#anyway yeah go donate blood if you can and spread the word even if you cant

[ashes-onthewind]

for me i very very much want to, but a) I've never gotten to b) i have low blood pressure issues and don't know if it will fuck me up c) I'm deathly afraid of needles

[multifandhoem]

fluids.

fluids. || Hanamaki Takahiro x Reader x Matsukawa Issei

A/N: Honestly, I don’t even know what to say about that one, apart from that I am deeply sorry and will see you all in hell. 

Genre: smut (pure filth)

Summary: Y/N wants to try something and being the perfect and willing friends, Matsukawa and Hanamaki help her with her problem.

Warnings: where do I even begin   cursing, cum eating, threesome, butt stuff (lots of butt stuff), a lot of toys, double penetration, spitting, slight humiliation, slight slut shaming, spanking, oral giving and receiving, dom!Matsukawa, dom!Hanamaki, sub!Reader, mentions of MxM, lots of fingering, have I mentioned toys?

Word count: 7.406

Hanamaki and Matsukawa were your best friends for years. You trusted them with your life. So why were you so nervous just at the thought of asking them that dreaded question.

You were currently in their shared apartment, a place you visited quite regularly due to your horrible roommate in your college dorm. You were all spread over their three-seater couch, a generous donation of Mattsun’s aunt after all cheaper couches were way too small for the former volleyball players who by now were pretty close to the 190 cm mark.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet today.���

You flinched a bit, and it would have been unnoticeable, if you weren’t laying across their laps, with your head on Makki’s thigh and your thighs over Mattsun’s. The former only raised his eyebrows at your reaction at his question and Mattsun soon joined him in his questioning glare. Suddenly feeling cornered you shrunk a bit under their gaze, clearing your throat quietly.

“It’s nothing.”

Makki’s eyebrows rose even higher and you desperately tried avoiding his eyes, finally sitting up, successfully eliminating your physical contact with them.

“Yah, what’s up with you?” Mattsun looked legitimately concerned, his eyebrows nearly meeting in the middle.

“You shouldn’t make a face like that or it’ll stay.” He rolled his eyes at your teasing, while you mustered a grin, standing upright after. “I just need to take a piss, no need to worry!” With that you sauntered off to the bathroom, hoping that they would’ve forgotten that awkward conversation when you got back.

You didn’t need to pee at all. You just stood there in front of the mirror, not believing your own stupidity. How could you even think about asking that question? How could you even think about them in that context? An exasperated sigh left your lips. Hopefully, they wouldn’t press on the matter further.

For good measure, you pressed on the flush and washed your hands, so they wouldn’t be suspicious.

“When you’re already standing you can bring me another beer!” Hanamaki waved his empty bottle in your direction with a grin and you felt relief washing over you. They decided to drop it, thank god. “Wait, wait!” Mattsun reached for his bottle on the table, finishing the remains in three large gulps before extending the bottle your way, too. “Just be thankful I feel guilty for crashing here so often!” You rolled your eyes with a grin but reached for their bottles anyways. On your way to the kitchen, you heard Mattsun’s loud burp behind you, commented with a deep laugh that could only belong to your light-haired friend. “Gross!” You commented while taking new cool bears out of the fridge, putting new ones in from the stack of beer crates, conveniently located right next to it.

It wasn’t really that much of a deal though, was it? You were back in your previous position and again the thoughts invaded your mind. They were your best friends. And they were on their third beer over the course of like two hours, so they had a bit of alcohol in their blood but weren’t drunk. You always felt comfortable around them. And even if you didn’t, they made sure you were loosening up soon enough.

The episode of the sports anime you originally convinced them to watch was forgotten, you just had to watch it at home to be up to date again. Should you just ask them? Maybe you shouldn’t have stopped after your second beer. Maybe you would have more courage then.

“You guys are bi, right?” Both heads turned to you in an instant. “That’s what you were so worked up over?” Makki sounded downright appalled, expecting something much bigger than that. “I thought you knew that?” Mattsun sounded as unbelieving as his friend, both paying no mind to the show anymore, just watching you squirm again.

It was uncomfortable under their stares, but at the same time, touching both of them made you feel a bit more confident.

“No, I mean, I knew that but… that means you both have experience with guys, right?” Your eyes were focused on your hands on your stomach fidgeting away. “Yes, we fucked a couple of times if that’s what you’re asking.” Mattsun’s dry answer made you shoot up in shock, nearly hitting Makki in the chin on the way. “What? No, that was NOT what I was asking! You did what? When?” That was an outcome you really didn’t anticipate. Makki laughed behind you, apparently finding your reaction incredibly amusing.

“Why are you asking, princess, wanna join in?”

That was not what you had planned at all. You felt your face heating up, eyes fixated on the old hardwood floor. “Fuck, you do?” You don’t think you have ever seen Mattsun’s eyes as wide as they are now.

“NO. I mean kind of. I mean not really. I didn’t even know you two fucked!” You were waving your hands around nervously, still avoiding eye contact.

“Okay, okay. Let’s calm down for a second. Take a sip and then tell us what you’ve been thinking about.” Makki seemed equally as surprised as Mattsun (and as you, tbh), but still tried to take control over the situation, handing you his beer bottle.

“It’s just… with you being bi and having experience with guys… you have tried anal, right?” Your face was burning with embarrassment at this point. You were nervously clutching the bottle, rolling it around in your hands, completely missing the look the other two shared.

“Yeah, what about it?” Mattsun scooted a bit closer, trying to make his voice as soft as possible, to not stir your nervousness even more.

“I have never really tried it. I mean I haven’t had a serious boyfriend in the last years, you know that but I’m really curious and I kind of tried it, but I didn’t really work, and I kind of want advice.” Your voice kept going quieter in the end and you still couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head.

Makki cleared his throat. “Verbal or physical advice?” You bit your lip. Now or never. “I don’t know.” You were a wimp. “Look at us, princess.”

Both of them had serious expressions on their face when you finally met their eyes, but they were in no way angry or disgusted. Thank god.

“I mean, I totally get why you’re curious, but if you tried it and it didn’t really work, maybe you don’t like it?” Mattsun offered you a small smile, but you just shook your head wildly. “All my friends say it’s great. And I don’t even know if I tried it correctly. I didn’t do any research or something like that. That’s why I want advice!” You began talking faster again, flaying your hands wildly in the air and nearly making a mess, if Makki hadn’t taken the bottle out of your grasp right before. His fingers remained around your wrist, slowly taking your hand in his. “Stay calm, princess, we’re not judging you. What did you try exactly?” You could see the slight blush on his cheeks when he asked that question and seeing him a bit nervous made you feel a bit better.

“Just a bit fingering. I mean I tried, but it didn’t even go in.” Makki smiled a bit at the way you whined, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Did you use enough lube?” You turned to him with wide eyes. “I didn’t use any.” Mattsun let out a scandalous gasp. “Oh god, princess, of course, it didn’t really work. Lube is like the most important part of anal play!”

A blush adorned your cheeks once again. “I don’t have any at home, I usually don’t need it.” Both their eyebrows rose high at your statement and you buried your face in your hands.

“Okay. If I understand that correctly, you want us to try anal with you.” It was more of a statement than a question, but you nodded, face still immerged in your hands.

“Okay. Okay.” Mattsun sounded a bit overwhelmed with the situation. “We can’t really do anything today. We ate a lot of ramen like two hours ago and drank beer. And trust me, doing butt stuff after eating is not the perfect way. Especially not for your first time.” Maybe you were reading him wrong.

“Come here, princess.” They pulled you on their laps again and you finally looked them in the eyes again. “No need to be ashamed anymore, okay? I mean we’re down for it. You got a cute butt.” Makki grinned at you in a way that made you immediately feel more at ease, but the following pinch to your butt made you yelp in surprise. They both laughed and after a short moment, you joined them as well.

Why were you even worried? They were your best friends. You have nothing to be ashamed of in front of them. They have done way more embarrassing things in front of you for there to be any kind of space for shame.

“We shouldn’t do much today, but we could still set some guidelines, are you okay with that?” Mattsun had scooted all the way over to Makki, you being perched on one of each of their thighs. “Guidelines?”, you echoed dumbly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. “Yeah, well, anal is a very sexual thing. So it obviously has to be sexually enjoyable. And if we would know what you like beforehand, it would kind of help!” He grinned wickedly at you, hands finding their place at your hips, thumbs softly caressing the skin between your sweatpants and your shirt.

“Oh.” Oh. You didn’t really think that far. Of course, it was something sexual. It is called anal sex for fucks sake. You knew it was something sexual. But still, the topic of the conversation together with you being on their laps made a blush rise to your cheeks again.

“Don’t be shy, princess.” You felt Makki shift a bit, leaning forward until his lips were on your neck, nipping lightly at the soft skin.

“Well, I don’t really like being in control.” You finally brought some words over your lips, feeling Makki’s lips change into a grin at your neck.

“Wouldn’t have guessed that the way you were practically begging both of us to train your asshole.” Mattsun’s amused words sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t deny that this situation turned you on a bit.

A whimper escaped you when Makki bit down on a particularly sensitive spot and both boys chuckled behind you. “You should come next Friday. And stay for the weekend. Is that alright?” His tone was surprisingly casual. Weren’t they affected in any way? “That works for me,” you still answered softly.

“Perfect. Why don’t you turn around for us, princess?” Mattsun pinched your hips in an invitational manner and you got up to straddle their thighs right afterward.

“Are you alright with kissing?” Each one had a hand on your thigh, Makki’s even laying right under the curve of your butt.

“What kind of question is that? I want you to put something in my ass, of course, I’m alright with kissing!” They chuckled at your answer before Makki leaned forward to capture your lips with his. It was soft at first. Not a lot of tongue. He cautiously tested your boundaries, starting with little pecks, and working his way up to a slow and sensual kiss.

Mattsun’s hands had begun roaming your body, pinching and grabbing everywhere, but never on any of the places where you wanted him.

That was until Makki straight up grabbed your ass to pull you closer towards their bodies. A surprised gasp escaped you and he used that to deepen the kiss, practically ravishing your mouth. Mattsun by now has moved on under your shirt, his rough fingers caressing your sensitive sides, making you shiver in the process. Soon his hands started kneading your breasts over your bra and you moaned in Makki’s mouth when they suddenly both retreated. You whined at your loss, eyes switching between them pleadingly.

“Look at you,” Mattsun cooed, his hand moving up to squish your cheeks slightly together. “We haven’t really done anything and you’re already so desperate.”

He then leaned towards you, kissing you for the first time himself. His lips were softer than Makki’s, but he used more force, pressing his tongue into your mouth almost immediately. But there were no roaming hands this time. And Mattsun soon leaned back again, a thin trail of saliva connecting your lips.

“We shouldn’t go too far today. But it’s good that you’re comfortable kissing us. We should keep that going at least until Friday. You alright with that?” You nodded at Makki’s words, still trying to process what they were saying.

Were they just going to leave you high and dry? Okay, they didn’t know you were so turned on, just by the talk about sex and that bit of kissing. And you would not tell them. This encounter was already embarrassing enough, you didn’t need to give them, even more, to tease you about.

You nodded again, moving into a less straining, and less sexual position from straddling their thighs to just sitting sideways over their laps, leaning against Makki’s broad chest.

“On Friday… please shower beforehand.” Mattsun’s words startled you a bit. “Like, should I clean inside? How do I do that?” You were so clueless about anything anal related, it was kind of amusing to the two guys. “You don’t have to clean the inside. And we can help you with that, too, we have some water enemas, but they shouldn’t be used too regularly, please remember that. But for Friday just making sure that you are clean on the outside is enough.” Mattsun rubbed comforting circles on your thighs, explaining everything in a calm voice.

You relaxed a bit at his words, leaning back down against Makki.

“Don’t forget, there’s no need to be nervous. We’re always happy to help!” Makki pressed a kiss on the crown of your head. ��Especially with sexual things!” Mattsun added with a perverted grin, pinching your inner thigh again.

“Do you usually like being praised or being talked down onto?” Apparently, they haven’t quite left the topic of what you like in the bedroom.

“Ehm, I mean, usually more talking down, to be honest, but with something I’ve never done before I’m not so sure…” You knew you shouldn’t be nervous. They were so understanding and willing to help you, they wouldn’t judge you for something like this. But you still couldn’t help your face flaring up again.

Both of them nodded with a knowing smile, seemingly already scheming a plan on how to handle you in a couple of days.

“It’s alright, princess, we will be careful with you. Now let’s go to bed, we have class in the morning. Do you wanna sleep with me or with Makki?” Mattsun carefully repositioned your legs when he stood up, leaning down to press another kiss to your lips, and one on Makki’s right afterward with a sly grin on his face.

You stayed quiet. How could you choose now? “Let’s all sleep in my bed,” Makki finally ruled after you hadn’t said anything for a couple of seconds, avoiding eye contact during that time. You shot him a thankful smile before climbing off his lap and getting dragged by Mattsun towards the bathroom.

You stayed the night more often than not, already having a toothbrush and the most important toiletries on a space reserved just for you over the sink. Usually, you would sleep on the couch, though.

“About time.” Mattsun grinned at you and extended his arms in your direction when you finally emerged from the bathroom after removing your makeup and doing a very small skincare routine. They had left you after you all brushed your teeth, waiting for you on Makki’s king-sized bed, with a spot reserved for you in the middle.

Both pressed small kisses to your face when you laid down in between them, making you giggle. “Night, Makki. Night, Mattsun.” You mumbled when you all had found a comfortable sleeping position. “You should call us by our first names, you know?” Oh right, that actually made sense.

“Night, Hiro. Night, Issei.” You corrected yourself with a smile and after their chorus of ‘Night, Y/N.’ the room became quiet.

They had managed to make you feel comfortable every time you saw them. But now that it was Friday and you were standing in front of their door, every ounce of nervousness came back. With shaky fingers you pressed on the doorbell, hearing it echoing from inside. It did not take very long for Hiro to appear in the doorway, a bright smile on his face, and a kitchen towel over his shoulder.

“Hi, princess!” He tugged you towards him in an instant, leaning down with puckered lips. With a small chuckle, you kissed him, your nerves immediately feeling calmed down after experiencing his carefree attitude. “We were just doing some dishes, do you want something to drink?” He leads you towards the kitchen where Issei was positioned by the sink, yellow gloves on his hands, washing the last set of plates that were probably resting on the countertop for the last couple of days.

The scene was strangely normal, apart from the kiss you two shared again after he ditched the gloves and could snake his arms around you.

Well, what did you expect? It’s not as if they would jump on you as soon as you entered. You made yourself a glass of water, eagerly gulping it down to soothe your dry throat.

Hiro didn’t take long finishing drying the dishes and soon you found him pressed against your back. “Let’s go to the bedroom, okay, princess?” You could only nod, taking Issei’s hand and following him towards his bedroom. It was uncharacteristically clean, and the bed was even made, a sight you have not seen in the three years those two occupied the apartment.

“Don’t be nervous, okay? We can stop anytime you want.” Hiro appeared behind you, his hands on your hip and lips pressed into your neck.

“I want this.” Were you trying to convince them or yourself? You didn’t know, but it worked, either way, a small feeling of excitement spreading in your stomach when Issei kissed you.

Being caged between your two best friends was never a position you imagined yourself being in (or realistically imagined) but here you were.

Your hands moved up to tangle themselves in Issei’s dark locks, him slightly moaning into your mouth when you tugged a bit too hard. His hands moved under your shirt kneading your breasts, while Hiro’s hands already dipped a bit into the front of your pants, fingers fiddling with the zipper and it didn’t take long until you were left without any clothes on.

“Look at you! Dressing up all pretty for us?” They appreciatively let their eyes wander over your body, only clad by a black lingerie set.

You felt incredibly exposed, with them still being fully clothed and looking at you so hungrily.

“Damn, you have great tits!”, Hiro exclaimed when pushing the lace covering your breasts down, immediately taking them into his hands for good measure. He let out a deep groan and Issei soon joined him, lips latching onto your right breast, gently nipping on the sensitive flesh.

You didn’t know what to do with your hands, shyly caressing their arms, lightly dipping into their sleeves to feel their biceps under your hands. “Take them off, please?”

In your mind, you scolded yourself for how unsure you seemed, but those thoughts were quickly erased when they both complied, exposing their toned torsos.

“Do you wanna lay on the bed, princess?” Hiro phrased it as a question but there was an unspoken command. You made a step towards the bed behind them, Issei quickly undoing the clasp of your bra when you passed them to obey Hiro’s command. “On your stomach.”

Quickly you corrected your position, your hands lying next to your head.

Butterfly kisses were pressed onto your naked shoulder blades, four hands roaming your back, butt, and thighs continuously.

“You’re very tense.” You didn’t know what to answer to that, only muttering a quiet apology. Your words got lost in a moan, when suddenly a finger was pressed to your core, playing with your vagina through the lace fabric of your panties.

You tried grinding back onto the finger, but strong hands held your hips in place, both boys chuckling at your exasperated whine. Your underwear got pushed to the side and soon the finger was back, slightly toying at your entrance.

“Oh, I know now why you said you don’t need any lube. Hiro, fuck, look at that. She is wet wet!” A second finger joined, and Hiro chuckled surprised, moving some of your slick around and towards your clit, loosely rubbing the bundle of nerves.

“Lift up your ass for a second.” You obeyed and soon you were completely bare in front of them, one hand still toying at your vagina, while two others were caressing your butt, spreading your cheeks and groping the flesh in a rough but still kind of soft manner. That was, until a slap echoed through the room, combined with the moan that escaped you as you felt the impact a hand with your butt. “I knew you would enjoy that.” Hiro sounded incredibly smug, repeating is former action a bit harder and on the other cheek. Again, a moan escaped you, trying once more to grind back into their hands, again to no avail.

“You really are quite a horny slut, aren’t you?” Issei’s mouth was extremely close to your core and you shuddered when you felt his breath over your lower lips.

“Raise your hips again?” You immediately did as you were told, feeling a pillow being stuffed under your hipbone to raise your hips permanently.

The finger, that has been rubbing very slow circles on your clit, disappeared, but soon enough your legs were spread. The cool air hitting your wetness was a tease in itself, but it was right away replaced by a hungry tongue, lapping up your juices. Hiro reappeared in your field of vision, connecting your lips again, to muffle the moans that were escaping you.

Issei’s nose was pressing into your vagina, his lips, tongue, and teeth relentlessly working on your clit.

“Please, please, I’m going to come!” It was embarrassing, really, how fast your best friend was able to bring you to that point. “Already?” Issei was less surprised, more smug when he suddenly pushed two fingers inside you and latched onto your clit again.

“Come on, princess.” Hiro slapped your ass again and with a loud moan, you released onto Issei’s mouth, who greedily lapped up everything you offered him.

“Well, you look a lot more relaxed, now!” You could hear the teasing out of his voice when he reemerged from between your legs, tongue slipping out to get the rest of your glistening arousal. You were a lot more relaxed now, still panting from your orgasm, that you didn’t even flinch when a huge drop of lube got placed on your lower back. And your asscheeks. Four hands were immediately on your backside, massaging your cheeks and lower back in a slow and sensual way, getting small moans from you as a response. After a couple of minutes, your cheeks got spread, another dollop of lube falling right in the center.

A finger softly began massaging it into the area around your puckered hole and soon, more lube was added.

You were incredibly nervous. But both of their hands on your backside was kind of comforting. And when a kiss was pressed onto your shoulder blades you relaxed with a shaky exhale.

“You’re doing so good, princess.” Issei pressed another kiss on your back and you whimpered a bit as a response. “Hand me the vibe, will you?” Hiro’s words made Issei sit up again, his lips leaving your skin. Vibe? What vibe?

Your question soon got answered when a small buzzing sound started, and the silicon bullet got pressed lightly against your hole. “Oh,” you gasped, hips jerking for a second but again some hands stopped you. And then a finger found its way back towards your clit, circling it again. Hiro was alternating his fingers and the small vibrator at your asshole, continuously adding more lube and sometimes pressing harder, but still keeping everything fairly light.

It was feeling really pleasurable and the next time he pressed the vibe harder against your hole, you couldn’t hold back the small moan anymore.

Hiro cooed at the way your asshole clenched around nothing, tentatively pressing a tip of his finger inside. You moaned when his digit passed the rim. It didn’t hurt at all, like that time you tried it by yourself. Apparently, lube really was the savior. Or it was your best friends, who have been patient and soft with you all the way through, gently leading you to this moment. More lobe got added to your hole and Hiro’s finger disappeared, but reentering you more slicked up just after a second. He still only put the tip of his finger inside, slightly wiggling it around before replacing it with the vibrator again.

“You look really good with my finger in your ass. And Issei’s working your pussy. Is that why you asked two of us? You want to take it so far to get double penetrated, take each of us in a different hole?” You knew it was only dirty talk. He was trying to take your mind off the slight stretch of your ass when he pushed his finger in deeper. But you couldn’t help the way you desperately moaned at the comment.

“Oh? Look at your hole twitching!” Issei sounded incredibly amused, his finger moving from toying with your clit to your vagina, which was clenching around nothing. “You like that thought? Every hole of you filled with another cock? Maybe we should ask Iwaizumi or Oikawa to join, too. So that you can be stuffed like the little whore you are!”

With another moan you tried to move your hips once again, this time successfully burying Hiro’s finger deeper in your ass. A slap to your cheek was the immediate answer. “Impatient slut. Better behave or we won’t be so gentle anymore!”

You nodded shakily, already feeling full by the finger in your ass and one at the entrance of your pussy.

But Hiro soon pulled out again, dropping even more lube on your now slightly looser hole, before the small bullet vibrator came into action again. You moaned loudly when it got pressed into your hole, slightly wider than Hiro’s finger it was still a stretch.

“I love your ass. It looks really cute like this.” Accommodating his words Issei pressed a kiss to your left buttcheek.

Hiro still worked the vibrator in your ass, fingers massaging the flesh around your rim. “I’m going to plug you soon, you alright with that?” You could only nod, desperate for more friction. You asked for gentle and slow. But you wanted to come again. And, as embarrassing as it was to admit, you loved it when they talked down on you, ordering you around.

You felt his lubed up pinky join the vibrator in your hole and moaned again when suddenly both vanished and got replaced by a cold metal object. “She’s going to look so pretty!” Issei rubbed your clit a bit harder, while the cold object got greased up in the juices around your hole.

Another drop of lube followed when Hiro finally began pushing it into your ass. You soon realized what it was, a small plug, thinner at the tip but wider in the middle.

The widest part was a bit bigger than every other thing you have taken in your hole so far, but it still didn’t hurt, just a tight stretch, but with the lube and the fingers massaging your lower back, it went in without a big hassle.

“You look so good, do you wanna take a look at yourself?” You nodded and turned around, finally seeing your two friends again. Issei immediately tugged you onto his lap, pressing your back against his chest and turning towards his closet, where a huge mirror adored one door.

And there, right between your buttcheeks, rested a jeweled plug. You moaned again at the sight and at the proud grin that was on both of their faces. Issei reached down, pressing his palm against the red jewel, slightly wiggling it inside. You threw your head back on his shoulder, grasping his wrist to press it closer against your core, nearly humping his arm in desire. “Now, now, no need to get ahead of yourself,” Hiro intervened, taking your hands from Issei’s arm. “If you beg nicely, we give you something you can fuck yourself on.” His grin was downright evil and it got even worse, when he pressed the vibrator from before against the plug, making it move inside you.

“Please, please, Hiro, Issei, please, I really want to come!” There were tears prickling in your eyes. The constant stimulation at your ass felt good, but it was nothing you could orgasm from. You needed something in your vagina. Something that fucks you, preferably.

“You know, maybe if you crawl a bit on your knees, it would help.” Your eyes went wide at Issei’s words, but obediently you slipped from his lap, getting on your knees in front of them. You crawled towards the door on all fours, hearing them groan behind you. “You know what we should invest in? A tail plug.” The thought of them making you literally your pet excited you, again clenching around nothing, but still wishing something was filling your other hole, too.

“Sit on my lap again.” Your back was once again pressed against Issei’s naked chest, your legs being kept open by his strong thighs. “Here, princess.” Hiro’s eyes caught yours in the mirror and with a playful smile, he handed you a medium-sized purple dildo. “Fuck yourself.” The command was simple. But you still hesitated. You never masturbated in front of somebody else before. It seemed kind of humiliating. But that thought was it, that made arousal shoot to your core once again. And with a firm nod, you lined the dildo up your entrance, slowly easing it inside.

Leaning your head back on Issei’s shoulder you began moving it inside your core, pleasure slowly filling your body with each thrust. “Look at us, princess.” You raised your head again, eyes meeting theirs in the mirror, fastening your pace and letting moans escape you.

A small cry left your lips once you found that special spot inside you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your movements became sloppier. On the one hand, you were desperately chasing your orgasm, but on the other hand, the pleasure was too much to have much control over your movements anymore. You cried for relief, when suddenly another hand closed around the dildo, continuing your thrusts with new harsh ferocity.

“I said, look at us!” Hiro growled in your ear, pushing the toy harder into you. After you took too long to react Issei closed a hand around your neck, pressing at the sides and forcing you to face the mirror again. It was a downright sinful picture. You were completely fucked out, so close to your orgasm, being chocked by one man and fucked with a purple dildo by the other.

With a cry you let your orgasm wash over you, clenching around both toys stuck inside you while throwing your head back on Issei’s shoulder once again.

“Fuck, you look filthy.” With a chuckle Issei broke the silence, his hand slowly falling from your neck again. “Let’s get you cleaned up, princess.” With a smile Hiro fell to his knees in front of you, slowly tugging the dildo out of you. Next, it was the small plug. You groaned at the overstimulation, hips twitching.

“I don’t wanna. Can take more!”, you mumbled, trying to sit yourself up straight. With raised eyebrows Hiro shoved two of his fingers inside your asshole again, chuckling at the way you winced. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. You’re here for the whole weekend, we don’t have to wreck you on the first day.” Issei got up with you in his arms, slowly carrying you towards the bathroom and filling the tub with water.

“But what about you?” Your eyes were big, trailing to their respective bulges in their sweatpants. “You wanna suck us off while we wait for the water?” Issei was gentle with you, setting you down on the soft mat in front of the tub, softly caressing your cheek. You nodded wildly and amused both men pushed their sweatpants lower.

You first took Issei in your hand, your tongue trailing up and down on his dick, wetting it before finally enveloping it with your mouth. A rough groan escaped him and his fingers weaved themselves into your hair, slightly fucking into your mouth when Hiro’s tip bumped against your cheek. You looked up and were immediately greeted with another groan. “Fucking hell, princess, keep looking at me!” Despite Issei’s words, you took his dick out of your mouth, moving on to Hiro, while jacking Issei’s now thoroughly wet dick off with your right hand. Hiro’s cock was a bit smaller and thinner than Issei’s and you couldn’t help but remember his words from before. Having both of them fill you at the same time was a new sexual fantasy that manifested itself in your mind in the last hour.

“Who knows, maybe tomorrow it will be in your ass.” He seemed to read your mind and you couldn’t help but moan again at the thought, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure up his spine.

You switched again back to Issei, who immediately started softly fucking your mouth, chasing his high. “Come on, princess.” Hiro groaned, taking over from your hand and jacking himself off even faster than you had done it before. You gagged around Issei’s cock, tears falling from your eyes but still desperately trying to please him. They made you come twice today. It was only fair you gave some back.

With a final moan, Issei pulled out of your mouth releasing himself all over your face, partly inside your mouth. “Keep your mouth open.” Hiro’s command was harsh, and his breathing labored. He was close, too. So you turned towards him, Issei’s cum still swimming inside your mouth, cheeks painted a delicious white.

Hiro managed to release most of his load inside your mouth, but he still got some spurts over your face and in your hair.

Panting both boys looked down at you, cooing at how cute you looked with their cum all over your face. “Swallow,” Issei instructed, holding your chin between his fingers. The mix of their seamen left a salty taste in your mouth, when you opened it again, to show them that you swallowed every last drop. With a groan, Hiro began scooping up the rest of the cum on your face and pushing it into your mouth. “You’re a cute little slut, aren’t you? Our slut.” With that possessive mark, he leaned down, letting his spit drop into your mouth, which was still held open by Issei, who repeated the action.

Their gazes on you were proud as you swallowed that second load also.

“You were great, princess.” Hiro was pressing kisses on the top of your breasts. All of you squeezed into the tub, washing each other carefully with a loofah they apparently got only for today. “Should we order some food?” You just nodded, leaning back onto Issei contently. “Wanna eat you.”

Hiro’s eyebrows rose and you felt Issei chuckle behind you. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“And here I was, wanting to be lenient since it’s your first time trying anal. But oh well. You asked for it, princess.” With a broad grin, Hiro heaved you out of the tub, haphazardly drying you both off with a towel, before both men were already leading you back to the bedroom.

You soon found yourself back in your previous position with your hips perched on top of the pillow and Issei’s fingers buried deep in your still stretched ass. The main difference was the vibrator stuck in your pussy and that you were trying not to choke on Hiro’s cock.

“Keep your legs open, princess. I will not hesitate to use a spreader bar.” The casual mention of the utensil made you wonder just how many sex toys those two had. Four of them were already used on you, but Hiro had told you that they started with the smallest plug, hinting at a bigger assortment.

“We really wanted to go easy on you, princess.” Issei sighed in mock sadness, quickening the pace of his two fingers, making you cry around Hiro’s cock. “But you just had to be even more filthy than we expected.” A harsh slap met your left asscheek.

“We already knew you were perverted since you didn’t ask one of us, but both to help you with your problem.” Next was your right cheek. Hiro gathered your hair in one hand, tugging it back harshly to start fucking your mouth right away, making your saliva drip down from his cock and onto the bedsheets. Your hands desperately clawed themselves into his thighs while Issei still wrecked you from behind.

“You think you can take a third one?” Issei didn’t wait for you to answer his question, before dropping more lube onto your asshole, slowly easing his ring finger into your loosened hole. His other hand pushed the vibrating dick in your vagina even deeper and you had never felt as full as you did at that moment. The cry that you let out around Hiro’s dick showed them that you were close to coming, so, in a matter of seconds, everything was gone.

“No! Please, please let me cum!” Tears streamed down your face and if your mascara wasn’t already be rolling down your face due to the seamen shower you took earlier it certainly would now.

“Aww, you’re looking so cute all desperate and shit. Completely wrecked but still crying for more.” Hiro took your face in one hand, squishing your cheeks together in the process.

Issei resumed his actions at your backside, this time not entering you with this finger, but another object. Another dildo you presumed. It wasn’t really that thick, so it was comfortable to have in you, but it was long. And when it started vibrating, every ounce of strength left your body, hands falling down onto the mattress, face only being held up by Hiro’s hand.

“Do you want to fuck her, or should I go?” The way they talked so casually about your body, like it was only another fucktoy, like the multiple ones they had lying around, made arousal shoot to your core, electing a desperate whimper from your lips.

“You can go, I don’t mind having her mouth. Besides, we have tomorrow and Sunday, too. I mean unless our little princess still hasn’t had enough?” Hiro’s voice was teasing, his fingers around your chin tilting your head up to make you look into his eyes.

“How desperate are you for our cocks, huh?”

“Please, please. I want it, I want your cocks, please, Issei, Hiro.” You were just babbling, hoping that it would be enough for them to finally fuck you.

You couldn’t believe that this encounter started off so soft, with them carefully massaging you, when they were now slapping your ass with each movement, spitting on you and talking to you like you were a slut.

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Such a desperate princess. Well, since it’s still kind of your first time, we will give you what you want. But just know that it won’t come as easy the next times.” With that Issei finally rammed his cock into your waiting pussy and you cried out his name in pleasure, being rewarded by a harsh slap on your ass in an instant. Hiro shoved his cock back into your mouth, taking up a harsh pace immediately, slapping your hands down as soon as you wanted to take a hold of his thighs again.

“No hands.” He told you and you desperately tried to keep your head up for him to fuck your mouth all while Issei started moving the vibrator in your ass in the same rhythm he fucked into you.

It didn’t take long for you to come, the continuous stimulation with the thought of being used in every possible hole being enough for you. But they weren’t done.

Their pace didn’t slow down a bit, Hiro only going back to holding your face up for him. You could see in his eyes that he was not happy at all with your failure and you were sure you would encounter punishment for that soon enough. He spat down on your face again, spit mixing with the tears from your eyes, as his dick repeatedly hit the back of your throat.

“Fucking hell, your pussy is swallowing me whole, feels so good, come on, princess, just a bit more.”

Issei was groaning behind you, thrusts becoming sloppier by the second. Still, Hiro was the one finishing first, releasing on your face for the second time that night.

Once he let go of your head you immediately fell down onto the mattress, still being fucked harshly by Issei, who kept on moving the dildo in your ass. You felt another high approaching and apparently, they did too, since Issei started slamming into you even harsher. But when Hiro moved to rub your clit, you were screaming their names, body twitching, and hands clawing into the bedsheet.

You were sure you never came so hard in your life. Everything went numb for a second, but you realized what was going on, when the dildo got pulled out of your ass, leaving an empty feeling behind.

“You alright there, princess?” A soft hand weaved itself into your hair, turning your head to look at the two men who just showed you heaven on earth. You hadn’t even realized that Issei came as well, but the feeling of something dribbling out of your vagina was explained that way.

“You look so good, princess.” Hiro leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, fingers pushing a bit of his come into your mouth right after he detached himself. “Let’s take another bath, you seem to need it even more than before.”

Their hands were all over you, softly caressing every inch of your body, cleaning every last drop of spit, come and lube. “You looked so beautiful, all wrecked beneath us. And you did so well, too! I honestly didn’t expect you to take us this well on the first day.”

They were muttering continuous praises, making you feel all soft on the inside.

“Pizza is here!” You were nearly nodding off in Issei’s arms, blinking slowly as the words were whispered in your ear.

Hiro was missing from your other side, apparently retrieving said pizza, which the boys insisted on ordering, especially after you admitted to not having consumed any solid foods that day, to be extra clean for them.

Soon Hiro came crawling back into his bed, handing each of you their respective pizza. Sitting up, you felt a shoot of pain from your butt and winced. “Sore?” The grin on Hiro’s face was entirely too wide to be sorry. Stupid piece of shit.

If someone would look at you now, three friends sitting on a bed and eating pizza, while a stupid reality show played in the background, nobody would even think twice about it. Nobody would expect, that just a bit earlier, in the other bedroom across the hall, you were absolutely wrecked by them.

But you wouldn’t want it any other way, excitement already bubbling up in your stomach with anticipation for the days to come.

[alaura5675]

Warning contains spoilers for The Owl House Season 2 Episode 5: Through the Looking Glass

I literally cannot stop screaming about Luz and Amity. My sweet beans!

Em and Ed being supportive siblings, and Ed going on a date with them, (all those golden guard fics are gonna definitely increase)

Just the twins and Gus being we’ve been knew to Luz

Also Gus just being his awesome self and gaining a frienemy is just my heart. Its so weak to all this fluff Dana has be giving us

Unfortunately we need to discuss the “first” human. While discovering the Echo mouse records everything they’ve eaten. We have seen a glimpse of the first human who had traveled accidentally to the demon world.

Their name Philip Wittlebane apparently in the 1600s donated his diary to the library.

artfulstar also found this in the teasers

And in animation we don’t believe in coincidences

So at this point i honestly believe that Emperor Belos is this same human and has found a way to live for 400 years. If time is tracked the same

And here’s the big kicker we’ve already noticed a lot of the christian missionary converting the pagan wild witches in the 1st season

But the fact of the matter is the way Wittlebane is dressed and the diary enters are written remind me of first account documents written by European colonizers. And around the 1600s in US history was when Spanish colonizers had already taken large amounts of land in modern day México. And the beginning of English colonizers here In the Modern day US.

And while im not entirely familiar with the indigineous cultures of the Aztecs, Mayan, and Olmecs. There was a strong sense of spirituality in the cultures and people called “Brujas” by the Spanish colonizers, the spanish word for Witch.

And Highly recommend reading Bless Me, Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya discussing the struggle of catholicsm and the indigenous culture in the early 1900s México.

But my point is the Spanish when they came to the Americas literally destroyed the spiritual and cultural centers of the Aztecs and Mayans and built on top of it catholic churches. And vilified anyone who didn’t practice Catholicism. Queen Isabella and her husband who i can’t remember, married and combined large parts of modern day Spain into one country on the Iberian peninsula . And started the Reconquista, that killed thousands of people who were muslim, as a majority of the peninsula practiced Islam’s beliefs, and Jewish people were killed and was spread to “their” colonies as well. Which gave them big support from the Catholic church at the time.

But where am i going with this, Well a lot of things. One Belos’s castle sorta reminds me of an ornate catholic church, the window glass murals, the gold detailing, and all the robes everyone in the coven wears.

Then there’s the fact that Belos took over the way people practice magic and made it so only he and his followers could do all magic. Which is similar in how the catholic church erased indigenous history, and forced people to speak their own language. And withheld knowledge and created a cast system. And the vilifying of the local religious beliefs and killing witches

And what i want to say is i think Dana Terrace is awesome for creating show discussing the horrible and long last effects colonialism has done to the word and still severely effects the indigenous people around the world.

And the fact of the matter is more shows and stories and actual FUCKING HISTORYbooks need to be showcasing the importance and ongoing consequences effecting people.

I can even give you an example right now, I lived in Hawaii for 10 years. Because my dad wanted to retire here and I was a child so had no choice. And some of you may be going, what living in hawaii must be so fun…

Let me tell you shit, Hawaiians literally need tourism to keep there economy going. Because the US took there means of culture and history to keep cultivating their land and sustain themselves.

The US sends homeless people to Hawaii because the weather conditions are better, however a majority of homeless people here are still native Hawaiians

Their is literal law stating that if you have 25% native blood you are able to gain a home for free. However most people will never see that as Homes are being bought by people like Mark Zuckerberg for millions of dollars. And Retirees who want to live near the beach.

The economy as i said is based in tourism but all the hotel chains are US companies. So none of the money is reinvested in the local population.

As well as that most people here are working at minimum wage will never afford million dollar homes.

And it sucks and i get that people want to come over and visit. But you have to understand not just here but in the mainland US. This land belongs to the indigenous people and that means respecting the land and protecting the culture. And Hawaii is one of the fortunate places where the language is still known. Its in the process of being taught in schools and being revitalized.

But the fact of the matter is today July 10th, 2021. There is a water shortage here in Hawaii due to influx of tourists coming in. It takes a literal month for cargo ships to arrive. And the tourism isn’t gonna stop its the height of the summer.

The Hiltons, Wailea all the hotel groups will be getting the water for there lawns. And everyone here enjoying there trip won’t notice a thing.

The people who live here are gonna suffer…

Anyways sorry for the rant a little upset at the moment. The Owl House is awesome please watch it and yeah…

[poptod]

In the Heart of Atlas (Rami Malek x Reader)

Description: He doesn’t fear you––who thought such a simple thing would win your affections?

Notes: this is my first time writing for Rami himself! anyway, this is for the rami week. happy birthday rami!!! this is a bit of a strange story but i hope yall like it anyway. WC: 5.6k

+

His body twitched slightly before his eyes opened, slow and dry across his grey irises. A deep dehydration had seized his bones, as though his blood was drudging through his veins and muscles, losing water by the second. Still, he sat up, his head a weight upon his shoulders.

To his surprise, he found himself in the middle of an empty parking lot, the highway beside him mostly vacant. He looked around, finding a large but abandoned mall to his right, the lights long shattered and broken. Tension welled in his brow as he tried to piece together just how he got here.

"Most people don't get knocked out after they get ejected from their bodies," said a voice from behind him. He whirled around, scratching his pants on the rough pavement.

"Who are you?" He asked, scanning you.

For the most part, you looked normal. The only thing that stuck out was the massive katana strapped to your back and the darkness swarming around your eyes. He could barely see your face beneath the hood of your black sweatshirt, but that didn't matter all too much to him––there were more pressing, more important questions that required answers.

"Demons and angels call me (Y/N), but people call me the Reaper," you said as you offered him your hand.

He gingerly raised his hand to accept your help, faltering when your sleeve pulled back to reveal prominent bones and veins in the back of your hand. The bones poked out of the skin, glowing a faint white, while your veins remained a simple shade darker than your skin. Looking back up to you, he found no malice in what little expression he could see. With that he accepted your aid, pulling himself to his feet.

"The Reaper?"

"I go by a good many names. In the north alone I am called Gwyn ap Nudd, Cù Sith, the banshee, the Ankou, and more simply... death. Most of the time I have others collect souls, but.. you're an interesting case."

You reached forward, and though he instinctively flinched back, he soon regained control of himself and allowed you to cup his cheek. Even with that allowance, however, there was a decent amount of discomfort within him.

"I'm dead?"

"Not quite yet. That's where the interesting part comes in. Come––let's find a place away from the sun," you said, drifting past him and heading towards the abandoned mall.

Looking upwards, he found a blistering sun. He hadn't felt the heat, and looking back at the black pavement, he realized he hadn't felt that astonishing heat because he was, as you said, dead. No longer in his body. With that realization, he jogged back over to walk at your side.

"I'm a little confused, here. How did I die?" He asked.

"Again, not dead yet. Just out of your body. It's quite interesting, really," you said, opening the creaking door.

He entered gingerly, turning and waiting for you before wandering in any further. When he turned back to scan the building, he found instead a drawing room with a Victorian rug spread out across a hardwood floor, and red velvet couches filled to the brim with pillows and blankets. Paintings from all cultures covered the walls, nailed into place alongside maps of different eras. He hardly noticed his gaping mouth till you passed by and closed his jaw.

"Well... what happened to me?"

"Take a seat, Malek. I need to ask you some questions," you deflected, herding him to sit on one of the chaise lounges.

A clipboard materialized in your hands, a pen following as you sat down opposite of him.

"Now, what's your name?"

"You just said my name."

"And?" You said, quirking your brow.

He let out an exasperated sigh before answering with, "Rami Malek."

"What do you spend most of your time doing?"

"Work, mostly. I'm an actor."

"I'm aware. Most of your alternate reality personas look exactly like you. That usually only happens with actors," you said, scribbling down words with a harsh pressure on your pen. "You are given one million dollars. What do you do with it?"

"Um... I'd put it into my savings, let it collect interest until I die, and then donate it," he said after a moment's contemplation.

"Calculated. Nice. Significant others?"

"Not right now."

"Family members?"

"I've got a twin brother and an older sister. And my parents, of course."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes, sort of. My parents raised me Coptic Orthodox but I don't really interact with it much in my life."

"Is there a heaven and a hell?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He asked.

"Answer the question, Malek."

"I don't think there's a heaven or hell."

"Good choice. Alright," you said, straightening your back after hunching over your clipboard. In a quick flash both the clipboard and pen were gone, and you were back on your feet. "Do you have any questions for me before we try to fix this dilemma?"

"Yes, lots," he chuckled humorlessly, watching you circle over to a liquor cabinet. "How did I die? Or – how did I get 'ejected' from my body?"

"Remember the movie you were just working on?"

"Yeah, James Bond."

"You tried to do your own stunts since your double was missing. You missed the catching net, landed on the ground, and your essence was accidentally absorbed by the earth. The earth decided you would be safer here––in Thailand."

"Thailand?? I have to finish filming. I can't be in Thailand," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Calm down, pretty boy. I'll take you to your body in due time, and from there we can decide how to move next. This is a rare opportunity for you," you said as you poured two glasses of sherry. "People don't usually get to see me. If they do, it's pretty much assured they won't interact with me. You're very lucky. I could also just reap you and get rid of the problem, but you're not supposed to die. Not yet."

"What, do I have something to do on earth yet?"

"Yes," you said, handing him the glass in your left hand. You sat back down, sipping from your own cup.

"Then what happens if people accidentally die?"

"The world goes on. We correct our calculations and figure out the fate of the earth again. It happens very rarely, thank everything. Our I.T. would be in hell if it happened a lot."

"What affect do I have on the world?"

"I'm not really allowed to tell you that," you said, eyeing him.

"Oh, sorry."

"I'm just kidding. I rule this universe. You're going to have a fan at one point who is very suicidal. They meet you on the street, get the will to live again, and their daughter will write a mystery novel that both furthers space-travel technology and surgical technology. Happy?" You took another sip from your cup.

"... I guess."

It was certainly, if anything, an interesting time to find out your entire existence was being protected by the embodiment of death just so a woman you didn't know could further technology just slightly. He didn't feel fantastic about it.

"It's not your only purpose, if you're worried about that," you said, noticing his fallen expression. "You inspire a lot of art and a lot of stories. Everything you do and inspire adds to the color of the world. Humans are one big organism and they can't seem to see that––I hope you, and others, will realize that soon."

"I hope we do as well," he said with a sigh, leaning back into the velvet. "I'm quite sick of people getting angry at each other all the time for useless shit."

"Yes, well..." you swirled the mixture in your cup, "the human condition, and all that."

"Were you ever once human?" He asked quietly.

"No. I am not truly a being. I am what you imagine me to be, a mirage of what you expect from death," you said in a low voice. "I will be here to kill God, and in the end of time I will be all that remains. The representation of all that ever existed, and its' inevitable demise."

"... comforting."

"Isn't it?" You said with a sardonic smile. "Are you ready to see your body yet?"

"I think so," he said. "What kinda state am I in?"

"I don't know. The state of destruction your physical form is in will dictate whether or not I can return you to yourself or take you into the unknown."

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming himself. "Take me to myself."

"Very well," you said as you stood, setting your cup aside and offering him your hand once more. He took it and rose to his feet.

In a single blink, and without warning, he was in a hospital––an American one, or at least one where the signs were all in English, and the nurses were speaking that same language. Fluorescent white light filled the room, mixed with the dreary daylight of a bright but cloudy day. The shades were open to the city outside, but what first caught his eye was the centerpiece of the room––him.

Gauze, linen, and casts covered more than half his body, cradling his leg, chest, head, and both arms. His eyes remained blissfully shut, not even fluttering from the bruises and cleaned scars circling his face.

"You look good," you said, unable to tear your eyes away from the body.

"Wow, thanks," he said sarcastically.

"I'm serious. You fell, like, 35 feet. Not a lot of people survive that, much less still have one of their legs."

"So does that mean I can go back to living?" He asked, sudden excitement filling his words.

"I suppose so. You've been out for a while, though, so be careful when you get back in. Listen to your doctors. Keep safe, and let professionals do stunts," you said.

He chuckled, turning to you before saying, "I thought Death would want me to die, not live."

"It doesn't matter. I will reap all. For now I can let society grow, let lives multiply to greater heights, as in the end you will all join my kingdom. I'm old as the universe. I can wait."

"Your kingdom?"

"Me. I carry the souls of the dead in my memory. They all live within me."

"And that's what happens when we die?"

"When you die, you become one with the universe. I become part of you just as much as you become part of me. Is that a comfort to you?"

"... yes, actually," he said softly, looking back to his body. "I think I'm ready to go back to living now."

"Very well, Malek. Take my hand," you said as you offered your see-through hand.

The moment he touched you, he noticed that he, too, became see through, and he wondered if that had always been happening and he simply hadn't noticed it. He had little time to think about it before you were leading him forward, taking him to the side of his hospital bed. From there you helped him into the bed, lining his soul up with his physical body, and telling him in a soft murmur to close his eyes.

The very next moment he remembered was opening his eyes to blistering hospital lights shining down on him. His memory of you was vague and blurred, but nonetheless present in a way that tested his image of the world, questioning if he was truly living his life.

Doctors, nurses, and friends rushed to his side once they noticed his consciousness, hurriedly asking questions and preparing tests on him. His bruised eye was swollen shut, but the other one could see alright, and it was a blessing to be able to see his mother above him. It took a good deal of time, but he returned to health and was luckily not disabled by the fall.

Years later the incident came to him in a dream, in a perfect clarity that he hadn't ever had as a waking person. He bolted awake, heavy breaths emphasizing the thin sheen of sweat that now covered his chest. You had explained to him the way the world worked––his purpose in life, the inevitability of humans and of the universe, and the beauty in that. The happy ending in that unavoidable death.

Never in any other time had he desired to see you again more than he did at that moment, stuck awake in the middle of a night plagued by rain and thunder. Wide eyes stared straight ahead, to the twisted sheets covering him, to the closet on the other side of his bedroom.

Shaken to his core, he slowly moved to his feet, the cold floor shocking him awake further. As he walked towards the kitchen, he attempted at calming himself with slow breaths. Once there he grabbed a glass of water, chugging the entire glass, and slamming it back down on the counter as though he'd done a shot, which it might as well have been this late at night.

Would it be possible to summon death? he thought hypothetically, before realizing the incredible stupidity of that statement. Who would want to summon death? Also, summoning death would probably involve putting himself in a dangerous situation, which you had specifically advised him against.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered to himself, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his face.

"His name is Yeshua, and he can't help you right now."

He jumped, spinning around in his kitchen to find you sitting on the counter across from him.

"Death!"

"People aren't usually that excited to see me, but yes," you said, looking down to scan your fingernails before looking back up at him with a smile.

"How did you know I was thinking about you?"

"You had one of my true forms in your thoughts. I remembered you from a little bit ago. How long has it been again?"

"11... maybe 12 years? I haven't thought all that much about the incident, but... I had a dream tonight. I remembered –"

"I know. You're not supposed to remember me while you're still living, so I had to come back and fix that," you said, jumping off the counter and approaching him with determined resolve.

"Wait, no!" He tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the kitchen island.

"We will meet again, quite shortly, you'll see," you said with a smile, a weak attempt to calm him as you raised your hand to his forehead.

"I don't want to forget you," he pleaded, fingers dug into his palm.

"That's awfully unfair to all the other people whose memory I had to fix. Makes their sacrifice a little silly if I allow you to go and tell the world how it'll all end just because you're pretty."

"I won't tell anyone. They'll think I'm crazy."

"You're a celebrity. Someone is going to believe you."

You pressed your thumb to his forehead, and in that moment he lost all control, leading him to make the first action he could think of, the one thing that might deter your work. He grabbed you by your sweatshirt, balling the material in his fists and pulling you till your chests met. With that he smashed his lips into yours, feeling your hand slip away as you weakened, shocked into stillness.

He wasn't quite sure whether you were actually enjoying yourself or if you were just shellshocked, but he continued to kiss and move against you for a moment before releasing you. When he let go of you and drew away, he watched your unmoving expression, staring at him with parted lips and wide eyes.

"What the fuck was that?"

"... a kiss?" He answered meekly.

"What does it do?"

"You don't know what a kiss is?"

"Malek, I have two trillion different planets that I reap from, all with multiple different societies and beliefs. I'm not going to memorize each of your customs."

"Oh," he said. He would have to devote some time, later on, to let the fact that there were aliens (and a lot of them) truly sink in. "It's a show of affection. It's kind of personal."

"So it is a gift," you said with deep concentration.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"What for?"

"I like you. You're knowledgeable, and kind, and... I think you're pretty," he admitted, almost sheepishly in his low, rough voice.

Flirting with what could essentially be labelled as an eldritch monstrosity was a tad difficult, especially since you were millions of years older than him. From that point of view, he felt more like a child speaking with you, admitting to some silly, meaningless crush.

"You think I'm pretty?" You asked, your voice high pitched and coming out in almost a squeak. He nearly gawked at your reaction.

"Of course I do. Do people not tell you that?"

"I don't really talk to consciousnesses much, Malek. And most people don't find my bipedal form very nice to look at," you said quietly, looking down to the floor with fidgeting fingers.

He reached forward, pulling off your sweatshirt's hood, and allowing the warm light of his kitchen to finally show him the whole of your face. The skin around your eyes still retained that mystical darkness, like the ink of space, surrounding the cosmos of your eyes. It was quite clear now that you were not human, which explained the reasoning of hiding the whole of your whole form. 'Bi-pedal,' you called it––you had to fit in with alien worlds as well as his human world, and thus hiding many parts of yourself was required.

Now he would be the first person, the first creature, the first consciousness, the first life, to see your entirety. No one else had thought to flirt with death, but apparently that was how to avoid it. Ironic, considering the earth phrase 'flirting with death'.

You had gone into such a fluster by his words and actions that you stuttered out instructions for him to stay safe, and promptly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. He wouldn't see you again for three years, which saddened him greatly, but he made sure to remind himself that ten years for him was the blink of an eye for you. 2 trillion planets with life on them needed your attention.

In 3 years he found himself victim of yet another incident. He had been sitting in a donut shop for a little while, enjoying himself on his phone, before another customer entered and began to make a fuss. The man started yelling and he rose to the occasion, stepping over and attempting to take some of the stress off the poor teenager working on the till. Before he knew what was happening, he had a gun in his face, staring down a dark barrel of metal.

"You move and I'll slit your fucking throat," you said, appearing in a flash with your katana pressed against the stranger's throat. "Your gun's on safety mode. It'll take more than one move for you to kill this guy. Want to take that chance?"

The man faltered, and with that you nodded to the cashier, who quickly dialed up the police.

"Put it down, Michael," you said. The man, apparently Michael, slowly looked to you with wide, horrified eyes.

Rami could almost laugh at the incident, but his heart was far too full of fearful adrenaline for him to smile, much less laugh. It all happened so fast. The little bout was won the moment Michael met your eyes. He set the gun on the floor, turning to you with contempt and raised hands.

You waited until the police arrived for the sake of the cashier, but before anyone could question you, you were off again with Rami on your tail. Disappearing in a puff in front of mortals would do you no well, thus you had to start off with walking––something he could certainly follow. 3 years since he'd last seen you––grey had pervaded his hair more and more, skin more freckled and imperfect. You remained as you always were, even 15 years ago.

"Met anyone interesting lately?" He asked when he caught up with you.

Ideas of what creatures you were meeting, the types of things you got yourself into had been a decent source of inspiration for his daydreams. Such was his interest in what you wouldn't tell him that he wrote a screenplay, directed it, and shown it to the world. People often commented on the creativity of his imagination, but he always believed you to be the true source of actual creativity.

Of course, he hadn't ever actually heard about anything that you did. It was purely what he hypothesized.

"I met creatures that reproduced by stringing together DNA by hand. They are new consciousnesses in the cosmos, only recently earned souls... or what you would call, self-awareness," you said, staring ahead to the empty streets lined with cars.

"That's what gives something a soul? Self-awareness?"

"Not quite that simple, but for the most part, yes."

"How long ago did humans earn souls, then?"

"Longer back than you'd imagine. Remember, it's represented as more than self-awareness. It's societies, too, and ants have societies. I can't quite remember, but it was back when you were living in the trees," you said, taking moments to pause and correctly recall the facts.

He continued to walk alongside you for a moment more, pondering upon that information.

"Anyway. That's enough questions from you. What the hell were you doing?!" You said once you were out of sight from the cops, balling his shirt in your fists and forcing him up against a wall. Rami spluttered.

"What the hell were you doing? Aren't you not supposed to interfere with that kind of shit?" He asked, rattled from the sudden movement, and feeling bruises already building in his back. His skin and muscles had become more prone to injury over the years.

"I can do whatever I want. I don't have to worry about losing my mortal body. You're still tethered to this plane!"

"Who cares if I die? Everyone has to at some point, and helping others seems like a good way to die," he said, trying to ignore the aching in his body.

"Don't you have a wife? Kids? Family or friends? You're really ready to leave that all behind at the drop of a hat?" You scanned him.

"I was helping others," he hissed. "And I don't have a wife. Or kids. I've had more important things on my mind."

You watched him for a little while, trying to gauge his thoughts from his eyes. Eventually you released him, letting him drop to the ground, and watching carefully as he brushed off his clothes.

"Why do you want me alive now if I'm going to die soon anyway?"

"You're not going to die soon –"

"Relative to your sense of time, I'm going to die very soon," he interrupted, satisfied when you had no rebuttal. "Why do this? It's not even helping me. I know I won't really disappear when I die."

"Yes, you will. Gods, I shouldn't have told you about anything," you sighed, rubbing your face tiredly. "You misunderstand the concept of death. You, as you are, will not survive. You will disappear. I will carry your memories, but I will not be you. You will not be inside me, your memories will. I'm like a library, not some sort of vacation resort. Are you getting this?"

The blank look on his face told you everything you needed to know.

"There is no heaven or hell and I am not a substitute for their nonexistence! When you die, that's it. You're gone. Forever."

"I became a soul on earth. What about that?"

"Because you weren't fully dead, just separated from your body, like astral projecting. You either return to your body or you really die within a year. And if you try to astral project for that long, even if you do return to your body, you'll lose more and more control of it because you can't remember what it's like to have a physical form. It’s complicated, just – just stop getting in dangerous situations!" You practically yelled, clasping his head in your hands and talking quite loudly right in his face.

"There are a lot of technicalities to death," he said, putting his hands over yours and gently leading them down.

"There are a lot of technicalities to life. Why would I be any different?"

"I know, I just – I guess I don't know. Death, I... is it.. you're the only... consciousness I've ever.. loved," he admitted with a broken voice, unsure of his every word.

Your eyes widened, and you almost stumbled backwards with your own surprise. He kept you from doing so by keeping his grip on your hands.

"You want to know if you can stay with me," you said in an instant, soft realization.

He nodded.

"I don't understand," you murmured, suddenly shy. "I've tried to erase your memory so many times. Why do I keep failing?"

"You said none of your other victims ever spoke with you. I remember you because you're unforgettable, Death. I couldn't let go of you."

No one had ever thought of wooing you. You'd met creatures who tried to seduce you, yes, or to pay you off, but never romantically seek after. This would be the first time in your 14 billion years of being alive that someone did this––spoke sweet words and used your name without fear. Without shame. As though you were something to be honored.

Living things fought you so valiantly, and you loved them for that. Their desire to stay alive, to continue existing even when existing was more painful than simply facing you, to thrive in environments you yourself would've given up in. People were terrified of you. They hated you. Rightfully so––you were an easy scapegoat, something to pin blame on, like the actions of Kings weren't what actually killed them, but were the fault of the one who had to clean up the mess of souls left in an army's wake.

People also romanticized you. Thought of you as something to beat. Something to find beauty in, bliss in that nonexistence. People who hated being alive, who found their worlds too dull, or their minds too plagued with thoughts they couldn't help. It was not a true love––it was a desire to escape what they believed to be an inescapable life.

But people did not honor you. You were not a thing to give gifts to. You were not some sort of god of death––you were death. The essence of it. The misery and grief left in the wake of a taken friend.

Tears welled in your eyes, burning a bright white that trailed down your face like melted silver. The streaks were clear against the shadowed skin of your eyes. Instantly Rami thought he had done something wrong, said something to upset you, but he had no chance to apologize before you disappeared in a puff of smoke. In your wake you had left two tiny little puddles of silver teardrops on the pavement, reflecting sunlight like a mirror.

Years later, when he died, he expected to see you. He crawled out of his body, leaving behind the prolonged ringing of the heart monitor, and drifting away from his family. Long had he expected this, awaited this almost eagerly. But when he died, he was met by a man named Jynq, who went on a long spiel about death and the true meaning of the universe.

"Where is Death?" He asked once Jynq gave him a moment to speak.

"I am Death," he said with a confused frown.

"No, you're one of it's workers. I want to see the real Death," Rami stated firmly.

Jynq's expression fell into seriousness, the polite exterior of a worker making way for his true personality.

"It's on the other side of the universe right now. Several planets have been having a war for a while now, and the deathcount has kept them there for many years now," Jynq answered truthfully.

"Can you take me to them?"

"How do you remember Death?" He rebutted instead.

"They spoke to me. On several occassions. They tried to wipe my memory but it didn't work," he explained.

"You spoke to Death on several occasions?" Jynq asked, his mouth falling open.

"... yes?"

"Alright. I'll take you to it, but the journey will take a while. I hope your soul is resilient," the reaper said.

"Doesn't it take a year for a soul outside the body to die out?"

"Hm. You really did talk to it. But yes," he offered his hand, which Rami took, and they began to ascend towards the heavens, "it takes a year for the average soul to die. This journey will take several years. Are you ready for that kind of commitment?"

"Yes."

There was no spaceship in which to find a home, nor any set spot for rest or food. Neither he nor Jynq required any food or water, and certainly not any sleep, so the method of travel was a long, straight line towards the edge of the universe, unbreaking and unmoving.

Cosmos passed him by, and he became a part of them, leaving behind parts of his essence in the form of star dust that trailed after him. The further and faster he travelled, the more of himself he left behind, till he became a translucent outline of who he used to be. Jynq remained the same, just as you did. He couldn't calculate just how much time had passed, but as more of it did, he got a sense that he was experiencing time at a much faster rate than he imagined. Still, he remained oblivious to how much time was left in the journey.

At times he would go through solar systems, beside stars with planets that certainly carried life. Worlds made of diamonds, suns bigger than the whole of his home solar system, clusters of stardust reforming into young stars. Each of these worlds was one you had met––one you had left your mark on, no matter how young or old.

Life on earth didn't seem quite real when he reached the warring planets. There was so much going on in the universe––things humans would never know about. Worlds full of people that would never be found.

Jynq stopped Rami on the moon of a green planet, keeping him there while he went to go find you. He took the opportunity to sit, to rest after years of drifting through space, and to wonder which thought of his many collected thoughts he should first tell you.

"How in all the fucking WORLDS alive do you keep managing to endanger yourself, even after you die?!" You screamed, appearing in front of him in a millisecond and grasping his face tight again. "Are you insane or something?! Like clinically insane??"

"You've clearly never met someone who's in love with you," he chuckled, taking your hands and, again, gently pulling them away from their tight clutch on his face.

"Ohh, Malek," you said, anger falling away to the aching sorrow in your tone. "Look at you. You're so thin... does it hurt?"

"I feel weak, but I also feel light. I am okay," he assured you. "I left a trail of myself all across the universe. I've given myself back to the stars. Now I want to give what remains of me to you, but I had to talk to you again. Just once more."

"You speak like you’re old," you said with a weak laugh.

"I am old."

"How old do humans live to be?"

"The oldest was around 120 years, I think."

"Oh. Well, then I guess you're a little old. Not to me though," you said, flipping his sheer hands and taking them in yours.

"I'm old enough that I have accepted my own fate. I'm ready for you, Death," he said, his smile only visible in the bits of glittering stardust that made up the frame of his face.

Your smile fell.

"No," you said.

"... no?"

"No. I'm not going to do it," you stated.

"Can you do that? Like, legally?" He asked, quirking a brow.

"Who's going to stop me? I'm Death."

"Good point."

"I just wish I could heal you," you murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek only to have your thumb fall through his face.

"I don't mind it," he said softly.

"Hmm," you said, taking a moment to think critically. "I think I know how to help you."

You found him a home in the heart of a star––Atlas, a part of the Pleiades that shone bright beside its' sister, Pleione. The intense pressure was lost on both of you as you entered, making your way to the heart, where the elements of matter and life were formed in overbearing heat. As was the nature of space, the center of Atlas was dead silent, leaving you and Rami in a white, detail-less expanse.

Slowly, over the years, parts of his body returned to him, building off the star-lit frame of his soul. As you suspected, the workers of the dead and afterlife were extremely dissatisfied with you, but could do nothing. You were older than all of them, and you decided you could allow yourself this one indulgence––this one moment of straying from the rules that Gods had so often broken.

They allowed you this one comfort: a home in the heart of Atlas, in the arms of a man who had given himself to the world, and then to the universe. The one Death who had taken so much from the universe, who would eventually take everything in the universe, wrapped in the embrace of the one who had given every part of himself to the world he lived in.

[magioftheseas]

Take It Like A Man!!

Summary: An alternate scene in which Nidai does It to Matsuda in Chapter 26 of Super Danganronpa 2: Matsuda Yasuke’s Battle of Despair and Wits.

Rating: T+

Warnings: It’s suggestive. Also blood that was in the original fic. There’s specifically a nosebleed.

Notes: Y’all should’ve seen this coming. I don’t know how Nidai became a secondary love interest in this AU but he is one so he’s gonna get his own gay af bonus scene with Matsuda. It’s only fair. Sorry, Owari.

Read this fic among others HERE

Main story is HERE

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“KATSUUUUU!!!”

Owari took off in a dash towards him. Her arms spread out and she propelled herself forward with a leap. Matsuda quickly side-stepped out of the way, and she smashed into the ground.

“Oogh! Urgh!” Owari spat out dirt and grass. She rubbed at her face, voice coming out as a nasal whine. “The hell did you dodge for?! Dirty coward!”

“No,” Nidai said, laughing as he walked up. “Pretty smart on Matsuda’s part! With his frame, he would’ve just crumbled under ya! This is why dodging can be just as effective as throwing a punch! Letting gravity do all the work! Gwahaha!”

Owari let out a groan of frustration. “It’s so cowardly!”

“Sorry if having self-preservation counts as being cowardly,” Matsuda retorted. “Even though pride doesn’t mean shit on death’s bed.” He pauses, noticing the dribble of dark red down Owari’s lip and dripping off her chin onto her shirt. He grimaced, realizing. “You’re bleeding. Come on.”

Owari blinked up at his hand. A grin split her face and before Matsuda was able to fully register the fucking awful mistake he just made—she snatched his wrist and yanked him down, trapping him with a headlock as she furiously rubbed her fist to his hair.

“Shouldn’t have let down your guard, Katsuuuuu!”

Nidai laughed heartily at the sight. Matsuda decided that next time—fucking next time, he was just going to let Owari bleed out and leave her for dead. Especially if she was going to bleed on him. On the clean lab coat he just fucking put on.

He furiously smacked her arm and it probably hurt him more than it hurt him. She dropped him and he unceremoniously smacked into her lap as she cackled. Nidai lifted him up by the scruff of his coat and settled him back on his feet.

“It’s nice that you two are getting along,” he said as he dusted Matsuda off, cheerfully and willfully oblivious to Matsuda boiling with unrestrained ire. “That said, Owari you should go with him to get your nose bandaged. It’s important to take care of your body.” Pausing, he seems to notice Matsuda’s stiff shoulders and moves to squeeze them. “And Matsuda, you should let me do it.”

“You’re gonna do it with him, too?!” Owari exclaimed. “I thought I was special, old man!”

“Matsuda clearly NEEDS it!” Nidai bellowed back. “Do not be so SELFIIIIIIISH!!”

Yeah. Sure. Matsuda thought, twitching. Scream right next to my fucking ear. God. This is why I hate jocks.

Unfortunately, he was now in a situation where fleeing wasn’t an option. Another reason why jocks were the worst. Too dumb for emotional manipulation, too unyielding for any physical backlash from a guy who skipped every gym class to bury his nose in medical texts. There was basically no way of dealing with them.

Matsuda sighed loudly.

“Right. Anyway.” He shuddered when Nidai squeezed his shoulders again. This time had more of a damned effect, proving the power of those strong hands. Damn that meathead. “I have—places to be. I’m going to the pharmacy so I can bandage up the rabid chick’s nose in the meantime if...” Another squeeze. Matsuda bit his tongue to muffle any responding groan before smacking Nidai’s hand. “Stop that! I... Urgh...”

Inventory is important... Inventory... Inventory...

 “Will you come back and let me do it?” Nidai asked with utmost seriousness. Hating himself for feeling his face get hot, Matsuda bit down harder on his tongue.

I did get some lotion from the MonoMono Machine...

He really did get all kinds of weird fucking items. Particularly the lotion in question with its tacky bottle and perverse branding. For rubbing aaaaaaaall over your bear body, upupupu. Something like that. He would’ve tossed it on that offense alone, but it was actually pretty high-quality lotion...

And wouldn’t it feel really nice?

“I guess...there are bandages in my cottage...” He ended up mumbling. “But I still gotta go to the pharmacy...”

“Bwahaha!” Nidai patted his back. “Then you’ll go after! For now... To your place, YEAH?! MATSUDAAAAA?!”

Owari was fuming at him, cheeks an impressive shade of red considering the blood still flowing from her nose.

“Yeah,” Matsuda croaked, electing to just ignore her. “My place.”

--

Well. They were in his cottage and he did get the first aid kit for Owari first thing, but—it was feeling a bit crowded. And he didn’t have a door for his bathroom. He shouldn’t give a damn, he really shouldn’t but...

“Owari, you don’t mind stepping out, right?” Nidai asked gruffly, cracking his knuckles. “The point of it is to get Matsuda to relax. It’d be better if we were alone.”

Owari sighed heavily, pinching her nose as she did.

“I gueeeeeeeeess.”

Still huffy, she still tossed them once last glare before heading to the door. She slammed the door shut hard enough to rattle the hinges. She almost fucking broke it.

Matsuda fumed next except Nidai clapped his hand down on his shoulder. He jumped, staring up stupidly at Nidai’s grinning face.

“Let’s get started. Now!” He bellowed, “STRIIIIIIIIIP!!!”

“She can still hear you,” Matsuda hissed, but he shed his coat anyway. Annoyance couldn’t compete with his resolve and now that he had Nidai in his cottage, he’d be fucking damned if he didn’t see it to the end. “Just don’t shout so fucking much. We can be professionals about this.”

Nidai chortled, but that fire in his gaze burned and burned as Matsuda undressed. Tie. Dress shirt. Pants. Nidai’s gaze swept his frame, but that was an inferno that Matsuda wasn’t going to get caught in right now.

Even if he still felt a little flustered about it as he went to lie down face first on the bed. Only in his underwear. He heard the rustling of Nidai taking off his own jacket.

“There’s lotion in my coat pocket,” Matsuda mumbled before he forgot. “It’s hard to miss. Shaped like a certain shitty bear.”

Nidai harrumphed but he dug out the lotion anyway. He inhaled sharply.

“Ah! This is GOOD stuff! Owari likes it a lot!” Nidai sounded very, very fucking pleased. “Alright, Matsuda! The road to a brand new world is gonna be SLICK!”

Brand new world, huh? He listened to the bottle being popped open. He felt goosebumps rise on his skin despite the temperature being the same as always. It wouldn’t be the first fucking time he was almost naked like this. Unfortunately, it was impossible to pretend that this was just like any physical.

“This your first time?” Nidai asked, and Matsuda doesn’t have to look to know he’s coming closer. He can hear it in those heavy steps. “Has anyone else ever had ya like this?”

It’s not helped by Nidai almost whispering for once. As if he had to be careful with the weight of each word.

“Don’t think so,” Matsuda grumbled. “I’ve just never really have the time.”

Why the fuck am I so embarrassed about this?

He tries not to flinch when the bed dipped significantly under Nidai’s weight. He forced himself to calm the fuck down when he felt Nidai’s smooth, slick hands on his back.

“No good,” Nidai growled. “You need to take time out for yourself.”

Nidai’s thumbs pressed hard into a knot just under his shoulder blades. Matsuda muffles a yelp and he wonders if he should grab a pillow or something—except that isn’t going to fucking work because his body needs to be straight and flat. Dammit.

Nidai worked down his spine and he was helpless. Each twinge was strange, but he still loosened under the ministrations, relaxing more and more. Sparks of pleasure had him groan in relief, and he wasn’t even bothered by the weird ‘ratatata’s being grumbled under Nidai’s breath.

“You like it, don’t you?” Nidai asked, voice low and husky. “Now you won’t be able to live without it.”

God, he’s so fucking ridiculous.

So much so that Matsuda can’t help but laugh.

“Do you have any idea how you fucking sound right now?” He almost chokes on a sudden purr when Nidai kneads his lower back. “Fuck, that feels really nice.”

Sometimes, he can’t help but be a hypocrite, sighing and humming in a way that was almost obscene. He felt himself quiver with a particularly deep press into his nape, and Nidai chuckled softly under his breath.

“That’s it. Feel the POWER of the Ultimate Masseur, NIDAI NEKOMARUUUUU!!!”

“Stop yelling, keep massaging,” Matsuda snapped. He sighed again when Nidai didn’t halt in rubbing down the knots in his shoulders. “Oh fuuuuck, that’s it...”

With each knot kneaded out, it was a lifetime of stress melting away. He could’ve dozed off like this and indeed, he did give in a little and for once in his life, he just—stopped—thinking.

After a while, his eyes fluttered open. Nidai’s hands weren’t on him anymore, but he still felt the other’s weight situated on the corner of the bed. Pushing himself up, Matsuda did in fact feel his body much easier to move. Looser, even. He stretched with a soft whine, and—there. A flinch. From the other party.

When he turned, Nidai flashed him with a broad grin.

“There’s still work to be done on your shoulders, but I didn’t want to disturb ya!” A hearty laugh, but one that seemed more breathless than before.

“You can keep going, then,” Matsuda said immediately and would’ve flopped back down had Nidai not pulled him back.

“Just like this is fine,” was muttered into his hair and those large hands gripped and squeezed his shoulders. In a more cranky state of mind, Matsuda would’ve groused about the sudden strangeness in the atmosphere.

But, Matsuda was feeling pretty compliant. It was clear now how Nidai managed to tame Owari. All Nidai had to do was press his thumb like so into the knot under Matsuda’s nape and Matsuda would jump off a fucking bridge for this.

For now, he just hummed in contentment as Nidai works his magic once more.

Until there’s another pause.

“Ahaha. Haha.” Did Nidai’s laugh sound a bit dry? “You said you had to go to the pharmacist, right?”

He had almost completely forgotten.

“Urgh.” Matsuda groaned as the reality of the situation settled right back in his head. Like a fucking infestation of cockroaches. “Fuck, right.”

“We can continue again later,” Nidai was saying. “Even if you’re not one of my athletes, you’re still...”

He trails off. Matsuda is too busy retrieving his clothes to comment on it, but he does notice the meathead coach’s sudden sheepishness.

He’s not...?

Nidai’s blush darkened when he glanced back.

The reality of the situation settled in. Nidai looked away.

...it’s nothing. It’s just the circumstances that are strange. Don’t—don’t be fucking stupid and look so deeply into something like...

He needed. To get his damn shoes.

But when he swings down to retrieve them, he realizes his door has been opened.

And Owari is fucking glaring at him from the crack.

“What the FUCK?!”

And maybe, just maybe, Matsuda was a little too fucking flustered after all. And maybe he flung his shoe a little too hard. Owari may have taken it like a champ, but like a fucking idiot, she took it to the fucking face. Right on the damn nose.

“You were taking so LONG!” she exclaimed, completely undeterred with her stained bandage. It’d have to be replaced, she was probably bleeding again. “I won’t have ya completely monopolizing the old man’s IT!”

Nidai broke into uproarious laughter and Matsuda cursed himself out for expecting things to play out any other stupid fucking way.

This really isn’t the place for it. So, don’t fucking think about it. If this was a story, it’d be a fucking horror, not a romance.

“Right,” he griped. “To the fucking pharmacy, then.”

He just needed to get dressed. It’d be like nothing ever happened. Nothing at all.

At least it was a lot easier to move now.

I’ll have to see that brand new day again. Preferably soon. And then... I don’t know, maybe things can be normal?

The events transpired as normal. As expected. Whatever.

(But, no, he never got the chance to experience it again. But if he knew it’d be the first and last time on these stupid fucking islands, it wouldn’t have changed a thing between him, Nidai, or even Owari for that matter.)

[boymeetsweevil]

and then there were finals

Grouping: Reader x College BF!Mark

Word Count: 2000 exactly!!

Warnings/Themes: too many friends too many finals makes for a h*rny couple, graphic but still sweet? penetrative, mentions of oral, creampie...

Prompt: “mark lee from nct! college au and NSFW. finding time in between studying for finals.” this is a sequel to and then there were two

A/N: This commissioned fic is part of the Changes with Luv project, hosted by FicsWithLuv. Here you can find more information about the project, cause, places to donate, and ways to commission a piece or offer your services if you are a content creator. Thank you!

It’s a universal fact that no one likes taking finals. Obviously the tests, the presentations, the papers are the worst part. But the buildup isn’t great either.

Mark grinds his teeth while watching you from across the room. You’re focused on the textbook laid out in front of you where you’re spread out on the floor. All the other available surfaces are taken up by your peers. Lucas and his work are sprawled over half the kitchen island, Taeil on the La-Z boy. Mark, Jungwoo, and Taeyong are sequestered on the sofa.

He turns another page in his music history book without reading a single line. Instead his eyes follow the curve of your spine exposed from your shirt rucking up after you’d settled onto the rug. Your leg is hitched almost lovingly over your discarded backpack. While you do calculations for physics, Mark tries to calculate the last time you two were intimate. He can’t even remember because Taeyong keeps asking questions to fill the holes in his notes about orchestral composition.

Eventually Mark just tosses Taeyong his notes so he can spend a bit more time studying the way you gnaw on a pen thoughtfully. His blood feels like it’s simmering by the time he gets the courage to ask if you want to ‘take a walk’ to his place for a study break. But then—

You check the time and then look up from your scratch paper, “Jungwoo, ready to go?”

“Basically. Let’s get there a little bit early so we can stop and get coffee first before the study group. I really need it, I’m dying.”

“Oh, good idea.”

If it weren’t for the fact that there are still a bunch of people in the room, Mark might have wept a little bit. The preparation for finals has left basically no time for ‘alone time’, and it’s taking its toll on him. He does his best to tamp down on the frustration and convinces Taeyong to quiz him on Tchaikovsky.

Mark pushes you against the brick side wall of his apartment building exterior a few days later. You let out a surprised but pleased sound and let him grind against the curve of your hip. His breath comes out in hot sighs on your neck, interspersed with small grunts. He missed having your skin under his palms and practically purrs when you rake your teeth over his adam’s apple.

“You know you have to be at the studio in 5 minutes, right?”

“Kun can wait,” he huffs. With both hands he fondles your ass slightly rougher than normal. It gives him the leverage he needs to press your clothed hips even closer. “He’s always late anyway. I really have, like, 20 minutes.”

“Is 20 minutes enough?”

He wants it to be enough. He wants it to be enough so bad. But this collaboration is worth 35% of his grade and thanks to Kun’s characteristic tardiness, they’re way behind schedule. Besides that, he’s feeling so pent up that 20 minutes would probably just be a fraction of the foreplay. Mark’s silence is enough of an answer to your question, so you redo the buttons of your shirt that he opened prior and smooth down his hair.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

His forehead hits your shoulder and he lets out a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “But one of these days, it’ll happen.”

He gives you a look that makes goosebumps break out on your arms. You send him off with a peck and make the trek to the library.

A few days later, you’re back at Mark’s place. You’re cozied up to him on the two person sofa while some of the others work in the other parts of the living room. Mark’s dorm is a one person apartment dorm, so there’s less room than in your suite. One by one though, they start leaving. Johnny ends up leaving because the diorama he’s building for engineering gets too big to continue there. Jungwoo and Doyoung leave for another physics study group. You stick around because the last one wasn’t helpful for you. Yuta mentions something about going back to his and Johnny’s room for a video game break. That leaves you, Mark, and Donghyuck.

Donghyuck doesn’t budge at first and continues to type away at his computer. But when Mark’s hand stops circling your ankle aimlessly and begins making a purposeful trail up your leg, he gets the hint and packs up while cursing under his breath. The door slams shut and Mark gets up to go make sure it’s locked. The sound of his footsteps echoing through the halls and doors opening and closing pulls you out of your focus.

“What are you doing,” you sit up on your arms, peering down the dark hallway. Mark emerges looking like an excited puppy.

“Everyone left.”

“I see that,” you say. He pulls his hoodie and shirt over his head in one swift move, then begins working on the opening of his jeans. “Oh.”

Immediately, you begin shucking off your own bottoms. Mark leads the way to his room with you shedding layers behind him. You laugh at the speed he uses to run to his room and pick up your own pace. Even though the apartment is empty, he still closes the door behind him like you’re being chased. As soon as he locks up, he’s tackling you to the bed.

“Wait, wait,” your breath comes out in amused heaves as he swipes at your shirt. “Don’t you have to meet with Kun again?”

Mark doesn’t look away from where he’s working on unhooking your bra, but he shakes his head. “I stayed up ‘til 4 last time so I could finish it.”

“Mark, that’s not healthy.”

“I’m plenty healthy,” he grins and grinds against you as proof. He definitely feels healthy and ‘awake’.

You pull him in with a matching grin and kiss him until you’re panting. Meanwhile, he takes his time inching your soaked panties down your thighs. You kick them off into some unknown direction and hitch a leg over his hips to pull his groin to yours. The slick that welcomes him has him groaning a curse into your mouth.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so long,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Mark sneaks a hand down between your bodies and rubs lightly at you. “Every little thing you did drove me crazy this week.”

“I know, me too.” Your moans act as accompaniment for the slick percussion he sets up between your folds.

“As soon as I was too busy to touch you, I had to touch you.”

You let Mark edge you on his fingers for a good while before rolling over so you can take him into your mouth. He’s all soft sighs then, caressing your face with his dry hand and looking down at you with worried brows. When he hits the back of your throat, his hips start to stutter up.

“D-don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Part of you wants to spite him and finish him off right there. After a few months of having sex, you know some good ways to get him off efficiently. But the way you clench around nothing at the sound of his moans tells you that you’d rather he finish inside you. So you let him pull you in by the hips and spend some time kissing his own flavor off your tongue before sinking down on his length. It’s been long enough that there’s a pleasing tightness behind the stretch and you run your nails over his pecs lightly. When you’ve adjusted, you begin to rock fluidly over him.

“Shit.” The curse is so quiet, you nearly miss it.

His head is thrown back and the way his jaw clenches tell you that he’s likely already experiencing some sort of honeyed agony. Judging by the veins protruding in his forearms, he’s resisting the urge to take control of the rhythm and set an athletic pace after all the waiting. You’re grateful for the patience because you’re still gathering your bearings. Leaning down, your chest grazes against his and you leave a kiss on his slack mouth.

Your words come out airy as the gradual up and down becomes easier, slippery.

“I missed this.”

“Tell me,” he whispers.

“I missed the feeling of being full,” you can feel him pulse a bit. “And I miss you coming inside.”

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he laughs like he can’t believe the current situation.  

Mark plants his feet onto the mattress then to meet you halfway. The extra effort on his part has him hitting deeper inside of you. You feel fuller and that only makes you drip around him more. The sounds are obscene and you might be inclined to slow down out of embarrassment if it were any other time. But you feel parched like you can’t get enough of him. Each thrust forces a wanton moan out of you. The best you can do is bring a hand up to your mouth so you can dull the sounds by biting a knuckle. Mark isn’t having any of it, though.

“Let me hear you. There’s no one else, let me hear you.”

Suudenly he sits up and takes you into his lap. The angle makes stars pop up in the corners of your vision and also gives him the opportunity to lap teasingly at your nipple. It also puts your mouth much closer to his ear. He can’t piston up into you quite as well, but in this position he can grind against the spots that he knows make your breathing hitch. As a music major, perhaps he’s more sensitive to auditory stimulus. Your broken pleas are almost enough to set him over the edge. To make things last, Mark focuses on alternating between gentle, wet kisses to your chest and letting his teeth scrape against you ever so slightly. The sensation changes from smokey to sweet. Your hand tangles in his hair and you let the moans pour out. No better catharsis could have come during finals week, you think.

“Mark. Mark, I’m gonna come.”

“Same, just—wait for me.” He rearranges you quickly. You’re on your back, this time with your feet pointing to the wrong side of bed. Mark hitches one of your legs over his hips and returns to the heavy pace before. You tilt your hips just right and suddenly his thrusts are zeroed in on a spot inside you that has you crying out and arching below him. The orgasm that washes over you makes you grip him like a snug vice. The pleasure surges over him and draws a long whimper from between his lips. He spills into you in spurts of warmth before pulling out and collapsing next to you.

“How was that?” You’re sure you could predict the answer from the contented way he closes his eyes.

“Great.”

His answering grin is sleepy but he still looks handsome. Even with the dark circles from working so hard as of late and covered in a fresh coat of sweat. He looks like he’s fallen asleep, but when you go to plant a kiss on his lips, he moves up to deepen it. A warm palm pulls you in gently by the nape of your neck. You let him kiss you for a few moments before pulling back.

“Where you goin’?”

“Doyoung is studying at the library. I thought I’d get some last minute studying in before the test tomorrow night.”

“No, stay. What do you need me to do? I can test you. Give me your flashcards, I’ll test you.”

You pretend to weigh your options. Leaving the comfort of bed just to go over one topic and then chat with Doyoung before bed or staying in with your naked boyfriend and trading kisses for correct answers.

“Babe, really?” He whines when your decision making takes too long.

“Just kidding. I’ll stay.”

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

Advantages of studying [Remus Lupin x Reader] - Requested

Title: Advantages of studying Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader Word count: 2.9k Published: 22 July, 2020 Author: Heloise Daphne Brightmore Notes: I got this cute request by winsalo on Wattpad a couple of days ago. Summary: You have been helping Remus with his Potions essay, whilst slowly falling for the kind boy. However you are rather shy around Remus and find it hard to make the first step.  Request: [x]

"Please could you do one with Remus and a girl called Evangeline but Eve for short. They become sloe whilst studying together. I love your writing by the way." - Winsalo [Wattpad]

Harry Potter Characters Masterlist | Masterlists

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You have been sitting in the library for the past two hours, studying with Remus. Studying might have been a strong use of word as you have been trying not to stare at him the whole time. You kept your face down, pretending to read the lines of your potions book, but you couldn't even recall a word. Of course, you couldn't. Although you kept glancing at the book, your eyes often wondered to the brown haired boy sitting across the table.

Potions wasn't his strongest subject, therefore you have been helping him with the essay you were given by Professor Slughorn. He was so concentrated on his parchment, his brows furrowed, whilst trying to write down his thoughts. At times he ran his fingers through his locks with a deep sigh leaving his lips as if it helped him in concentrating. His long fingers wrapped themselves around his quill, holding them firmly in place. It made you wonder what kind of a boy he was.

You have known him since first year and you could only see a kind side of his, but you knew there was always more to people. You wished to get to know him better, you wished to talk to him more often. Unfortunately for you, he was quite reserved. Unless he needed help with studying, he didn't talk to you much. He did wave at you or smiled gently while nodding when you met in class, but he never really initiated a conversation. You wished he did though. You were rather shy when it came to him. You never really dared to get close to him, feeling as if he was trying to keep everyone away from himself, other than his three best friends.

You admired him for his smart brain, his kind manners, his polite behaviour, but you rarely saw those sides and unfortunately your lack of knowledge on him forced you to admire only his physical appearance. You didn't complain though. He was dashingly handsome and a sweet candy to the eyes.

You tried very hard not to stare, but it seemed to be impossible. He flipped through the pages of the book he was taking his notes from, before he lifted his face to look up at you, causing your eyes to widen in surprise. You felt like you have been caught out and you were unable to hide the blush creeping up on your cheeks.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, but instead of looking at him, your eyes wondered to the shelves full of old and dusty books. You were trying to avoid his eyes in case your stupid little brain decided to stare at him once again, creepily.

"Sure." You replied after a moment of silence, digging yourself into your book.

"Look, if you have anything else to do, I can finish it from here." He spoke, making you frown as you finally looked into his dark, green eyes and shook your head.

"No, not at all. I guess, I am just a bit distracted, that's all." You let a small smile spread across your face.

"Can I help?" He asked, but you shook your head, knowing this was a battle you had to fight with yourself.

"It's nothing important." You tried to reassure him.

"Well, it seems to me that it is. You haven't written a word on your parchment." He pointed at your paper and for a second you could feel your face go white as your blood rushed out of your cheeks.

"Oh..." You breathed, realisation hitting you hard.

"So...?" He tried again, but you just shook your head, quickly starting to write your essay, knowing you had barely a few hours to finish it. Remus didn't try to talk to you again, seeing that you were completely lost in your studies. He smiled softly as he looked at your hunched form, your complete attention on your paper.

Hours passed by when Madam Pince walked over, her nose held high, his brows raised, impatiently waiting for the students to leave the library. You both packed your books, notes, quills and inks, putting them all in the bags, ready to leave. As you walked out of the library, Remus placed a hand on the small of your back and halted, turning towards you. You raised a brow at his unexpected actions, but gave him your undivided attention.

"I guess, you don't have to tutor me anymore." Remus smiled at you as if he thought it was some kind of a burden on you. However you didn't return his joyful expression. You weren't happy to say the least. You didn't want that gap to stand between you two once again, but you didn't dare to do anything about it. He clearly didn't want you as anything more than a tutor.

"Yes, but if you have any questions, you can always ask me." You reassured more yourself than him, hoping for him to come to you eventually.

"I will, thank you." He nodded and offered you a pleased look, before he walked away from you, leaving you to stare at the back of the dark brown jumper he has been wearing. You heaved a deep sigh as you walked up to your dormitory, concluding that you have been left to ogle over his mere presence from afar once again. Arriving to your dorm, you threw yourself on your bed and hid your face in your pillow, hoping for this feeling you have been harbouring for him to just disappear.

The next couple of days have been quite. You watched him sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table at breakfast, you stared at his back on Potions and Transfiguration, being seated right behind him, you gazed at his laughing form, sitting by the lake with his friends. You wished to be part of all his experiences, but you knew your love for him was only one sided. Love, indeed. You came to love the oblivious boy, making it so much harder to watch him from afar.

You were sitting in your dorm room, legs spread across the floor, back leaning against the edge of the bed. You have been sighing for minutes straight, before your friend walked up to you and sat down besides you.

"You have to stop this. Why don't you just ask him out?" She asked curiously.

"I can't. He... he is Remus. He wouldn't date with someone like me." You let out a defeated deep breath, head hanging low in sorrow.

"What does that even mean? Have you looked into the mirror? You are beautiful, you are smart, you are funny. Who wouldn't want to date you?" She asked with a sceptical look on her face.

"Clearly noone." You huffed. You couldn't recall receiving a single confession recently.

"Erm... yeah. You have been staring at Remus so obviously, that everyone is aware of it." She raised her brow knowingly.

"No, I have not." You argued, but she shook her head.

"Yes, you have. I could walk around the dorm, knocking on doors and people would confirm it without hesitation." She smirked. "The only person who doesn't realise your feelings is Remus. Look, he is a nice guy, ask him out. Even if he rejects you, which believe me, he won't, you won't have to be scared of being made fun of, because he is just not wired that way." She tried to convince you. While you knew she was right, you were still scared to let him know of your feelings.

"His friends could make fun of me. He could start avoiding me. I could even scare him away and that would be beyond painful." You spoke, but your friend just shook her head.

"Excuses. Do it!" She said as if it was that simple. "Do it!" She repeated it once again with a raised brow. "If you don't I will." She grinned mischievously.

"What?" Your eyes grew wide in shock.

"I will tell him myself." She shrugged nonchalantly.

"No." You replied, suddenly grabbing her shoulder.

"Will you do it then?" She asked, waiting for a clear confirmation.

"Fine, I will." You spoke in an unsure tone.

"Good! Now let's go to bed and first thing on the morning you will confess your undying love." She giggled, making you grimace at her happy face.

Slumber took over you harder than ever as you tried to think through all the scenarios that could happen. As much as you wished to think of all the happy endings, somehow your mind wondered over to the dark side, imagining all the different kind of rejections you expected to receive. Deep sighs left your lungs on numerous occasions, to a point where your friend woke up and threw a pillow at your face. You growled at her childish behaviour, but soon finally let your nervous thoughts go and fell into a sweet dream, revolving around Remus.

The next morning you stood in front of your mirror, preparing yourself for the most embarrassing day of your life. You wanted to stay behind and just play the poor, sick student act, but your friend laughed straight in your face and pushed you out the door. You rolled your eyes at her dominant behaviour, but headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast anyway.

Remus was already sitting at the table with his friends, laughing about probably the newest prank they have been planning. You heaved a deep sigh and took your seat, trying to avoid the inevitable.

"Come on." Your friend ushered you, but you just shook your head furiously.

"Not in the Great Hall." You frowned.

"Why not?" She asked, her head tilting in confusion.

"Everyone could hear it. Let me do it later." You whispered, not wanting anyone to know that you have been planning something.

"Fine." She huffed and returned to her breakfast.

Classes flew by and since your friend wasn't nagging you, you certainly thought you were off the hook. Oh, what a wrong thought that was. Classes finished and you were sitting outside the Black lake as per your friend's request, studying for your Transfiguration exam. You were deep in your thoughts, but you could just about hear a group of boys laughing loudly at the edge of the lake. You didn't have to think for long to realise it was Remus who was having fun with his group of friends. You turned to your friend, your cheeks heating up, feeling embarrassment coming over you.

"It's time." She said with a cheeky smile, biting into her lower lip. You frowned suspiciously before it all downed on you.

"You knew!" You stated firmly, but she just shrugged with the same smile across her face and nudged your shoulder, telling you to go.

You placed your books and parchment on the grass and stood up hesitantly, while rearranging your wrinkled cloths. You looked back at your friend, hoping for a more empathetic feeling from her, but she just gave you a sceptical look as if she knew you wanted to run away. You knew you had no escape route at this point, but your legs didn't move. You stood there, looking at the man who has stolen your heart, but you just couldn't take the first step.

"Remus." You heard her calling him from beside you and you gave a terrified look to your friend, who simply shrugged it off. "Go." She said as she lowered her head back into her book once again.

Your eyes looked up to the owner of the green orbs, who was curiously searching for a reason why he was called over so abruptly. You met him right in the middle of the land, between both of your friends and stood silently. You exhaled sharply, before deciding to speak up.

"Hey." Your voice was weak and low, he could barely hear you.

"Hey, is everything okay?" He asked, realising your rather nervous fidgeting.

"Yeah..." You spoke hesitantly. "I..." You tried to get your words out, but they just didn't seem to come. "I thought..." You kept attempting to say what you practiced last night, but your mind drew a blank and you started to get more and more scared of the situation. He could see your shaking hands and before you knew it, he grabbed them and squeezed them gently.

"You don't seem okay." He said, worry clear in his voice. His touch made you feel even more terrified and out of mere fear you quickly removed your hands from his. "I'm sorry." He apologised as he realised what he had done.

"No!" You shot up, not wanting him to feel bad for trying to comfort you. "I just... can I be just honest?" You asked, feeling more and more nervous about beating around the bush.

"Yes, that would be much appreciated." He chuckled lightly. You heaved a deep sigh and exhaled, repeating the process a couple of times before you took the courage to speak up again.

"Would you go on a date with me?" You asked, your words almost slurring together. Your eyes were attached to his face to see a reaction, but he seemed expressionless.

"What?" He finally spoke, but those were not the words you expected.

"Please, don't let me repeat that." Your tone was begging as you felt the fear growing inside you. As if you could be rejected by simply repeating your words.

"I... I didn't think you would look at me like that." He frowned and you tilted your head curiously.

"Why not?" You asked, knowing that you have been more than obvious about your feelings.

"I don't know. I just didn't see it." He smiled gently, making your heart flutter in hope, but then silence fell up on you, making you anxious about his answer once again. His eyes were fixed on the ground, letting his thoughts take over him.

"You were the only one who didn't." You chuckled awkwardly trying to save the situation and fill in the silent gap.

However it didn't work. Remus stood in front of you with a puzzled expression, trying to find the right answer, while you fidgeted with your hands in nervousness. You felt your heart sunk deeper in sorrow as you started to realise that his silence was perhaps a rejection he didn't dare to say, not wanting to hurt you.

You painfully smiled to yourself, concluding that he was perhaps too kind to reject your advances. You let him think for a while, knowing he was probably searching for the nicest words to tell you, he didn't see you that way, that he didn't think of you as a potential romantic interest. You heaved a deep sigh, eyes still glued to the nervous boy.

"Come on, Moony. You have been drooling over Y/N for the past year. Just say yes." Sirius shouted, throwing his arms in the air out of frustration. Your eyes widened at his words and finally Remus looked up at you in shock.

"Damn it." He whispered, but you could just hear it fine. A small smile started spreading across your face, before you started lightly giggling. "That's not how I planned to... yeah." He said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He was nervous, but it wasn't because he was trying to find words to reject you, but because he didn't know the right words, now that his feelings have been returned. "I guess, that would be a yes then." He smiled happily this time. You could barely contain your excitement, but you tried to hide it anyway. You didn't really know much about Remus' friends, but you were certain that you would like them.

"Good, I'm glad you agreed." You spoke awkwardly, not knowing what to do next.

"I would have been stupid not to." He chuckled.

"Go get some Moony." Sirius walked up behind him and patted him on the back, pushing him forward. Things happened so fast, you could barely process the situation. One second Remus was standing in front of you, smiling awkwardly, the next he stumbled over to you, his hands on your upper arms to steady himself, his lips attached to yours.

Your eyes widened in shock, your breath stuck in your lungs as you felt his plump lips against yours. He quickly stepped back, fear clearly projected in his eyes.

"I am so sorry. Sirius just pushed me and I..." He tried to explain everything at once, his words a mess, his arms gesturing all over.

"It's fine." You smiled softly, trying to contain the cheerful screams you wanted to let out so badly. "But next time, maybe after the date." You giggled, which caused a relived sigh to leave his lips, before a smile appeared across his face.

You have never felt more excited in your life, than in the moment he said yes and for the record, there wasn't just one or two kisses, but many more throughout the years.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to like and/or reblog the chapter. Thank you :) 

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[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @silver9mm donated $25, and requested dark wincest. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Dean’s sitting on the edge of his bed in the motel room, freaking out, when Sam finally comes back. “Thank god,” he says, his heart folding over in his chest, and then, pissed off, “Where the hell have you been?”

One in the morning, and it’s not like they’re not awake then half the time but Dean’s not supposed to wake up to an empty queen, to the Impala gone, to Sam’s backpack disappeared from the room. Bad enough that today was as shitty as it was, with Callie dying and her dad miserable--ending it with Sam disappeared, again, like Sam’s always goddamn disappearing--

But he’s here, and something under Dean’s hammering heart relaxes, if only by half an inch. “Where were you?” Dean says, while Sam’s dropping his bag on the ground, throwing his keys onto the table. Clumsy, rough, and Dean frowns. “Sammy.”

“It’s fucking Sam,” he gets back, pissed-off, and he blinks, sits up straighter.

Sam--okay. He hasn’t been having the easiest time. Dean knows that, he’s not a total asshole. He’s gonna be gone soon and Sam’s pissed about it. “Went out for a good time, huh?” he says. Trying to keep it light. “Shoulda woken me up, man, we could’ve had a few rounds for old times’ sake.”

Sam snorts. He’s just standing there, by the table, his hair mussed up like he’s been dragging his hands through it, his shoulders high and tense inside his jacket. “Old times’ sake,” he mutters, and when he looks up--he’s not drunk, but he’s had a few for sure. His eyes bright, in the lamplight, and his edge of his jaw furious. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’re leaving, right? You’re bailing out. One last good time before there’s no more time at all. Right, Dean?”

Okay. This again. It gongs inside his empty chest, where he’s felt hollow for nearly six months, but he puts on a smile and doesn’t give a shit how bitchy it looks. “That’s right, Sam,” he says, and stands up. “Hey, next time you go out for a pity fest, maybe don’t wake me up, huh?”

Mean, and he doesn’t care. Sam’s face flinches into some new expression and Dean turns away. A shower, maybe. Something to escape to, and if he’s lucky by the time he gets out Sam will be curled in that usual resentful ball in the other bed, and they’ll put it behind them in the morning, and--

He’s nearly to the bathroom when he’s caught. Sam shoves him--shoves him--and Dean crashes up against the slice of wall by the bathroom door, his forearm barely up to keep his nose from getting crushed. “What the hell,” he gets out, and when he turns Sam’s right there, shoving his chest so his back hits the wall instead, and Sam says, “Like it’s all a joke, right? Like it doesn’t matter? Like we should all just let it go? Right. Like you could let it go. Like you ever let anything go.”

He’s--really angry. His hands in fists. Dean’s in boxers and bare feet and Sam’s got five, six inches on him like this. He shrugs, spreads out his hands. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. Flat. Faking calm, but Dean’s always believed in fake it ‘til you make it.

Sam doesn’t buy it. He stands up straighter, looks down at Dean. His mouth twists, and Dean’s not--usually on the other side of that expression. Sam says, “You should’ve let me die,” and all the air goes out of Dean’s body. Sam shakes his head. “But you couldn’t, could you. Couldn’t let it go.”

“You’re my brother,” Dean says. Automatic. True.

He gets another look, for that. Sam gets a fist on his chest, knuckles digging in, and presses Dean back against the wall. “Yeah, I am,” he says, like a threat. “And I heard I’m something more. To you. That right, Dean?”

Dean goes still. He looks up into Sam’s eyes and sees--he doesn’t know. He doesn’t recognize Sam, like this.

“I thought--” Sam shakes his head. Laughs. It sounds like an unholy thing. Dean shudders and Sam looks him in the eye. “You always looked out for me. Right? That was the thing I always could--and then she told me. Why. You don’t want to just be my brother. Do you.”

Sam’s face. Angry, intense, but like he’s hoping that what he knows isn’t true. Dean breathes. Doesn’t know how to deny it. Who told him? Who knew?

Sam looks back and forth between his eyes. “Fuck,” he says, helpless. Crushes his knuckles into Dean’s chest--punches him, a short tight sock to the pec, more emotion than force. “Fuck, I thought--”

There’s nothing Dean can say. “It doesn’t matter,” he tries, like that means anything. He touches Sam’s wrist, aching. “Sammy. I swear, I wouldn’t do--”

“What, you wouldn’t do anything?” Sam says. He rolls his eyes at the ceiling, huffs. Smiles, bitter. “You already did. You sold your soul, Dean, and you’re going to go to hell, because you wanted me to suck your dick. And you tell me to let it go.”

He throbs, inside. God. Sam. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, after a second. Sam levels a stare at him. Dean swallows. “Sam.”

“It wasn’t,” Sam says. He’s already close--he crowds in, closer, and Dean flinches but he’s already ass-and-shoulders to the wall and his bones can’t dig back any further. Sam looks down at him, carved misery, and drops his fist and gets his hand on Dean’s dick--cups him tight, through the boxers, and Dean--can’t help it, he seizes still, and arches. Pressure, firm, and Sam’s hand so warm, and Sam--there, like he’d dreamed about, and Sam’s breath is hot with booze in his face and Sam grimaces, like he’s been shot or stabbed, says, “Fuck,” and then squeezes again and says, grim, “Okay, then--Dean, okay--”

Dean’s grabbed--shoved--shoved around, against the wall, and he’s pressed flat, his chest crushed in so his amulet’s digging hard into his flesh, the tiny metal horns biting in. “Sammy,” he tries, and Sam crushes in behind him, blankets him shoulders to hips. “What--stop it, you’re acting crazy.”

“Crazy?” Sam laughs at him again, high and nasty. He’s bent in close. “Crazy, like, being so hot for your little brother you send yourself to eternal torture? Making him live with that? Making it so--every time he wakes up, he thinks--”

Misery, there. Dean turns his head, tries to look, but there’s a big hand, on the back of his neck, and he’s pinned. “I’ll give you what you wanted,” Sam says, soft, and crushes closer. His hips pinned against Dean’s ass--jesus. Dean’s too freaked to be hard but there’s a weird nasty pressure building up in his gut anyway.

“Sam,” he says, but Sam’s not listening. Fingers scrabble up the edge of his t-shirt, find the waistband of his boxers, rip downward--and he’s not in the right position and Sam whispers, miserable-sounding, fuck--fuck, Dean--and Dean presses his temple against the wall and helps, shoves, his stomach tilting like he’s on the Viper, something rattling and tense taking over his bones. Sam pauses, and then curses again, kicks at Dean’s ankle, and Dean spreads as much as he can with his boxers caught around his thighs and pushes his ass back, panting against the wall. Glad, then, of the mostly-dark, the one lamp somewhere behind him--that he can’t see Sam’s face--and he hears Sam spit in his hand and knows then that--either Sam hasn’t done this or Sam has and knows how much it’ll hurt, and he closes his eyes and braces his forearms against the wall and pushes back, and it’s--fuck--the first time he feels Sam’s dick is the thick slap of it off-center, not-slick-enough, bullying, and he arches his back and scrunches his eyes shut and feels that first shoving tense push--”Fuck,” Sam says again--and he’s too tight, and Sam’s too mad, and Dean buries his face in the crook of one elbow and wets two fingers with his mouth and reaches back, past the fat shove of Sam’s dick, rubs some little slickness against his asshole and then grabs the pole of Sam’s dick and helps, guiding, keeping it in place while it forces him open--and ah christ christ son of a bitch it’s big, it hurts, years since he’s done this and he forgot how much it could hurt and there’s not enough wet and he’s gonna bleed he’s gonna bleed and the whole time Sam’s dragging into him, too much friction, splitting something deep, fuck.

“Fuck,” Sam says. Only word he knows. Dean pants against the wall. Crushed up close against it, his body trying to get away. Sam grips his hip. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

“No shit,” Dean says, shaky, and Sam shifts, his chest covering Dean’s back. Like a wall, to match the wall he’s pressed against. Trapped. Fuck, it hurts, it hurts, and it’ll only get better if--”Move,” he says, aching, “c’mon, please move--”

Sam’s hips curl. His dick saws in deeper, drags out an inch or two. Dean bites his own forearm. “Shut up,” Sam says, but soft, and holds Dean’s shoulder underhand. Moves in him again, cautious, and Dean moans involuntarily. It hurts so much more than it feels like anything else, but it’s--it’s Sam. Sam.

He starts a rhythm. Awkward, hunching. His breath against the side of Dean’s neck, his fingers digging in. Dean spreads his legs, feels dizzy. The world narrows, spirals, around the hot slicing drag inside, and Sam’s hand dug into his hip. He’s still not hard but that feels distant--there’s pressure inside, and Sam’s skin against his, and the pain’s evened out to a dull suffusing thing that spreads through his body, ebbing and rising with his blood, his breath, his hand reaching back and holding Sam’s hip. Urging him deeper, faster. Sam presses his mouth against Dean’s hair, panting there. Obeys, snapping in faster, and it’s a--pummeling, like taking a beating, like training, like how when they’d wrestle as teenagers Sam started to win, like how he’d get Dean in the ribs and in the gut and then would kneel straddling his ribs and say say uncle, Dean, and Dean would say aunt, panting, and Sam would roll his eyes and push Dean’s face away before he stood up, and Dean would lay there, bruised, but proud, because Sam was strong--Sam was smart--Sam was going to get whatever he wanted out of life, and Dean couldn’t be more proud of anything besides that.

“Oh, god,” Sam mutters, and drags Dean half a foot backwards. He’s slamming in harder, greedier, and Dean knows that, knows what that means. He re-braces, his elbow up against the wall, and Sam’s still leaning over him, panting and shoving in and, god, after all this it does feel--good, awful and painful but good--and Dean reaches back, gets his hand in Sam’s hair, holds him close, says, “c’mon, Sammy--c’mon--give it up, c’mon, you can do it--please--”

“Shut up,” Sam says, breathless, but he loops an arm around Dean’s waist and crams up inside him another half-dozen times and then goes stiff, his nuts slapping hard against Dean’s ass, his thighs shaking against Dean’s thighs. Dean can’t feel it inside but wishes he could. Occurs to him only then that Sam didn’t rubber up. He curls his fingers in Sam’s hair, holding him there, and Sam turns his face so that his lips brush Dean’s neck and crams his dick in tighter, deeper. Unloading, and with it he seems to have used up all his violence. He kisses Dean’s neck, soft. Lets his lips drag along Dean’s sweaty skin. His arm unbands and he drags a hand over Dean’s belly. Squeezes his hips. Soft again.

“Sam,” Dean says. He’s throbbing. His whole body.

A stilling. Sam breathes against his skin. He pulls his dick out--not fast, but Dean feels every inch anyway, and can’t help the sound he makes when he’s empty. There’s an immediate spill, against the inside of his thigh. Sam broke him open. He tries to stand upright but his thighs ache, and he leans against the wall with his hands flat, trying to drag up the strength to turn around. To figure out something to say.

“God,” is what Sam says, and Dean thinks, hysterically--where?--and then there’s a whirl of motion and Sam goes into the bathroom, right next to them, and shuts the door. Dean hears the lock click. Then a thump, like something punched or thrown, and then water rushing on. The shower. Like it’s Sam who needs the shower.

Dean arches his back, careful, trying to stretch. It’s not painful to walk, but it’s painful--what feels like everywhere else. He settles careful on the edge of his bed and then tips backward, gets his weight off his ass. Tissues on the nightstand: he plucks out a handful and reaches down, wipes up. Sam’s got a huge load, he thinks, and the thought should cause hysteria but it doesn’t. He just cleans up the spill, mechanical. The tissues are only a little red. Could be worse. Has been, though not in--years. He thought he’d left this kind of thing behind.

He drags his boxers back up. His balls are heavy and, after the shock of the pain, the sensation of it heats, inside his bones. His dick fills. If he wanted he could jerk off, and Sam probably wouldn’t be the wiser. Hiding in the shower like he is. He settles his hand on his stomach, looks up at the ceiling. He wonders how many places he’s got bruises. How long they’ll stay. If Sam will notice them, in the days and weeks to come. If he’ll say anything, if he does. Dean shudders, head to toe, and thinks unbidden that he can jerk off to this for the rest of his life. Rest of his life. He laughs, and it sounds--nasty, in the empty room. As nasty as Sam’s did.

He stretches out, and holds his amulet in his other hand. He’s not going to sleep again, tonight. Might as well settle in.

An hour later, the shower’s still running.

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 30: The Last Act part 1

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

TAG LIST: @googlesentmehere, @cess02, @hellyeah90sbaby

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Now that they're back on the surface, everyone struggles with the things they learned down below. Things they learned about Gaius and the First, things they learned about each other, and the ones they learned about themselves. But the worst is yet to come.

[READ IT ON AO3]

“That’s enough. Give it here.”

“No,” she shakes her head adamantly; the sudden dizziness tries to argue right back at her, “no I just needed to sit. I can do a little more.”

“I’m certain you can —”

“— then keep —”

“— but you need to rest.”

Her voice cracks in a whimper. “I will, I promise I will — but —”

“Enough,” Cadence snaps, stern only because he has to be; because this isn’t the first time Nadya’s tried to give more blood than her body can function properly without, “I won’t hear any more of it. You’re still weak, and this is a good amount… should last us the next day or so while you rest up.”

At least they’re both well aware of who exactly he’s talking to; and just how not-over-with this conversation actually is. They’ve had ample time to talk (read: argue) while he draws her blood with a steady, never-wavering focus. He knows she’ll argue this until she passes out from the blood loss. Just like she knows he’s only disagreeing  with her because he feels like he has to. To get back on everyone else’s good sides.

Though… what did those look like, again? She’s starting to forget. Probably because she hasn’t seen them in a long long time.

Even if he’s still radiating frustrated vibes Cadence stays professional; every bit the real medical doctor as he eases the needle from the inside of her elbow and quickly staunches the last few drops with cotton. All of it methodical, perfectly normal blood-donating stuff. Until, that is, her vampire medic catches his thumb between sharpened teeth and nips the smallest of cuts. Just a drop is all it takes; one little red line swiped over the puncture mark and presto vanish-o.

A rueful smile tugs against her unwilling lips. She’s the farthest thing from a making-jokes mood but any time it happens they’re always in Lily’s voice. It’s such a comfort right now — they have no idea.

Cadence transfers her blood from the bowl to an empty blood bag; that gets traded out for the one from yesterday in one hand and the funnel on the drying rack by the sink in the other.

“Can I come with this time?”

Nadya’s caught him off-guard; faltering steps and his shoulders squaring off like he has an answer on the tip of his tongue, only to remember that he’s a good man.

“Just… don’t tell the others.”

Crossing her finger over her heart, she nods. “Promise.”

He makes her hang back five steps from the door while he opens it and makes sure the coast is clear. A stupid precaution in her eyes; if there really was a Feral vampire on the other side she doubts a door would be enough to hold the thing back. Her friends only have her best interests at heart, though, and she knows it. It’s just… fear makes people do weird things.

It can make them act out; be cruel… or unleash a vengeful bloodthirsty warlord on the woman who took away a century of his life.

Finally Cadence steps inside. He holds the door open and she ducks under his arm to squeeze through.

“Hey Lil’.”

She has the same first thought every time: she looks like she could be sleeping. Only Lily doesn’t sleep on her back, she sleeps like a dragon in a hoard of pillow-treasure. So this must be some other girl, is always the next idea. But that’s wrong too.

This is Lily; here and real and colder than the chilly bedroom when Nadya sits on the bedside and takes one hand in hers. And no matter how much this sucks it’s better than the alternative. Nadya knows they’re doing all they can here; like driving in an endless fog.

Cadence makes quick work of propping Lily’s mouth open with the funnel and getting this over with as fast as possible. Nadya would do the same — but because that’s just plain disgusting. Her friends keep these trips short and quick because they’re all still so weak. They can only resist open, fresh-ish blood for so long.

Together they watch, and wait; and Nadya never looks away from Lily’s closed eyelids. Part of her hopes and wishes they might twitch — or better, fly open. The rest isn’t sure what exactly would open those eyes. That’s the part that keeps her quiet.

Minutes that feel like hours that feel like years later, when there’s nothing left in the bag but veins made by the plastic, the vampire takes out the funnel and gives Nadya a generous bit of space for her patience.

Nadya moves closer; leaning and tugging out a wadded fistful of tissues because there’s something so wrong about seeing her blood dribbling from Lily’s lips. “I know you didn’t wanna get blood on this jacket,” she teases, “but frankly the fact that you still have standards after wearing it underground is a ‘you’ problem.”

Her lower lip wobbles. Keeps her from saying anything more — and Nadya has so much more to say. She only wishes she could punch the words out of her stupid stuck throat.

“You just keep getting better.” There are still times where Nadya wakes up fresh from living-nightmares of Lily’s body convulsing, drenched in sweat, black disease creeping up through her body and spreading like a mold. And while they have no real guess as to whether or not Nadya’s blood is reversing the corruption, they don’t know that it’s not. They do know that it hasn’t spread any further.

That’s more than enough reason to keep trying.

A few more tissues dab away little wet spots Nadya almost thinks are sweat on her brow. But then one falls on her hand. And another. And another. So she wipes her eyes instead.

“Just keep getting better — and when we get home I promise I won’t complain about your gamefest junk food trash for a whole month. Or…” because she can feel the judgment—really she can, “like not to your face anyway.”

She doesn’t expect a response, nor does she get one. Life isn’t that easy. “Love you,” Nadya says instead, someone has to have the last word, and with one last kiss to her forehead and and Cadence leave Lily alone in the cold and the dark.

Cadence, perceptively, gives Nadya her space back in the kitchen. He busies himself with the fridge door and cabinet and then there’s a glass of apple juice in front of her that Nadya would definitely prefer to be wine. She takes it with a nonverbal shrug of thanks.

“Ahem.”

“Hm?”

“Drink.”

Don’t think — drink.

Nadya flinches at the memory. Involuntary, no doubt about it; but Cadence sees it clear as day. Doesn’t see much point in hiding the hurt that flashes dark over his eyes.

She feels bad enough about it to down the entire cup in one fell swoop.

“Sorry… about that.”

“For what?” He shrugs her off with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nadya watches owlishly as he goes to rinse the dish out. Can’t shake the sneaking suspicion that he’s glad for any reason to keep his back turned.

“Cade.”

Who’s a little too heavy-handed putting the glass aside to dry; thankfully the bottom is solid enough that it doesn’t break but there’s always next time. Nadya waits — gives him time to compose himself and turn back around before she’ll keep going.

Instead he grasps the counter’s edge like it’s the only thing keeping him from floating off into the void of space.

“Do I sound like him?” he asks, and when his voice cracks he sags against it even more. “And please… please spare me the false confusion.”

You know exactly who I mean, is what he doesn’t say. The irony that he’d just tried to pull the same thing isn’t lost on either of them.

It’s a relief though. To not have to… ignore it.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want an answer.”

“Well —” Nadya worries her bottom lip; finds a small chipped-off spot on the floor tile and speaks to it instead, “— I mean yes, of course you sound like him. You’re the same… you know what I’m trying to say.”

They weren’t the same, though. That’s why this is so hard on him. Why his shoulders are shaking one wrong word away from a total episode.

“You have the same voice — his accent wasn’t quite right but, uh, yeah.” He doesn’t stop her, so she doesn’t stop. “But if you’re asking me if I looked at him and couldn’t tell the difference between you two? Cadence… that was the problem. That’s what we were all struggling with. The way he talked, how he carried himself; it was all just too strange. Too much, I think.

“I couldn’t see any of you in him and it—it was scary.” I thought I’d somehow killed you. Thankfully Nadya’s able to bite that particular confession back and swallow it down. She’s hurting him enough.

Though she almost doubts it — when Cadence finally glances at her in profile. Hair covering most of his eyes but not so much that she misses the flicker of hope there.

“You’re telling the truth?”

“I’m gonna pretend that doesn’t offend me.” His look turns imploring; desperate even. “Yes, I’m telling the truth. Cynbel was a jerk — pretty much the anti-you. And… yes, he got us out of there alive and yes he helped me try to save Lily even when the others wouldn’t and—and I don’t regret any of that. Not for one second.

“But I also don’t have the words for how relieved I was to see you wake up the other day. None of us knew what would happen while you were unconscious all that time. Serafine looked close to pulling out her hair.” Two beds, two friends. And two monsters that could have come out on the other side instead.

“Even I’m not sure I really know what happened,” and everything on his face screams about just how much that worries him, “the last thing I recall clearly was being in the front hall, back at the Manor, and running forward as you were attacked. Then…”

He tries to find the words. Nadya gives him the chance because she knows what that’s like. The confusion of knowing you were awake; you were there… and then suddenly doubting everything in your head because that’s no longer the case. But Cadence comes up short, to his chagrin, and just ends up looking like a fish out of water.

She knows that pretty well, too. “It happened. Nothing we can do will change that now. So now we just…”

BANG.

Another flinch — Nadya doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until her hand is deep in her jacket pocket with the metal ridges of Cadence’s switchblade handle digging into her palm.

“I have a few more we could try,” comes Serafine’s voice from the front room, “they are… distant, but not unfriendly.”

“No, no way.”

Adrian’s sigh is soft and weary. His voice so quiet that Nadya almost doesn’t hear him at all. “Jax, it’s not like we have a ton of options.”

“We don’t need options. We need decisions!”

Great. More arguing. She and Cadence glance at one another in silence. Should we go in there? We should. Do I want to go in there? No, no I don’t, but we have to. You take Raines, I’ll take Matsuo. Ugh, fine!

The taller goes first — not that it was planned. But it gives Nadya the chance to look Serafine over without Serafine doing the same. Just as she suspected — and just as it’s been every time she thinks no one is watching — the vampiress goes on alert the moment his foot crosses the threshold. Cadence is a trooper, though, and gives her about as much attention as he would the ugly flowery wallpaper.

He turns to take up a chair; isn’t even sitting down before the look is gone from the woman’s furrowed brow. Replaced by a weary smile that instinctively checks Nadya over for signs of (more) damage. “Sounds like you three had another fruitful evening,” he remarks dryly. And gets three nasty stares for his troubles.

“You think this is a time for jokes?” she snarls. But he doesn’t bat an eye.

“I think it’s too damn depressing right now to do anything else.”

Jax resumes his pacing near the window. Nervous energy desperate for an outlet; because somehow fighting back literally hundreds of Ferals was something he could get over in a week and a half. Adrian sits leaned over in his armchair, elbows on his knees and such a crumpled, forfeiting look to his soul that Nadya feels some of it seeping into her pores.

“Adrian?”

He lifts his head with a visible effort; too heavy for him to hold high like the Adrian she knows. She’s seen this look in his eyes before — when she had been returned from Gaius’ grisly dinner party. How is it so much has happened, so much has changed, yet she still feels so helpless to make it better for him? “What can I do?”

Nothing, and they both know it. Her hand, only half-reached out in offering, slides into his. When he squeezes it’s borderline painful, but she endures. Taking a moment to gather himself, Adrian wets his lips before speaking.

“Something isn’t right. It just isn’t… I feel it,” he grabs his middle with his free hand, “in here. I’ve exhausted every resource pooled between Kamilah and I in the last hundred years. Dozens of networks, forgers, freelancers. There’s just no way they’d all be gone. Not without reason.”

Nadya lowers herself to sit on the arm of his chair. “So we still haven’t been able to get what we learned about the stake to Kamilah, then.” Their faces say it all.

“Do we have any other options?”

“Yes!”

“No, we don’t!” Adrian’s anguish hardens into anger faster than Nadya has time to process. He rounds on Jax hard and resolute. “Because that is not an option. Not after everything they’ve sacrificed.”

She peers between Serafine and Jax over Adrian’s shoulder. “What are you talking about?” And anger or not, Adrian isn’t scaring Jax off of his plan easily.

“We need to go home.”

Oh. “But…”

“But what, Nadya? What? Because you’re dead worried, just like I am, hell just like you are, Raines. We don’t know anything — and we have a pretty clear answer on how to fix that. We go back and we help them there, on the home front. And when we know we’ve got our foot in the door then we get back to this Eternal Tree and Gaius-stake. But there’s no stake in the world that will help if we lose the city in the process.”

He burns with passion and conviction. This is Jax; of course he does. Even Nadya finds herself shifting on the cushion, weighing the pros and cons of his argument. “I want to Jax—I do.” And here come the dang tears again. “But what about Lily? If things are really as chaotic in New York as Cade said —”

“— oh they are —”

“— if they are… we need to keep her somewhere steady, and try everything we can before it’s too late. We wouldn’t be able to do that.”

Nadya tries to meet his eyes but the rebel doesn’t make it easy on her. At least he’s staying silent on purpose; that means he agrees with her whether it helps his case or not.

“I can’t… keep…” Jax’s voice shakes like an earthquake, “running and abandoning the people I promised to protect.”

That same passion and conviction suck the sound out of the room; make it so his hissed anger and clenched teeth sound loud enough to make her ears ring.

“Once was too damn much. I’m not gonna do it again. Not when it makes sense to go back and fight.”

“I’m not sure it does.”

He scoffs at Serafine’s words. “Of course it doesn’t, not to you. All you European vampires know how to do is run and hide.”

Even Cadence looks at him in surprise. “I don’t think that’s really fair… the world is different here.” But he should have kept his mouth shut. Now he’s a target.

“And you sound like you’re conveniently forgetting why that is.”

“I’m not.”

“It wouldn’t be the first thing you’ve forgotten when it suited you.”

Nadya blanches. “Whoa Jax — out of line!”

“No… he’s not.” He’s rattled Cadence; that much is obvious. But unlike he had back in the kitchen, this time the man swallows it down and raises his chin high. “I read the same books you did Matsuo. And maybe I haven’t said it enough, or maybe you weren’t listening the last dozen or so times, but I couldn’t apologize to any of you more than I already have — even if I wanted to!”

He stands, towers over Jax specifically but he holds his ground. Later on — like way way later on and under better circumstances — Nadya’ll remember this and admire him for it. But right now he just looks like a moron.

“You’re angry,” Cade continues, “I get that. Fuck, do I get that. You’re a man in control of his life; his strength. You made your place in the world to spite anyone who told you that you couldn’t. But this—this anger—comes from powerlessness.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“You can’t protect the people you love. And what you can do — it’s taking too long. Try waiting a hundred goddamned years! I did everything I was supposed to and what did I get for it? I got a fat load of bullshit! I gave up a life! I gave up a wife!”

Nadya, Adrian, and Serafine all gasp. Did you know about this? Nadya gives a wide-eyed look to Adrian — but he’s just as surprised.

You’re angry. Well look who’s angry now.

Jax couldn’t care less. He snarls, fangs bared. “Are you seriously making my shit about you right now?”

And… Cadence isn’t. Cadence doesn’t. He shrinks away, all six feet of him seeming to curl in on himself. But he won’t back down.

“No, I’m telling you what you need to understand before anything more happens. Because there will be times your anger seems to come from nowhere; times where the only thing you can think, feel, bleed is a part of that rage. Of feeding it and letting it grow. But that’s all it wants from you. It wants to consume, to live. And there will come a time when you let it at the cost of everything you know is right.”

He shoves a wide hand against Jax’s chest. The man stumbles only barely. “You know what you want isn’t right, Jax. You know it puts you in power, and you know fighting will add fuel to the fire. But you also know all that will do is win you the battle and lose you the war. You’ll fight, and be angry, and still lose everything. But hey…” —stepping back, hands held up in surrender— “you fed the anger. It got what it wanted. You didn’t.”

If anything the argument could be made that Cadence’s (admittedly decent, in Nadya’s opinion) impassioned speech on anger only served to make Jax angrier. Until he surprises them all — and possibly even himself — and stands down.

His nostrils flare; the epitome of restraint.

“I can’t — no, I refuse to sit here with my thumbs up my ass for one more night. No more running around playing hide and seek with a bunch of cowards. They need to know what we know. So how do you suggest we get that in gear?

“We don’t even know if anybody’s still alive.”

“They were the last time I saw them,” says Nadya quietly; almost like an afterthought. It’s like remembering something from a long time ago. The boundaries of it blurred between the waking world and the one of dreams.

Adrian’s hand rests on her knee. “Well, yeah Nadya, we all saw them.”

Oh. She swallows around the sudden lump in her throat and looks away to hide her guilt.

“Unless…” because he’s Adrian, and Adrian knows her so well, “there’s something you’re not telling us…”

“It’s not that I was trying to hide it, I promise —” she throws a hand back towards the depths of the flat, “— I told Lily. But with everything that’s happened, and we needed to focus on Gaius and the memory of the First, and…”

“None of that matters now.” Serafine steps forward; her voice low and soft but that doesn’t make it any less commanding.

“But you need to tell us what you saw.”

Nadya nods.

It’s easier than she expected. And that’s not something she gets to say often. At first it’s a struggle to get everything right; she tells the ending like the beginning and can’t help but feel like she forgets something crucial. But like every other memory or vision once Nadya starts she finds that the words want to be spoken. The events want to be told.

Even if, in their wake, there are only more questions and the same amount of answers.

Beside her, Adrian’s got his deep-thinking face on. At least one of them is. “When was this, again?”

“I don’t know, that’s the hard part. I couldn’t get a date, or figure out if it was before or after Cade was here, or…” Her voice pitches in obvious distress. Immediately Adrian goes back to the soothing motion of running his thumb over her knuckles. It’s a big help, honestly.

“That’s okay. It’s more than we knew before.”

“The question is…” Serafine raises an eyebrow, “can you do it again?”

Can she? Nadya has no idea. This isn’t like with Serafine; she has no hands to hold. And this isn’t like with Gaius; she doesn’t have an entire library and a bloodline to help give things focus. But none of that really matters now.

“I can’t afford not to try.”

She wanders, dream-like, through the vast emptiness of the castle. Her feet feel as light as air. Nothing like the memories she’s used to — she’s already wading deep enough to drown and still can’t tell whether or not this is real.

At least Nadya is familiar with this part of the castle. The decor is changed, more deserved and tailored to fit the overall ‘modern tribute to history’ of the rest of the estate; and there are no more velvet ropes to deter curious minds from closed doors. She may not be lost but that doesn’t mean she knows where she’s going.

But Nadya doesn’t have time to doubt herself. Kamilah doesn’t have time for Nadya to doubt herself. So she lets her feet take her where she needs to go. Following the grand staircase just off of the main ballroom all the way up, then one floor more, to a set of wide double doors at the far end of the hall.

The chandelier lights catch on the nearby plaque; movement shifts in their dazzling twinkle. She whirls around, fearing for a moment for something behind her, but the corridor is abandoned. It’s just her here.

It couldn’t hurt to double-check. And she’s glad she does; Nadya catches her reflection in the sheet of polished gold and freezes in her tracks. Because that’s her reflection. Nadya’s eyes and mouth both wide with surprise. Not Kamilah’s — Nadya’s.

That can’t be good, she thinks fleetingly. But it doesn’t matter. She can’t let that stop her.

Not now.

She reaches for the gilded handle and pushes the door open to the Banner Westbrook Memorial Library.

In here, everything is exactly the same as before. From the polished display cases to the shelves lined neatly with tomes of all shapes and sizes. Muscle memory even tries to tug her away — just for a moment — and around the corner where it feels like just yesterday Adrian had healed the bruises on her neck.

Just the other day… and a lifetime ago.

But that’s not where she’s supposed to go, she’s pretty sure, and the impulse passes — easily forgotten. She keeps her feet on the path but doesn’t know where they plan on taking her. Not until she catches sight of a familiar pair of doors tucked away in a darkened corner near the back.

When Nadya enters the portrait hall, she isn’t alone. A familiar figure stands at the very end; his back turned and relaxed in a slight slouch in his gait.

Gaius doesn’t need to turn around, though. His portrait, regal and looming like a giant, does a fine job of glaring at her on its subject’s behalf.

Nadya steels her nerves and keeps moving. She comes up next to him in a way she wouldn’t dare in person. Close enough that a slight shift of her feet could knock them together; like an ‘oops, my bad’ moment on the average subway commute. Don’t ask her why she does it — she couldn’t tell you. But maybe when she looks back on it she could say it was an act of  courage. A way to prove to herself that she’s no longer the girl running scared through museum shelves, or the one who jumped away from the mere memory of him.

Beside her, Gaius shifts his weight from one foot to the other and takes a slow, rich-person-pretentious sip of the liquor in his hand. It’s jarring — no — disturbing to see him act so… normal. Even Kamilah tended to unintentionally do her best impression of a living statue when she wasn’t doing anything in particular. But save breathing, here Gaius looks like an ordinary man.

And he is neither.

“Do you remember how it felt, that first taste of the potential of your power?”

Just like that all of her fear rushes back in icy floodwaters. Forget wading, she’s outright drowning. From the inside, somehow. Like it’s taken hold of her veins and filled up her belly and throat and now with nowhere to go but back down into her lungs.

What are you doing? You’re not really here, remember?

Oh, her…self… actually makes a really good point. She’s not really here. Gaius is alone — though she’d been aiming for a memory involving Kamilah and this is definitely very much not that but if she can’t get one simple thing right she might as well return to the others with something. Information on Gaius’ plans, movements, acts will have to do.

So… wait. Who is he talking to then?

Gaius waits, and waits, and waits for an answer that doesn’t seem to be coming. So unless the painting is going to start talking —

Then he looks down at her. At Nadya, not through her, and all bets are well and truly fucking off.

She backs away fast, practically tripping under her own feet until her sweating palms collide with the texture of dried oil paint of some vampire she doesn’t recognize. Who cares about any other vampire — Gaius can see her. How the hell can he see her?!

Gaius who just watches, cool and impassive, and clucks his tongue when she jostles the frame at her back. “Careful now, Nadya, that piece was the work of a master painter—and a dear friend. I would hate for your clumsiness to ruin it from so far away.”

So far away… “I’m… not really here?” The same mantra, but now, aloud, she’s uncertain. He’s not exactly the agreeing type.

“Of course not. How would such a thing be possible?”

“I’ve seen… a lot of impossible things lately.”

That earns Nadya a hint of a smile around the lip of his glass. “No doubt you have. Paris has always been a city of unimaginable wonders; wonders that pay no mind to the realms of dark and light. And with someone as well-traveled as our dear Serafine to show you around? Oh you must have been having such a wonderful little trip.”

She wants to shut down, to find the remote and turn this awful show off; to reach out and see if she can grab his throat like she can the painting frame and squeeze like that would do her any good.

But there are are a lot of things Nadya wants. She wants Lily to be better with the snap of a finger. She wants Lily and Mari to be able to hold each other again, wants Kamilah in the safety of her arms and vice versa. She wants Cadence to find peace and Jax to find purpose and Serafine and Adrian to get back to the way they had been before the dumb trip down to the dumb crypts.

Just because she wants something doesn’t mean she’ll get it, though. Not without a fight.

So no matter how much she wants to take off running (mentally, physically, psychically) back to Paris and the others and away from Gaius, who knows where they are and who they asked for help and knows exactly how scary that is to think about — she can’t yet.

Not without a fight.

Nadya knows full-well she can’t outwit him in word games. So she defaults to a classic man-deterrent — she straight-up ignores whatever he says.

“If I’m not really here, how can you see me?” How can you talk to me? Why aren’t you currently killing me? The important questions.

Her deflection doesn’t go unnoticed. Gaius is too good for that.

“You tell me.”

“Wow, you’re so original.” She replies, and gives possible the most dramatic eye roll of her life. He doesn’t even flinch. Darn it.

Instead Gaius shrugs it off. “I would have thought that by now you were tired of being on the sidelines of your own life.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Really?” His face falls in mock sympathy. “You don’t find some truth to the sentiment? Or are you as blind in the mind as you are in the eye — to the repeated pattern of events that constantly spiral out of control but never fail to pluck you up into the chaos as they go?”

Nadya keeps her back up against the wall; somewhere safe where no one can sneak up behind her. Gaius is dangerous enough no matter where he is. “You know… I’ve had kind of a long week. I’m really not in the mood for your weird word puzzles.”

“They aren’t puzzles. I couldn’t speak any plainer if I tried.”

“Then I really feel bad for anyone who has to talk to you for longer than five minutes —” —a beat— “— myself included.”

“Maybe this will give you clarity, then. Aren’t you tired, Nadya Al Jamil, of having the events of your life told to you? It seems to be the only constant, to the outside observer.”

Which makes her snort a little too loudly. “I hope you aren’t talking about yourself. Most of the crap going on right now is your fault anyway.”

“I know,” he inclines his head, “so I ought to know better than anyone, wouldn’t you say?”

Nadya doesn’t say — but they both know why that is. He’s right. “I’ll give due credit to your natural curiosity. You’re always asking questions — not necessarily the right ones, or at the right time — but your take initiative to seek out the knowledge you need. But you never really seem to find it for yourself, do you. You simply fumble along on your fragile little mortal body until someone comes along and takes you by the hand. It’s convenient… I’ll give you that too.

“But if there’s one thing I’ve come to loathe about this new century; the age of technology and modern conveniences, is exactly that. Because convenience breeds laziness; breeds contentment and expectation.” His upper lip curls — and just like that his charming little smile becomes a wicked discontent.

“Here and now you wait on bated breath for me to just tell you the answer. You are the driving force behind everything—everything that has happened and all the things yet to come. Our little tête-à-tête included… but you do not so much as lift a finger to seek your own truths. You would rather they be given to you.”

It’s funny — here Nadya had been ready to accept that this will be the best she gets out of her attempt to breach the psychic barrier and find Kamilah, and to maybe give Gaius a few rousing sassy jabs she wouldn’t dare be brave enough to say in person while she’s at it. But she’s not the one doing the jabbing. Short, sharp and shallow wounds that make her red in the face with her fists balled up tight at her sides.

“You have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, no, that’s entirely false. I know everything about you, my little Bloodkeeper. Even things you don’t know about yourself.” Gaius’ eyes flicker red then, so quick and subtle that Nadya doesn’t think he’s even aware it happened.

“Especially things you don’t know about yourself.”

Her face burns hotly. “And that’s my fault? I didn’t choose to be this. Actually — that was you who chose for me.”

“You can tell yourself that if it helps. Though I can’t say denial makes for the strongest of moral codes.”

“You wouldn’t know a moral code if it poked you in the butt.” Did she really just say that?

The same question is written across his brow as it arches high, dark and neat.

“So when you abandoned the city you yearn so desperately to protect, was that a part of your morals?” No… he’s not… “When you willingly turned tail to run; when you left your friends, family, and… those you feel affection for behind. All part of this upstanding moral code of yours?”

He’s baiting her. Voice lilting, little finger tapping mutely against the side of his tumbler. The picture of easy breezy conversation and he knows it.

She won’t stoop to his level. Nadya answers him honestly; “No, and to tell you the truth I’d give up a lot to have never gotten on that plane. But I shouldn’t have had to leave. Your vision — your perfect vampire world — it’s impossible. I wouldn’t have needed to leave her behind, Gaius, if you weren’t so hell-bent on following in the crazy footsteps of a madwoman.”

The glass shatters in Gaius’ grip. Thin little lines of blood seeping through the crevices in his fist, drip-dripping down onto the no doubt expensive and antique floor runner. His hand snaps open like a trap, and the last shards of broken glass fall from his unmarked hand.

There isn’t a fleck of light left in his eyes.

“Watch your tongue.” And for just a moment, or a shadow of one, Nadya swears she can hear the tiny waver in his voice. Not enough to matter, or be symbolic of anything. But enough to prove a point.

In that shadow of a moment he’s not Gaius, King of Vampires; he’s Gaius, Rheya’s devoted Soldier. Powerless to save her and always—forever—too far away.

Nadya dares to step forward. “Why,” she challenges, “did I say something wrong?” Gaius raises his chin, looks down on her more than he already is; classic power move and she sees right through it.

“Because I don’t think I did. It’s your fault we had to leave, which means it’s your fault Kamilah had to stay behind, and all of it because you’ve spent three thousand years following some version of Rheya’s crazy plan — her failed plan to boot.”

“You know nothing of which you speak.”

“What does that make me then,” she asks, “Am I a blasphemer, Gaius, because I don’t blindly follow the Church of the First Vampire?”

Gaius’ voice rings in her ears. Not the one here in front of her; he doesn’t have the passion for it. But the Soldier, righteous in that cave and ever-loyal at Her side. She’s hearing a memory.

“Blasphemer!” Echoing out in her mind; filling her with conviction.

“Traitor.”

“Is Kamilah a traitor for what she did to you? Not locking you away — that didn’t matter. But she was supposed to be your Queen… until she wasn’t.”

“Insolent little —”

“Coward!”

“Oh no you don’t — I’m not done yet.” She actually interrupts him; even Nadya has a hard time believing it. But that’s nothing compared to Gaius, who looks like he’s just been run over.

“And Adrian too, right? Because you and I both know he was never as loyal a Soldier to you as you were to Her. Then again—talk about high standards. Why do you think that is? Why did you try to build a Soldier only to end up with a coward?”

His crystalline eyes go wide. This close Nadya can see the whites all the way around; the hint of the tip of his fangs between parted lips. This time it’s the King of Vampires who steps away, not the little mortal girl. But with the same traces of fear lingering in the air.

And Nadya? She has absolutely no regrets.

Well… maybe one or two. Especially when, finally, Gaius smiles.

“I see.” He shouldn’t be smiling. That doesn’t stop him. “That’s a very… unique selection of words Nadya. Paris has made you quite the young poet from the sound of it.”

She swallows audibly. Where the heck did that confidence go, and can it come back?

“It’s a beautiful city,” she agrees though every word is laced with caution like a thin film of arsenic, “I found it especially helpful in jogging some old memories.”

“I look forward to hearing more about them.”

“Uh…” Suddenly it almost hurts to look at him; like he’s burning alive inside — a sun in flesh. Nadya looks around desperate but in vain; the only eyes that stare back are frozen in time and place. Not even the familiar face beside Isseya’s stoic likeness can help her now.

“I don’t plan on staying — I shouldn’t even be here to begin, so...” You know.

Oh, he knows. There it is; knowing shining through all across his face. It occurs to Nadya then, when it might be two seconds shy of too late, that she’s the one out of the loop.

“Maybe not tonight, but I have every confidence I’ll be seeing you very soon.”

He looks like his soul is on fire but that doesn’t change the fact that the hand he reaches up to brush a thumb across Nadya’s cheek isn’t anything other than ice cold. He whispers, like an afterthought; “And with so much for you and I to catch up on… after all these years.”

Gaius can touch her.

Gaius can touch her.

Nadya makes a run for it. Sprinting back down the length of the room to the doors both barely hanging ajar. What am I doing? I need to wake up. How do I do that? Figure that out later! RUN NOW!

Holding her hands out in front of her, Nadya prepares to scramble a flight to safety — and collides with solid stone instead. A stone that grips her upper arms, feels her shaking, and looks down with ancient, distant eyes riddled with confusion.

“Nadya? But how —” Valdas cuts himself off before he can fully ask, and looks between her and the approaching Gaius with uncertainty. Realization comes over him and eclipses the muted melancholy; a shadow over the moon.

Nadya would have struggled if she had the time. But things are always moving a little too fast for her these days. And here, in this semi-reality where she’s both at Marcel’s castle in New York and in the apartment in Paris, is no exception.

As it is, she barely manages to wrench one arm from his grasp before the Trinity vampire tugs her by the other. His breath and the whiskers of his beard tickle in her ear. “Remember what I told you—” Then the scrape of millennia-old callouses on fingertips presses at her temple.

Nadya’s eyes fly open. The sting of unshed tears finds release, warm tracks carving into her cheeks. She wishes one would warm the place where Gaius had touched her cheek, but wishes don’t always come true.

She can still feel it. Still see the details in his irises, and that awful light glinting in his eyes.

“I don’t like that face.”

Jax’s surly comment brings her back. Back from where she doesn’t know — doesn’t want to. All she knows is she’s back, all four limbs and ten fingers that wind their way into the fabric of Adrian’s jacket and refuse to let go.

“Hey, hey,” he shushes her; pets her head slow just like Lily would, “you’re okay, you’re okay now. You’re back here, you’re okay.”

He’s stayed kneeling by her side this whole time, apparently. Not just a tether to Kamilah and home but to Nadya herself. Right now Adrian’s hand on top of her head might be the only thing keeping her from dissipating into oblivion.

Serafine is in the same seat across the table; looking like she doesn’t know what to make of Nadya in this state. Join the club sister.

“There is — hein, where are you going?!”

Just like she had in the portrait hall, Nadya takes off without looking back. Her limbs prickle, angry pins and needles demanding she slow down. But she can’t. She’s still… not here, not here, not anything. But in all she doesn’t know, the one thing she does is easily plucked from the air.

“I need a window.”

“Oh, I think she might be sick.” Says Cadence with an audible cringe. Nadya ignores him.

“A window! Now!”

She’s been wandering this apartment like a ghost for the last week and a half; she knows where the windows are. But between her sleepy limbs and the feeling of drowning in her own lungs it takes Nadya more than a little effort to find them.

“Open the damn window, Raines!”

“Jax, I swear —”

But Adrian puts his frustration aside — for her. For his worry for her. In a blurred step he passes her by and unlatches the window, pushing it out wide open for her the moment she arrives at the ledge. Nadya collides with the sill hard enough to knock the wind (and nonexistent watery fear) from her lungs; leaving her breathless.

“What do you think you’re doing, foolish girl?” Serafine keeps going, keeps scolding her — but she’s just wasting her voice. It buzzes like a fly in Nadya’s ear; fading, fading, then gone altogether. All of their questions, guesses, demands end the same way.

Pure silence. She shreds through it with her tongue like a knife.

“He said he’d be seeing me ‘very soon.’”

Her friends exchange similar glances. Worry on fear on an understanding because who else would she be talking about? There’s only one man that makes sense.

“That’s not possible Nadya.” Adrian tries his best to reassure her — but his own hand betrays him. This time it rests on her far less steady.

“Moreover it’s not happening. So why don’t we close the window, get something in your stomach, and…”

His voice trails off; watching, transfixed, as Nadya lifts her arm out from the window. Her finger pointed to the slumbering outer-city streets below.

A tiny red light moves in the darkness, flickering and spluttering on its dying breath. The cigarette filter serves one last inhale before being tossed in a small arc to the pavement underfoot.

A sleek, expensive shoe comes down and grinds the last of the embers into powder.

She doesn’t recognize the man — but she doesn’t need to know who he is; what he is shown in red eyes that flash and fade back to the play-act of a mortal. His shoes are dark, his suit is dark; the close-cropped and almost military shave of his hair is dark, too.

But not his smile. That is warm, inviting even in the black of night. Like the cherry-end of a cigarette.

The woman who comes up beside him, though — there’s no mistaking her.

Isseya looks up first. Locking gazes with Nadya, no searching needed. The sickening truth right before their very eyes. They knew we were here.

Gaius’ laughter still thrums in her blood. His words burrow deep in the marrow of her bones.

“I have every confidence I’ll be seeing you very soon.”

[nicka-nell]

I'm Kiyoomi Sakusa and I'm a germaphobe - Chapter 23: Home at the Dragon

Words: 1.221

Warning: violence, angst?

Chapter 22 - Where are you?    | Masterlist

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

Two intersections, first right, then left. Up to a pompous house... Oh damn, yeah, that’s really anything but normal size for a house, (y/n) thinks as she looks up at the three-story estate.

That’s not how she imagined meeting his parents. But anyway... Determined, she clenches her hands to fists and breathes deeply as she approaches the house with quick steps and stops in front of the door.

On the door hangs a metallic lion head with a handle for knocking. “Not embellished at all...” she mumbles ironically to herself and knocks three times. It takes a while, but after half a minute, a very tall, thin woman actually opens the door for her. Her look is arrogant and freezing cold as she looks down on (y/n). The hair all black tied to a strict bun and the eyes dark as the night. No doubt, that’s Kiyoomis mother.

“Who are you and what are you doing on my property? I didn’t order street dogs here." She hisses arrogantly and looks at (y/n) in disgust. Oh... so kind... “Hello, I’m (y/n) (l/n) and I wanted to see Kiyoomi Sakusa. I was told he was here in your house." Her voice is serious, but she must try not to roll her eyes at this stupid, unfriendly goat.

Disgusted, she steps out of the door and closes it behind her except for a small gap. “You’re that disgusting doctor who disfigured my son? Get out of here you... disgusting little street dog. I don’t want a brat like you on my property! Kiyoomis life was perfect without you! It is significant that he attaches so much importance to hygiene! That a doctor of all people told him not to disinfect his hands so often and instead to confront the dirty people in this world... I wouldn’t be surprised if your patients died during your treatment. If you don’t leave my property right now and keep looking for my son again, you won’t be fine. So get out of here! Disgusting brat!" Her voice is freezing cold and so much hatred can be heard in her.

But to (y/n)’s surprise, these words do not hurt her. No, she finds the person standing in front of her just as disgusting. So she doesn’t care what she thinks about her. She just wants to talk to Kiyoomi, and if that means she has to lick this woman’s face with her bacteria-covered tongue, then she will do this. However, (y/n) does not manage to act fast enough, because the woman before her disappears in her house for a moment and comes out with two big, strong men.

“Get that woman off my property. And if she doesn’t understand it with words, then silence her in a different way." One last time, she looks down at (y/n) before slamming the door and disappearing into the house.

-

“Mother? What was going on down there?" Kiyoomi enters from the living room into the large reception room. “Nothing. Just some annoying people who want to collect any donations." She lies and approaches her boy. “My poor Kiyoomi... What happened to you? That was this surgeon, wasn’t it? I told you right from the start that she was bad for you!" she tries to instruct him.

“Mother, stop it now! It’s not her fault. I’m the one who... It’s my fault it’s come to this. (y/n) is a great woman, so dare you say something bad about her..." He hisses annoyed and looks at his mother with a dark look. “How do you actually talk to your mother!" she yells at him and slaps him in the face.

His skin is aching. Not from her punch, no... It hurts because his already torn skin now has more cracks and starts to wet. “I’ll wait for Father to come and then I’ll leave. It was a mistake to come here. You haven’t changed a bit." With these words he leaves the hall and disappears again in the living room. “Kiyoomi Sakusa! Stay here when I talk to you!" she screams at him, but he ignores her.

His mother makes him angry. How can she talk about (y/n) like that? She didn’t do anything to him. He was the one who thought meeting other women was a good idea. But maybe it was too early for that. Maybe it has something to do with (y/n). Because if his mother had said something like that about the woman he met the other day, he wouldn’t have cared. But it makes him angry when someone talks badly about (y/n).

But he has to stop thinking about her. He has to forget her. After all, she has long forgotten him. Since he was at the clinic several times because he was looking for her proximity for inexplicable reasons. But again and again, he saw her sitting on the bench with another man, on which he himself sat with her. He was quite tall, had dark hair, light eyes and was built muscular. Kiyoomi had to admit that this man looked pretty good.

They were so familiar. They laughed a lot, lay in each other’s arms and looked at each other like two loving people. If she forgets him so quickly, he has to start forgetting her as well...

-

“You two guys don’t really want to hit a helpless little woman, do you? Simply you have no honor..." she says with her eyebrow raised and steps backwards. She doesn’t want any trouble. “If our mistress tells us to get you out of here. Then we’ll have to do this. Since you didn’t listen to her, there is only one way to show you with deeds that you have nothing to do here.”

Even before (y/n) can call for help, one of the men keeps her mouth shut while the other gives her a powerful punch to the stomach. In pain, she groans and pinches her eyes. She notices how her body is lifted up and carried off of the property.

No one is to be seen far and wide. It doesn’t look good for her... “It would be a shame if your pretty face was disfigured, wouldn’t it? But well... That's what you did with our mistress son.” One man grins and hits her face with his fist.

Her lip bursts open and a metallic taste spreads in her mouth as she falls backwards to the ground. Shortly, she feels like she has to vomit when some of the blood runs down her throat. Twice she coughs loudly as she feels a kick in her stomach area and lies huddled on the floor.

She tries to suppress her tears and pain and just wants to get out of here. Somehow she hopes that she will lose consciousness so that the pain will disappear. But that’s not happening.

Again, the man hurries to kick her when a voice stops him. “What on earth are you doing there...?" A furious, deep voice sounds and the two men flinch together. 

Help for the new story Atsumu or Osamu

Taglist: @kara-grayson04 @suna-allie @pleasemelafook-outta-ere

Chapter 24 - Thank you

[melyaliz]

Past loves and future babies pt. 2

Masterlist 

Fandom: Marvel / MCU 

Summary: Steve and Dixie meet and talk their future children and marriage and other awkward things you talk about when you meet your future baby mama/daddy

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OC 

Notes: This was originally going to be all when they trying to have sex but I thought it was cuter if it was more domestic. The next chapter SHOULD be them trying to have sex for the first time. But we will see how that goes. I can already tell these two are going to be awkward AF   

All Masterlists @melyalizarchive​

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“So this is it, Tony decided to move us to the two-bedroom apartment,” Steve said leading Dixie into the small apartment that was part of the compound. It had a very open floor plan with a wide bay window overlooking a lake that was behind the compound opposite the landing bay. 

Letting out a soft sigh Dixie looked around taking in the beautiful view. At least she could pretend she was on some sort of retreat.

A baby-making retreat. 

“I am loving all the light” she said smiling up at Steve. She had NO idea how to act around this man. When she had first got the information she needed to get impregnated by one of the hottest men who ever lived she was… causally optimistic but now that this was a very real possibility it was MUCH more awkward and stiff. 

Or that could have just been Steve Rogers. He was being just so formal, making sure to hold every door open for her. She felt like she was being led around by a butler. 

A very muscular hot butler, but a butler none the less. 

“This is our bedroom” 

Dixie peaked in looking around. A large king-size bed was in the middle of it with two dressers and what looked like a walk-in closet. Almost nothing else for decorations. Even the bed frame and dressers were a super plane. Much like the personality of the man showing it to her. 

“I didn’t want to decorate until you got here” Steve mumbled looking down at her trying to gauge her reaction as she walked in. For the first time showing SOME sort of reaction. It was like opening a window in a dusty room. For for the first time Dixie felt like she could breathe. 

Maybe he was just as nervous as she was. 

“You didn’t have to wait for me.” she said spinning around for a moment, “I’m pretty shit at decorating… Last place I was in I covered in pictures of cats dressed up in costumes just to annoy Mac” 

“Mac?” 

“My brother,” jumping onto the edge of the bed Dixie swung her legs back and forth for a moment. She hoped it made her look relaxed and perky and not a bundle of nerves. “Don’t worry I wasn’t seeing anyone before this.” 

“Oh,” 

“Were you?” 

Steve looked up, his deep blue eyes were a little sad. Reminding Dixie of a puppy had just been kicked. There was an unspoken store there. One Dixie wasn’t sure she wanted to poke. It looked like it was maybe filled with heartache. 

“No”

She laid her back on the fluffy white blanket looking up at the ceiling, “kind of hard to have a social life while saving the world from purple aliens?” 

“Something like that” the sound of his heavy boots walking across the room made her smile slightly. Her heart beating so fast in her chest she felt like it would rip right out of her chest. Her whole body thudding along with it as if the blood was rushing so fast through her vanes she made her whole body shake. 

Trying to shake off the anxiety that kept swelling up inside her, Dixie sat up studied him for a moment. Trying to make this beautiful man in front of her seem more… human. “Thanks for that by the way. You gave a million people back their whole lives.” 

He flashed her a weak smile. And in that moment Dixie realized something. Whatever it was that he was hurting from it was obviously not cured by bringing everyone back. That maybe he had lost something more from the battles. Something he couldn’t bring back. 

The thought made her heart hurt. 

“What about you? During the years…”

“It was just my brother and I. Before, during and after.” Dixie shrugged looking down at her chipped red nail polish. “It’s always just been Mac and me” For a moment she felt sick at the memory of packing up and saying goodbye to him. She had never felt that way before. Homesick. There had never been a home to miss, never had been a family she had to leave. 

Until now anyway. 

But she wasn’t about to dwell on it. He was only a phone call away. He wasn’t gone, just a bit further away. 

Jumping off the bed she walked toward the door ready to leave this sterile room and the weight it held. Steve beat her there opening it for her. Once again going back to his overly proper attitude. She paused in the doorway turning to him. Her dark brown eyes locking on his beautiful blue ones.

“You don’t have to do that you know.” 

“What?” 

“Be so formal, we’re going to have to see a lot of each other so you can… you know… let your hair down.” 

Turning she dashed toward the next bedroom quickly opening the door by herself before turning around to look at him. He looked back totally perplexed but when their eyes met he broke into a genuine smile. 

Finally. 

“So we have a big old baby-making bed and another bed in here… for what? Fights?” 

“I figured if you felt uncomfortable you had a place to sleep.”

“Yeah..” turning Dixie sighed biting her lip trying not to laugh, her heart still pounding nerves on edge, “I’m not going to lie, this is awkward AF.” 

“AF?” 

“Sorry As Fuck.” 

He chuckled nodding scratching the back of his head, “There is a lot we need to talk about like marriage and…”

“Woah! Woah, slow down” Dixie held up her hands her voice hitting an octave higher than intended. “I was thinking more knock me up we co-parent and then when it’s 18 we tell the kid they are basically the plot for every Anime ever and then go separate ways as good friends” 

Taking a slow step she took a deep breath trying to calm herself. Try to pull her composure. “Did you think this was going to be like a forever thing?” 

“Well we’re going to be making a life.” he said looking down at her, “That is a forever thing.” 

“Steve,” her voice trailed off for a moment, “we don’t owe each other anything really. Just need to need to make a baby and that’s it.” 

He studied her face, looking down at her with those deep blue eyes. Processing what she was trying to explain. His face was unreadable but so calm. There was something about it, about that moment. About that reality that suddenly made Dixie feel so cold. 

They really didn’t need to have any feelings for each other. 

He could go off after this and live his beautiful Steve Rogers life, find true love. Find that woman (or man) who could make him truly happy. Find true love. 

And she would go back to her life of being alone. 

The prospect of never finding love wasn’t any different than it had been the day before and the day before that but… for some reason. At that moment she felt like she might cry.  

But Dixie doesn’t cry. She doesn’t feel sorry for herself. She knew a long time ago that she was unlovable so it wasn’t new information. No reason to get choked up about it now. 

“You’ve... Had sex before right?” she asked, better get it out now. Know what she was getting in the bedroom. 

“Yes.” 

“Recently?”

“I don’t know…” he obviously didn’t want to admit to his future hook up about his past hookups.  

“Ohhh Cap getting down, man or woman?” 

“What!!? No, It’s been a while.” 

“Like a few months, a while or like since the 50’s a while?” There was that possibility, one she wasn’t about to disregard. No matter how hard it was to believe. 

“Does it matter?” 

Dixie shrugged, “Not really I guess as long as your clean. I got tested a few weeks back but then again the only guy I was sleeping with was married before the snap.” Slowly she walked back into the living room him following her. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah,” she paused a mysterious smile spreading across her face, “in fact, you basically are the reason we had to break up. When she came back I became the other woman. And have you seen me? I’m no one’s dirty secret.” motioning to her curvy body she shook her hips to emphasize the point. 

Steve chuckled sitting down next to her on the couch she followed him. The tension slowly melting around them. Both feeling much more relaxed, “I’m sorry?” 

“You’re forgiven.” 

It wasn’t supposed to work out anyway. 

“Are you, really ok with this?” Steve asked, mood shifting looking her over, “This is really a lot to ask someone.” Dixie shrugged thinking back to her life before this. Stealing tech with her brother from big companies. Robbing the rich to feed the poor. Thieves for hire looking our for themselves and only those they deemed worthy.

“I mean it’s weird but…” she paused looking away for a moment before flashing him a smile, “It’s not like I was doing anything before.” 

He gave her a soft smile studying her, “I just want you to know. There isn’t anyone else…” 

“There could be you know” Dixie mumbled there it was again. That cold hand over her heart, clenching tightly making it hurt in a way she didn’t want to dwell on, “You are totally free to date, see other people. I mean maybe after this” she motioned to her stomach, “But when they are born and stuff you are free to chase after love.”

At the word love Steve winced. Memories of Peggy kissing that dark-haired man. Standing in their beautiful white picket fence home. A picture-perfect life. The one he had wanted. The one he had been running toward without even realizing it until he was standing there realizing it could never be. 

“Hey” her voice was soft pulling him away from his musings. Her hand gently brushing over his before pulling away, hesitant unsure of her boundaries yet. “I’m serious. I’m under no assumptions that we will be anything… well maybe friends?” at her last words she held up her hand flashing him a smile. He looked down at her hand and took it. 

It was large and warm over hers. “I would love to be your friend” 

It was a start. It was a promise. It was a rule. 

Pulling him forward Dixie wrapped her arms his neck giving him a large warm hug. As she felt his own arms wrap themselves around her Dixie chanted it in her head as a mantra.

“Friends” 

Building a wall around her heart. Using the word like barbed wire to keep all those little butterflies that were trying to squeeze their way through away. Ripping at their delicate wings until she was numb to it. Protected from any sign of hurt. 

Pulling away they both looked at each other. Studying the other’s reaction. Then slowly, hesitantly Steve placed those warm large hands on the back of her head slowly pulling her slightly toward him, “Can I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” she muttered her eyes fluttering slightly as he closed the gap between them. Pushing at those walls she was trying to build to thickly around herself. He didn’t mean it. He wasn’t trying to, it was her own girlish tendencies. Her flaws she needed to work on. 

She was trying too hard and it showed. Their kiss stiff, awkward, and uncomfortable. Steve pulled away looking just how she felt and she knew she had messed up. They still needed to have sex at some point and what were they supposed to do if they couldn’t even kiss. 

This was her fault and she needed to fix it. 

“That was awful” she giggled her nerves bubbling up and spilling. “Kiss me again” 

“Ok” his smile lopsided as he leaned forward again. 

This time she was ready, wrapping her arms around his neck deepening it. Enjoying him, focusing on how he tasted and felt. Focusing on the carnal feelings around the intimate gesture and not her own emotions. 

He tasted clean, warm. In a way, he remained her of milky tea. Comforting and soothing. Something she would cuddle up with on a cold day. Wrap herself in like her favorite blanket. 

His arms around her waist gripped her slightly tighter, hesitantly as she pressed a little further. Her tounge flicking over his lip wanting to taste more. Wanting to know just how Captain America tasted.  

And then his phone dinged. It was like an arrow through them both. Pulling them back to reality. Swallowing thickly he turned slightly as she pulled away. 

“Anything important?” 

“No” he mumbled, “Just Bucky wanting to see if we wanted to join the rest of them for dinner. I guess Tony was going to order Chinese.” 

“UHG” Dixie’s eyes rolled back in her head as if she was having an orgasm, “Food sounds so amazing.” 

Steve chuckled, he was starting to really like this woman. She was so open and silly. Confident in who she was and what was going on. Her attitude was infectious and put him at ease. “I’ll let them know to add two more.” 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad he had thought. 

-GET TAGGED!- 

Masterlist 

Forever tag:  @the-shadow-of-atlantis​​ @coffee-randomness​​ @0hmydeku @xx3fsxx @daisyboobear​​  @jason-redhood​ @hello-i-lovespiderman-blr  @pinkwitch21 @tomhncharliep  @cdwmtjb8

@itsmeeluciie

[kashimos-hajime]

immeasurable firsts | s.r.

Summary: All your firsts with Steve Rogers and all the heartbreak and happiness that comes with it.

A/N: For the writing challenge hosted by the fabulous @imhereforbvcky and the wonderful @justsomebucky. 

Dedicating this to @wxntersoldiers because I still have to write for her and I hope this’ll make up for how late I’m gonna submit it in! (I’ll get to it soon!!!!)

WARNINGS: Swearing, blood, violence, death, extreme angst but some happy stuff too.

Word Count: 11.6k Pairing: Steve Rogers x Stark-sister! Reader Prompt: The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you.

Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Four easy words to describe Tony Stark.

You, on the other hand. Genius, billionaire, philanthropist all fit. Playboy? Perhaps. You prefer socialite. The paparazzi has always had their bite at you but that doesn’t mean that none of it is true.

You are Y/N Stark, younger sister of one Anthony Edward Stark, one certified pain in the ass, and one big brother. He was basically everything you had ever since your parents died. He raised you. He was your dad, and mom, and brother all at once, and you know that no one could’ve done it better. From what you know and what Tony tells you about your dad, you’re better off.

But your mom… you miss her every day.

On a full-ride to MIT just like him, you succeeded him in every way, graduating summa cum laude just like him, but while he did it when he was seventeen, you did it when you were eighteen. He always held that fact over you, but not after you mentioned that while he hacked into the Pentagon for a dare, you hacked into the Harry S. Truman building for fun. State department had a field day with that one.

As Stark Industries head of Research and Development, you occupy all of four floors and helped more than 12% to make Stark Towers the first building powered by self-sustainable clean energy, but you’d let your brother take all that credit if it meant your brother gets some with Pepper.

“Ma’am, Agent Coulson is on the line. Mr. Stark deferred him to you.” Swiping the holoscreen to close it, you look up from where you’re working on new schematics for your suit.

“Tony’s in.”

“Mr. Stark insists on refusing the call, and Agent Coulson insists on seeing him.”

Rolling your eyes, you pull up another holoscreen that linked you to the surveillance feed. Switching through the cameras, you swipe for Tony’s private elevator. You spot the agent standing outside the elevator, texting away on his phone and you turn on your mic with a smile.

“Hey, Phil,” you greet and the agent looked up, turning to the camera.

“Ms. Stark.” He gives you a little wave and you straighten up, putting your stylus away and turning off your tablet. Moving the surveillance feed to your phone, you walk to the couch you had in your office, sitting down and pulling your laptop on with you. Opening it up, you log in. “If you could ask your brother to pick up the phone, that’d be a great help.”

“You know Tony doesn’t listen to me.” Opening up the files Tony had sent you earlier, blueprints for Stark Tower and the grocery list for next week, you roll your eyes at the note at the end. ‘Pep said it’s my turn to do nothing for a whole week,’ it reads. Your fingers work away on your keyboard as you return your attention to Phil. “I’m going to disable J.A.R.V.I.S.’s protocols and give random people access to his private elevator because he’s annoyed me just now. You do whatever you want with that information.”

“Thank you. And you might need to join me, Ms. Stark.”

“Is it something important? Because my consulting hours don’t normally run this long. Also, I thought I said I didn’t want anymore S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments.” Tapping away on your keyboard, you have the elevator doors open and bypass the A.I.’s protocols.

“It’s urgent.”

“When do I ever care about that?” you retort. The call ends and you get up anyway, glaring at your phone. With a heavy sigh, you slip the device into your pocket before looking at the few holo screens you have open around the office. The levels of the reactor are stable, and you watch as they fluctuated, readjusting every once in a while.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., shut the place down. After I go see Tony, I’m heading home.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.”

You live essentially next door to the tower, and it isn’t important for you to bring anything home, so you grab your keys and purse before leaving your office of glass doors and walls and windows. The lights turn off behind you as you jab the elevator button, ready to head up to say goodnight to Tony and see what Phil Coulson thought was so urgent.

.

The Avengers Initiative.

And they thought Tony was a good fit?

“Volatile, self-obsessed, don’t play well with others,” you recite as you read over the files in Tony’s penthouse on the top floor of Stark Towers. “If he wanted the better of the Starks, he would’ve chosen me,” you tease. Tony sighs, wiping a hand over his face and you frown. Sigh in that tone means frustration, exhaustion, and he’s feeling overwhelmed.

“What is it?” Looking to see what’s caught your brother’s attention, you swallow and get up, walking around the couch to touch the hologram of the thing that your father had found instead of a man. “The Tesseract,” you whisper, suddenly finding your mouth very dry. Blinking, you twist the hologram around before pulling back. Your father had been obsessed with the thing. Hell, he probably loved it more than he ever loved the two of you. Your brother’s pulled back, too, arms crossed as his dark gaze flickers over the other portfolios.

“Some crack team, huh,” he mutters but your eyes can’t tear away from the blue glowing cube. Your dad always talked about it — well, it and Captain America, who happened to be in one of the portfolios, but you can’t help the nagging feeling that the cube is better left in the ocean where no one can find it. After all, they wouldn’t have to drag your brother into this mess if it was.

“Tony,” you call out when your brother moves for the bar. He pulls up a bottle of scotch and silently asks if you want a drink. Shaking your head, you bite your lip and gather what nerves you have left to ask the question. “Should I be worried?”

There is no answer.

.

“Hey, how was it?” you ask when Tony returns to the Helicarrier. The suit decompresses and you smirk, arching a brow. “Get the bad guy?”

“Yeah, and a plus one. Oh, uh—” Tony turns to the other guys piling out of the Quinjet. The clanging of chains catch your attention as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents swarm the jet, escorting the prisoner out. Loki, you realize. Following him is a tall blond and an even taller blond, though the taller one follows after Loki. Thor. Had to be. Your brother gestures to the two— “the rest of the crack team. You talk to Banner, yet?”

“Not yet. They told me he was down in the lab, but I was working on my suit. I’ve a new set of schematics I wanna try out, if you have the time.”

“You only made a suit to copy me,” he teases and you nudge him playfully. “Yeah, sure. If we have time, after the world finishes it’s self-destruction, or whatever, we should take it out for a spin.”

“Thanks, Ant.” He sighs at the nickname but you squeeze his arm, watching him go. He needs to get that suit off, and you need to get that decryption implant on the motherboard. If Tony’s going into this, he isn’t going into it blind. Anyone who’s working with the Tesseract, especially an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D., wouldn’t use this for clean energy. And you’ve worked missions with them before. You know that eco-friendly energy is the last thing on their mind. Howard Stark may have wanted it for clean energy, but if an intergalactic war is being had…

You put a pin on that train of your thought as your gaze drifted back to the armory. The shorter blond nodded to you with a smile, and you put on a fresh face for Steve Rogers, World War Two Hero, actual soldier-type with a cute smile. Tilting your head, you walk up to him and stick out a hand. In your heels, you could’ve tried to be as tall as him but his presence adds two inches to his height.

“Captain Rogers, honor to meet you.”

“Steve,” he amends as he quirks an eyebrow. “And you are? Sorry, it’s been a whirlwind couple of days.”

“Y/N Stark,” you say, shaking his hand. He’s warm and his blue eyes fix on yours as you take in his features. He’s even cuter up close. “And no problem. Not everyone can spend their time as a Capsicle.”

“Your brother made the same joke,” Steve says as you begin to walk down the hall with him.

“He only got the chance because he met you first.” Heading down to the briefing room, you glance at him to find him staring back. Arching an eyebrow, you wait until he notices and a brilliant blush spreads across his cheeks, but you smirk, brushing the hair away from your face and leading him to the room where your brother is waiting.

.

After the Battle of New York — that’s what the news is calling it, you call it an inconvenience — the dust settled to reveal the true damage of it. There’s a lot of rebuilding to do, specifically the area around Stark Tower, which means a lot of money is needed to repair downtown New York. Of course, the best way to get the rich to donate money is a charity ball, and the fact that it’s able to be doubled as a celebration ball makes Tony absolutely gleeful. You, on the other hand, would rather be anywhere but here. The destruction caused in Stark Tower has given you nothing but a headache and whilst Tony and the Avengers had gone for shawarma, you’d suited up to begin lifting the rubble and seeing the true damage underneath the whole ‘saving the planet’. Which you can respect, by the way, but you didn’t want to test out the new suit by lifting up heavy concrete and wires.

Now, all you want to do head back, take an Advil, and sleep the day off. Whilst the Avengers had decided to steal the show, you never said a thing about how Tony literally flew into a fucking wormhole.

You still need to yell at him for that one. Maybe cry. And hug him. For a long time.

“You need to relax,” Tony mumble through his smile as the three of you gathered your bearings to get out of the limousine.

“You need to stop making us late,” you retort. “And wormhole, remember? You’re still in for it.”

He sends you a sheepish smile, his eyes pleading apology, but you ignore it, stepping out. Pepper holds onto Tony’s arm to get out, whilst you pick up the edges of your dress, a brilliant scarlet dress, with a slit up the side of your leg and elegantly pull yourself up.

Adjusting the gold cuff on your wrist, you grab your gold clutch and shade your eyes against the flashes. Tony and Pep are already walking through the paparazzi, up the stairs to the venue for the Avengers, the cameras snapping away. Used to it, you tuck your hair behind your ear to showcase your outfit. In scarlet and gold, you shine under the flashes.

“Ms. Stark!” one of the photographers call out and you pause, striking a small pose before continuing on. The tire screeches behind you signify another arrival and you turn with a small smile, wondering who it could be. The black car’s window slide down, revealing a star-struck Steve Rogers and he steps out, squinting against the flashing lights. Raising a hand in half a wave and half a means to block the light, the super-soldier’s gaze dart across the scene before landing on you. You extend your hand to him, smiling. He speed-walks over to you, grateful for a friendly face and he offers an arm for you to take, escorting you inside.

“I’m glad you got out safe,” you begin, tucking a curl behind you ear as he focuses on getting up to the stairs. You throw a wave to the crowd, before adding, “I was maybe a tiny bit worried about you. More so about Tony, but then I wonder why.” You pretend to tap your chin in curiosity and he chuckles.

“I’m flattered. And you’re beautiful,” he mumbles under his breath, cheeks red but you can’t tell if it’s because of you or the cameras. Smiling softly, you press your head against his shoulder for a moment before lifting it again to look at the soldier. “I dunno if anyone’s told you that yet.”

“No one that matters,” you tell him and you pause to kiss his cheek. His shy smile makes you smile wider, the endearing expression on his face causing warmth to spread through you. Cameras take snapshots of your moment and you internally sigh. There comes one of the cons of being a public figure. You have no doubt some stupid hashtag like #Rogerstark or, you don’t know, #Ironcaptain, will be trending on twitter by the night’s end. “And you look good, too. Real good.”

“Uh,” he chuckles, blushing and you laugh. “Thanks.”

“Overwhelmed, yet?” You climb the steps, using Steve’s hand to steady yourself before he opens the door for you. You hold his hand to bring him in and the pap calls after the two of you even when the door closes. If he’s gonna give the press content, you might as well have fun with it. Even if he doesn’t mean too — he’s just being the gentleman he is.

“A bit, yeah, but not by the cameras.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you’re insulted or not. “By me?”

“In the best way. Gotta impress the most gorgeous woman in the room,” he promises and you hold him to that promise. “I’m sure the cameras will get worse, too. But you seem to be doing just fine,” he says and you chuckle. Patting his arm, you lead him, following the signs that say This Way or something of the variant.

“I grew up going to this kinda stuff. I’m used to it by now. But if you keep being you, the press is gonna eat you up.”

“How do you mean?”

“You’re a real gentleman, Rogers,” you sing. The foyer is filled with tons of guests, some drinking while others are eating some nuts or chips, and there’s an open door leading to the white carpet. Of course, they’re waiting for all the Avengers to go on first, and you can hear the anxious muttering of the paparazzi outside the room.

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing.”

“Well, people like prying into other people’s lives,” you continue and he nods. His gaze darts across the room just as a server comes by with a tray of champagne. Disentangling your arm from Steve’s, you take two. “Steve, I’m just saying, the paps love to make speculations about Tony and I. Sometimes, it’s the only thing keeping them open, and a lot of people don’t like the attention, the stalkers, the fans.” Offering the champagne, you give him a forced smile. “A lot of people don’t wanna stay because of it.”

“What if I want to?”

“What?” You nearly let out a laugh but Steve looks totally serious as his gaze catches yours. They’re darker, more intense, but there’s still that sense of light to him. Like he’s having fun getting the shock out of you.

“I said, what if I wanted to stay? I’m an Avenger now. Might as well get used to it and I think we’re stuck with each other.”

You drain your champagne, blink, and then stare at him as if he’s grown a second head. “I have no illusions on being a celebrity, Y/N. I’ve had a few experiences of my own, and it may be a bit different from back then, but I know.”

“It’s a lot different, Steve.”

“Maybe not so much.” He takes your hand and the champagne, leading you to the side of the room where there are small high tables where people can stand and chat over food, and he places his full flute and your empty one on the tablecloth. “Y/N, I’m just saying, let the press eat it up. We know what we are.”

And what’s that? you wonder helplessly as he says that they should get to the carpet. Tony and Pepper have already started, and Steve visibly recoils. Looping your arm through his, you send him a reassuring smirk, if possible.

“You might have to squint, Cap,” you whisper nefariously and he sends you a roll of his eyes as you put on your celebrity face. It hides your inner turmoil well as you kill over Steve’s words. With the most handsome man in the room on your arm, you send smolder and smolder whilst the soldier tries to ease into his smiles. It’s easier once you get him laughing at your jokes, and it’s hard to imagine you’d ever dreaded going to the event at all.

.

To say you and Steve see each other over the next few years would be an understatement. Seeing as how you are in Washington occasionally, flying back and forth for work, the Triskelion is one of the few places you’d actually get excited to see once in a while. You’re actually in Washington when Steve’s called away on a mission. Sitwell’s called you in for an emergency consult. Well, he called Tony. You picked up the call. And what you came to was Nick Fury’s deathbed.

The image makes you shudder.

Suiting up, you propel yourself out of your Washington flat and fly towards the Triskelion. At night, Washington looks like any other city, breathtaking and alight with life. The Washington Monument’s glow casts its base in warm light as you fly over it, slowing down to admire your view and postpone going to the Triskelion. Ever since Steve knocked out the S.T.R.I.K.E. team in the elevator, you’ve been feeling like there had to be a reason.

Your reflection in the water is barely visible except for the glow of your repulsors, eyes, and arc reactor, and you float above it, the squirming feeling in your stomach ever growing.

Why do you have the feeling just like the one before the Battle of New York?

A number you don’t recognize calls you, but you pick up anyway, having A.N.A encrypt your location just in case as you fight off the feeling. Tony’s safe in New York — as safe as he can be fixing up the quarters for the Avengers who still drop by from time to time. Just one night of consultation, and then you’re back there with him, eating microwave dinners and working on new things.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Steve? Where are you?” Shaking yourself, you continue on your way to the Triskelion just as his voice echoes in your ears again.

“Sam’s. And you need to listen to me.”

“Are you okay?” you ask despite yourself. You haven’t seen him since the hospital, and if you’re honest with yourself, you kinda miss him. Plus, he wasn’t looking too great when you’d left.

You hold his hand, stepping closer as he stares at Natasha’s back. The red-haired woman’s head is bowed to hide her tears and you look to Steve. His eyes stare back at you but he doesn’t truly see you as you wrap your other hand around his arm, resting your head against his shoulder. He squeezes your hand tighter. You simply close your eyes and press your cheek against his jacket as your fingers interlace. He looks down, and you raise your head to see what he’s looking at.

A silver USB lies in his hand and your eyebrows knit together when you look at the make. S.H.I.E.L.D. made. When he catches you staring, however, he shoves it back into your pocket. A silent question that he ignores lays within your eyes.

“I didn’t want to leave the hospital so soon, but consultation couldn’t wait on the pumping problem,” you continue, diving into the water surrounding the building as your suit readjusts the air pressure and you turn on your headlamps. The water before you filters out the moon as you dive deeper.

“It’s fine. I just wanted to check up with you.”

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heading underwater and the slightest malfunction of the suit could kill me?” you ask, initiating the lights in your repulsors. Steve lets out a sigh of a laugh quietly on the other end as you squint, making out the shape of the pipelines.

“You made that suit, Y/N. I know it won’t,” he replies, but he sounds tense and you make yourself redirect the conversation. Your HUD emits a gentle light as it does a preliminary scan on the pipelines.

“Thanks, Steve. So… where are you now? I mean, now that you’re on the run.”

“That’s what I’ve got to talk to you about.”

Pulling up, you frown. No leaks and the Stark Industry sustainable filter is running flawlessly. You’d installed it yourself, along with the other convertors along the lines. Turning off your mic, you raise your arm.

“A.N.A., can you run a scan? Sitwell said it was in this area, and I’m not sure if I’m being delusional.”

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” The repulsor gauntlet shoots out a grid of blue light, a bar of blue scanning the pipes as you work your way down the whole area. Resuming your call with Steve, you clear your throat.

“Sorry, Steve, what is it? Is it about why you gave Rumlow the black eye he deserves?” you joke.

“Y/N, S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised.” Your heart stops. Maybe you are delusional.

“What?”

“Whatever you do, don’t take another assignment from them. You need to leave D.C. now.”

“Steve, I—”

“There is an unknown object approaching your vector.” A.N.A.’s warning interrupts whatever you were going to say, and kick starts your wired brain. You twist around, all sources of light shutting off at once with a quiet whir. Letting yourself sink, you steady your breathing and turn on your night vision just as something explodes right next to you. It sends you tumbling, your head rattling in your suit as you spin in the water, trying to regain your sense of up and down.

“A.N.A., find the source!” Managing to stabilize yourself to a stop, you shake your head. Something’s trickling down your temple, and there’s a familiar ache in your arm that was closest to the blast. You still can’t hear well aside from the ringing and you strain to hear.

“Already on it.”

Y/N, what’s going on?” Steve asks but his voice crackles over the line and you wince, trying to ignore how grating it is on your ears as blue shapes are highlighted on your HUD. Submarines by the looks of it. S.H.I.E.L.D. warships armed with missiles, mines, and torpedos.

Fuck, really? In the Potomac? You have no time for questions like that, though, and with every second you waste sinking to the bottom, it’s another second feeling like the water’s going to seep into your suit and asphyxiate you. Another missile launches towards you and you swerve out of the way, letting it land in the riverbed.

“I was in Washington for a consultation on the Triskelion’s pump system,” you whisper. “Fucking great that they’re compromised now, huh?”

“Engaging boosters.” Your ankles lock together, you press your hands against your sides and look up as you propel yourself to the surface. You’re a great white beacon of light and heat now that you’ve given up all hope of defeating war subs in your mechanic armor. “Missiles fired. They’ve tracked your infrared signature, ma’am.”

“Y/N?” Steve’s voice cracks the comms again as moonbeams begin to break through. “What’s going?”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. subs are on me. Five. Shit!” A missile strikes your foot and you let out a yelp as the booster fails. Veering off, you try to get back on course. “Targeting system. They know all the weak points of this suit. Fuck! My booster’s down.” Swerving out of the way of another swarm of missiles, you run diagnostics on your failed repulsor node just as A.N.A. gives out another warning that another barrage is incoming. Your heart beats in your throat, blood dripping over and down your neck, and you try to unscramble your thoughts. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. S.H.I.E.L.D. is attacking you. Holy shit.

Tony’s going to be so pissed.

“Can you fire back?”

“It’s my repair suit. It’s not meant for battle. I didn’t think I’d get attacked by fucking S.H.I.E.L.D.!” The second barrage nearly gets you and you let out a breath of relief when they all whiz past, only for a bigger cruise missile to slam into your side. Infrared tech on a cruise missile with diamond nibs. These are war-grade, way above anyone’s pay-grade and slice through your suit like it’s soft cheese. It digs into you and you let out a terrified gasp.

It’s a small explosion, granted, but it no doubt shatters your ribs and blows something apart inside you. Ears ringing, you scream over the sound of A.N.A. giving you a status report on the suit, but over your own hoarse voice, you know that water’s surging into your suit, your ribs are shattered, and you’re probably going to die. A.N.A. quarantines the water, sealing you from the neck up as you frantically touch your wound. Your A.I. has already dispatched the emergency lock, your second skin of armor spanning over your abdomen and binding your insides together.

“Injuries?”

“Shattered ribs, multiple third-degree burns and massive internal damage.”

“Communications?” you wheeze, trying to breathe but your lungs struggle against the ribs that float around in your chest cavity as you clutch at the wound. A.N.A. had been as fast as she could, closing over the wound as soon as she detected it, but dirty, freezing river water still got in. It laps at your wounds, soothing the burns and washing through your insides simultaneously. Melting from the inside out, you suck in your scream and blink, trying to ignore the tears streaming down your face as you pray for the adrenaline to kick in.

“Offline. They’ve scrambled the frequency.”

“Unscramble it! We need to tell Steve he needs to get out of here and tell Tony what’s happening. I’ll focus on the staying alive part.” Although sobs tear at your throat and blackness dots your vision from the pain, you squint through your tears to look at the HUD. A list of systems that are offline continue to scroll down the side as the water begins to pick up, pulling and pushing you in all directions.

“Y-Y-Y/N? Can you read me? Hey!”

“Still alive, yet, Cap,” you manage to say, redirecting all energy to your one working foot. “Come on, come on.” Every movement is sending agony rushing down to your chest and it’s like the water pressure presses down into your chest. Even breathing is getting difficult as a knot forms between your lungs. Heaving for air, you begin to speed up to the surface. Water streams down the sides, bubbles popping and foam disappearing before your eyes. Suddenly, beeping begins out of left-field.

“They’re sending more cruise missiles, ma’am. Without your other repulsor node, you won’t be able to outfly them.”

“But I’m so fucking close!”

“It won’t matter, Ms. Stark. They’ve locked into your heat signature and this suit does not have the capability to lower or mask your in-suit heat output.” A.N.A.’s words make you blink and you let out a desperate sigh, your breathing coming ragged as the water closes in on you. Your vision blurs, and for a moment, your head dips forward before you snap open your eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Stark.” Your A.I. sounds so fucking crushed and she’s already grieving and you regret coding in emotions because you want to cry, and not because of the pain.

“It’s not your fault, A.N.A.”

Blinking, you try to calm yourself down but it’s all coming so close. Your helmet can’t protect you for long, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, you’re going to die—

“You’ll send a message to Tony? The message?” you ask and the world stops. The startling realization that you might truly die here in the Potomac slams into you and you nearly let out a scream at how fucking unfair it is. Ribbons of tears track down your face, and you compress yourself into a compact slip of armor, hoping it’ll give you that chance to outrun it, but you know that it won’t. You graduated from MIT, just like Tony. Your big brother Tony. You know the math. The beeping gets louder, gets faster.

A watery smile appears on your face, your lips trembling as it crumbles away and you openly sob. Your face is hot and you breathe in hot air, and you need to breathe. Oh, god, you’re gonna die of asphyxiation before you die of your injuries and everything’s closing in on you—

“Of course, Ms. Stark.” You take comfort in A.N.A.s voice and confirmation, trying to pull what’s left of you together.  “Thank you.” It’s just within reach, but the beeping in your ears tells you the missiles are closer. They’re hot on your trail and your faulty booster has no intention of coming back soon. Remembering your call, you swallow whatever tears you have left and ignore the ache in your throat. Everything hurts, but nothing so much as the pain one can get from knowing what they’re leaving behind. “Steve?” 

Crackling, and then a thick voice comes on and you know he’s crying too, “I’m here.”

Your eyes reflect the moon’s beams, and you can only see that beautiful full moon surrounded by so much darkness, and you wonder if this is what Tony saw up in that wormhole. The light at the end of a tunnel. You swallow, nod, and tell yourself that you can’t feel the pain anymore. The adrenaline in my body’s numbing it, you reason to yourself. I’ll die from my injuries before I can get to a hospital, so there’s no point in feeling it. The beeping becomes insistent, but you don’t look back. If you don’t look back, maybe they aren’t there.

“Ms. Stark…”

“It’s okay, A.N.A. You did your best.” Clenching your jaw, you try to make sure your next words can be made out. They need to count, you need him to hear you loud and clear, and he seems to sense this because he begins to whisper these nothings meant to make you feel better, or to stall you. You hope it’s to make to feel better. 

Because it works.

“Steve, when I die, tell Tony that… that I love him, and he deserves so many things in this world. Tell him, tell him he is the best brother I could’ve asked for, and—“

“Hey, Y/N. You’re gonna outfly those rockets. You’re the best damn pilot I know. So, stop talking like you’re gonna die.”

“Steve—“

“Y/N, it’s gonna be okay. It’ll be okay, doll, you’re gonna be just fine, and then you’ll come over to Sam’s, and we’ll be on the run together.” Steve’s voice cracks and it damn well near breaks you as the A.N.A. goes radio silent. The HUD turns off. She’s conserving energy. That can only mean one thing. “Won’t that be fun? Huh? We’ll be… what was it that was trending after the 2012 gala? That hashtag…”

You let out a noise that’s somewhere between a sob and a laugh as your eyes close. “#Ironcaptain and #Starogers were both trending,” you remind him. His voice is soft and hoarse, and exactly how you imagined him in the mornings. You’ll never get to fucking see him again. Fuck. Life. Fuck. You.

“That’s right, doll. You’re right. You’re so beautiful and smart. You’re tough as, uh, iron, and you’re always right.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah, I’m your dork, though. So, you’ve gotta make it. You’re perfect. That’s why you’ll make it, okay?” He’s in so much denial it pains you to the core and all you want to do is grab him in a hug and tell him that you’re going to die but it’ll be okay. But he’s on the other side of the city and he can’t save you this time. “That’s why I’m gonna see you again, and I’m gonna tell you so many things. So you’ve got to stay alive, alright? ‘Cause I needa tell you all about Camp Lehigh and Bucky and you’re supposed to be here with me ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I need you, okay? It’s been like that since the beginning, Y/N. Before everything, before that gala, before we were friends. I was always the puppy trailing after you. So you can’t die.”

“Steve,” you choke out as you open your eyes again. You reach your uninjured arm for the surface. Your fingers are barely brushing the air and you can imagine the wind on your face. You might make it. “Steve, I’m scared to die.”

“You’re not gonna die, so there’s nothing to be scared of,” he tells you like it's a fact and not something that’s stopping you from turning off every repulsor node you have left. You’re so tired but your arm breaks free, and then your suit and then you’re soaring through the sky.

Flying through the air, you hear the whistle of wind and missile trail after you. You made it to the surface and for what? Here you’ll be, shot down like game anyway. Is that all live is? A game of hope and lies and deceit, just for some god out there?

If it is, when you die, you’ll tell them that you were never playing. You’ll tell whatever god who’s watching to go fuck themselves. Find someone else to play with.

“Steve,” you whisper, because you need to say it as many times as you can before you can’t anymore. “Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve.”

“I’m here. I’m right here waiting for you.”

You laugh into your next words, cheeks soaking with tears as you raise your eyes to the moon. “I’m glad that it’s you.” 

The missiles dig into your armor — legs, chest, arms in that order — and explode. You are a dying star, the last brilliant flash of light and beauty and the magnificence of the universe before you are extinguished. 

On the other side of Washington, Steve watches the orange cloud of fire and smoke consume the air around it hungrily as a lone figure drops into the water.

.

“Zola’s algorithm… is a program for choosing I.N.S.I.G.H.T.’s targets.”

“What targets?”

“You! A TV anchor in Cairo, the Undersecretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa city.” Sitwell swallows visibly and Steve’s nails dig into his palms as he stares at the pathetic man. “Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to HYDRA! Now, or in the future. It’s why we killed Y/N Stark.” Blood drips down Steve’s fingers as he grabs Sitwell’s collar, hauling him to his feet.

“What did you say?”

“We… it was a confirmed hit.” Sitwell’s confession rings in Steve’s ears and he lifts him up higher, wanting him to choke.

“You say her name one more time, no one’s gonna stop you when you’re thrown off the building.” He lets the man drop to a pile on the ground. The blood from his palms mark where he’d grabbed the traitor and Steve resists the urge to kick him. Instead, he asks how Zola’s algorithm can predict the future whilst thinking of every way imaginable on how he can destroy H.Y.D.R.A., one agent at a time.

.

“Y/N wouldn’t want some priest,” Steve says, playing with Sam’s cellphone. He’d given it to him after what happened in Washington, but Steve’s never grabbed the strength to play the voicemail sent to the number not long after your last call together. The anger he had has sapped away until all that’s left is the space you used to fill with your laugh and smile. He never even got to tell you how he felt about you— “Maybe something quiet. Her stuff burned, something like that.”

“How the hell would you know what she wanted?” Tony whispers. His rage is simmering so close to the surface, so close to his breaking point, that Steve looks up. They’re gathered in the Avengers Tower, all of them for once, and Tony slams his hand on the table, head bowed. 

“Tony,” Bruce begins but he ignores him, pushing off the table and walking back towards the window of the penthouse, staring off to the skyline. “I’m sorry. You couldn’t have stopped it.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve told her not to go.”

“You couldn’t have known S.H.I.E.L.D. was compromised,” Natasha adds, although her eyes are red rimmed and there’s something croaky in her voice. Steve’s heard her cry. He knows. “None of us knew.” Tony whips around.

“You were supposed to protect her!” His words make Steve flinch more than the volume he screams it at. Steve’s blood rushes to his head in his shame, and a familiar bruise blooms in his throat. “I trusted you. You promised me you’d protect her.”

“I promised I’d try, Tony,” he whispers. “And I couldn’t. Neither could you. If you were in my position, you wouldn’t have made it in time.”

“I could’ve. I could’ve, with my suit. I could have saved her if I was in your position, because I would have had the suit!” Tipping over a wine glass and letting it smash to the floor, all but Tony flinch when he walks over the shards of broken glass. “You don’t have any idea what I could’ve done.” 

Steve falls silent. He turns on the phone screen, turns it off again, and flips it over to feel the edges where the screen protector has cracked.

“Tony,” Thor begins, speaking for the first time since he’s arrived. His dark blue eyes are storms on seas and the air around him blurs with energy. The air tastes like lightning. “Look at me.”

“I could’ve saved her,” Tony repeats.

“Look at me.” Dark eyes meet storm blue. “You could not have gone across the city, bring her out of the water, and take her to a hospital alive. Even if you did find her, she would have bled out or succumbed to her injuries.” His voice lowers as Tony’s head drops forward, tears racing down his nose and cheeks. “We all saw the suit.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Tony whispers. He jolts himself out of Thor’s grasp and walks back to the window. “She could’ve made it out. Someone could’ve saved her.”

“Tony,” Natasha calls softly, “we need to—“

“‘We’,” the man repeats incredulously. He gives them all a sneer. Tony’s bitter smile could make hell freeze over and Steve pockets the phone, standing. “I’m sorry, there’s a ‘we’ in this situation? Who’s her brother here?”

“Tony, that isn’t fair—”

“There is no ‘we’. You all think she’s dead, but we never got a body. That’s what isn’t fair about this. You’re supposed to be her friends, her family, and you’ve just given up on her! She could still be out there. She could still be kicking and you’ve all given up on her!” Swiping a hand out to the window, he stares at them, waiting for them to agree. When they don’t, his head bows as his hands ball into fists. With a sigh, all the strength leaves him and Tony’s shoulders slump. When he looks up again, his eyes are shining wet, dark earth after a storm.

“Tony,” Steve says his name faintly, then clears his throat. Standing up, he waits for the response and gets none. He begins his way to the man who personifies all stages of grief. His throat bruised from holding in tears, he just calls his name again until Tony looks at him. “We got the suit.” Tony’s entire body crumples and he leans against the bar, eyes narrowing on the marble swirls. “She may have been your sister, but she wasn’t invincible.”

“Don’t talk about her like she’s dead!” Steve sees the swing before it makes contact and he ducks underneath, bringing Tony into a crushing hug. “She’s not dead. She’s my baby sister, she’s not dead.” Steve doesn’t say anything, but the man seems to wilt in his arms as another hand touches his shoulder. Bruce sends a tight-lipped smile before slipping between the two and hugging Tony tight. The blond pulls away.

“Thor, get the suit,” Steve whispers, turning to the god. He’s uncharacteristically quiet, nodding and uncrossing his arms to go retrieve the cargo they’d received a week ago. Maria Hill had it delivered in an unsuspecting box outside of Stark Towers, with a touch ID that only Tony Stark could bypass. Inside, the melted, burnt, broken remains of what is left of your mechanic suit. Half a gauntlet, blasted metal, shrapnel and bloodstains. That’s all they have left of you.

Tony takes out your helmet. There are ashy streaks where the explosion had damaged the metal, and there’s a huge crack up the left side of the mask until where the eye used to be. A hole is punched through, the wires poking out, and blood where something had dragged over your mask.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., connect A.N.A. to the servers.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Good morning, Mr. Stark.” A new voice echoes throughout the penthouse, a subdued female who sounds like she’s seen better days. Steve catches Tony’s weakening smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“You have the recording for… for her last day?” Bruce asks quietly.

“Mr. Stark?” A.N.A. seems to wait on Tony for confirmation and he nods.

“Go.”

The helmet lights up and Tony places it on the bar counter before heading down to the couch with the rest of them. Natasha rubs his arm, leaning on her other elbow and hiding her mouth behind a tight fist. Thor closes his eyes, listening as intently as he can. Bruce paces back and forth and Steve just waits on Tony.

When they reach your agony, your screams, your relentless sobbing for death as you sink into the Potomac, Tony tells A.N.A. to turn it off. There’ll be two funerals, they decide. The public memorial and one just for them.

.

“You dealt with my sister’s potty mouth and you yell at me about language?” Tony asks over the comms. Steve groans on the other end, and he’s surprised by how easily he can mention you. It doesn’t hurt as much. “I literally can’t get over it.”

“It just slipped out, Tony,” he replies.

“Well, I bumped into a forcefield, so I had a reason.” Tony’s senses are on high alert. The Enhanced is MIA and his eyes scan the area. 

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Tony. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can head home and debate about it.”

Tony pushes on the secret door, letting out a silent ‘yay’ when it gives, sliding into motion.

“We have a second enhanced. Female. Do not engage.”

Walking down the staircase, Tony’s nerves shoot. Something about this place seems off. The staircase expands as he gets to the end, leading through a dark hallway lit by the occasional lamp that looks like it hasn’t had its oil changed since the 80’s. Grimacing, Tony continues on his way. It’s enough light to let him see ahead and if he needs the suit, it’s just seconds away. The hallway opens up to reveal a huge underground laboratory, and Tony’s eyes widen, gaze drifting up as he takes in the magnitude of this room. It’s a huge construct, with metal catwalks and staircases. A Leviathan is hoisted in the air by wires and he blinks.

“Guys, I got Strucker.”

“Yeah, I’ve got… something bigger.” There are benches full of forgotten projects or ones half-done. An Iron Legion robot lays on one of them, illuminated by pale yellow.

Shit. He wants to get out of here and back to the team, but it’s too late now and he has a job to do. His eyes drift over the robot again, seeing if he’d know what they needed it for. Experimentation? Curiosity?

Parts. He can see it in the delicate way it was taken apart, by someone who knows their way around this kind of stuff. This isn’t some ten year old who’d torn it apart for the sake of curiosity. No, this is surgery.

Tearing his eyes away, he turns to look at the triple row of benches under what looks to be operating room lights. Something gold and red glimmers underneath the light but he can’t risk getting unfocused.

The blue glow of Loki’s sceptre reminds him of why he’s here, and he goes to it. Electricity crackles around it, tools and half-made but quality gadgets used to stabilize it. There are monitors reading the levels it’s giving out, fluctuating as Tony steps closer.

“Thor, I got eyes on the prize.”

“Tony?” Turning around at the sound of a voice — the voice, your voice — Tony’s eyes widen as the Leviathan jerks into motion. Letting out a scream, he flinches away, his mind reeling back to that wormhole in 2012. Panic seizes him, his lungs constricting and his heart beating in time with the pulse in his head as he turns to watch it go, flying above the rock steps occupied by some bodies.

Bodies he recognizes.

Bruce’s Hulk body twitches as the last of his fight leaves him. Spears come out and go into him at all angles and he lets out a painful whimper. Natasha’s broken arms and legs stretch and twist in awkward angles as if she’d fallen to her death and every single bone in her is shattered. A pool of blood spreads beneath her head and her eyes stare sightlessly at him. The rock ledge is slick with red, flowing down in a tiny trickle towards Clint. For a moment, Tony thinks he’s alive, and he nearly calls out his name.

Then his head dips and lolls, and Tony knows. Thor’s neck is gashed to the bone, but his blood has dried and Tony’s breath catches in his throat. The few things that can kill Thor aren’t even possible on Earth, and Tony takes a step towards him just as his gaze drops. Steve Rogers lays there, bruised and battered with a shield snapped in half.

Half of him knows this is a vision but the other half is trying to rationalize it. Whatever is messing with his head: transmittable by air, powerful enough to warp his reality, and potent enough to capitalize on pre-existing emotions. Tony jots all this down in his mind as he desperately tries to pull himself out.

Not real, not real, not—

“You could have saved us.”

“Ant? Is it really you?” Spinning around, he comes face to face with you. You look more than a little worse for wear, and he touches your face, unbelieving. Searching your face, he just sighs and kisses your forehead. “Tony, oh my god.” Letting out something between a sob and a chuckle, he rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. Your hands cup his face and you cry out, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, you’re okay.” He takes hold of you by the shoulders, taking in your features as his fingers brush over your cheekbones. 

“Hey, Tony,” you whisper. The skin peels away underneath your eye in the shape of the crack of your mask as he touches your face, peeling like wet tissue and he lets out a shout, pushing back. The flap of skin continues to fall, tearing away your face and blood flows down the gash as your eye closes. Scarlet tears flow your cheeks. “Tony, it’s me.”

“Y/N, no….” You reach for him still, trying to understand why and Tony can only back away. You’re dressed in tattered clothes, all bloody and burned — the clothes you died in and there’s a gaping hole where your abdomen should be.

“Tony?”

“It isn’t you.” The ugly pulsing burn on your side is black and white, your arm mangled beyond repair. “Stop…”

“Tony, what’s wrong?” You run to him when he trips over the steps of the rocks and you pull him up. Blood runs down your neck, drying dark and thick. Your eye opens again. With a pitch black pupil, only a green synthetic outline stares back at him.

“You’re not real!” Flinging your arms off, he stalks past you and searches for the sceptre. “You’re dead. I buried your empty casket.” He takes in his surroundings, his back to the pile of dead heroes. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, it’ll make his mind realize it isn’t real. If he finds the sceptre, he’s out of here. It’s the sceptre messing with his mind. That’s it. Find the sceptre.

You stumble after him but he ignores you too. His heart tears in half as he ignores it and tells himself that you’re dead. He forces himself to think of that cloudy day and that empty casket. They buried your suit and your favourite books for you to read in whatever afterlife. It’s been a year. You’re dead. 

A vibrating hum catches his attention and he freezes. Closing his eyes, he tries to hone in on the sound.

“Tony, please! Look at me...” A hand clutches at his shirt and he whips around, prepares to scream for his mind to shut up. The words die before he can speak. There the sceptre is, with the monitors and stabilizers and everything. No dead bodies, no blood on his hands. But the hand is still there. A sobbing pile is at his feet and a pale hand grasps his shirt, and his breath catches when the sobbing pile cries out his name. His stomach twisted, bile crawls up his throat when he sinks to his knees, collapsing before it. His hands shake and he feels his heart steadily climb towards the spectrum of beating so fast he isn’t sure he has a heart anymore. His blood mutes his frantic thoughts, and he, lightheaded and dizzy, pulls the hands off of him. They’re shaking but he isn’t sure if it’s him or… or you.

“Tony, please look at me. Tony? Tony, it’s not a vision, right? I’m, I’m not seeing things, again? Tony?” Your voice under your breath mutters these heartbreaking things that Tony lets out a breathless laugh of pain, and he tilts your chin up to see you. It can’t be you. You, with the exploded armour and bloodstains. You, who’d died by S.H.I.E.L.D. It can’t be you. A shaky hand reaches for your chin, and he feels the hot tears dripping off your skin as he angles your head to the light. Your eyes are wide and sunken compared to the rest of your face and your lips are dried and cracked. Your hands are calloused, dirty, your fingernails chipped, your skin raw and red and blistering. It can’t be you.

But it is.

“Yeah, Y/N, it’s me.” Your eyes widen and you stare at him as if you’ve just noticed him for the first time, and you let out a loud sob, covering your hand with your mouth as he lunges into you, holding you as tight as he can. You’re so real and warm and you’re hugging him back even harder if that’s even possible as he sniffs back his tears.

If this is a dream, Tony doesn’t want to wake up.

“Tony? Tony, you found me. I told them you would, but obviously they ignored it, because you’d never stop until you did.” Tony’s heart races back to the other end of the spectrum. The not-beating side. The side riddled with guilt and grief and pain that he thought he’d moved past but here, in your earnest view, it all comes rushing back. “They, they kept me here to work on the staff, but… you found me.” You bury your face in his neck and he kisses the spot before your ear, looking at the staff with wet eyes. Blinking, he lets the tears that fall, fall freely. “I thought I was dreaming when I heard your voice. It’s been so long. Tony.”

You break down into tears as you melt into his arms, slouching all over him. He holds you up in his embrace and your knees drag over the floor as you wrap your legs around him. He pulls back and sits on his bottom, holding you in his lap like he did when you were a kid after a nightmare. You latch onto him like a koala, and he sighs, eyes closing.

“I’ve got you, sis.” Running a hand over your hair, he realizes with a pang how thin you are. You’re all bones and not a lot of meat, and your spindly fingers are grasping onto him so hard that it hurts. But pain’s good. Means it’s more likely to be real. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you. We’re gonna get you outta here. I’ve got you.”

The comm links are active as Tony buries his face in your greasy hair. You smell awful, but underneath it, you smell like you. 

“Guys, we’ve got a plus one.”

.

“Hold my hand, Steve.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” He nods, as if expecting your answer and you sit across from him. Reaching over, the man holds your hand across the conference room table. Tony situates himself in the corner, and you already know what’s coming. You just need to gauge Steve’s reaction when it’s presented. 

As images of every global instance of destruction flickers across the screen, you feel something within you twist harder. Washington, D.C. Steve’s grip intensifies, nearly crushing your hand until you give him a gentle squeeze in reminder.

You open the first page of the Sokovia Accords. His thumb traces soothing circles over your skin while you flip through the pages. Your cybernetic eye scans each one, gleaning the important info for you to review later before you hand it off. 

Since your return to civilization, you’ve updated and replaced the tech H.Y.D.R.A. used to keep you alive and functioning with improvements that are far more befitting of you. For one thing, your cybernetic eye they used to replace the one they gouged out has a link to the earpiece, allowing you near 24/7 access to A.N.A. For another, you’ve improved mesh camouflage. After all, the scarring around your metal abdomen is kinda unsightly for undercover operations. 

Still, this isn’t how you wanted to go back into the Avengers. After Tony’s BARF showcase at MIT and the announcement of the September Foundation Grant, you had felt the shift in Tony’s energy. From generous and giving, to guilty and heartbroken, you knew something had happened when he went to the bathroom. Still, he probably didn’t want to talk about it.

So you took the jet back to New York for an emergency Security Council meeting with Secretary Thaddeus Ross. 

Tony watches as you hand the Accords to Steve. Sam refuses to look at it, and Steve only lifts the cover to humour you. You know him. 

When Secretary Ross leaves, the rest of the Avengers follow suit soon after, but not before your brother kisses your hair and rubs your head. They all head out to see the Secretary off and then meet in one of the many lounges in the facility. All of them except Steve.

Steve pulls his hand back to open the thick book, and you swivel the chair to face him fully. He reads the first page and you watch as his expression tightens, lips pressed together, eyebrows furrowed.

“Steve,” you whisper and he looks up at you. Instantly, everything relaxes. His shoulders slide down and he even manages a small smile.

“I don’t like it so far,” he tells you. “Sacrificing our right to choose is too dangerous.” He lifts the Accords half way, scans the pages, and then lets it drop again. He rubs his hand over his face, looking older and tired.

“Well, we can set up safeguards, can’t we? Once all the publicity dies down.” You reach for his hand, and he takes hold of it again. The warmth of him soothes your nerves and he instantly begins rubbing your knuckles. Habit, you suppose.

“But what if this panel doesn’t send us where we need to go? What if they send us where we aren’t needed? Y/N, we can’t be run by some panel who doesn’t even know us.”

“I know. You know I know what happens when corruption begins to spread. I’m sure we’ll be able to have some say over this.”

“Agendas change.”

“And what if our agendas change, too?” you ask quietly. Steve’s head snaps up and you lean forward, squeezing his palm. “I’m not saying you or Tony. I know you try your best. I’m saying when we’re all gone, what happens if the Avengers are run by people who don’t have the same ideals?”

“That’s a far off possibility.”

“But it’s still a possibility.” You stand, smoothing your hands over your pants and adjusting your vest. You realize somewhere that you’re dressed exactly like your brother, but you ignore it. The two of you can’t help but be fashion icons. Walking around the table, you sit on the surface next to his hand. “I don’t like it either, so I’m not going to sign.” Not yet. “But, Tony wants to. So we’re gonna have to talk it over with the team.”

Steve leans back into his chair to look at you. “I can’t sign this, Y/N.”

“I know.” You pull him up to his feet and smile as he brushes hair away from your face. “I know, baby.” You pull him into a hug and he sighs, nuzzling into your neck. Pulling back, he sighs again and brushes his thumb over your lips as his gaze searches your face. He takes you in like he’ll never see you beside him again and you do the same, just trying to burn his face into your memory. 

“These Accords might ruin us.”

“Not if you don’t let it.”

“Tony wants to sign.” Steve lets his head drop and the hands you have on your shoulders press down. Your thumbs dig circles into his muscles.

“Not if we convince him not to.” You send him a smile and he cups your face. “We’re really lucky, Steve. Really lucky. We got a second chance. This past year has been hell for the both of us, but we got our chance.”

“At what cost is it to keep us together? I can’t just pretend I agree with this. If I see a situation pointed south, I can’t just ignore it.”

“I know, baby. Tony knows it too.” Your hands run down his chest and your fingers tangle together. “This is our family. Just, remember that.”

“I know.” Leaning over, he kisses your cheek, although you yearn for it somewhere else, and pulls away to go to the lounge with the Accords. You sit there on the table, alone, watching him go, with that feeling in your heart just like the one in 2012.

Just like the one in Washington.

.

“Take one more step, and I’ll be sending your brains to Wilson.”

Steve freezes. The words, tossed so poisonously against his back, make him stop and he swallows through his bruised throat. He doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t look at you after what he’d done. Rhodey shattered, Tony somewhere trying to fix the mess he made. But he couldn’t regret choosing Bucky. Still, he just wanted to make sure you were okay but you’d woken up and grabbed your gun as quick as you could, standing despite the ringing that must’ve been going on in your head.

“You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you, Captain.” 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Without the shield, he almost feels naked under your piercing glare. He knows that if looks could kill, it wouldn’t have mattered if he had vibranium between you two. “You know what you mean to me.” The gun cocks and he hears the safety switch off. Your finger rests over the trigger.

“Secretary Ross charged me with finding you. Tony asked me to bring you in peacefully,” you whispers. Your unsaid words hang in the air instead. Not more than Bucky. Never more than Bucky. Bucky who killed my parents.

Bucky who didn’t know what he was doing.

But he killed them.

And Steve knew.

After Secretary Ross assigned you with bringing back the fugitives, you’d refused at first. 

“I don’t work for organizations like yours,” you said.

“Y/N, if you don’t go, we don’t know how many people will get hurt when they get in his way,” Tony said. 

“I’m only going for you,” you said.

You knew Steve wouldn’t let his team rot on the Raft for so long. It was only a matter of time before he came to rescue them, and that was where you came in. You know his mind, and it almost kills you, knowing that in every circumstance, he would’ve always chosen Bucky over you. 

Steve was always the better hand-to-hand combatant between the two of you, but Natasha had taught you some new moves before she’d gone and disappeared without a trace, too. You had him pinned underneath you, and a part of you knows that he’d only let you win because he didn’t want to hurt you. Before, it used to be funny. You used to spar, and you’d pin him down, or he’d scoop you up in a hug. Before, it used to be fun and flirty, and you two would make smoothies after. At least, before everything that had happened.

No such kindness is in you now.

It wasn’t in Sam either. The man had knocked you out with a fire extinguisher, leading to their escape.

Until now.

Steve had dragged you to the little skipper he’d used to sneak onto the Raft, scared out of his mind for the concussion you now sported. But it didn’t matter. Despite the dots nearly blacking out your vision, you know if you pull, it’d hit Steve and come out between the eyes.

“Rhodey’s paralyzed,” you grit out, your jaw clenched so hard you’re sure your teeth will break, “because of you. How could you do this to him? To Tony? Especially after what happened last year? Tony… Tony’s heartbroken. You know that? He’s heartbroken.”

So are you. Steve knows how to read between your lines, even if some of ‘em are metal instead of flesh.

“Then, are you gonna do it?” Steve asks quietly. Golden light streams into the dark room, illuminating his broad shoulders and sifting through his hair, and you wonder if everyone else is asleep. That’s the only reason you can think of that’ll make him see you now. He’s always held these secrets. It’s a fucking shame you’re one of them.

It’s a fucking shame he hid the most important one from you. It almost makes you wonder if he ever felt anything for you at all. Life has been shitting on you.

Squinting your eyes, you try to ignore the blossoming pain in your head as you shake your thoughts away. He doesn’t even look at you. Coward.

“I want to,” you tell him, finger just barely pushing the trigger. You know how much pressure it takes to fire a gun “I really, really want to.” You half-laugh, half-cry, because of the pain in your heart and head. Who’s the coward now? “I didn’t know what to do.”

“I know.” Steve turns to you then, his normally-bright blue eyes hooded by the shadows of the rocking ship. You put the gun down, and it’s almost as if all the strength leaves you then, too. “I never wanted you to pick between Tony and I.”

“Why, because I’d pick Tony?” You sit back down on your bed again, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. Walking over, he angles his head to the spot beside you and you nod, reaching over to turn on the lamp. “Well, you’d pick Bucky so, I guess it’s even.”

“Y/N,” he begins but you hold up a hand as your eyes close. 

“Save it, Rogers. It doesn’t matter.” Your teeth clench together and the muscles in your jaw twitches as your eyebrows push down. All you’re trying to do is not cry at the thought of leaving him here on this ship. Taking a shaky breath, you blow it out as Steve puts a hand on yours. Your fingers slot together and you lean towards him until your head is on your shoulder. He tilts his head to press his cheek into your hair and your fingers play together as your other hand brushes over his calloused skin, broken along his knuckles where he’d punch your brother. “None of it matters.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Something wet slides into your hair and you feel it drip down your skin. Placing your hand atop his, you swallow and tell yourself to get it together.

“The most ridiculous part of this whole situation is that I love you,” you tell him because there might never be a chance to tell him again. “Your best friend killed my parents. You beat up my brother and he’s back in New York, bruised and battered and heartbroken, and I’m here.” You raise your head and he turns to look at you. Searching his eyes, you find nothing but grief. He pulls away his hand. “I’m here, instead of there with him.” You laugh because it’s all so stupid and ridiculous. “I’m really here, fraternizing with the enemy.”

This is never how you imagined you would tell Steve you loved him. Never. The first time you tell him you love him is the day it’s over. Fucking poetic, isn’t it. 

“I’m fraternizing with the enemy,” you repeat. Steve’s your enemy. Steve. Your stupid dork is now the enemy of 117 countries and you. The realization slams into you like things you can’t name. Your eyes flicker close and a few tears slip out but you manage to suck the rest in. Steve lets out an exhausted sigh and it feels like you’re both bone-tired this days.

“Y/N, I never wanted this for you. I just wanted to keep you safe.” His hand rises up to touch your face but then he seems to think better of it and lets it drop again. You miss the warm, rough feel of him already and he’s not even gone yet. “If the U.N. did what H.Y.D.R.A. did—”

“I know. I…” You sigh, looking down at the slight space between the two of you. How easy it would be to close it if it were a different time. “It was never a choice between you and Tony. It was a choice between Tony and what I believed in, and I believe in you, Steve. I believe that organizations like S.H.I.E.L.D., like the World Security Council, like some U.N. security panel, can’t be trusted.”

“Then, why? You know what organizations can do. You know that agendas change.”

“We’ve already lost so much. We’ve had too many casualties.” You cup his face, smile bitterly, try to make a joke out of it that you know won’t land. “I was one of them.”

“You can’t say that,” Steve says, turning his face away and you swallow the knot in your throat. 

“Why not? It’s true.” The most horrible thing you’ve ever seen lays within Steve’s eyes in that moment but you move on. “The Accords are still gonna pass whether you’re there or not. It’s a matter of safety, now,” you whisper and his gaze darts to you. His eyes ask a silent question and you dread the answer. “I’m gonna sign. I need to do my job, Steve, even if it means working for some higher power. There’s no other way.”

“So you’ve picked a side.” The distance between you is immeasurably wide, and you wonder how such a huge distance can be fit in such a tiny space.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I’ve picked a side.” Steve’s face twitches and you take in his sculpted lips and cheeks, his blue eyes that reflect the lamplight and warm golden hair. “Steve, all that matters is we know what we are.” 2012 feels so long ago but it makes you feel younger when Steve tries to smile. Then, he looks down and you have a feeling he can’t even look at you.

At first, you think it’s because you disgust him. It’s not the first time you’ve thought such a thing, but then you realize. He’s terrified of watching you fall out of love with him.

How much you want to tell him that it isn’t possible. But you don’t. You can’t say a thing.

“But you’ve chosen a side,” he replies quietly, almost accusatory if you didn’t know him better. You close your eyes for a moment at his words, and then you turn away. The light is blinding in the hallway, but it’s better than looking at the heartache in Steve’s face. Tears slip down your cheeks as you stand and take the gun.

“You chose yours first.”

Tags: @teawithbucky @jcc04220 @shenala​ @dulharpa

[satanschild01]

No All Might? That’s Alright Prt3

Izuku Midoriya Fanfiction                                                          

A/N: In all honesty this took me way too long just to finish writing this chapter, but I pushed through so I guess it’s fine. I’ve created a AO3 account recently and I’ve posted all of my previous fanfictions there so if you want to check me out, you can find me as SatansChild

Hope you all stay safe and wear a mask if you can't physically distance.Hope to update soon!

Catch you on the flip side ~ Em

Photo used in this fic was referenced from original picture from anime, I did draw this photo jtlyk

Tags:

@random-fandom-girl-24

Tags for some wonderful feedback😘: @trashys-things @pink-imagines @marvelmymarvel @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @spaced-out-imagines​ @marvelmymarvelmain @writingfreakk

Trigger warning: Talk about death

Word Count: 2633

Part 1 Part 2  Part 3

After making sure all of the blood was no longer on his uniform, Closing his eyes, Izuku steeled himself to walk into the All Might shrine that was his room. Sure, he still wanted to be a hero, and he admired All Might’s strength, but he couldn’t stand to be surrounded by posters and figurines of a man who couldn’t offer any sort of encouragement to a child who clearly needed it. Izuku pulled some cardboard boxes out from his closet and started filling them with everything All Might. Oboro didn’t make a sound during the time he cleaned out his room, which he was grateful for. Even though he could just feel Oboro wanting to ask questions. 

“So what are you going to do about all this stuff?” Oboro asked as Izuku changed his All Might sheets with regular black ones “You seem like such a big fan...it just seems like a waste just to keep it all in boxes.”

Izuku shrugged his shoulders.”I’m not much of a fan anymore.” he lied to mostly himself rather than to Oboro, “I guess I’ll just donate the stuff later.” Once his walls were finally bare, Izuku stuffed the now full boxes to the back of his closet and flopped onto his bed. The room stayed silent for a moment until Izuku broke the ice, “I don’t want to intrude on your personal life…but can you tell me about yourself?” he asked

“Well for the fact that I witnessed and helped you with some pretty deep stuff, it sorta would be rude if I didn’t tell you something about my previous life,” Oboro said cheekily

“H-how long have you been...you know…” Izuku paused not really wanting to complete the question.

“...dead?” Izuku nodded “I was in my second year of high school when I died and I would be 29 by now so...close to 12 years I think?”  Izuku sat there on his bed frozen

‘12 years is a long time to be a ghost or spirit to not have passed on, that is if people actually pass onto another place once they die’ Izuku thought to himself

“I was patrolling around Tasomiya Ward with one of my best friends when there was a villain attack...I was working on saving some kids when debris fell on top of me...when I woke up I was like how I am now, I couldn’t find my body anywhere so I just...travelled around…” Oboro seemed to quiet down at mentioning that he never found his body to move onto another life, so Izuku thought of ways to change the current mood of the room.

“So you were a hero in training or something?” he asked, face full of wonder, Oboro hummed in affirmation “What school did you go to?”

“I went to U.A”

“Wait really?!” Izuku exclaimed excitedly, “that's so cool!”

They continued talking and asking questions back and forth, before falling into a comfortable silence. A few minutes past before Izuku took a deep breath

“I...I’m sorry,” Izuku said quietly, slowly curling into himself

"Why would you be sorry kid?" Oboro’s voice was full of confusion. But Izuku only curled in on himself further.

"If it wasn't for me you wouldn't be stuck here." As if anyone wanted to be bound to some stupid Deku...like him. And here he thought it was a whole coincidence that Oboro was with him. But instead, he just took whatever type of freedom he had to begin with.

"Hey, no! Stop that. Izuku that's not true! I'm here because I want to be!" The warmth spread all over him and he couldn't help but lean into it. “I said I'd make a hero out of you and I still plan on it."

Izuku looked up only to see the ceiling of his room, lifting his arm up to the sky and let it just float there (like what every kid does while laying on there bed contemplating on what to do next). "I wish I could see you again."

Oboro hummed. Seeming to think something through. "I don’t think there’s much out there since I was only a second-year when I died, but there could be some photos of me with friends or an article"

Izuku seemed to take that as a challenge as he went to his computer. "What did you choose to be your hero name?"

"Loud Cloud."

After scouring the web for a couple of minutes nothing showed up except for an old article from the Nikkei Shimbun newspaper, reporting the death of hero-in-training Loud Cloud. Izuku quickly exited that site choosing to search for something different. “What’s your full name Oboro?”

“Oh that’s right I didn’t tell you my full name, it is Oboro Shirakumo” Oboro replied

“Oboroshirikumo...oboroshirikumooo….here!” Izuku exclaimed pointing at the monitor’s screen. “This photo was tagged saying ‘Curry eating competition at U.A’s School Festival. Winner Hizashi Yamada from class 2-A!’ it also says the names of the people in the photo are; Shota Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada, and Oboro Shirakumo.” 

“Oh, I remember that!” Oboro cried out laughing “The curry was soo spicy I was freaking out because I couldn’t find anything to soothe my burning throat!”

“So that’s you in the back then?” Izuku asked pointing towards a teenager who seems to be freaking out.

Oboro chuckles “Yep, the other two were my best friends!”

“Yamada looks sorta familiar what’s his hero name?” Izukku asked, curious on why the 16-year-old looked so familiar to him

“Unless he changed it before becoming a pro, which he probably would not, his hero name is Present Mic.” 

Izuku sputtered “W-wait you were close friends with THE Present Mic?!” Oboro hummed in agreement while Izuku had his miny freak out “

“Oh my god that is socool!Ilistentohisradioshoweveryday,andhe’ssuchanamazinghero,likeevenifheisdeafduetohisquirkhedoesn’tletitbotherhiman-” He stopped hearing the sound of laughter coming around his room and his lamp flickering

"Aw jeez, that’s amazing Hizashi got to get that radio show he wanted." There was a quick blast of warmth flooding around his back and chest resembling a hug. "Well anyway, you should probably head to bed. You have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow and a long way to go before you can have a chance at being accepted into UA!"

"What are you going to do while I sleep?" Izuku asked, eyes slowly drooping.

"I'm going to see how far I can go without being next to you, and have a look around and exploring a bit. No need to worry. I'll make sure to be careful and be here in the morning." He seemed to pick up on his anxieties. Izuku felt warmth as Oboro slowly pet his hair back. "Goodnight, Izuku." 

The next morning Izuku woke up to warmth pulsing on his right cheek. "Hey kid it’s time to get up! You have training to do! Up and at ‘em!" Oboro’s voice was overly joyful and Izuku felt very unwilling to get out of bed.

"Mm...just a bit longeeeer." He groaned turning himself over facing away from where he guesses Oboro is standing (floating?).

"Fair warning Izuku my jokes are terrible, everyone at school would always runaway once I started and I haven’t been able to talk to actual people in so long! If spaghetti were to have it’s own action movie, what would it be called?.... Mission im-pasta-ble. What did the pot eat on it’s birthday?....pancakes. What do you call a camel in a drought?....A dry hu- "

Finally, Izuku jerked up, covering his ears. “Okay. Okay, I’m up! No need to finish that.” His face started to burn a light pink across his face, (knowing what the end of the joke was) as he started to kick the blankets off only to turn towards the window and see barely any light outside. "Wha- Oboro!! The sun isn’t even out yet!"

He turned glaring into thin air hoping to make contact with him.

"Yes, it is, Izu. It's just reeeally early in the morning. There is plenty of time for you to get ready and eat before we go out for a morning run!" He was being weirdly energetic about the whole ordeal, but Izuku knew he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Heading to the bathroom, Izuku ran a brush through his wild curly hair and brushed his teeth. Going back to his room, Obroro pipped up. "It's a bit cool outside so I suggest you wear some long sleeves."

The entire way to his closet Izuku muttered incoherent things. In the end, he opted to wear a plain black shorts and a long-sleeved shirt with written kanji saying 'tank-top' with his old dusty sneakers because his red sneakers were still on top of the roof.

Before heading out Izuku ate some toast and an orange. If he got hungry later on their run he could always eat more when they got back. As Izulu started to leave the apartment Izuku tripped over an unmarked box that was just left in front of the door.

"Ooo I wonder what it is!” Oboro seemed quite enthusiastic as Izuku went to open the box revealing his faded red shoes and yellow backpack.

"Wai-how-who found my stuff?" Izuku asked immediately putting the bag by the door and quickly changing between uncomfortable and comfortable shoes.

"I don’t know, when I got back from wandering around the package was just...there."

"Maybe someone found it and found out where I live from my contact info and address was written inside…?” Izuku wondered out loud.

“I guess so,” Oboro said looking to the bright sight of things.

‘But what if it was...All Might. Yeah, I’m glad that I don’t have to go back up there to collect my things but...I don’t want to have to depend on All Might to help me with my own problems.’

“Hey don’t think like that Izu! I know you’re not a huge fan of the guy, but you don’t have to beat yourself down like that. I know you’re better than that” Oboro spoke sternly trying to make a point, but that soon backfired as warmth spread through his body.

“Hold up- could you always hear my thoughts?” Izuku questioned as he started to jog away from the apartment.

“So far I can heat some things. Like your thoughts that way heavily on you emotionally. But it could possibly work to talk to me through your mind. So you don’t look like a freak talking to themselves.” Oboro quickly informs Izuku as to not worry him.

Sighed Izuku. That was true. Though he kept thinking about it as he jogged. As they passed Dagobah Municipal Beach, the sun had started to rise. Taking in a deep breath was the wrong reason as Izuku cringed from the awful smell of garbage. Despite the smell, Izuku took a break, taking a seat at the entrance.

"Oh gross. What is this place?" Oboro asked with a clear sound of disgust in his voice.

"Well," Izuku started."This is Dagobah Municipal Beach Park. It has accumulated trash coming from the sea for years, turning it from a beautiful beach spot into a trash heap for everyone's unwanted or broken belongings." It was really a shame. As a kid, Izuku recalled going to the beach. Lie under a beach umbrella, making sandcastles. But by the time he was tall enough into the water, it was already flooded with trash by then.

"That's terrible." Oboro seemed deeply upset about this actually. It made Izuku want to do something about it. But before Izuku could voice his thoughts Oboro spoke up.

“Hey Izu, could we make a quick visit to a convenience store?”

“Sure...what exactly do you want me to get?” Izuku asked, despite having an idea what Oboro was thinking.

“Well...you’re going to need to get some garbage bags and some gloves.”

Izuku then dashed towards the nearest convenience store with determination in his eyes. A frail-looking lady turned the key to open the doors as he walked by. Causing her to recoil in slight shock, Izuku realized that with his rapid approach he had frightened her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'd just come to purchase some garbage bags and some gloves.

The older woman seemed to soften something about his face as she smiled and opened his door. "Sure thing, they’re both in the last aisle on your right."

Before she went inside, Izuku thanked her and smiled back. He quickly found what he was looking for and brought a box of trash bags and a pair of workers gloves onto the counter.

"What's the hurry, son? Why do you need trash bags this early in the morning? You aren't trying to cause trouble are you?" the old woman pointed to Izuku with an accusing finger, and he shook his head quickly.

"Oh no, ma'am! I thought that I could just try and clean the beach up! I passed it while I was on my morning run!" Izuku assured, voicing Oboro’s plan

At this, the elder woman gently smiles while scanning the items. “Wow, is that right?” she said astonished, “ You know how long that place has been a mess? What makes you believe you can do it all by yourself?"

Her words weren't really painful, she was just being realistic. He knew she was right. He certainly had no obligation to clean up the beach. He could have just ignored it and easily went about his day. But he knew if he wanted to be a hero then he would need to start off the roots of how heroes came to be. How they used to work. Heroes in the beginning didn’t do what they did for fame. No. They didn’t care for the recognition they would get. They did it because they just wanted to help.

“That’s the thing, ma’am. I thought that it wouldn’t hurt to try. It’s also a great way to work out, instead of having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership!” Izuku brightly smiles towards the lady as he handed her the money to buy his items.

“Well, I wish you luck, kid. I’m guessing that you’ll need a place to put the trash you collect.” She stated, Izuku smiling sheepishly at her rubbing the back of his head she continued, “There are two dumpsters in the alley behind the store, they get taken every Monday.”

"Thank you, ma'am!" Izuku said genuinely as he headed for the door. He didn't think too much about how he would dispose of the garbage, so it was good to have one offered.

Oboro began to laugh as Izuku jogged back towards the beach. "Cheaper than having to buy workout equipment or get a gym membership! Man, how true that is nowadays!”

The first garbage bags were packed very quickly. broken bottles, cans of beer, old and rotting newspaper, all of it was poured into the trash bag. Plastic, paper, glass, etc. Izuku could take them to a recycling center! He was already pumped about this new project when Oboro spoke up.

“Hey, Izu, before you toss that into the bag” placing his hand on Izuku’s making him feel warmth blossom closest to the soda, can packaging he was holding in that hand. “make sure you cut each circle so if they end up in wildlife again then animals won’t get their heads stuck inside.”

Izuku's eyes lit up as he started to tear apart each loop before placing it in one of the bags used for recycling. Soon Izuku had used up a quarter of the box of trash bags gone and only had 6x5 feet rectangle cleared of the beach.

[robertdowneyjjr]

kiss the beaver’s ass

(inspired by this post by @imaginestevetony)

----------

“Here, these should last you a whole week.”

A long and heavy sigh escapes from Steve’s lips as Bruce drops a heavy stack of clothes on the table. “You know, Tony’s not going to talk to me all week.”

“You should have thought of that before you agreed to the terms of the bet,” Bruce says unapologetically.

“I was just so sure I’d win,” Steve lets out an undignified whine. “I can’t get drunk! Of course I thought I’d win a drinking challenge!”

“Well, you didn’t.” Bruce smiles serenely, and Steve can see the glint of mischief in his eyes as he continues, pointing out each item as he goes. “Anyway, I got you everything you’ll need for the week. A hoodie you can wear in public, a few t-shirts for everyday wear, sweatpants you can wear at home, flannel pants for sleep, shorts and joggers for working out. Here’s a cap if you want to keep a low profile when you go out. A water bottle, because you should stay hydrated. And of course, a tie and cufflinks for that event you and Tony need to attend on Thursday night.”

By the time Bruce is done, Steve can feel a few stray tears prickling at his eyes. He’s not going to survive this week.

“So not only is Tony not going to talk to me, but he probably will make me sleep on the couch all week too.” Steve glares at the flannel pants. “He won’t let me into bed if I’m going to wear those.”

“Hm. That’s too bad.” Bruce folds the clothes back up neatly and hands them to Steve. “Oh, by the way.”

Judging by the smirk that’s creeping onto Bruce’s face, Steve is not going to like what he’ll say next.

“I’m sure Tony’s mentioned this to you already, but Rhodey’s flying back tonight. Good luck.”

Well. Fuck.

----------

Steve drags his feet as he makes his way back to his and Tony’s suite. He drops the clothes off in their shared closet, picks up the shirt at the top of the pile, and quickly changes into it. He debates for a while, then decides to put on the sweats as well. Might as well go all out.

He heads to the kitchen to get started on dinner. It doesn’t take long to decide what to make. He knows the grovelling process should start now if he wants to be forgiven soon, so Steve settles on making Tony’s favourite -- carbonara, from the recipe that Maria had passed down, and chocolate bread pudding for dessert, a dish Steve learned from his mother.

A little while later, he hears Tony and Rhodey’s voices filtering in from the hallway and braces himself for what he’s sure to be a whole boatload of judgment.

“Hey babe,” Tony greets as he walks through the door. “Smells amazing in here. Hope you don’t mind that I invited Rhodeybear over for dinner? He’s had a long flight, so I figure you wouldn’t mind if we kept him company.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Steve replies. He looks over his shoulder and gives the colonel a quick wave. “Hey Jim. Hope the flight wasn’t too rough.”

Rhodey pours himself a glass of water as he waves back. “It was alright. Mostly slept the whole way through. There was a bit of turbulence, which is always awful, but nothing I’m not used to anyway.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Anything we can do to help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just one thing.” Steve takes a deep breath before he turns around, gesturing down at his outfit. “Can you let me explain before you throw me out the door?”

Aside from the slow fire sizzling behind him, the kitchen falls into a dead silence. No one moves for a solid minute, and Steve can feel the disgust at his clothes pouring out in waves from the two men in front of him.

“What,” Rhodey starts. “The fuck. Are you wearing?”

“Before you say anything else, I just want you to know, I’m so sorry.” Steve looks pleadingly at Tony, then at Rhodey. “I lost a bet. When you were away in Aspen for that tech conference a couple months ago, Bruce and I got into a drinking contest. I don’t even remember how it happened, but it did, and he bet me that I wouldn’t be able to outdrink him. And of course I agreed to the bet. I thought I’d win! But I didn’t, and his term was that I needed to wear Harvard gear for every outfit, for a whole week, if I lost. So here we are.”

Tony continues to stare in disbelief. “Why would you bet Bruce you’d be able to outdrink him?! He’s the fucking Hulk! He absorbs alcohol like it’s water!”

“I forgot! I just knew that I couldn’t get drunk, so I figured I’d win! And I really wanted to get him to reenact the whole Single Ladies video, so I agreed to the bet!”

“Steve, you’re such an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You’re sleeping on the couch this week. I don’t want that shit anywhere near me.”

“I know.”

“We’re going to sit down and have this nice dinner. You cooked -- which is very lovely of you, by the way, thank you -- so Rhodey and I will do the dishes while you get your stuff for the couch. Then I’m giving you the silent treatment for the whole week, because this is the worst betrayal I have ever experienced, and I refuse to talk to my dumbass husband when he’s dressed as a Harvard Hottie. Alright?”

Steve sighs and slumps into a chair. “Alright.”

They all settle into their seats at the table and dig in, making casual conversation throughout the meal. Steve savours every moment, knowing that this will be the last civil moment he’ll have with his husband for the rest of the week.

After the plates are clear, Steve helps bring the dishes to the sink. As he walks the short distance from the kitchen table to the counter, a butter knife slips off a plate, but Rhodey manages to catch it.

“Careful, Cap. Wouldn’t want to accidentally stab yourself with this.” Rhodey pauses, then smirks. “Though the blood would blend beautifully into that crimson shirt you have on.”

Before Steve can think of a retort, Rhodey takes the dishes from him. “I can grab these. Why don’t you call it a night, yeah?”

“Yeah, alright.”

“Great! Night, Steve! Enjoy the couch!”

----------

The next day, Steve wakes up to the sound of plates being set down on the coffee table in front of him. He opens his eyes to see that Tony and Rhodey have apparently made breakfast for all three of them, and are bringing the dishes out to eat in the living room. The two of them are wearing matching MIT shirts, which isn’t generally out of the norm, but judging by their shit eating grins, they’re doing it mostly to fuck with Steve this particular morning.

“Good morning,” Steve croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “This all looks delicious. Thank you guys.”

Tony only raises his eyebrow at Steve before turning around and going back into the kitchen.

“Morning, traitor,” Rhodey says as he sets the cutlery down. “Nice flannel pants.”

“Thanks. You want a pair?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Steve shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

A moment later, Tony returns with the coffee pot and three mugs. He pours each person a cup and sits down next to Rhodey, barely even sparing Steve another glance.

“Before we eat,” Tony says, “I’d like to make a toast.”

“A toast?” Steve asks.

Tony doesn’t look at Steve, addressing Rhodey instead as he continues to speak. “More of a cheer. Actually, a song.”

A smile spreads across Rhodey’s face. “A drinking song?”

“A drinking song.”

With that, Tony and Rhodey launch into a tune together, holding their coffee up high and practically shouting the words out: “MIT was MIT when Harvard was a pup. And MIT will be MIT when Harvard's time is up. And any Harvard son of a bitch who thinks he's in our class, can pucker up his rosy lips and kiss the beaver's ass!”

They clink their mugs together and start in on their food, ignoring Steve completely.

----------

Somehow, by sheer willpower, Steve makes it through what feels like the longest week of his life.

Every time he’s in the same room as Rhodey, the colonel hisses at him and makes snarky remarks, making fun of Steve’s outfit. Steve gives back as good as he gets, which he knows Rhodey appreciates. But with each half-conversation, Steve looks forward to the end of the week when he can talk civilly with his friend again.

Tony makes good on his promise not to speak to Steve the whole time he has to fulfil this bet. When Steve asks a question, instead of responding directly, Tony texts his reply. Sometimes, he even tells JARVIS to relay a message back to Steve. Even when Steve is sitting right there, next to Tony, in the same room.

So it’s a bit awkward, having to attend the charity gala for their favourite animal shelter together, but not talking to each other at all. Well, Steve talks, and Tony hums. Nods and reacts, but never with actual words.

The worst is when the press takes notice of Steve’s tie and cufflinks and start hounding him with questions on why he’s chosen to wear these accessories to the event. Is he going to be a guest lecturer at Harvard soon? Did he make a recent donation? How does his MIT alumni husband feel about this? His MIT alumni husband, who poses for pictures with him while flashing his shiny class ring for the press.

Steve dodges all the questions and changes the subject every time it comes up. It’s exhausting, but he gets through the night, then the rest of the week.

Finally, Steve gets to remove the comfortable but forbidden Harvard hoodie, kick those sweatpants off, and put on his own clothes for the first time in seven days.

The first thing Steve does is go down to the workshop to find his husband. Sure, they were in each other’s orbit all week, but Steve still misses Tony. He’s so glad things can go back to normal, and Tony can speak to him again, and they can make up for the awful week he’s sure they both just had.

He keys in his passcode, barely waiting for the doors to slide open before he swiftly walks through and makes a beeline for where Tony’s sitting on table, holographic displays floating in front of him. Steve crowds up against Tony’s back, sliding his arms around his waist and nuzzling behind his ear.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Bet’s over.”

Tony turns around and flings his arms around Steve’s neck. “Oh thank god. That was brutal. Do you know how hard it was to not talk to you all week?”

“Well you didn’t have to. You decided to do that yourself.”

“I needed to make a statement.”

“By not saying anything?” Steve asks, amused.

“Yes, exactly. I love you, honey, but I can’t accept any Harvard gear in this household.”

Steve places his forehead against Tony’s. “I’m sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“We are taking those clothes up to the roof and we’re gonna have a bonfire. But first.” Tony leans in and presses a long, lingering kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling back. “We’re going to go back to our room. We’re gonna get naked, get you into the shower and wash off that Harvard stench. And you’re going to pucker up your rosy lips and kiss this beaver’s ass.”

[magioftheseas]

They Stand in Ruin

For @notcoolhajime

Summary: Hinata and Komaeda are sent to the remains of a long emptied city for a couple of missions. Things don't go well, and Komaeda ends up wondering about the validity of it all. And of himself. And of his relationship with the guy too stubborn to give up on him.

Rating: T

Warnings: Violent imagery and hinted trauma.

Notes: Post-sdr2 fics never get old because I am a simple girl of simple needs. This fic I tried to focus more on atmosphere and underlying tension, although that’s the kind of stuff I favor anyway? But yeah, this was a little rough figuring out, but I think it turned out at least okay. Please enjoy, Junee. ;v;

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The metal was almost charred to a crisp, the stench of ash and smoke near suffocating.

“Some parts could still be salvageable,” Hinata suggested ever blankly. Komaeda wasn’t sure if he should laugh or scream in response, and he just settled for a polite nod.

“If anyone could salvage anything from this, it’ll be Souda-kun,” he said simply. “So let’s just gather what we can and mission complete. You won’t have to worry about me again for the time being.”

When Hinata Hajime met his gaze, his stare was exasperated but unyielding, that dark adorable brow furrowed.

“Right,” Komaeda said, allowing himself the smallest chuckle. “The remains must still be quite hot. Let’s wait for it to cool off.”

“Right...”

Hinata drew the word out between his teeth, like he wasn’t quite sure about it. Continuing to smile, Komaeda wisely chose not to comment. Instead, he stared at the tendrils of smoke, entwining before dissipating as they reached the pale blue sky. It was getting pretty clouded, and Komaeda could almost taste the upcoming rain on the air. Being rained on after such a disaster of a mission would just be the cherry on top.

And exactly what he deserved for being so arrogant as to think he could handle something so simple as the retrieval of important machinery. Even if something could be salvaged, it was clear this mission was an abject failure. Because of him. And his worthless, wretched luck.

“Aha,” he inhales sharply, covering his mouth to muffle any further giggles. “I’m sorry, Hinata-kun.”

“It’s not your fault,” Hinata replies immediately, as if on instinct. It’s the expected response to give someone in a situation like this. Komaeda’s heard it countless times, and it never rang less hollow, even in Hinata Hajime’s voice.

He wants to laugh until he wheezes, but instead he coughs a few times. He swallows, rubbing his throat with a sigh and notes that Hinata had drawn closer, hand hovering towards Komaeda as if poised to act. Just in case.

Komaeda’s smile widens as that hand drops, Hinata averting his gaze almost shamefully.

“...it’s not your fault,” Hinata repeats so lamely that it’s pitiful. Komaeda almost feels sorry for him. How funny. How stupid.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and there’s a jagged flash that lights up the sky.

“It’ll definitely storm,” Komaeda says cheerily at the sight. “I guess we should get shelter pretty soon. While I’ll be fine, I worry about you being struck by lightning, Hinata-kun.”

“I guess that’d be one way to wake up Kamukura Izuru,” Hinata mutters, rubbing idly at his scars. Komaeda’s expression didn’t change, instead he just turned on his heel.

“Let’s just hurry.”

“Uh... Right.”

Irritably, Komaeda’s foot dug into the dirt.

--

They gathered up some bits of roasted metal and wiring and had it carried back to headquarters. But because they still had more scouting to do, they weren’t allowed to leave. Instead the storm rumbled, and the two of them took shelter in a broken down office building.

“I wonder if my parents worked in a space like this,” Komaeda remarks, almost idly. The place wasn’t completely trashed, some office corners had remained in the state they were before the disaster; it was just completely abandoned. There were some crude crayon drawings taped to desks, torn and crinkled with age. Komaeda hummed before wrapping his arms tighter around his knees. “What about yours, Hinata-kun?”

“I don’t really know,” Hinata replied. “Actually, I don’t even remember.”

“How boring!” Even though I have no room to talk. “Hey. Do you think you would’ve ended up here as a faceless worker if you never agreed to the project and if the world never fell apart?”

“Probably.” Hinata doesn’t even miss a beat although his expression dulled further. “What about you? If you didn’t have your luck and if the world never fell apart...”

“Probably the same,” Komaeda said, almost wistfully. “But even without the pressure and the people—this place is suffocating.”

It was also gloomy and dreary, and he doubted that would change with the lights flicked on and everything fixed up. There was a rustling chill, perhaps from the storm outside, and Komaeda shivered.

The thunder boomed and for a single childish moment, Komaeda wanted to cover his ears.

“Komaeda?”

He doesn’t respond, instead squeezing his eyes shut. Words don’t run through his mind so much as fuzz and static. Crackling and popping to the point where it felt like his very skull was bubbling. There was a low droning buzz, one that caused his head to throb.

The sky crashes, and Komaeda nearly jumps when his shoulders are suddenly gripped.

“E-Easy, easy!” Hinata yelped, and while Komaeda did initially still, his face also twisted into a vicious scowl. All Hinata offered in return was a grimace. “I was just checking on you.”

“I’m fine,” Komaeda hissed, shoving at him with the robotic hand. Even with the sturdy metal, Hinata’s form was unyielding as ever. Komaeda wanted to laugh but he also wanted to scream.

“You don’t look fine,” was Hinata Hajime’s ever clever retort.

Why? Because I don’t feel like smiling?

That was probably exactly it. Thankfully, smiling can come as easily to him as breathing, even when he doesn’t feel like it. The corner of his lips curl upwards.

“I’m fine,” he said again.

“Liar.”

It’s as if you want to make this difficult. How unfortunate.

“You’re awful,” he said sweetly. “Shouldn’t you read the mood? Or do you just not care because you’re awful?”

“If I didn’t care I wouldn’t ask.” Hinata’s eyes narrowed sharply. “You’re the one being unnecessarily difficult.”

Unnecessarily. What a truly dull word to use.

“You’re being pushy.”

“Maybe so.” At least you admit it? “Still that’s only because I... I worry about you.”

There’s a strange delay in the admission. Komaeda quirks an eyebrow at the even stranger rise of color in Hinata’s cheeks. Hinata averts his gaze but he’s still so shamefully expressive. So terrible at lies and obfuscation. So easy to read.

I always adored that about him, Komaeda thought bitterly.

And now?

“Someone like you shouldn’t worry about someone like me.”

“And yet I do,” Hinata snapped. “Sorry. Neither of us can do anything about that.”

“Not like you would try to,” Komaeda replied, smiling blankly. “You’re much too kind, Hinata-kun.”

“I’m not that kind. I’m not so kind that I’d worry about just anyone.” Chewing his lip, Hinata’s features pinched and twisted in a way that was almost as engrossing as it was unpleasant. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Oh.” Komaeda chuckled softly. “Is it?”

To that, Hinata just gave a small but firm nod.

What’s on your mind?

He’s wondered that often, especially recently. There were times where he’d imagine Kamukura Izuru, the long black tendrils of hair twisting around Hinata’s neck. The striking bone white of his head scars leaking black and blood. Even now, Komaeda fingers his own scars, long hidden by his hair and there is a dull ache in his skull.

Unlike Hinata Hajime who filled his head with talent and the world, for Komaeda there was nothing but a spreading rot, a desolate place. A ruined land that would only lead to further decay until it all crumbled into dust and ash. Even now, Komaeda is tempted to set himself on fire to at least go out in a blaze even if it’s not one of glory.

No, he’s long given up on becoming a beacon. Someone like him really was best suited to an uneventful passing, something mundane like a heart attack or pneumonia. That he survived this long really was a joke.

Especially in such a state, Komaeda thought, curling his mechanical fingers and listening to the whirls and twitches.

Hinata is looking at him too, hazel and crimson both dark and unreadable. It’s uncomfortable. So much so that Komaeda wants to throw a rock at him. He would’ve if not for Hinata’s head jerking away.

It’s infuriating.

Komaeda stands up. Thunder booms. The wind is whistling. Komaeda turns his sights to outside, where the fog is only briefly alit by a lightning strike.

Without thinking, he strides forward. Before he can even feel the damp rush of air from the cracks in the windows and walls, a powerful grip yanks him back.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hinata hisses, and his arms wind around Komaeda like a snake. Like rope, binding him and keeping him trapped. “You’re not going out there, I don’t care what suicidal wish you have!”

“I wouldn’t die,” Komaeda snapped, glaring at him as if he were stupid. “The opposite, in fact. I just wanted to feel alive.”

“Even if you didn’t die, you would at least get injured,” Hinata huffed. “Be it from debris or even the wind knocking you down.”

Komaeda reddened in anger at the thought of being seen as so weak.

“It will take a while for it to calm down,” Hinata just went on. “Be patient. If you’re that bored, we... we can just talk.”

“What is there to even talk about?” You already know everything—so anything I say would be boring. “The weather, perhaps? It is quite windy. Quite rainy. Quite stormy. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“You don’t need to be that sarcastic.” Hinata frowns at him, but his grip doesn’t lighten. It’s annoying—the dissonance between that wilting dismay and that unforgivingly constricted hold.

Komaeda sighs and presses his very aggravated pout into Hinata Hajime’s shoulder.

“You’re insufferable. Incorrigible. And just—irredeemably ignorant.”

“Sorry.”

It’s a low mutter, so quiet that sincerity was difficult to gauge. But Hinata does lift a hand and cups the back of his skull. As if the rotten thing were precious. It’s frustrating to the point of tears.

“Komaeda, you know I...don’t hate you, right?”

“I wish you did,” Komaeda whispered. “It would be so much easier and simpler if you just hated me like everyone else.”

“The others don’t—hate you either.” Hinata sucked in his breath. “They’re just—not sure how to approach you. In their defense, you don’t make that easy.”

“It’s easier that way,” he insisted. “With my luck being the way it is, and with myself being as lowly as I am.”

“Still, that...” Fingers start to weave through his hair. “Wouldn’t it be better if we all reached an understanding?”

Komaeda was so exhausted by this that he slumped. Hinata kept him upright.

“I would still like to understand you,” Hinata murmurs, tentative. “Especially since I know you’re not a bad person. You’re still the one who reached out to me in the beginning.”

Of course I remember that. The ocean waves. The shimmering sun. The beautiful unknown boy on the beach.

“Just shut up,” Komaeda griped tiredly.

To his credit, he had. He also continued to hold him even as Komaeda’s eyes squeezed shut.

--

They gathered up the remains of the Monokuma unit. The metals were now burnt, rusted, and even more twisted thanks to the storm. To salvage anything from this would take a miracle and Komaeda severely doubted the former Ultimate Mechanic was capable of even that.

But, they packed up the material, and their hands were left dirtied. The other agents left with that, leaving them behind without another word.

Komaeda watches them go, picking at the smudge beneath his nails.

“Ah, Komaeda, you didn’t have to...” Hinata trails off as he takes his right hand. His brow furrows as he feels out blisters. “Mmgh.”

Hinata-kun’s own hands are warm but firm, Komaeda thinks dully. Undeniably strong and yet gentle. It’s unsettling.

“Even someone like me can handle a little bit of heavy work,” he says with a shrug. “Really, you expect me to collapse just from that?”

“Not collapse, no,” Hinata mutters, squeezing his hand. “Your metal arm can sustain two tons, but it’s still attached to your shoulder, which I can’t say the same for.”

“Like stitching gold into rags,” Komaeda chirped. “Of course, there are other uses for it.”

“Yeah.” With a frown, Hinata suddenly pinches his cheek. “So that’s a terrible comparison.”

“A-Ah! Haha! Sorry, sorry! Please don’t pull so hard!”

Hinata lets go, but he’s still unimpressed. Specifically, he let go of his cheek—but not of his hand.

Komaeda’s pitiful smile strains and twists, and he tugs his hand back. Hinata does release it, then, and he blushes quite darkly.

“I...” Biting his tongue, Hinata made a complicated noise. “We should probably get going. We still have more surveying to do.”

“Yes,” Komaeda agreed cheerily. “We do.”

--

The Future Foundation had long evacuated everyone they could find and as a result, what remained was ruined, abandoned buildings, and the occasional malfunctioning if not outright collapsed Monokuma unit. There were other locations the Future Foundation was focused on right now, but Komaeda predicted that it would only take a few years for this city to be rebuilt and repopulated.

As it stood, it was vacant and eerie. Still in rubble, no electricity, and thoroughly ransacked for supplies.

“Some of the buildings are unstable,” Hinata remarked. “So stay close, Komaeda.”

Komaeda half-listened, staring up at the dull gray sky.

“There was this series I read once,” Komaeda found himself saying. “About someone who could leap through space.”

“So teleportation?” Hinata asked wryly. “That’s a pretty convenient superpower.”

Kamukura-kun could move so quickly that it was akin to that, Komaeda recalled as he stepped around the broken-off corner of a building. But that wasn’t the same thing, because—

“What do you think is the line between time and space?” Komaeda wondered. “If you could move to any space instantaneously, then would you theoretically be able to leap forward in time?”

Hinata pauses, mulling it over, and Komaeda wonders if Kamukura Izuru is already supplying the answer. Before Hinata can open his mouth, Komaeda went on.

“The person who could teleport believed that they could, and thus they took that leap,” he said. “It was risky, of course, for you can never be sure what will occur in the space you occupy in a different point of time. And you can never be sure—what exactly will happen in the future. When that person traveled far enough, they found they stood in ruins, surrounded by the corpses of people they found dear.”

“Ah,” Hinata intoned. “One of those stories.”

“I like time travel stories,” Komaeda said quietly. “I enjoy time loops, where someone tries to prevent tragedy, tries to right wrongs so that the world stays in-tact. That determination, that desperation to overcome despair is beautiful.”

Of course...

“They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results,” Hinata said. His voice was low, monotonous, and for a moment, Komaeda had a flash of walking side-by-side with someone impossible like this, with long, swaying black hair under a sky as red as his hollow gaze.

Komaeda punches his shoulder with a poorly curled fist, and he can almost taste blood brimming from where he bit too hard into his lower lip. Hinata wasn’t affected by the former, but because of the latter, he stilled immediately, scowling as he turned.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he snapped, pinching Komaeda’s cheek again. “How many times do people have to say it?”

Aha. You sound like Matsuda-kun.

“It’s because you’re so frustrating,” Komaeda chirped right back. “It’s so maddening that I want to bash my head in.”

“Then just talk to me!” Hinata’s voice rose exponentially. “You can even yell at me if you want!”

Saying that...while shouting... You really are an aggravating person.

“I don’t really want to talk,” he said. “It’s exhausting. Aha, of course saying that is hypocritical, right? I’m sure you find me plenty exhausting. But it’s not like I asked you to tolerate me.”

“No,” Hinata conceded, letting go of him. “I chose to because I want things to get better between us.”

Between us.

What was between them now was cold dust, easily swept away by a colder breeze. What surrounded them was the remains of a once ordinary city. A place that likely hadn’t been anything remarkable even in its prime. Komaeda only barely remembers its name.

“How mature,” he muttered. “As befitting an Ultimate Hope, I suppose.”

He almost wants to puff out his cheeks. Throw another temper tantrum. He wonders if doing so will cause Hinata to lose patience and strike him.

It’d be easier that way.

If Hinata just hit him.

What kind of face would you make? I—whatever it is, it would surely be better than the one you have right now.

He breathes in dust and decay and rubs his cheek and mouth idly. There’s a slight throb, but it might just be a headache. He’s tired. Very tired.

“Do you want to take a break?” Hinata asks, brow pinching. “Maybe we can set up camp for the day?”

“I feel like barely anything was accomplished,” Komaeda sighed. “Is that really alright?”

“It’s because of the storm,” Hinata responds as if on autopilot. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s take a break. Maybe get some sleep. I doubt anything will change between now and tomorrow.”

Komaeda doubts it as well, but he still hesitates.

“The mission will take even longer,” he said. “Is that alright?”

Hinata nodded.

“Of course it is.”

Of course.

Of...course.

“Alright,” Komaeda repeated, nearly biting his tongue on the word. “Then, I guess I can’t argue too much. Let’s resume work tomorrow, aha. Haha.”

It makes no difference to me. Not at all.

--

They retreat inside an old school campus of all things because it was the easiest place to set up the tent. After all, who knows what could be crawling around? Thinking of it like that, it felt almost adventurous.

Nibbling on rations as he watched Hinata lay out their sleeping bags, Komaeda tried not to grimace at how close the two bags were. There was enough space, but Hinata was probably paranoid. Komaeda can’t exactly blame him for that, even if it must be unpleasant.

That said—Hinata looked warm cast in the light of the lantern, the shadows sharp in contrast. More so when Hinata did smile in his direction, albeit absently.

“You got any bedtime stories?” Hinata’s smile twisted, eyebrow raising. “Or am I just supposed to come up with one myself?”

Komaeda popped the rest of the ration into his mouth before closing the container.

“We’re not children,” he said, chewing before swallowing. “Unless you insist on needing one? What would you like to hear? The Crane’s Wife?”

“Anything happier?”

“Orpheus and Eurydice?”

“I said happier.”

Komaeda set the rations aside and crawled into the sleeping bag.

“There was a story about an unremarkable boy with no talent. Then he met a fairy who granted him all the world’s talent. That boy then saved the world. Happy enough for you?”

“What kind of nonsense is that?” Hinata asked, poking Komaeda’s shoulder as he turned away stubbornly. “Things didn’t even turn out that way.”

“Hence why it’s a story,” Komaeda sighed. The sleeping bag was cold enough that he ended up shivering, but even his meager body heat was sure to provide warmth after a while. “They’re fictional. Made up. They don’t have to make sense.”

“That’s wrong,” Hinata said, the words cutting through with the same force as in a trial, even in what was a low murmur. “It’s reality that doesn’t have to make sense. Fiction meanwhile should follow some level of logic.”

“Is that your Ultimate Analyst side talking?” He doesn’t keep the quiet venom out of his voice. “That’s a limited way of viewing things. It’s annoying. You’re annoying. Tell yourself a story, then. I’m going to sleep even though it’s going to be difficult because you annoyed me so much. I hope you’re happy.”

“Who can be happy in a situation like this?”

Who, indeed? If even the Ultimate Everything can’t answer—I guess it’s a question you just aren’t meant to ask.

How annoying.

Komaeda squeezed his eyes shut. All was quiet when it was dark. Hinata didn’t make a noise and all that could be sensed was the plushness encasing him. It was like nothing else existed save for his own heartbeat.

Although remembering that Hinata-kun is here is a little nerve-wracking.

Still he managed to relax. He had done so under worse circumstances, and he could do so now.

It doesn’t...matter...

He’s exhausted.

--

The world is vibrant and even with the sun shining overhead in the center of a sea of soft blue, there’s a nice feel and temperature. The sand is plush beneath his feet, and he giggles as he skips, bumping shoulders with Hinata Hajime.

Hinata Hajime, who gives him such a warm smile that the very sun above was stricken. Komaeda’s vision blurs, but he beams back without a care.

He stretches out his hand to brush his fingers against Hinata’s, but he’s far too shy to entangle them.

Still, he’s happy. Definitely happy. To be out here with a friend is more than he can ask for.

Yes, a friend—Hinata-kun’s my friend...

The thought makes him so giddy that he wants to cup his rosy cheeks with a laugh. That Hinata chuckles softly nearly makes him shudder with euphoria.

“Hey, Hinata-kun... I...”

Throb.

Suddenly he stumbles and crumbles into the sand. It happens in slow motion, and almost distantly like he’s observing from a screen. It doesn’t hurt, but—but his thighs are streaked with blood. So much so that the soft sand is clumping into dark goop.

Hinata Hajime doesn’t break his stride.

“H-Hinata-kun,” Komaeda hears himself stammer as he reaches out towards him. “H-Hey...wait up...”

Focused on Hinata’s blurring figure, he almost doesn’t notice his hand being pierced through. The splatter of blood spreads until it consumes his hand. Before his eyes, that hand morphs, the fingers warping and twisting, the blood-dyed nails elongating.

Hinata does pause, when he’s little more than a semi-defined shadow. That shadow, too, warps and twists. Tendrils of black that then lurch towards him and wrap tightly around his neck.

“H-Hi...nata...kun?”

His own voice is fading along with everything else. Disintegrating, melting, his body is being torn to shreds from the center. Everything is slick with blood and muck.

Filthy.

Filthy.

His body was decaying, eating itself the way he always knew the cancer and dementia would. His throat is being ripped open and gorged. He’s losing all sense of awareness.

How gross—

“How boring,” is the quiet remark as Komaeda Nagito is turned to ash and muck.

--

He only somewhat wakes, but there is a sound. A melodic sound so sweet and serene that he very nearly lulls back to sleep. He groans softly, and gentle fingers stroke his hair back.

He’s barely awake. What he does register, he does so detachedly. Like this was still all a dream.

“Mmhm...” The sound trails off into a hum. “Komaeda? You were having a nightmare.”

His sense of conscious feels like a complete fog. He’s too blurry-headed to even muster up speech.

“Ah. Still dazed. Is that because of my...?” An irritated mutter, too low to be comprehensible. And then, in a clearer tone. “Sorry about that. You should go back to sleep, though. You need all the rest you can get.”

His eyes begin to droop.

“Can you even hear me...? Ah. Never mind that. You’re probably real tired.”

I am tired, he thinks agreeably.

“...you might not remember this later or even be listening, but...”

So tired...

“You know... You really are important to me, Komaeda.”

That gentle hand moves to cup his cheek, radiating a seductive warmth. Komaeda nuzzles into it without a second thought, sighing contentedly as he does.

“Even though you purposefully make things difficult—you are trying your best. If you had just wanted to sleep the rest of your days away, I don’t think anyone would blame you, but—you get up every morning and you take it all so seriously. I can’t believe I never appreciated that until now. Well, I can, considering the circumstances of before—but it’s still embarrassing to think.”

A thumb runs over his lower lip. Gentle. So gentle. It’s such a pleasant touch. It’s comforting. Alluring.

“Everything’s different. I want us to be close. I...really, really like you. So much. More than I should, probably.”

His vision is blurring, but he can tell that someone is close. Getting closer. Forehead pressed against his. Soft puffs against his lips.

“Komaeda... Nagito... I want...”

Then. A pause. Komaeda’s eyes fall fully shut.

“...god, what the hell am I doing...? I’m sorry.”

His hair is ruffled. Komaeda tumbles back into sleep soon after.

“I’m so sorry, Nagito.”

He falls into a dreamless sleep.

--

Everything is much clearer in the time he wakes. So much so that his heart nearly leaps into his throat when his eyes snap open.

That was—

It felt distant and foggy. Like another dream. Except—it hadn’t been a dream. It just felt like one. So much so that if his mind wandered enough, he’d easily forget all about it.

He’d forget. Easily.

...

Back in the simulation, one of the things Hinata gave him was a used memory journal. It was worn and withered, the smudged writing impossible to read. But he had adored it, every scribble in it. He even carefully wrote in it, wrote about his hopes and dreams, in shaky script that fit right in.

After he read the student files—

...

Ah. Does that part matter?

I’ll forget either way.

Komaeda pushed himself up, looking around the tent. It was illuminated by morning light shining through. The other sleeping bag laid there beside him, flat and unruffled as if it had never been used at all. Their bags still sat in the corner next to the lantern. Somehow despite having the whole space to himself, it was almost—suffocating.

Komaeda wiggled out of his sleeping back and slipped on his shoes before unzipping the entrance and crawling out. With the clouded sky in addition to the early hour, it wasn’t terribly bright just yet, but he flinches at it anyway.

There’s hard concrete under his feet rather than soft sand, but he still stumbles. His eyes find themselves locked on the cracks to help himself focus on something, anything. Cracks running deep, some with grass growing through—and a couple of flowers. Pure white daisies, small and easily trampled, growing in stubborn little clusters.

Flowers, huh? Even...in a place like this...

“Ah... Haha... Ahaha...” He covers his mouth, shoulders quivering. “E-Even in a place like this.”

He’s not going to tear up over something so—so small. But his eyes do burn a little, and he wipes at them furiously. Even when shut tight, the morning sun shines through, and when Komaeda does look, his gaze is immediately captured by the figure standing upright and steadfast in the dusty air.

Komaeda approaches, almost tentatively, self-conscious of his heart pounding in his ears, but still tempted by the other’s back. Those strong, locked shoulders, the defined blades, and how if he ducked against this person, he might be safer from the world than he’s ever been.

He does fantasize about it, embracing Hinata Hajime’s solid warmth, but he ends up stopping several steps shy of even being able to reach out and touch the other.

Because... I...

“Komaeda,” Hinata says, without looking at him, even as Komaeda perked up helplessly. “Did you sleep well?”

“I...” He nods, but chokes out the answer anyway. “Yes.”

“That’s good,” Hinata replies. “But are you sure you don’t want to rest a little more?”

I’m going to forget everything anyway. Hinata-kun must know that—that it would be better for him to move on without me. As if I don’t burden him so much already.

“Hinata-kun...” Trailing off, Komaeda nearly bites his tongue. Swallowing back bitterness and even some resentment, he pushed onwards. “I...have been acting immaturely lately.”

“You’re still young,” Hinata remarked and a strange smile twists at the corner of his lips. “I get it. It’s fine. I forgive you.”

“Someone like you won’t ever be forgiven,” he was told in the past, by himself and by others. But of course the penguin that could fly would tell him otherwise.

It’s ridiculous, but that ridiculousness, that audacity... I do still cherish it.

“Hinata-kun.” His own smile twitches on his face. “I...”

But I can’t just say any of that.

“I’m sorry...for my attitude.” He can say this much, at least. “I really do think things would be easier if you hated me, but—you’re just so stubborn...and eccentric, and I... I don’t want to hurt you. That’s why I...”

I’ve come across quite a dilemma.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever understand you and your feelings, and I’m not exactly used to being understood either,” he went on quietly. Hinata would still hear him, no matter how soft the words. “But maybe it would be better if we...reconciled, at least. If you knew that, at least, I don’t hate you either. In fact I...like you a lot...”

Hinata was quiet, but when he turned to face him, Komaeda was left breathless at the sight of that tired, warm smile.

God, if I could be killed right now...

“I already...” Hinata seems to think better of what he was about to say, so he just shakes his head and widens that smile. “I’m glad to hear it. Komaeda, I...”

“If you say it, I’ll definitely die,” Komaeda cut in seriously. “So, please, don’t. I-It’s taking a lot of courage just for me to be mature and upfront... I’ll definitely fall apart if you push it further, Hinata Hajime.”

Hinata does still, but he nodded.

“Got’cha. I won’t say it, then. Not now, at least. I’ll wait for when you’ll tell me it’s alright.”

When it’ll be alright—I wonder when that will be.

Right now, they stand in ruined shambles, but it won’t be that way forever. The world is getting rebuilt, the clouds dispersing, and lives are somehow, someway, being pieced back together. It might take decades, maybe even a century, and Komaeda’s positive that he won’t live to see it, but—

Maybe he will. He’ll just have to wait and see. For that—and for the time it’ll be alright to hear the words.

“Until then,” he said, still hesitant. “Let’s do our best to work together, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata sticks out his hand. Hinata’s smile is broad, and there’s a glimmer in his gaze. He thinks of Kamukura Izuru still lurking in those depths—but it’s Hinata Hajime who smiles at him, who is looking at him.

He tentatively takes Hinata’s hand, squeezes and shakes it.

“F-Friends?” he just barely chokes out over the sound of his pounding heartbeat.

“Friends,” Hinata agrees so easily that Komaeda could’ve shattered then and there.

I will forget this too, but...until it rots away or falls completely apart, I’m going to cling to this with everything I have. No matter how much it hurts and strains. That’s how—I know I’m still alive.

“Instead of just going to finish up scouting, can we rest for a little while longer?” he finds himself asking, tugging at Hinata’s hand. “Hinata-kun?”

“Uh...” Hinata does stumble a bit, regaining his balance even as his cheeks color. “Y-Yeah. That’s...fine.”

“Did you even sleep?” Komaeda frowned, quirking an eyebrow. “I wonder. If not, you should count yourself lucky that you have a concerned friend to make sure you do.”

Hinata burst out laughing. Komaeda, too, felt his face burn with red hot intensity.

“I’m lucky, yeah!” Hinata snickers, wiping at his eyes. “Real lucky. I could use more rest. You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

He did huff snootily as he dragged Hinata back to the tent. Hinata laid down, sighing contentedly as he did, relaxing more so as Komaeda rubbed his shoulder.

“I...really am lucky...” Hinata yawns. “I’m lucky that you’re still here.”

“If you say too much, my heart definitely won’t be able to take it,” Komaeda muttered. “But I guess I should be grateful.”

“Mm...” Hinata dozes. “Na...gito...”

It doesn’t take much longer for Hinata to fall asleep.

Komaeda sighs in return, ruffling the other’s hair tenderly.

“Hajime.”

[imekitty]

“Danny! Hey! What’s your blood type, Danny?”

Danny paused in the hallway as Paulina, Dash, Kwan, and Star walked up to him.

“O negative,” said Danny. “Why?”

“Oh, really? That’s perfect!” gushed Paulina. “Did you know that you can give blood to anyone, Danny? Literally anyone with any other blood type can receive type O negative blood. You’re a universal donor!”

Paulina cheerfully held out a flyer to him. He did not take it.

“The Casper High blood drive is tomorrow. The cheerleading squad has been put in charge of advertising.” She pressed the flyer closer to his chest, but he still wouldn’t take it. “Come on, Danny. You could be a hero to everyone with your blood type!”

He hesitated a moment longer, then took the flyer. “Thanks,” he said quietly before moving to walk away as fast as he could.

“You’re gonna donate blood, right, Fenton?” taunted Dash. “You’re not gonna wuss out about this, right?”

“Um...yeah, I’ll try to make it,” muttered Danny.

“I’m gonna watch for you, Fenton,” said Dash with a tone becoming even more derisive. “And if you don’t show up, I’m just gonna assume you’re an even bigger pussy than I already know you are.”

“Yeah, and a selfish one,” said Kwan. “How could you not want to do your part to save lives, Fenton?”

Do his part. To save lives.

If only they had any idea just how large his “part” was in saving lives these past few years.

“Yeah, okay,” said Danny more firmly. “Like I said, I’ll try to make it.”

He again moved to get away, but Dash’s powerful hand clamped on his shoulder.

“I know what that really means,” he said with a cruel smirk. “It’s during school hours, so you’re gonna be here anyway, Fenton. You just don’t want to because you’re scared. Is that it, Fentonpuss?”

Danny shrugged him off easily. Dash’s expression changed momentarily to mild surprise at Danny’s unexpected show of strength.

“All right, look.” Danny carefully studied each of the A-Listers and settled on Paulina’s face, which looked the least threatening. “It’s not that I’m afraid or even that I don’t want to. I just...can’t donate blood, okay?”

He handed the flyer back to Paulina. She did not take it but instead stared at it while creasing her brow in sober confusion.

“You can’t? What do you mean?” she asked.

“Yeah, is something wrong with you, Fenton?” asked Star.

“Oh, my God,” cried Dash loudly. “I get it. I totally get it.” He whooped. “You have HIV, don’t you, Fentonfag?”

Danny’s jaw dropped, sounds coming from his throat in strained sputters.

“Of course. I should’ve guessed. Yeah, you’re right, faggot. We don’t want your blood.” Dash snatched the flyer from Danny and slapped it back on the stack in Paulina’s hands.

Several students in the hallway had halted to listen in. Danny’s whole body heated as he stepped closer to the A-List.

“I do not have HIV,” he hissed in a low voice. “Don’t you dare start spreading that rumor around.”

“Then why can’t you donate blood?” asked Dash, not lowering his voice at all. “What’s wrong with your blood, fag?”

Danny leaned back from the group, inhaling deeply.

No. He didn’t have HIV.

But what he did have running through his blood would absolutely kill whoever received it in a transfusion.

His organs, his blood, every part of his body infused with ectoplasmic properties could never be useful to anyone else. This would forever be a way he could never be a hero to anyone.

“There are plenty of reasons apart from HIV why some people can’t donate blood,” he finally said in cool monotone.

“Then tell us your reason,” challenged Dash.

Danny stayed quiet for a moment. “It’s personal.”

“Personal. Right.” Dash sneered at him. “You’re either a pussy or a faggot, Fenton. Which do you want to go with?”

Danny engaged Dash in his staredown. There was once again no winning with the jock. Whatever convincing excuse Danny came up with, Dash either wouldn’t believe him or wouldn’t care. Dash would just believe whatever he wanted to believe.

He turned his attention back to Paulina, who looked neither aggressive nor judgmental. Only very bewildered.

“Thanks for letting me know, Paulina,” he said with a kind smile. “I’m sorry I can’t help out with the blood drive.”

He turned away from the group without another word, blocking out any resulting jeers.