they correspond that smile. Next thing she realizes is that that’s how it feels to get it right for the first time. 

“You’re finally getting stronger. Next time…” 

“Next time I’ll wreck you.” Nova says, her smile widening. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow at her, jokingly. 

“Promises, promises, Nightmare. I hope you can keep them.”

Oh, she will.

-.-

At sixteen years old, a few months prior the parade where they plan to assassinate Hugh Everhart, Nova comprehend they’re doing the best they can. 

But she doesn’t tell them that. 

[dorki-c]

Fuck him up (if he hurts you)

Characters: Dabi, Fem.(Reader), Toga, Mr. Compress, Giran

Relationship: Dabi and (Reader)

A/N: Hey! I’m finally done with this one! Whoop! Whoop! It took a little while but I’m glad its done because to be honest...I really enjoyed writing this, but, I have other things that require my attention. Also! Happy belated bday Dabi!

 As always, PLEASE REBLOG AND LIKE! (ALSO COME JOIN MY VALENTINES EVENT, ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS CLICK HERE!)

TW: Threatening, Swearing and Cheating

Does anybody know the stages of getting over your cheating significant other?

It all starts out with denial- how bittersweet that filthy fucking word is-, although it doesn’t last long, when once you managed to eat at least five tubs of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream whilst watching the last show of some shitty soap opera, the next stage comes to bite your ass, anger- also known as throwing or burning your exe’s belongings that they left; however, I prefer burning it (they won’t be able to sell it if they come back).

Once those first two (rather tough) stages fly pass, this third one was like hitting the jackpot for me, but probably not for you, as the mental gamble caused lots of sexually frustrated people to bargain- to play the dice, you shall, but even gamblers don’t use the ‘third time is the charm’ as its utter bullshit- and then--!

OH GOD, HERE COMES FIVE MORE TUBS OF BEN & JERRY’S ICECREAM! THIS ONE IS A REAL KICKER! SOMEBODY HELP ME! THE LIVING ROOM IS FUCKING FLOODING WITH DEPRESSION- Yup, that was you five tubs of ice cream ago, maybe some chocolate might help…

At last, when the cleaning crew arrived, and you managed to accept- with the sunshine glowing down on your skin after four long stages of shit- with the fresh thought of buying a couple dresses that you saw on sale from that one adorable itty bitty corner shop.

But I’m not like that.

And here’s why in (you guessed it) 5 stages.

 ------------------------------------------

1. Discovery.

Rolling their shoulders backwards, a blanket fell backwards as a tall silhouette ghosted from the bedroom door that they left open.

When the bathroom light blinked to life, (y/n) faintly heard the screeching of the door shut on itself. Though, she knew her beloved boyfriend had to go to ‘work’, what she didn’t know was who made his phone ping at 7:15 in the morning.

Scooting over to the opposite side of the bed, blankets stuck to sweat-ridden skin as they coiled around her legs similarly to a snake and ensnared them to stay stuck and stationary. The plush pillows tried to lull her back to sleep. However, (y/n) wasn’t having any of it.

Reaching out to grab Dabi’s phone- even if he didn’t give you permission- the time was as you predicted, though the contents of his notifications bleeping up was something you didn’t predict. The background of his lock screen was something to behold as it was a picture of your concentrated form doodling in a sketchbook whilst a pale white cup stood beside two fresh slices of cake.

Shakily revealing the messaging app, there was around four or five unknown contacts, all listed under the people’s numbers.

Though one of them caught your eye.

Opening the chatroom, your free hand clutched the blankets.

Dabi is going to regret making you break the way you did that morning.

(He has no choice in doing so.)

--------------------------------------------------------------

2. Kicking the asshole out.

“Toga…?  C-can you come over, please.”

The TV presented the small-town news that had little to no intervention though that didn’t mould the female into a wish less mess where a gentle hand went to work and smooth out ensnared knots. “Are you okay now, (y/n)-chan?” You never heard Toga murmur before, but that’s the perks of being alive now.

(Y/n) released the trembling bubble of air out of her lungs and into the atmosphere, readying herself for that front door to open. Shaking your head to respond to Toga’s question, a small huff was released out of the other female’s chest.

The blonde female knew why you still weren’t okay.

Whoever walks through that door will have a profound effect on whatever will happen to (y/n).

However, with the slight nudge of her friend’s hand pinching the side of her sensitive waist, a yelp was released in surprise whereas the blonde villain giggled at the reaction. “Your so easy to scare, (y/n)-chan!” Toga loved to tease you, but in this time frame it wasn’t to make you feel uncomfortable but rather the opposite.

She wanted to make your thunder stricken heart rumble with rage in an unknown and bizarre way- but to also remind that you weren’t alone-, though, you had this bubbly and extra crazy best friend who brought over too many sweets for your stomach to handle alongside the annoyance that you hadn’t noticed Dabi’s strange and desolate nature.

As Toga picked up another opened bag of candy (I think they were ‘eclairs’), unwrapped the golden covering as the crinkling plastic fumbled like sparks dancing across the fingers in a tantalising rhythm. In an attempt to grab the bag, Toga was about to throw it across the room so you could get off her because, and I quote “You’re killing me with your weight!”, how lovely that compliment is for somebody who’s blood is like a glacier falling apart after a storm chipped the exterior and revealed the icy truth underneath.

And may God cover their eyes, as that chilling sharp edge at the tip of the glacier crumbles under Mother Nature’s will (so does the female when the familiar screech of the door revealing whoever is walking through reaches her ears).

Sluggishly dripping back onto the couch where at least three of the seven stocked up with fluff blankets- wrapped around drooped shoulders- had slid onto the floor, Toga made an effort to pick them up and stuff (piling) them next to the drowsy (y/n).

“I’m home, dollface!” A familiar voice hollered.

When both of the female’s heard that voice, there was no turning back to the past.

(Y/n) glanced to a duffel bag next to the couch, then glanced towards the teenager’s sinking rage as the blonde’s lips started to slip into a scowl.

A step almost turned into two, however, was held back by the puffy eyed female. “C-c-can I handle this…please?” They whimpered.

Toga really needs to gain a resistance to (y/n) cuteness when she’s sad.

Grabbing the duffel bag, two slippers shuffled (real smooth) around the couch to enter the hallway that led to the front door. Exactly where Dabi was about to take off his shoes.

“I recommend not taking your shoes off.” The pair of blue eyes looked up in confusion. “What? So, I can’t take off my own shoes in our home?” It sounded like a tease, but what if there was another meaning behind it?

Dabi, however, knew that familiar look of sharp-edges eyes where the glossy swirling of a singular emotion led to- and his teasing didn’t make the situation, he’s found himself in, any more light-hearted.

“This isn’t your home anymore,” Hissed (y/n), where (the fuck) did she get that attitude from?

“Who told you that you can throw me o—” The heavy duffel bag clutched in (y/n) clammy hands thud against Dabi’s chest, where his feet slid against the front door’s matt- his legs trembled at the impact the bag had on his chest- along with the rising cough that caught up to him after fleeing from a hero.

“Nobody—told me what to do.” Another sniff ensued, “But, I figured out the truth.” An eyebrow twitched upwards in anticipation as his hand bawled against his hip.

“Then tell me, what’s this big ass ‘truth’ you figured out?” Retorted the male with turquoise eyes watching her head droop towards the ground to hide something.

Raising it after a momentary pause, she glowered “You’re a bloody cheater, Touya.” When tears stained the red canvas again.

“Oh, so this is what it’s about…” Voice as nonchalant as shallow murky river water, “Do you even realise why I did it?” Rolling his eyes, two fingers wormed their way towards a special ring on her left hand before it hit the ground.

“I don’t want to know why.”

 ----------------------------------

3. Jealousy

It was sudden, quick, and loud how Toga came into your (lonely) apartment.

Bang went the door against the wall and crash went the multiple shoes from the shoe cabinet as they thudded against the floor.

“(Y/N)-CHAN! I HAVE GOOD NEWS!” Her shout was louder than the moans you would usually make when it was a pleasurable night with your (new) ex, however you shouldn’t dwell on past relationships.

Only moving your eyes slightly from the book gripped tightly in your hands, Toga sauntered over holding a suspiciously large bag, this only led one ping-pong ball bouncing back to another ping-pong ball within the crevasses of your mind.

Placing a ripped piece of paper in the book, it snapped shut, “Who did you kill?” questioned (y/n)- knowing that when Toga finds something, she will resort to violence, no matter the cost-, however the sweet smile presented as a defence for whatever action she committed was enough dull your concern.

 “Not telling ya!” Then getting a knife out- wait, where did that even come from-, Toga stabbed into the black plastic bag and tore it open with many- I mean tons- of clothes sliding out of the bag and becoming a miniature avalanche in the small space that is your living room.

“…H-how?” Sputtered (y/n), Toga replied: “Big sis’ Mags let us borrow some of her clothes!”

(Y/n) can only imagine how Toga managed to convince Magne to let her borrow some clothes off her, and by clothes, (y/n) could only assume its short skirts and dresses.

“But!” Added Toga, “we have to wait for Mr.C to pop up!”

Great, even Mr. Compress knows about your breakup with Dabi.

“Fine.”

.

.

.

Sitting pretty on a kitchen chair, a small brush lightly dabbed a small hint of colour against the rooftop of your eyes. “Why are we doing this, again?” Murmured the relaxed female as a small dress laid boringly over the torso where it edged closely to showing the backside of her thighs.

Chuckling in response to her inquisitive comment, the villain grabbed liquid eyeliner, although it was smacked out of his hand and replaced with pencil eyeliner matched with a scowl from his subject.

“Liquid eyeliner is cursed, don’t get that shit near me.”

“My, my, even somebody as classy as I wouldn’t offensively smack such an object—”

Oh boy, here we go again.

“Shush, I could easily get Big Sis Magne to beat your ass if you use that tone with me, sir.”— “Oh heavens no! I think Magne would pick my side out of the two of us!”— “Oh really now?”— “I believe—”

Another door slammed open and in stormed Toga in a confident catwalk down the hallway just to profoundly exclaim; “NOPE! SHE’LL CHOOSE ME AS THE CHOSEN ONE!”

Cue the laughter.

.

.

.

Before the sun was ready to roll itself out of the closet, the patchwork villain made his way under the thick cover of darkness to a certain broker’s office.

Pushing it open to let the light of the office room scream in his eyes before he even had the chance to speak, the older male that greeted him, offered him a seat.

“Hey Dabi, what brings you here to my humble abode?” Giran spoke out as the glistening cup of coffee placed in front of the wanderer reflected the light into its murky brown ripples. “I need you to trace this number to its origin, and quick.” Anxiously sliding his phone to showcase your number, the broker twitched his brow upwards.

“First and foremost, where’s the cash?” A thick wad of yen slammed against the table.

“Happy now?”— “Very much so!” Scowling at Giran’s happy chirp, the broker worked his magic on the burner phone to effectively trace the number back to your location, where Dabi soon enough made his way towards the destination you were at.

He doesn’t know why he’s doing this…

Nor why he still keeps the ring…

However, he knows what he’s going to say next.

--------------------------------

4.  Anger

Simmering and low crackles of something in the kitchen of your apartment awoke the female from her drunken slumber.

What was being made and why does it smell so familiar? The waft of the meal being created swarmed the first stimulant within the hungover mind of yours truly as the wavering warmth rustled around your legs in an unspoken persuasive whisper to stay in bed.

However, curiosity killed the cat and also brought it back.

Two feet tapped the floor in alerted silence.

Tiptoeing across the room, a hand clenched the side of the doorway when two eyes surfed the surroundings outside of her den.

The sizzling stopped, with a small snap of fire going out.

At the same time this happened, it was then when she figured out who was in her kitchen: Him.

Him, with his tall stance that could make for a ladder to climb on or him with his broad shoulders that look like they were bricks squished underneath his skin, where his paired raven hair familiarly spiked up.

“What are you doing here?” If it wasn’t for the delicious food he was making, then you would’ve killed him on sight. A lacklustre glance at the female, he uses one of her spatulas to move the bacon from the frying pan onto a plate with plump golden coloured scrambled eggs.

“You were drunk, I brought you home, and am now making your hangover breakfast.” Placing the plate next to your arm resting against the counter, with another glance in your direction, Dabi made a finishing blow in the words of: “Since you can’t cook for shit.”

Oh boy, he knows you too well to expect your immediate reaction: anger.

From the built-up rage that started to stack up from days of unrest (and being bloated because of the several tubs of Bens & Jerry’s ice cream), it all started to splutter out of control.

“Oh-- So now your fucking attacking me after the shit you put me through?”

“Why should you know?” (Y/n) turned sour at his comment, “’Why’ I should know?!”

From the nearest counter, there was an empty glass. You took advantage of the potential weapon held it up ready for it to slam against the ground.

“(Y/n) -- put the glass down.” Warned the patchwork male.

With the tips of her ears feeling ever so hot, it felt like the pressure escalating within her ears caused only for her protests to be heard even through the pause of silence.

“(Y/n).” A small twitch of one of his feet made (y/n) flinch backwards. “Com’ on, I know you don’t want to hurt me.” He took another step toward, her grip tightened on the glass cup.

“Do you even know why I’m here?”

“No,” Moving her hand higher, Dabi took another step forward, (Y/n) took another step back, “And I don’t want to kno—” Blubbering a bit of salvia as the female attempted to speak, though it was incoherently heard through squished cheeks.

“Listen, for fucks sake,” Electric blue eyes pierced into your soul like a spear, it’s quite hilarious: You once loved those blue eyes of his, you once worshipped the feeling of his eyes raking down your nude body before- as they took in the sight of pleasure squirming and tightening underneath those diligently flexible fingers-, but those days are over.

He can worship your goddamn forgiveness if he’s going to restrain you like this.

----------------------------------------

5. Forgiveness

“That’s what happened.”

Two legs of your own were crossed over each other like two birds of a feather.

“Are you being honest with me?”

His hand tapped the table as he sat across from you.

“Yes, I’m being honest.”

Breathing inwards and releasing a slow, practiced breath. She glanced at the male’s awaiting expression.

“Okay…”

Biting his ruined lip, the raven-haired male let out a breath of relief.

“Will you forgive me?”

She wishes she could.

“I’m not so sure yet…”

Dabi looked to the side to see (y/n) with both of his eyes.

“But, I’ll give you one last try.”

Taglist: 

@glitterfreezed, @in-this-house-we-stan-izuku, @haredabi, @orenjineki

JOIN THE VALENTINES WRITING EVENT HERE!

[lovestrucked-again]

Heated Arguments | Mafia

Profile [Part 1] [Part 2] Genre: Fluff, Angst,  Pairing: Member X reader - (platonic / romantic love) Warning: Bit scary concepts??? Swearing A/N: It makes more sense if you read the profile first to know the relationship established. Wrote it in mind as caring platonic love but some can be interpreted as love love so up to you. Let me know if you like anyone’s in particular xx

Obviously got carried away with a few, whoops. 

Taeyong It was just the wrong time to ask. Taeyong was already pissed from the other gang attempting to make a bargain over your safety. Obviously you didn't know this, so when you told him you were leaving on a one-week holiday trip without prior warning, he was furious.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He fires back immediately.

“Why not?” You ask, annoyed with his demanding use of tone.

“Just do as I say goddamn it,” he yells, slamming his fist against the wall. You didn't say anything, stunned at his sudden outburst. It took a minute for you to regain your composure and you back out of his office straight away, walking directly to your room.

A few minutes later and there’s a soft knock at your door. You open the door slightly, only enough for you to peek through the gap and see who it is. Catching eye contact with Taeyong you immediately try pulling the door back, but he’s faster. He opens it completely so your standing in front and he pulls you in for a hug before your able to speak. 

“Sorry baby, I shouldn't have yelled at you,” he says softly, running his fingers through your hair, “I’m just a bit stressed and it’s not safe at the moment for you to be alone outside.”

“Did something happen?” You carefully ask.

“How about you consider postponing the trip for just a bit?” He suggests, not wanting you to know the real reason why he wasn't going to let you go.

Taeil “He’s not like that!” You tell him, emotionally drained from the ongoing argument. Taeil had come into your room a few minutes ago, wanting to confront you about the boy you were currently seeing.

“You don't know that” He sighs, his hands on his knees as he leans forward on the seat placed at your desk.

“And you do?” You ask, expecting him to be stumped at the question.

“Yeah I do.”

“You can’t base him off guys in general, that's just hypocritical.”

“I had a background check on him done already Y/N” he tells you, leaning back against the chair, “He’s not a nice guy.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” You scream, almost falling face first onto the floor as you got off your bed, completely pissed at the invasion of privacy.

“He isn’t a good guy Y/N.”

“You can’t just invade my social life like that!” You shout, heading straight to your bathroom ensuite, “I’m going to go get you proof right now” You tell him, quickly brushing through the locks in your hair for a presentable manner.

Taeil lets out an exasperated sigh, finally getting off the chair to walk over to the open door. “Y/N I said no and I mean it. You’re not seeing him again.”

“I can prove it to you! He isn’t like that I swear.” You plead, your heart starting to break at the thought.

“Princess I wish he wasn’t too.” He murmurs, bringing you into a hug as you start bawling your eyes out.

Johnny The grasp he had on your wrist was throbbing and you were starting to get frightened. His hold tightening around by instinct as his voice rises, unaware of the pressure he was holding you with. When the grip became overwhelmingly painful, you let out a yelp, prying at his hand to loosen it.

“You’re hurting me..” you whisper, struggling in his grip. Johnny follows your gaze down to your wrist and immediately pulls away noticing the change in colour as the blood is finally able to flow again.

“Fuck sorry baby,” he says, his tone immediately turned soft as he grabs your arm much more delicately this time, and rolls it over to see the redness and handprints stained. You watch as he starts blowing on your wrist while running a hand through his hair, his face clearly pained.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, “it doesn't hurt.”

“I’m sorry I didn't realise how hard my grip was.” He says, using his thumb to rub over and soothe the pain. “Sorry I shouldn't have yelled at you either.” He whispers, placing a gentle kiss on your wrist as he pulls you in for a hug.  

Yuta “Why are you here?” Yuta asks, walking into your room after giving a gentle knock.

“Where am I meant to be? At the restaurant waiting for you? Even though you hadn’t shown up after almost 2 hours?” You asked rhetorically, keep your eyes locked on your phone as you leaned against your bed frame.

“You should’ve told me you went home! I went there and I had to find out through the restaurant manager that you left.” He points out, frustrated at your lack of communication.

“Why do I have to tell you that?” You ask, letting out a snicker.

His voice comes out harsher this time, catching onto your hint “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You didn't tell me you were going to be late – well more like not show up.” You give him a glance, clicking the off button on your phone “So why should I?”

“I went as soon as I could. I had an emergency meeting and I tried to text you but my phone was dead.” He tries to keep his voice steady, not wanting to add fuel to the argument.

“That’s what you always say.”

“It’s not my fault, I can’t schedule meetings based around you.”

“Today was the third time this happened in only the last two weeks! You keep setting up a date and you either come late or not at all!”

Yuta gives you an eye roll “Sorry I’m actually busy working! I don't have so much free time like you do.”

Your hand grips onto the pillow beside you, squeezing on it so hard as you fight the urge to peg it at Yuta standing by the door.

“Then don’t promise things you can’t follow. It’s simple.” You mutter out, your voice steady through your clenched teeth.

“Are you serious? You still think promises are that special Y/N?” He sighs, knitting his eyebrows together. The last phrase comes out in a mutter as he keeps his voice low, but you’re able to pick it out, “Why are you so goddamn stupid?”

“Get out.”

Your vision becomes blurry as you blink back the tears slowly creeping up in your eyes. Yuta stares at you, his expression quickly changing to regret as he realised you had heard him.

“Y/N I didn-”

“Can you leave?” You ask, your head hanging low as you hear his footsteps approach your bed

“I’m sorry – I wasn't thinking.” He murmurs, taking a seat beside you as the bed softly dips, his hands reaching for yours which are locked in your lap. “Don’t cry.” He whispers, stroking the palm of your hand as you tilt your head back, blinking the tears away.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” You mutter, looking him straight in the eye.

He chuckles, knowing you weren’t deeply affected by his previous words, “I know, I’ll make it up to you okay?”

You hum in response and he places a gently kiss on your palm, thankful for your forgiving nature. 

Doyoung “Why are you thinking so negatively like that?” You ask, frustrated at his outlook on the topic.

“I’m being realistic Y/N.” He tells you.

“You’re being pessimistic not realistic, there’s a difference.” You argue. “Since when do-”

“Y/N lately your becoming more of a struggle to look after and it’s getting to the point where we can’t keep babysitting you anymore.” He says, finally exhausted. He isn’t purposefully mean but the words he uses and points he makes form in his head to fast and they’re said aloud without him even realising it. As your chair screeches against the floor when you stand, the words finally register through his head.

“Are you calling me a burden?” You ask meekly, voice starting to crack.

“What? no I-,”

“Why didn't you just tell me that earlier?”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” You tell him, turning around to leave.

He grabs your wrist right as your about to walk off, swinging you around and pulling your body into his. “I’m sorry that’s not what I meant.” He whispers, his hand stroking the top of your head as he keeps an arm wrapped around your shoulder. The tears held back in your eyes threatening to spill as you stare closely at the fabric of his shirt, your arms fallen at your sides. “You’re not a burden Y/N” He mumbles, trying to hide his own voice crack as he curses at himself for implying such a thing.

Jaehyun “Why did you agree?” You question, watching Jaehyun hang up the phone call.

“They offered what we couldn’t refuse.” He replies, shrugging of your comment.

“Seriously? Do you have no common sense!?” You ask, stunned at the stupid deal you had overheard.

“You shouldn't be in this room Y/N, I’ve told you before.” He sighs, rolling the office chair closer to his desk before he leans against the backrest, letting out a deep breath.

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you go alone!” You exclaim, shocked at the agreement they just made, “Don't go!”

“I have to go.”

“No you don't!” You bark back, “It’s obviously a trap!”

“It doesn't matter, you don’t have a say in this.” He groans, rolling his eyes in your direction. “You don’t even know what’s going on Y/N so don't worry about it.”

The possibilities of all the worst case scenarios come flooding through your mind as you imagine him facing an enemy group alone, coming home injured, shot or maybe not at all. You storm up to his desk and slam your hands against the table, losing your temper.

“Then tell me!” You demand

“No.”

“Why? Am I not part of this household?!” You ask incredulously, your eyes locked on his, waiting for a response.

“No, you’re not!” Jaehyun yells back, flinging his chair behind as he stands up suddenly, his figure towering over you as you keep his gaze, tilting your head up to match his. “You don’t get a say in this because you’re not part of this group.”

The tension in the room builds as Jaehyun realises what his just said, but it only triggers you further.

“Then I’ll leave!” You bark back, your voice seething with fury

“Are you serious?!” He groans, annoyed. “Y/N stop being so impulsive.”

“Why? It’s not like you care! You guys all treat me like an outsider! You never tell me anything!” You scream, your voice cracking as you finally break his gaze, lowering your head to avoid him seeing the tears forming in your eyes.

“I- It’s just better you don't know okay?” He sighs, softening his tone as he watches your shoulders drop, exhausted at the ongoing argument, “It’s safer like this.”

“Why?”

“Baby please just trust me on this okay?” He murmurs, walking around the table to stand in front of you. He wraps his arms around you, bringing your body closer to his as your forehead rests against his chest.

“Don’t go alone at least.” You mumble, and he gives a soft hum in response, promising you he’ll listen.

Jungwoo You and Jungwoo had a deal. He allowed you to go with him to one of the quieter bars that he was supervising for the night as long as you stayed in his line of sight. The other condition was that you avoided all possible contact with everyone.

Not many men came up to you, not because you weren’t attractive, but because they knew you weren’t here alone. However, a man who didn't recognise you took a seat beside you, making casual small talk. You looked around for Jungwoo before deciding that having a small chat wouldn't hurt. The man even paid for your drink and scooted closer, trying to flirt with you as you were oblivious to his approach.

“You’ve got a little something on your lip” He whispered, leaning in closer to you. You immediately scooted back, your chair dragging on the floor. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you back down onto your seat. “Where are you going?”

Before your able to respond, a figure comes to your side, pulling you up by your hand. “Home is where she’s going.”

“Mind your own business.” The guy scowls, standing up to meet Jungwoo’s height.

“She’s my business.” Jungwoo smirks, bringing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you to his side. The guy gives you a glare, fed up with the situation and he storms off. Before you’re able to thank Jungwoo, he drags you through the crowd, heading straight to the staff only area.

“What did I say about talking to strangers?” His voice rising as he speaks. “Do you know how dangerous things could’ve got if I didn't come in time?”

“The guy started talking to me, I didn't want to seem impolite.” You tell him, shrugging off his anger.

“It's a club Y/N, there’s no good intentions here.” He groans, clearly regretting his decision of bringing you along.

“He didn't seem very dangerous!” you argue back,

“He wo- you know what, let’s just talk about this later, I need to go have a chat with someone first.” He looks down at his phone, typing into his messages before directing you to the couch of the quiet room. “Wait here till I’m done.” He tells you, checking the time on his watch, intending to finish things a little earlier than planned.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble out, feeling a little guilty as you realise the severity of the situation.

“It's okay, I should’ve stayed closer by you tonight.” He softens, changing his tone back to his usual subtle voice. He gives you a quick peck on your forehead and heads back to the door, turning the handle open “I’ll be back in a second and we can go home okay?”

Mark “Come in.”

You turn the door knob to the side, pushing the door open with the side of your hip as you enter. Mark had skipped dinner and it was already midnight, you knew he hadn’t left his room to eat anything so you thought it’d be better to bring something for him.

Usually, whenever you did this, Mark was always very thankful, shoving down the fried rice or the 2 minute noodles you made as he told you what he was busy working on. However today was a little different. When you stood at his side you could tell how stressed he had been. Still dressed in his pyjamas, having not changed throughout the day, his hair unbrushed and glasses resting on his nose bridge. The screen split into two separate documents, one in Korean, the other in English. A pile of paperwork resting under his chin.

“I made you something to eat.” You tell him, leaning the tray you had bought up from the kitchen at the edge of the table as you try to make some room on his desk.

“Don’t touch that!” He yells, his hands quickly stopping you from moving anything.

“You haven’t stepped out of your room like all day and you skipped dinner.” You tell him, ignoring his words as you shut his laptop screen, placing the tray on it. “You need to eat something.”

“What the fuck?” He snaps, his eyes finally meeting yours.

“It’s unhealthy to skip meals.” You explain to him, keeping your tone steady despite his aggressive voice. Mark rarely lost his temper, and it was even rarer for him to bring it out on you.

“Y/N I’m not going to starve to death if I skip one meal.” He groans, picking up the tray and forcing it towards you, “I have feet, I can get it myself.”

“You can afford to take a break and eat.” You push again, placing the tray on the paperwork instead.

“Like you’d know, just let me do my work!” He yells, pushing the tray back into your hands. You stand still, not wanting to further stress him out but still deeply hurt at how he was treating your kind intentions.

“Wow sorry for caring.” You reply sarcastically, keeping your voice low as you turned, ready to storm out the room. “I’ll just leave you to it.”

“Y/N wait” He calls out. You turn around, catching the apologetic look in his expression as he sighs, rubbing his face harshly in his hands. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have yelled.”

He gets up from his seat, walking over to you and takes the tray from you.  

“Thought you didn't want it.” You shot back, watching him walk back to his desk.

“You’re right, I’m hungry.” He confesses, “And it looks appetising.”

Haechan It wasn’t the first time you guys fought, nor is it considered strange. However, this was the first time that things had go so heated over a conversation. Haechan being more of an unreasonable and stubborn person, he wouldn’t let the topic go.

“You learnt the wrong rules” He argues, searching online for the correct instructions on UNO and the colour rules.

“We always played by these rules!” You yell back in frustration, your hands so close to pulling out his hair, wanting to tug all the roots out in anger. 

“We never did!!” He fights back, throwing the cards onto the table, letting them fly across and land wherever.

“Did you get hit or something? What’s wrong with your memory idiot!” You scream, pushing the chair back as you marched off.

“Hit with your stupidity perhaps!” He snaps, rolling his eyes as he marches off the other way.

You’d both end up storming off to your own rooms, slamming the doors loudly and startling the other members. In the end, the situation would blow over after a couple of hours or if someone (mainly Doyoung) comes over and drags you both out to apologise.

[vannahfanfics]

What Heroes Do

Category: Action, Drama

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Eijirou Kirishima

Hello, everyone! I’m super excited to post my piece for the @kirishimabigbang​! I hope you all enjoy this action-packed piece about how Eijirou adjusts to life as a pro hero!

A low growl rumbled in Eijirou’s throat as sweat beaded on his flushed skin and his muscles ached with exertion. Even with his full body hardened, he could not escape the effects of the strain he was forced to endure at the moment. He struggled to keep his breathing steady, letting out little puffs of air before sucking fresh breaths in. Easy does it, Eijirou. Come on, body! Don’t quit on me now! he encouraged himself, his feet sliding a little across the concrete as he braced himself better. His biceps flexed powerfully as they strained to continue holding up the fire-engine-red automobile he currently had lifted up by its bumper. 

Whatever you do, you can’t drop this car! He thought as he clenched his teeth, his vermillion eyes flickering to the pair of legs sticking out from the underside of the car. Though Eijirou preached “mind over matter” to himself like a mantra, his body had reached its limit after holding up the automobile for a nearly hour-long operation. His arms began to quake, and the car squeaked a little as he dropped it a good six inches. He groaned loudly, hunching down into a squat and pushing his palms into the underside of the bumper so hard that his hardened skin scratched the paint. Just as he was about to warn that his strength was going to give out, the would-be mechanic pushed himself out from underneath the vehicle. 

“Phew! Thank ya, Red Riot. I can’t believe I forgot the jack at home. What a day to get an oil leak, eh?” The civilian laughed as he wiped oil off his brow, smudging the thick brown-black liquid across his forehead. Eijirou released a wheedling breath as he half-dropped, half-set the car back down on the ground. Using the trunk of the vehicle to support his weight, he took a minute to catch his breath, sucking in big gulps of air. He managed to find the strength to give the man a dismissive wave. 

“No… No problem…” he wheezed, deactivating his Quirk. He flinched at the all-too-familiar sensation of sweat sticking to his hot skin. “That’s what heroes are for, after all… No problem’s too small…” He smiled charmingly as he flicked his sweat-soaked bangs out of his face and looked up at the man. When the civilian opened the driver’s side door, ensuring that everything was in proper order, Eijirou muttered several curses under his breath and allowed the pain pulsing through his muscles to show through an agonized scowl. As soon as the man turned back, he painted that cheesy shark-toothed smile on his face. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” the man insisted, his face shining pink with both exertion and gratitude. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir? A coffee, perhaps, or some lunch?” 

Eijirou’s weary smile widened and he gave another nonchalant wave, finally finding the strength to straighten up to his full— and impressive— height. Clearly unnerved by Eijirou’s six-foot-something musclebound figure, the small civilian compulsively straightened as well, though his head probably only just barely brushed the underside of the hero's metal faceplate-bound chin. 

“No, that isn’t necessary. Just get home safe,” Eijirou replied with a laugh, falling into a lunge to work out his aching calf and thigh muscles. After a bit of stretching, the fierce burn in his body dwindled a bit, and he gave the man a jovial wave. “All right, I’m off. Watch that car of yours, okay?” He winked before whirling on his heel to trot down the sidewalk. The man called after him, though Eijirou didn’t hear what he said. 

As soon as he turned the corner into a deserted alleyway, he stopped to heave a sigh and plank against the grimy, damp wall. A muffled scream leaked out between his clenched teeth, and the iron of his face plate banged against the brick as he hit his forehead against the wall a few times. The frustration that had bubbled up inside his body dwindled as soon as it came, leaving him achy and blue. With lidded eyes, he gazed down at the fabric of his pants and his metal-plated shoes. 

“I never imagined I would be using my totally manly Quirk and costume to help guys fix holes in their oil tanks on the side of the road,” he grumbled, and a flush of guilt immediately followed. With another sigh, he flopped around so his back was now to the wall; the brick scraped his skin as he slowly sunk down into a crouch, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. 

He knew that he shouldn’t be complaining; he’d only graduated a short time ago, after all, so it made sense that he would be sent out to do the grunt work while the higher-ups tackled the big jobs. Nonetheless, Eijirou just couldn’t help but feel unfulfilled. The most exciting thing he’d seen in the several months since he’d joined the agency was a stick-up of a candy store because some thirteen-year-old with a very realistic water gun wanted to nick some chocolate bars without paying. He knew it was wrong of him to wish trouble on anyone, but he craved the adrenaline, the thrill of the chase and the takedown. Groaning, he tipped his head back to look up at the sky. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, meaning his shift would be ending soon. 

“So ends another day in paradise.” He smiled wanly before pushing himself to his feet and trudging down the path back towards the agency. 

His return was just as uneventful as the rest of his hero duty, so he soon found himself showered, changed, and on the bullet train home. He blinked sleepily as he clutched the silver handrail above his head. In his state of exhaustion, the gently rocking of the train car and the hum of conversation lulled him into drowsiness. His eyes drooped and he stifled a yawn with his free hand. I can’t wait to get in bed, he thought, smiling sleepily as he envisioned the embrace of his mattress and comforter. Just as his eyes shut and his body began to sway with the onset of sleep, the train lurched violently. 

“What the—?” His exclamation was drowned out by the startled screams of the other passengers. Eijirou expected to hear the screeching of the brakes echoing through the bullet train tunnel, but instead, he felt the train lurch the other way— it was speeding up? As his mind whirled with confusion, the overhead speaker system buzzed to life. 

“Attention passengers. This is not your captain speaking.” 

A confused and frightened hush descended over the train car. His instincts buzzing, Eijirou gripped the handle as he leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he trained his ears on the voice echoing down from the gray speaker just above the door. 

“You are now our hostages.” 

Another chorus of screams and gasps rippled across the crowd. Children looked to their mothers in fright, tears beading in their eyes as they began to bawl and cling to sleeves and skirts. Many of the stout men paled as nervous sweat appeared on their foreheads, and quite a few of them clasped the hands of their significant others to squeeze them painfully tight. An old woman seemed unbothered by the threat, continuing her sudoku puzzle as if it were just another evening train ride. 

“This train is now hurtling at rising speed. Inevitably, it will derail, causing catastrophic damage and countless casualties. Most, if not all, of you will perish in a maelstrom of steel and fire.” As more of the civilians began to openly weep, Eijirou felt his body flush hot with anger at the trainjacker’s mocking theatrics. The young hero also felt a cold rush of guilt follow, quenching the heat to turn his blood to ice. That selfish, selfish part of him had wished for something like this— and, even worse, he was enjoying it. His body sung with adrenaline, pumping through his veins to send every part of him on high-alert. He twitched incessantly, gripping the handlebar above his head and involuntarily activating his Quirk. Sparks rained down in his hair as his hardened skin scraped the metal. 

Hurry up and finish your speech already, jerk, so I can kick your ass! 

“What can you do? The answer is nothing. We have taken the train engineers hostage, and within each train car are several of my henchmen who are ready to deal with anyone who decides to get… rowdy. I advise you all to simply sit quietly and ponder whether the Japanese government considers your lives worth several hundred million yen.” With a cruel laugh, the villain cut off the speaker feed, leaving the train car deathly quiet. A few broken sobs and petulant whispers echoed in the metal box as the civilians looked around, wondering which of them could be the devils in disguise. 

Eijirou dropped his arms to roll his shoulders, craning his head to the left and right to crack his vertebrae. He bounced on his heels, grinning widely as he allowed the adrenaline to overtake him. There was no time to worry about his selfish wishes and the universe’s dramatic answer… Right now, there were people who needed saving. As he extended his back, groaning in satisfaction as his vertebrae popped, a large man in a beanie, gray sweater, black cargo pants, and combat boots rose from where he was sitting. The fabric of his hat brushed the top of the roof as he squinted at Eijirou, who straightened up with a smirk. 

“And what do you think you’re doing?” the stranger growled.

“Gettin’ rowdy,” the redhead replied cheerfully before socking the villain right in the jaw with a hardened fist. The man spun on his heel, his head snapping to the side with an audible crack. His jaw dangled uselessly as he stumbled in place in a daze before he crumpled to the floor, unconscious. It seemed he was the only villain stationed in this train car because no one rose to avenge him— or they simply were too frightened to bother after Eijirou had cold-cocked the hulking man without flinching. As shocked gasps, sobs of relief, and nervous reproach rippled through the train car, Eijirou rose his hands placatingly.

“It’s all right, everyone! I’m a pro hero!” he assured them with his signature shark-toothed grin. “Everything is going to be all right.” While a few of them sank into their seats in relief, most of them looked at the eighteen-year-old with doubt. Eijirou tried to hide the droop in his smile as he debated on what to do. The hostage negotiators were probably bickering with the villains, but there was no guarantee that they would succeed; worse, it could all be one big farce, and the psychopaths could have no intentions of letting anyone escape the train alive. The only sure-fire way to know what’s going on is to head to the front of the train! he decided. 

“Are you gonna go fight the bad guys?” a little boy piped up as Eijirou began moving toward the door adjoining the next car. Grinning, Eijirou spun around to give the child a thumbs-up. 

“That’s right! That’s what heroes do, after all!” 

The little boy sucked in an awed breath, his eyes blowing wide with admiration. Invigorated by the plucky lad, Eijirou’s chest swelled as he strutted confidently up to the door, pausing to peer through the window. Another lone man stood in the middle of the aisle, with a strange purple gas floating around them. All the passengers were slumped over in their seats or crumpled to the floor, apparently asleep. 

That’s one way to keep people from getting rowdy, Eijirou frowned, ripping off a large chunk of his tee shirt. A couple of high school girls sitting near him could barely suppress their squeals as the action revealed the chiseled planes of his abs, and he tossed them a wink before tying the fabric around the bottom half of his face. It wouldn’t prevent all of the strange mist from entering his system, but would hopefully buy him enough time to subdue the enemy and slip into the next train car. 

He carefully watched the man’s movements until he inevitably turned his back. Sucking in a breath, Eijirou swung the car door open and bum-rushed the man, charging down the aisle like a linebacker. By the time the villain had turned around, Eijirou was driving his hardened elbow right into his solar plexus. The man wheezed, eyes rolling into the back of his head and spittle flying from his mouth as the breath was knocked from his body. He flew backward, slamming into the door with his head colliding with the glass window. As it shattered around the crown of his scalp, he crumpled, bleeding and unconscious. 

The noise attracted the attention of the occupants of the next car, including the villain’s lackeys; Eijirou wasted no time, careening down the aisle and throwing the next door open. He vaulted over the unconscious man to land in the middle of the aisle, grabbing the two startled men by their heads to knock them together. As they reeled, eyes rolling, Eijirou shoved one to the ground to punch the other in the face. The villain howled as blood spurted from his nose— so Eijirou punched him until he stopped howling and flopped back, only held up by Eijirou’s grip on his shirt. 

When Eijirou dropped the villain to look down at the other, who was still lying on the floor, the man slowly raised his arms in surrender. 

“Look, man, they just told me I was gonna get paid.” 

“I advise looking into a new career field,” Eijirou snorted and gave him a stern point. “Don’t make me come back here.” The man nodded vigorously at the warning, so Eijirou decided to let him be, stomping off down the aisle to the next door. He paused as the windows, which had previously shown the dark gray-black walls of the tunnel they were traveling through, suddenly blared with bright light. The picturesque countryside now stretched on before him, but he could barely enjoy it as the scenery was nothing but smudged green. The train was already precariously hurtling, gaining speed with every passing second and inching closer to fiery catastrophe. 

“Damn lunatics,” he grumbled as he opened the door. 

For a group capable of successfully hijacking a bullet train, Eijirou found their manpower sorely lacking. He proceeded from one train car to the next with little difficulty, either dispatching his enemies or frightening them into submission with his raw displays of power. He’d reached the front one-third of the passenger train before the loudspeaker screeched to life again, and he paused in the middle of pummeling another lackey to listen. 

“It has come to my attention that we have a young pro hero on board. My apologies for not addressing you sooner; I don’t know of many pro heroes so poor that they have to take public transportation.” 

Eijirou scowled at the blatant insult, unconsciously wrapping his hand tighter around the villain’s throat. He was oblivious to the man’s squirms and whimpers, too honed in on the calm and sadistic voice bleeding from the speaker above his head. 

“It seems you are hell-bent on making it to the front of this train. I admire your grit, so I have pulled all of my underlings into the engineers’ room in the car attached to the control room. If you manage to fight your way through my entire group of henchmen, then I suppose you’ve earned the right to challenge the final boss, little hero. Good luck.” 

As the speaker cut off, Eijirou released the villain, who sunk to the ground and gulped down greedy breaths. Smirking and tugging down the strip of tee-shirt he still had tied around his slightly sweaty face, the young hero grinned defiantly. 

“All right then, asshole. Challenge accepted.” 

As promised, there were no villains occupying the anterior cars of the train. Eijirou still skulked through them suspiciously, his red eyes searching the sea of passengers in case one of them was a villain in disguise looking to get the jump on him. His keen gaze saw no hostility, only fear, anxiety, and— when they clapped eyes on the unassuming hero— hope. Their expressions of trust and adoration filled Eijirou with vigor, prompting him to increase his stride and head toward the engineer’s car with as much speed as he could manage without exhausting himself. As he reached the final car— at least, what he thought to be as he noticed the lights were off in the next one— he paused as he realized something. 

I’ve seen that expression countless times before. And it wasn’t just in crises like this— he’d seen it on the man’s face when he walked up to his car pulled up on the side of the road today. He’d seen it on a little girl’s face last week when he helped her find her lost cat. He’d seen it on an old woman’s face, too, when he helped her bring her groceries to her car across the entire supermarket parking lot. Hope, relief, trust… These were emotions he saw every single day as humble citizens looked to him to serve all their needs, big or small. 

Smiling ruefully, Eijirou leaned his forehead against the door. I’ve been a big, fat idiot, haven’t I? All this time I’ve been too caught up in the glory that I totally forgot what matters… How unmanly. Taking a moment for the epiphany to sink in, he closed his eyes, feeling the way his muscles were humming and his blood vessels were singing with epinephrine. Sure, the high was nice, but… He also really wished he could be in his bed, enjoying a cup of something warm to drink while he watched the news report on some mundane event from the day. Right now, the populace was probably glued to the screens watching the train hijacking unfold in real-time. 

From this moment on, Eijirou was going to wish that every day was as boring as it possibly could be— because boredom meant peace, and peace meant security for the most vulnerable, the most in need of saving. 

And the only way to restore peace is to give this jerk and his lackeys a good old-fashioned Red Riot walloping! Eijirou grinned devilishly, stepping back and throwing the door open. In the gloom of the engineer’s car, which only housed modest wall-mounted cots, a mini-fridge, and some other odds and ends, about a dozen and a half plainclothes bozos turned their gaze upon him. 

“All right, then. Who’s first?” Eijirou chirped. 

They all sprang at him. 

“Hey, hey, hey, that’s not fair!” the redhead cried, ducking a swing and delivering a blow to an assailant. Eijirou grimaced at the familiar thunk of Kevlar against his fist; so, this lot was a bit more prepared than the goons occupying the latter portion of the train. Grunting, Eijirou danced around another grunt who lashed out at him, her fingernails morphed into wicked-sharp, several-inch-long claws. He hopped up onto a cot and grabbed the curtain railing attached to the ceiling, pulling himself up to kick out both his legs. His boots plowed into the middle of two of the lackey’s faces, sending them stumbling back into the crowd. Another five surged forward to take their place. 

“Man, this is a lot more exhausting than in the action movies!” Eijirou puffed as he dropped down onto the cloth to avoid the onslaught of quills a porcupine-like Quirk user had shot at him. He yanked one out of the wall to jab another in the nose, making him yowl and whip his head around. The lackeys all gave a wide berth to avoid being poked, allowing Eijirou to wrench the minifridge out of the wall and heft it over his head. 

“Snack time!” he grinned before chucking it. It beamed one guy in the chest before bouncing off and crashing on another’s foot. As the first lackey collapsed against one of the beds, holding his likely cracked ribs, the other howled in pain and pushed the minifridge off his foot so he could cradle it, bouncing around in a circle on the other. All it took was an accidental shove for him to trip over his compatriot and bang his head against a pole, knocking him out cold. 

All of the villains looked at him, then at Eijirou, who ran a hand through his sweat-slicked hair and made a “come on” gesture. 

“I ain’t got all day, ya know!” he challenged. 

“Do you think we’re getting paid enough to deal with this?” one of the grunts huffed, making Eijirou rear back in surprise. A ripple of unease traveled through the small group before another, a short blond-haired youth who looked like he wasn’t even out of high school, dropped the crowbar he had been wielding. 

“Come to think of it, did he ever tell you guys how much he was gonna pay us?” The young man frowned. Another ripple of mutters and grumbles went around before a few of them tentatively shook their heads. In utter disbelief, Eijirou couldn’t help but speak up. 

“Wait, wait, wait— you guys hijacked a train for this guy even though you had no idea how much you were getting paid?” he blurted, mouth falling open. 

“We didn’t even know we were hijacking the train until we were on the train! He just told us he needed some grunts for a job!” one of the men complained, kicking the floor with the toe of his boot. “Man, I just wanted some cash to buy my daughter a nice birthday present…” 

“I wanted to buy my lady some flowers,” another sighed wistfully, “and maybe one of those big giant teddy bears that are super squishy and soft…” 

Eijirou reeled in confusion, reeling from the whiplash effect of the sudden development. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he held up his hand as if he could stop time to allow him to process what the hell was happening. 

“Look, you guys… Whatever your motives are, you do realize that, if this train doesn’t stop, as soon as we hit a curve in the tracks it’ll derail, and there won’t be any cash because everyone will be dead or dying?” He sighed, cracking an eye open to see them gaping uncomprehendingly at him. 

“But… The boss won’t let that happen, right? He just wants the ransom.” 

“Are you sure about that? Have any of you seen him on a phone call? Hell, you don’t even know what he’s promising you, so it sounds kind of fishy to me.” 

“The beefcake has a point.” A young woman frowned, rubbing her chin. 

“Are ya telling me we’ve been conned?!” another man growled, stamping his foot with steam blowing out of his nose as his face reddened darkly. Probably, if this guy could talk you simpletons into hijacking a train without promising a solid figure of money, Eijirou thought, but he held his tongue; he was winning the villains over, after all, so he didn’t need to go and piss them off. They were beginning to dissolve into a mutinous uproar, yelling and shouting and fuming. 

“All right, all right,” Eijirou shouted over the din, waving his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s not get all bent out of shape, now.” He looked nervously to the door leading to the adjacent car, worried their superior heard the outburst. When no one came through, he continued in a quiet voice, “I’m sure none of you really want to be involved in a mass murder— right?” Staring owlishly at him, all of them feverishly shook their heads. Thank goodness, Eijirou thought with an inward groan, keeping the saccharine smile on his face. “So, I’ll cut you all a deal. If you let me pass to deal with this guy, I’ll downplay your involvement to the authorities. We can get you set up real nice— rehab programs, halfway houses, you know, ways to make your life better, yeah? How’s that sound?” 

The crowd of grunts looked at one another uncertainly, then back at Eijirou, who was smiling so hard in his attempt to seem genuine and helpful that his facial muscles ached. He wasn’t lying anyway, but it was critical that he won them over, because he really was wasting time. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched the landscape shooting by beyond the windows; the gray smudges against the horizon were probably mountains, which meant the tracks were going to begin to curve. Hitting them at this speed would be disastrous, so Eijirou had to stop the runaway train as soon as possible. 

He breathed a small sigh of relief as the lackeys parted, giving him a wide berth to the door. 

“Thank you, guys. You’re doing the right thing,” he encouraged brightly, patting them on the shoulders as he passed. A few of them blushed and shuffled their feet shyly; it made Eijirou burn with anger, the knowledge that someone manipulated downtrodden souls for such nefarious ends. As he got to the door, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, loosening up his body for the final fight. He sucked in a breath, then pulled the door to the control room open. 

He found a man in khaki slacks, a white button-up, polished shoes, and wire-rimmed glasses holding a gun to the train engineer’s head. 

“Well, well,” the man quipped and used his free hand to push his glasses up his nose, “I didn’t realize I was being besieged by an upstart.” 

“Who are you callin’ an upstart?!” 

“My, what a brute you are. There’s no need to yell.” 

“I’m yellin’ ‘cuz you hijacked a train!” Eijirou fumed, a vein bulging in his forehead. The man rolled his eyes as if Eijirou’s ire was completely unwarranted, casually flicking his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Whatever! Slow down this train, right now!” he ordered, taking a step towards him. The man immediately pointed his gun at him, making him freeze in his tracks. He knew his Quirk would reflect the bullet, but in these close quarters, there was no guarantee the ricochet wouldn’t kill the hostage, or the villain, for that matter. 

“No, that won’t do. You see, I absolutely need this train to derail.” 

Eijirou looked at him dumbfoundedly. 

“You mean… You have no intentions of stopping? You want to kill everyone on board?” 

“Yes, precisely,” the man said disinterestedly. Eijirou blinked as his head swam, struggling to process the ludicrous notion. “I can see you’re having difficulty comprehending why someone would want to cold-bloodedly end the lives of hundreds of men, women, and children, so I’ll spell it out for you, so you can have some closure before you perish.” The man smiled like he was doing Eijirou a favor. A chill traveled down the redhead’s spine; even though he’d fought monsters like the League of Villains, he’d never seen such open malice. 

This guy was a true sociopath. 

“You see, I’m just a humble office worker,” the man said, flourishing his arm as he continued to point the pistol at Eijirou; he kept his peripheral vision on the engineer, a silent warning not to tamper with the controls under any circumstances. “I grew up with a loving mother and father, the middle child of three. I went to an average high school, had average grades, went to an average college and graduated with an average degree, and got an average-paying desk job. By all respects, I suppose you could call me more successful than some.” He shrugged, his tone betraying the fact he didn’t believe his words at all. 

“That’s just it. My life is so average that it’s unfulfilling. I have no special talents or interests. I’m too plain for anyone to notice; I’m passed over for promotions, and I don’t catch girls’ attention. Do you realize how infuriating it is to see everyone parading how special and unique they are? Everyone is always talking about the need to fit in, yet, when you fit in too well, you don’t fit in at all.” 

“I won’t be remembered when I die— at least, not living the life I have. But you know what people always remember? Tragedies, catastrophes, major accidents. You know who people remember? Great minds, villains of heinous proportions. So you see, young hero, I will be remembered now. They’re going to remember me as the mastermind who hijacked this train and led its occupants to a fiery death,” he said as a sickeningly elated grin spread across his face and his eyes lit with twisted pride. 

“You’re vile,” Eijirou breathed, shaking his head with a completely amazed expression.

“Perhaps, but they remember vile people, too.” The man shrugged and pulled the trigger. 

Eijirou managed to harden his chest just in time. The bullet bounced off his rock-hard skin, and he dove for the engineer on instinct, smooshing him against the control panel. The small compartment rang with a series of dings as the bullet bounced off the metal walls, and then the gun-wielding man let out pained yelp. Eijirou glanced down to see him curled up on the ground, clutching his thigh as it bled profusely and stained his pressed slacks a dark burgundy.

Eijirou kicked the gun away, sending it skittering to the far side of the room, before planting his foot on the office worker’s back. 

“Stay down, if you know what’s good for you,” he snarled before pulling himself off the engineer. The train worker shook his head, a little dazed, before fluttering his hands over the controls. 

“No! I won’t let you!” the villain screeched. His burst of fury and adrenaline allowed him to temporarily overpower Eijirou. He lunged up and grabbed the lever controlling the train’s speed, bending it at an odd angle and snapping it in half. Eijirou shoved him to the ground and wrenched his hand behind his back, but it was too late. 

“Oh no! It’s jammed!” the train manager wailed, wrenching on the small stub of lever still remaining; in his effort, his hand slipped, and the jagged metal sliced open his palm. Red blood splashed across the controls as he curled in on himself, whimpering. Eijirou stepped off the villain, who was cackling maniacally, to rush to the window; he could see the curve leading into the mountains fast approaching. “We can’t stop the train now… He tore out the wires for the emergency brake system as well!” the train engineer lamented, pointing at a busted panel in the control bench with wires sticking out of it. 

“Can you rewire it?” Eijirou asked as he looked back, eyebrows cinched with concern as his mind whirled. When the man shook his head, his heart plummeted and a sense of doom began to fill his belly. 

“I can.” 

Eijirou whirled around with a gasp to see the young blond-haired villain from earlier sauntering in, crowbar resting on his shoulder. The office worker, now pale from blood loss as it continued to leak out of his leg, looked at his former lackey in betrayal. “I’ve been hotwiring cars since I was eleven.” The youth grinned, thumbing the underside of his nose. “I should be able to get it working again, no problem.” 

“Even if you manage to get it working, if we don’t have enough track between us and the curve and still hit it too fast, we’re doomed! The train is traveling upwards of 250 miles an hour right now!” the engineer cried as the boy squatted down and began fiddling with the wires. 

“We just need to slow it down enough for me to get in front of it!” Eijirou said, watching the young man play with the wires. His deft fingers carefully entwined them back together, sparks jumping near the pads of his fingers. “If we can slow it down, I can use my Quirk and—”

“Got it!” the young boy cried, and the engineer immediately slammed down on a large blue button on the control panel. Eijirou looked up as a digital screen lit up, displaying a green schematic of the train deploying air resistance panels on its roof. The train immediately jerked back as the wind slammed against the large metal panels, and Eijirou saw the speedometer jump down below two hundred miles per hour. 

“It’s working!” the engineer declared in glee. Eijirou planted his foot on the office worker’s back as he began to squirm. 

“My Quirk allows me to harden my body. How slow does the train need to be going to make sure I don’t get squashed trying to push it to a stop?” 

“I-I’m not sure, but, I would say at least under one hundred and fifty miles an hour, but that’s still incredibly fast—” the engineer muttered uncertainly, scratching his head. Eijirou ignored his apprehension, red eyes glued to the speedometer. As soon as the twitching dial reached the “150” marker, Eijirou whipped around to yank open the control car window. 

The wind immediately rushed in, snatching at their clothes and hair. Eijirou stuck out his head, squinting as the fierce gale blasted into his face; through the tears welling up in his stinging eyes, he managed to make out the fast-approaching bend in the tracks as they snaked into the mountain range. Come on, Ei! You can do this! You have to slow the train! He encouraged himself, sucking in a breath and bouncing on his heels to psych himself up. Even with his Quirk, it was still pretty terrifying to be climbing on the front of a speeding bullet train. After a few seconds, he hauled himself up to sit in the window before he could change his mind. 

“All right. Easy does it,” he grunted, kicking off his shoes and socks before hardening his fingers and toes into jagged, sharp edges. He reached up to dig his fingers into the metal side of the train; the smooth steel crunched under his grip, allowing him to get purchase on the otherwise sleek vehicle. After ensuring that both his hands wouldn’t slip with a few vigorous tugs, he swung his legs out the window. He yelped as the wind snatched at them, leaving him desperately kicking against the train until he managed to drive his hardened feet into the metal. He took a minute to collect himself, sweat dripping down his face, before slowly inching around to the front of the train. 

Soon enough he was splayed out on the curved front of the train, with the wind blasting against him as he wondered how things could have possibly turned out this way. He sucked in a few breaths as the anxiety threatened to take over, using the cool wind to slow the nervous sweat blooming on his skin. It’s all good, Ei, he told himself with a weak smile as he hardened his entire body, the ridges of his skin bulging against his clothes. You just gotta drop down and slow the train. It’s fine. It’s cool. It’ll be one of those super-manly action scenes you see in the movies! You can tell everyone all about it! It’ll make a great story! Now, get… down… there!

Before he could stop himself, he slid down the front of the train. He caught himself at the last minute by slamming his hands into the metal, wincing at the heat bleeding out from the overheated engine. His feet slammed down into the wooden slats of the tracks and into the fresh earth beneath; the wood splintered immediately as Eijirou’s legs plowed through them, leaving bits of wood and scours in the earth in his wake. 

A keening groan slipped through his clenched teeth as his entire body jarred, rattling his bones and shaking his brain around in his skull. Still, he held fast, throwing his weight against the train and digging in his feet until bits of earth and wood were flying around his calves. The massive vehicle groaned and whined at the assault, but Eijirou could hear the wheels squealing as they slowed. It’s working! He thought, relief making him almost euphoric— or, perhaps, it was his brain turning to jelly from behind knocked around in his cranium. 

Above the squealing train, the buffeting wind, and the snapping wood, Eijirou thought he heard the whirling of helicopter blades. Sure enough, when he glanced out of the corners of his eyes, he saw the ovoid black form in his peripherals, keeping speed with the front of the train. It then reared up, coming over the top of the train, and Eijirou craned his head back as a lithe, blonde figure hopped down onto the roof. 

“Hey, kiddo! Need a hand?” Mt. Lady winked at him. Eijirou couldn’t manage a response with how violently his body was shaking, but the pro hero wasn’t seeking one. As she grew to her gargantuan size, she slid off the side of the train to plant her feet down on the earth and wrap her arms around the vehicle. As she slid, she uprooted trees and bushes as her feet dug great trenches into the ground. Eijirou cried out as the train gave a mighty jerk backward, slowing ten or twenty miles per hour already. With Mt. Lady’s help, it didn’t take long for the train to smoothly glide to a stop, just a few yards from the bend in the curve leading into the mountains. 

Eijirou slid bonelessly to a heap, trembling as his muscles burned from the strain. After shrinking down to her normal size, Mt. Lady rounded the front of the train to see him lying in a crumpled mess, panting heavily and shining with sweat. “You all right, kid?” she smiled down at him, hands planted on her hips. He gave a half-hearted flop of his hand in answer, making her chuckle. “You did a good job holding your own while we were on our way. The helicopter couldn’t match the speed of the train. If you hadn’t slowed it down for us, who knows what would have happened!” she said as she squatted down beside him. 

Eijirou rolled his head to the side as he heard more helicopter blades and crunching tires. The bullet train was now surrounded by an entire fleet of personnel— military vehicles and soldiers, police officers and pro heroes, government officials. Although his entire body felt like a melted pile of goop, Eijirou forced himself to roll over and half-stumble, half walk around the front of the train. 

“Hey, hey, wait!” he called hoarsely as they were unloading handcuffed villains from the engineer car. “Not those guys. Those guys are good.” 

“What?” the officer asked with a look of bewilderment. Several other higher-ranking officials came to listen while Eijirou explained. Thankfully, there wasn’t too much argument; the Hero Commission representatives agreed to uphold Eijirou’s promise, and led them away uncuffed to hopefully a better future. The blond-haired kid threw him a wink and a thumbs up as he was paraded by. 

“Phew! I’m tired,” Eijirou groaned as he flopped against the train. He cracked an eye open as the mastermind of the entire operation was wheeled out on a stretcher, stoically blank-faced. When he caught Eijirou’s eye, however, he grinned widely. 

“They’ll remember me still, won’t they?” 

Eijirou stared at him a second, then looked down the train, where the rattled passengers were being led to safety by the first responders. They probably would remember, but Eijirou didn’t want to give the sicko the satisfaction. 

“Nope,” he quipped, looking back at him with a stony expression. “In time, all bad things are replaced by good things instead. You’ll be nothing but an afterthought.” 

The man stared at him incredulously for a minute, mouth hanging open. Then, with a screech, he started bucking up against the leather restraints holding him down to the stretcher. The EMTs wordlessly wheeled him to the ambulance, giving no heed to his deranged ramblings. Sighing, Eijirou slumped back against the train, leaning his head and enjoying the way the metal cooled his sweaty, heated skin. He found himself drifting into a light doze, exhausted from all the chaos of the train ride. 

He imagined the embrace of soft sheets, a warm comforter, and a fluffy pillow, making him smile dreamily. There was nothing like crawling into bed after a day like this. But… I’d much rather crawl in bed after a peaceful day, he thought drowsily, peeking at the crowd of civilians who’d had to endure the fruits of his selfish beseech to the heavens. When they crawled into bed tonight, would their sleep be plagued by nightmares? Would they have to hold their loved ones close to feel safe? 

Indeed, Eijirou had been remiss in wishing for something exciting, but that was okay. He’d make up for it by being the best hero he could be. He’d put his all into every task at hand—whether it be rescuing a cat from a tree or preventing catastrophic destruction—because, regardless, that meant saving the day for somebody. He would attend to everyone in need, no matter if that need was big or small, because that’s what heroes do. 

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 7

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M for sMut. You knew we’d get here at some point.

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.)

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I felt the blast before I heard it. It pushed me into the air, hot and forcefully.

The sound made my ears pop as I flew.

This is it. I’m dying in a second.

I hit the ground. Blackness.

An eternity went by.

“She’s under that car!”.

“Get a crowbar or something!”.

Metallic screeches. The air smelled like smoke; and I coughed.

“Chess? Kid? Are you in there?”.

“Mami, say something!”.

“I’m here”, I croaked. I tried to crawl towards the voices, but my foot wouldn’t move.

It was dark around me. Feeling my way with my hands, I felt something like a handle, recognizing it as belonging to a car door.

“Y/N”, I head Flag yell.

I pushed at the door, making a crack to let in some light.

“Croc!”, Flag yelled, and the door was ripped away from over me. I looked up at the squads worried faces. Flag grabbed my arms, trying to get me up.

“I’m stuck”, I wimpered.

Croc, Floyd and Diablo put their backs against the car that pinned my ankle down. Digger and Flag each took one of my arms.

In the background I saw Harley yelling at the soldiers to help.

“1... 2… 3!”, Floyd counted, and the three men pushed at the car, lifting it slightly, allowing the other two to pull me free.

I scrambled forward, ending up in Flags arms.

“Chopper inbound”, Edwards called, and Flag picked me up, carrying me in the direction of rotor sounds.

“Beta Team are clearing out any stragglers. We’re good to liftoff”, Edwards said, as we moved to the chopper.

Setting me down in one of the seats, strapping me in; Flag pulled out a bowie knife, and started cutting open the bottom of my pantleg, and then took of my boot.

“Don’t joke about me ripping your clothes off”, he grumbled; as I tried to hide a smile.

Determining that my ankle was most likely not broken, Flag went to his own seat, and strapped in for the ride back to Belle Reve.

---

Celebrating a job semi well done, we were granted a case of beer; outdated a few months earlier.

I’d had the chance to wash up, and put on my prisoner clothes, before Flag arrived at my cell, strapping me back up in the harness. I put my flannel over it.

“You don’t want to miss the party”, he’d said, and had a group of guards transport me in a wheelchair to the gym.

I hadn’t seen a doctor for my ankle; which I wasn’t surprised about; but the alcohol, and a couple of little pink “friends” – as Digger had called them, after he pushed them into my hand – made the pain bearable.

Harley had helped me out with a bandage; so sitting there in the wheelchair, drinking the stale beer, leg raised by a folding chair, I was content.

The guards had also “blessed” us with a small karaoke machine, and I was chuckling my way through Diggers strangely erotic rendition of Waltzing Mathilda.

“And he sang as he sat, and waited while his billy boiled: You’ll come a waltzing Mathilda with meeee”; he moaned; one hand pointing into the air, hips thrusting to what I guessed he thought was the beat of the song.

“You did good, kid”, Floyd said from next to me. “Made a choice probably none of us would”. He took a sip of his own beer.

“I guess so”, I answered.

“Now don’t get me wrong, doll”, he continued. “Good doesn’t necessarily mean smart”.

He smirked at me.

“You know you could have died back there”.

“That probably wouldn’t have been good for team morale”, I laughed, and he nodded with a smile.

Harley took over the mic, Digger having fallen from the chair he’d been standing on. Taking a deep breath, she led us into a heavy metal version of Stand By Your Man.

Diablo and Croc were arm-wrestling; actually having a pretty even fight, as the tattooed man would let his hand light on fire every time Croc almost had him defeated.

Once Harley started bawling her way through the second chorus, I decided it was time to turn in.

Wishing Floyd a good night, I wheeled my way towards the metal door.

Edwards was standing outside it.

“Boss wants to see you”, he mumbled, cuffed me to the chair, and wheeled me off, out of the building towards some barracks next to the cellblock.

“What does he want?”, I asked.

“Don’t know, don’t care”, was the answer; as he drove me into the building, and down a hallway.

We stopped outside a door. Edwards banged on it.

“Colonel!”.

Flag opened the door. He’d cleaned up too; and was drying his hair with a towel.

“Uncuff her”, he said shortly.

“Sir?”, Edwards said.

“Do it. I’ll bring her back to her cell when we’re done”.

Edwards looked at him questioningly; but began to uncuff me from the chair.

“I’ll radio if I need you”, Flag said, and Edwards left us.

“Come in”; Flag said to me, and moved out of the way, so I could stand, and limp my way into the room.

A bed, a desk, a couple of chairs, and a minifridge were placed up against the walls of his quarters.

It was surprisingly messy. Not dirty in any way, but both chairs had become makeshift closets, and papers were spread across the desk and bed; telling me that Flag literally took his work to bed with him. I chuckled to myself, thinking it must have been a while since anyone had been in here with him.

He cleared one of the chairs and pulled it out for me to sit on.

“I don’t have bitters or ice, so you’ll have to drink it neat”, he said, handing me a glass of amber liquid I instantly recognized as whiskey.

“How’s the ankle?”, he asked, taking a sip from his own glass, and sitting down on the edge of the desk.

“It’s ok. Digger had some fun little pills in his stash, that took the edge of the pain”, I smirked, and took a sip from my glass.

“I’m sure he did”, Flag retorted, almost looking defeated. “It’s like dealing with a kindergarten. And that?”. He nodded at the bandage placed on my foot and ankle, to decrease the swelling. The thing was covered in stickers, and held together by a couple of glitter hairpins.

“Harley”, we said simultaneously, and laughed, our eyes meeting for the first time. For a second all air went out of the room; but then Flag looked down at the floor.

“They didn’t want you in the hospital wing”, he said, still not looking at me.

“I scare them, don’t I?”, I asked, finishing my drink, and putting the glass on top of a stack of files on the desk.

“They’re worried, yeah”. He finished his own drink, and took both glasses away, putting them down next to a bottle on top of the minifridge. “You’re able to disappear at will; and they don’t know you won’t sneak up on them, and slit their throats”.

“Even with this?”, I asked, gesturing towards the belts and wires strapped to my body.

“Yeah. They ain’t exactly geniuses in this joint”, he scoffed.

He went to sit on the other chair, facing me. He wrung his hands; seeming indecisive about something.

“Hey”, I said, biting my lip. “Thanks for not letting me die”. I looked at him, and smiled, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“You’re Wallers newest toy. She would have had my ass if I did”, he answered shortly.

I raised my eyebrows. “Ok. Good talk”. I went to stand, finding it difficult to put weight on my busted ankle.

Limping towards the door, I was about to knock it, hoping a nearby guard would take me back to my cell. At this point, anywhere was better than here.

“You know, I thought were smarter than that, Y/N”, Flag suddenly said, startling me. “Why would you do something so stupid? Putting yourself at risk like that?”.

“What do you mean?”, I wondered.

He chewed at his bottom lip, looking at me angrily. “You threw yourself headfirst into that situation; almost got yourself killed!” He stood up, and paced the floor, staring me down; as I stood there, mouth agape, not knowing what to say.

“I told you before, I can’t always be around to protect you. You need to be smarter than that”.

“Locking me in a dark room, treating me like and animal? Strapping me up with this bullshit chastity belt contraption? Is that what you call protecting me?”.

I was on a roll. Who does this asshole think he is?, I thought.

“Did you forget that I’m a scumbag, and that the world would be better if I just disappeared?”. I pointed an angry finger at his chest and looked him square in the face. “I was doing my job. The job you hunted me down, trapped me, and tortured me to get me to do”.

He stepped back.

“That wasn’t my call”, he said, and went to pour another glass for himself.

“Waller?”, I asked, voice low.

“She seemed to think that letting the guards here work on you a bit before we returned, would make you more compliant”. He wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I scoffed. “Why do you work for her?”.

He lowered his glass, having just been about to take a sip.

“I guess I’m a bad guy too”, he said, and drank the whole content of the glass in one swig.

I took a step forward; having forgotten all about my hurt ankle. The pain from stepping down on it, made me stumble and fall.

Flag ran over to catch me, but I hit the floor with my knees, cursing.

“Shit”, I yelped, and tried to stand again.

Flag grasped my elbow, and put his arm around my waist, supporting my weight. I pushed at his chest.

“Let go; I can take care of myself”, I said, struggling against his grasp. He held on to me, forcing me to lean against him; chest to chest.

“Would you just let me help you?”, he growled at me, putting his other arm under my knees; lifting me into the air.

Kicking my legs, I grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back, my other hand scratching at his arms.

“Get. Off. Me!”, I roared, and smacked him across the face.

Having been walking towards a chair, Flag changed direction.

“Fine!”, he barked; and let me go.

---

I landed with a bump on the bed. Shocked, all I did was stare up at him; standing over me, breathing heavily. Grasping my face with both hands, he leant over me; and planted his lips on mine.

I think I blacked out for a second – everything was Flag and his lips, tugging at mine.

His hands moved to my shoulders, gently pushing me backwards; until I was lying down underneath him; his one knee between mine.

I opened my mouth slightly, letting his soft tongue find its way to mine.

Grinding his hips against me, his groin meeting my core; it felt like I was on fire. I threw my head back and moaned.

Flags lips moved towards my neck, his hot breath sending tingles through my body. He kissed and nibbled at the sensitive skin below my ear, and moved down; reaching the spot where he’d used the strange gun to place the nano-bomb.

He suddenly groaned and pulled back; getting of the bed.

“Shit, we can’t do this”, he cursed, running his fingers through his hair, and pacing the floor again. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry. This is wrong. I should take you back to your cell”. His eyes met mine, almost pleading.

The pain in my ankle completely forgotten, I stood up. I stormed across the floor, pushed him against the wall, and grabbed the back of his neck; pulling him in to another kiss.

“I don’t give a shit if this is wrong”, I said pointedly. “You finish what you started, Flag!”.

His eyes were instantly on fire. He grabbed my bottom, and lifted me up so quickly, it was almost dizzying.

“Rick”, he breathed.

“Rick”, I smirked; and pushed my lips to his, our tongues colliding, and fighting for dominance. He tasted like whiskey and chewing gum.

As I straddled his waist, he spun us around; pushing me against the wall – his hips grinding against my core once more. He grabbed at my collar, pulling it down; and nibbled and licked my exposed neck and shoulder.

The sensation almost sent me over the edge, as I felt his hardening member through his cargo pants, rubbing against my most sensitive spot.

I’m about to have sex with a guy who wears cargo pants, I chuckled to myself.

“What”, Rick asked, out of breath.

“Nothing”, I answered. “Just keep going”.

He carried me to the bed, and laid me down; my legs still in a tight grip around his body. His weight on me put even more pressure on my core, and I gasped loudly.

“Eager kitten, aren’t you?”, he chuckled into my ear, and tugged at my lobe with his teeth. My eyes rolled back, and I let out a mewl, as his fingertips travelled down my side, ending up at my waistband.

He ran one finger along the band, once again kissing me, this time softly; exploring the curves of my lips with his own.

He sat up on his knees suddenly, making my butt move up his thighs; as I was still holding on to him something fierce, with my own.

He looked down at me, soft eyes exploring my own, then travelling down my body.

“You sure you want this?”, he asked. Biting my lip, I nodded.

Rick pulled of his t-shirt, and as it travelled up his body, I swallowed hard. His muscles flexed, revealing the reason he was so strong.

Colonel Flag worked out! He was fit; slender, but not skinny. His muscles were defined, and his skin smooth and tanned. I ran a hand up his torso, and scratched at his chest; feeling the small amount of hair there, soft against my fingertips.

Throwing his t-shirt on the floor, he smiled smugly, and chuckled at me. Putting his hand around my back, he pulled me up into a seated position on his lap; our faces inches from each other.

I felt his breath again, warm; and he grabbed my bottom lip between his teeth, nibling slightly, before exhaling and looking me into the eyes again.

My body was frozen in place. What the hell are you doing to me, colonel?, I thought.

“Let’s get this of you”, Rick smiled, and pulled at my flannel shirt. Taking it of me, he threw it behind his back; and it landed on the desk, knocking over one of his piles, making us both laugh.

I ran my fingertips down his spine, as he leaned in for another kiss. I teased him; pulling my mouth away at the last second, tilting my head, and biting my bottom lip.

He tried again, and as I did the same thing; his eyes on fire, he growled, and grabbed both my hips.

He lifted me from his lap effortlessly, and threw me backwards, making me land on the middle of the bed, on top of the papers strewn there.

With one hand, he took a firm grip around my wrists, holding them over my head.

I giggled and struggled against his grip, as he straddled my legs with his own, and grabbed the bottom of my face; kissing my lips passionately.

“Who’s the eager one now?”, I smirked at him, as he pulled back. His answer was to kiss me again, grab my hip with one hand, and flip me over; still holding on to my wrists. Grabbing and squeezing my buttcheek, he leant over, and whispered in my ear from behind me.

“I can stop any time you ask”, he breathed, and chuckled when I mewled in response to his fingers close vicinity to my core.

He smacked my butt, and flipped me over again; this time letting go of my wrists, and sitting back up.

I threw myself at him – our lips once again meeting – one hand in his hair, the other scratching his back from top to bottom, ending up at his waistband; slipping my fingers underneath it, to stroke the top of his ass. It was firm; and I was eager to find out how it looked.

Smiling giddily, I started undoing his belt; as he sat back, hands behind him, looking at me intently.

Opening his pants fly, I noticed the fabric of his boxers struggling to keep the little colonel in place. Rick inhaled quickly, as I let my finger softly stroke his length through the fabric.

Biting my lip, I looked up at him. One eyebrow raised, he smirked at me. You’re a smug sonofabitch, I thought – but I had to admit to myself that he did have plenty to be smug about.

Rick leaned back towards me, and as his tongue restarted its exploration of my mouth, he started tugging at the hem of my tank top, trying to get it over my head – something that turned out to be an impossible task, due to the harness I was still wearing.

“Shit “, Rick said.

I sat back on the bed and sighed. I knew this had been too good to be true.

Rick caught my eyes, as if searching for something. He shook his head.

“Fuck it”, he said. He got up, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer. He took out his key to the disc on my chest.

Once he got back to the bed, he unlocked the harness; and I lifted my butt slightly, letting him pull it off me.

He quickly threw it on the floor, and looked down at me, as I sat there – eyelevel with his stomach.

I ran my hand up his toned torso, and he grabbed my wrists again, lifting my arms into the air. Then – as eagerly as he had with the harness – he pulled my tank top over my head, leaving me in my bra and shorts.

He ran a finger across the uncovered top part of my breast, giving me goosebumps, and making me tingle in all the right places.

I looked up at him, once again biting my lip.

“You’ve got to stop doing that, kitten”, Rick breathed. “You don’t know what it does to me”.

Placing my palm over his covered member, gently squeezing it; feeling it’s warmth through the fabric.

“I can tell exactly what it does to you”, I smirked, licked my lips, and kissed his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers.

I started tugging at his cargo pants, and he stepped out of them, kicking them away.

Still seated, I put my hands on each of his butt cheeks, and pulled him closer to my face.

Looking up at him, I opened my mouth and put my lips on his length. His eyes widened, as he gave a small gasp.

“Y/N”, he breathed.

I moaned, and tugged gently at the fabric of his boxers with my teeth. Hearing him hiss, I laughed quietly; and hooked my fingers in the waistband, starting to pull down his boxers.

Behind my back, I could feel him unhooking my bra. Removing it myself; he meanwhile shucked his boxers.

Hi there, my eyes lit up. Standing at attention, Ricks member was right in front of my face; and I couldn’t help myself.

I placed one hand on his butt cheek, and the other closed around my new friend. Gently kissing the tip, I tasted the salty pre-ejaculate waiting there.

I opened my mouth; and meeting his eyes above me I took him in to my mouth, stroking his length with my hand.

I moaned, moving my head back and forth – tasting his warm skin, and feeling his veins ripple against my lips as I moved.

Ricks hands suddenly pulled at my hair, making me let go of his manhood.

Mouth still agape, I looked up at him, panting. He looked about to explode with lust.

He pushed me back in the bed, and pulled down my pants with shaking hands. Slinging them who knows where; he crawled over my body, grasping my right breast with a firm hand.

His other hand travelling upwards from my knee on the inside of my leg; he put his lips around my nipple, and sucked greedily.

I gasped loudly, as his fingers reached my covered folds. He continued to assault my right nipple for a couple of seconds more, before smirking up at me; then quickly pulled my panties to the side, and slid his finger between my wet labia.

He gave my left nipple a quick kiss, and moved his face to meet mine, grasping my lips with his own.

Continually kissing me, my hands in his hair; he stroked his finger from my entrance up to my sweet spot. Finding it engorged, he rubbed it gently between his thumb and index finger; driving me crazy with his circular motions.

My panties were discarded by joint effort.

He slid his free hand behind my torso, grasped my waist, holding on to me firmly. His member poking at my thigh, he held me down; one leg intertwining with mine.

He returned to my clit, stroking it softly.

His pleasuring hand pulled me closer and closer to the edge, when suddenly he slid his ring and middle finger inside me; and moved them in a come hither motion, rubbing his palm against my nub.

I pulled my mouth from his; gasping and moaning. A fiery tingle started spreading from my core, all the way through my arms and legs, fingers and toes.

I grasped the sheet, and threw my head back. Rick kissed and sucked at my neck, letting his warm breath there intensify the sensation on the rest of my body.

His hand continually moved – pressing upwards inside me, and downwards outside.

“I…”, I gasped.

“I know, kitten”, he breathed heavily. He kissed me again. “Let go”.

A hot wave, intense and earthmoving, washed over my body, from my core and outwards.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t breathe. My whole body tensed up, and I swear I floated into the air for a second; before dropping back down on the bed.

---

All the while, Rick had been staring at my face.

My body continued to climax, even after he had removed his hand from my warmth. He was now stroking my face, examining every inch of it with inquisitive eyes, as my muscles relaxed more and more; allowing me to breathe in a steadier pace.

“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”, he said, voice low; his index finger travelling from my forehead, over my nose, and finally stroking the edges of my lips.

I sputtered with laughter.

“I mean it!”, he said. I slapped his shoulder lightly.

“My cumface is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”, I laughed at him.

“Yeah!”, he laughed.

“You can’t be serious”, I smiled.

“Well I did see an original WWII Lanchester submachine gun once, that got me pretty hard”, he smirked.

I laughed out loud again, making him chuckle.

“Speaking of hard…”, he said, and moved to lie between my legs. “… I’m not done with you”.

His eyes bore into mine; and he positioned himself at my entrance.

I gasped; and Rick slid into me slowly, letting me feel every delicious ripple of him as he did. Everything was this moment, and we started to move together.

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