#psychotic break cw

[dasmondkuss]

Face Claim: Inspired by Dark Choco Cookie from Cookie Run. *The artist seems to have deleted her post*

Name: Spring.

Last name: Popovik.

Age: 18 (Verse Dependet.)

Gender and pronouns: Non-Conforming | He/Him.

Sexuality: Pansexual.

Birthday and zodiac sign: March 12th | Pisces.

Physical appearance: Mid-length straight black hair with one white highlight on the left side. Red right eye, blind left eye with a scar across. Olive skin.

Height: 177 cm | 5’ 10"

Weight: 78 kg | 173 lb

Fashion style: Black.

Personality: INFP = Mediator.“Fortunately, like flowers in the spring, Mediators’ creativity and idealism can bloom even after the darkest of seasons. Although they know the world will never be perfect, Mediators still care about making it better however they can. This quiet belief in doing the right thing may explain why these personalities so often inspire compassion, kindness, and beauty wherever they go.”

Virtues: Empathetic, abstracted, passionate.

Weaknesses: Self-critical, self-isolating, vulnerable.

Past: cw: religion, cw: mental illness.

He was abandoned as a newborn in one last snowstorm before the official beginning of Spring. A priest who had come out to bless the village land found him tight inside blankets and other pieces of clothing as if whoever decided to give up on him wanted him to survive. The priest took him in and raised him as his son.

Spring was a lively and curious child, and the priest satisfied that curiosity by explaining everything through the lenses of his faith, preparing Spring to one day become a priest like him if Spring wished it. But that vision began to blur in the priest's mind when Spring was about to turn six.

Spring remembers the priest became strict. He didn't allow him to play outside any other day that wasn't Sunday after the service. Once he was back inside the church, the priest would force him to bathe with the Holy Water and repeat his prayers for God's forgiveness. Spring didn't question it; he was an obedient child who blindly wanted the love of God and the priest.

Spring believed it was all necessary; even when the bathing and the prayer transformed into praying while kneeling on sharp stones, his diet became restricted, and every failure in theoretical matters was sanctioned with physical punishment followed by seclusion in a dark room. He thought God wanted him stronger and unafraid of darkness.

The priest finally confessed to Spring that he wasn't his real father but that God had brought him to his arms for the greater good. God had spoken to him and told him that with a holy sacrifice of a creature who had defied death, the earth would be freed from sin—wars and famine would end, those who were sick would heal, and those who had passed would be cleansed and granted an entrance to Heaven. Ultimately, the priest would become immortal to evangelize.

Spring, far from being afraid, he was happy to offer his soul to God. He had been chosen; there couldn't be any bigger proof of how much God loved him.

On the Sunday before Spring turned 9 years old, he played with the martial arts instructor's son and confessed that he would be sacrificed on his birthday, and everyone would receive God's mercy. His friend seemed interested, asking for details about it—when, who, how?—he didn't hesitate to answer his question.

Spring wore a white dress; he drank wine and recited his prayer. The priest was coming with a dagger towards him, and he was shivering with excitement. But they were interrupted. A group of men holding different types of swords raided the church to stop the priest, who swung his dagger at Spring to finish the ritual, but the man pulled him before he could stab him, resulting in Spring's right eye being scratched by the blade.

Spring shouted, cried, and fought with all he had. He begged the men to stop as he was being pulled out of the church, but all that strength vanished when he saw the priest's bloodied hand dropping on the floor. He knew he was dead, and the ritual wouldn't be fulfilled.

Spring went into a catatonic state for a week. He was locked inside his body, but he was able to hear; he was aware of everyone saying that what had happened was wrong. They were using big words he'd never heard, but he could discern that the priest had an illness on the head that made him lie. Some favored God, some denied him, but they all agreed that God wouldn't demand the sacrifice of a child. Spring believed in those who favored God and said God's mercy was his real savior. But that was the last time he had faith in God.

If the priest had been able to invent a God, if people were able to talk about a different God, and some could live while denying God, then God couldn't exist at all.

Spring was taken into the care of the village swordsmen, who practiced traditional martial arts. When he was introduced to his options, he chose the ancient falx.

Spring learned quickly and thoroughly. There was more than technique or discipline; the blade had merged into him. He was accurate, controlled, and still relentless. For Spring, this had become the only time his soul wasn't tormented by the past with God or the future without it.

Some of his youth livelihood returned through the training and the sudden recognition of bigger martial schools visiting him from the city, inviting him to competitions and events where historical weaponry was displayed.

He had moved to the city but was constantly returning to the village. Until he received a call from his instructor's wife to let him know that their son—his friend—had died. Spring hung up the call; he was witnessed by his representative, who let him take the day for himself.

Spring walked out, but he was still on the phone. His friend's mother began laughing. She laughed for a long time and began mocking him. She reminded him of that night his husband saved him; it had been only because her son was the one who could take God's mercy instead. She rejoiced in Spring's desperation and added all the details of the sacrifice, step by step—when, who, how?—She then gave the phone to the priest, and Spring recognized his father's voice telling him he had to be abandoned because he had sinned. God had trusted him with his plan, and he had unveiled it to the world when it wasn't ready. He was a sinner and had no salvation.

Spring was drenched in the rain at the bus station connecting the city with the village. He had nothing besides his weapon in hand. He was confused but was overpowered by the desire for vengeance, a loathsome jealousy, and an unbearable sadness. However, he didn't take the bus. He could be a sinner, but he wasn't a killer. He had to learn to live with the fact that the priest and God had found someone—someone truly innocent—to deposit their mercy and love.

Then, God did exist, but Spring didn't have a God, as God had exiled him.

[splendidissimus]

2003 - Break

((Content warning: beating / domestic violence (dream), implied noncon (dream), loss of power control, accidental injuring loved one, hospital, loss of reality, mind invasion (minor) ))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 17: Touch aversion / "Leave me alone." ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: some

Angst level: 4/5

Draco's headspace: fear / guilt / irrational

((words: ~3100))

------------------------------------

Draco felt like he had barely fallen asleep when he was jerked awake by hands on his robes. He recognized Theo's face in the darkness and tried to get his brain together to figure out what was going on. "What's wr-"

"Shut the fuck up." Theo slammed him back. His head hit the headboard so hard it slammed into the wall and there was a cracking sound; he made a cut-off noise and felt light-headed, with pain shooting down his spine. "I am so fucking tired of your whining…"

"Get off…" He tried to be commanding, but his voice felt as faint as his head.

"What a surprise, more orders." Theo grabbed him under the chin, thumb and finger digging in behind his jaw, and forced his head back. The pain redoubled and his vision went blurry. Draco grabbing at his wrist did absolutely nothing to pull him off. 

"I try," Theo said. Draco realised he was drunk — drunk and completely honest, for once. "I am patient, and tolerant. But you just can't help being a piece of shit. You know I can't get away from you because of your fucking love potion," he slammed him back into the wall again with all the frustration in his voice, making Draco choke on a cry as pain shot all the way down his spine and clamped his skull, "so of course you're just going to exploit that as much as you can, because why would you do anything else? Order me around like one of your lackeys because you know I'll take it. Whine to me incessantly like a child because you know I'll put up with you when even your own parents won't. I'm tired—" he slammed him back into the wall again, making him choke on a cry and his vision pulse red, "—of listening to you!" 

"Stop…" It felt like a whimper. He weakly pulled at his arm, struggling to breathe, vision blurred by slow blooms of colour, except that he could still horribly clearly see Theo's face and the dark anger controlling it. "I'm sorry — please — I'll stop —" 

"Oh, right, you'll stop being yourself? Guess what, even if you somehow managed it, it wouldn't matter! It won't fix this! I'm trapped! I could have had a good wife! I could have sweet girlfriend who actually cares about me! I could just be picking up skanks in a pub! But no — I'm stuck with you!" 

His hand clenched around Draco's throat, hard crushing pain that made Draco claw desperately at his arm. Then he forced himself to let go and his hand seized into a fist and he punched him in the side of the head, and Draco cowered behind his arms.

"And you fucking know it. You fucking revel in it." He grabbed his arm and ripped it down so his shoulder wrenched. "You know I can't leave, so you fucking tease. A kiss every now and then as a reward? A fuck or two a year on special occasions? Just enough to keep me mollified, right? Just enough to keep me hanging on? And I should be happy with this? I should be honoured you let me have anything?" 

"I can't—" 

"You can." Theo shoved him down into the bed, gripping his throat. "And you will." 

--

Draco came to with a jerk, choking and gasping, scrambling up in the bed. "Nott!" he croaked, voice hitching in a sob. "Theo!" 

The connecting door between their rooms burst open, and Theo rushed in, face twisted up in concern. "It's all r—"

No no no— Draco slashed his hand out to cut off his words, and a shallow but bloody cut bloomed across Theo's chest after it with a deep gasp. "How could you?" Words tumbled out in a half-sobbed scream. "You can't just�� Even if I…" 

"Draco." Theo froze where he was, holding his chest, making an effort to keep his voice calm. "What is it? What did I do?"

"What did—? You just—!" He clutched at his throat where there was a phantom echo of Theo's seizing fingers. 

"It was a dream," Theo assured him in a calm, reasonable voice. He cautiously crept closer while holding his bloody hand out as though to hold him back. "I couldn't hurt you. I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to, because you can do this, right? So I didn't — it was just a dream." 

"It couldn't be a dream… I was…" He grabbed his hair… his head didn't really hurt. He had such clear memories of the pain of having his skull cracked, how it ran all the way down his body and hurt to move, and now it was just gone… like it had never really been there. How could that be right? It was so real, it couldn't be a dream—

He gripped his head tightly and screamed into his knees. Something had to be real!

Theo reached the bed and touched his hands. A half-formed thought bloomed — he was coming to hold him down again — and he reflexively thought a blasting curse that threw him into the wall with a small explosion and a crash of breaking shelves. 

Theo—! He didn't mean to do that! He reached out for a second before he stopped himself; he scrambled off the bed and caught a single glimpse of him lying there. He didn't dare check if he was okay, he'd probably hurt him again. He had to get away. He ran into his mother in the doorway and spun them around and pushed her toward Theo, backing away into the hall to put space between them. "Stay away from me!" He only had an impression of her startled face as he fled down the stairs. 

With a formless surge of fear, he saw his father still up, in the parlour, coming toward the noise, and he threw a binding jinx at him to keep him away. He heard breaking glass. Then he was outside in the fresh air and swiftly Disapparated. 

--

Lucius recovered his composure quickly and repaired the wineglass he'd dropped when he ducked Draco's spell. The front doors were standing open, but Draco was gone; he closed them with a flick of his wand and took the stairs up. "What is going on?" 

"Did you stop him?" Narcissa asked from down the hall. He found her in Draco's room, with some annoyance. What was the point of Nott if he couldn't handle Draco's outbursts? But the room was a mess, and Nott was bleeding, while she worked to stop it. 

"No, he left. What happened?" he repeated. 

"He had a dream he thought was real," Nott said faintly, holding his chest. Lucius looked at the damage to the room again, how it was all centred around Nott, and the injuries to him, and saw instantly how this would be the perfect opportunity to pass off an actual attack as Draco's erratic behaviour. He looked at Nott swiftly and met his eyes, catching his mind unawares… and for once, he found no sign of a lie there.

Nott didn't realise he'd been read, and tried to take a deep breath. "He didn't snap—" He had to stop and cough, trying to breathe, again. Blasted in the chest, probably. "—snap until he realised it was a dream." 

Then it wasn't the content of the dream that was the problem, it was that he had mistaken a dream for reality in the first place. He thought he understood. "I'll get him," he said, and followed Draco.

--

When Lucius Apparated to St. Mungo's, he could immediately hear Draco yelling. "You need to do something about it!" He was out of sight around the corner from the Apparition zone, yelling at someone in intake. 

"Sir, calm down—"

"Get away from me!" There was a crash and Lucius came to the door — a Healer was on the floor and the receptionist backing away from the desk, and the only other person there was a patient waiting with a squash for a nose, looking over the top of a Prophet. 

He threw a silent stunning spell at Draco while his back was turned — hardly honourable, but  just to get this situation under control before he did serious damage. 

But Draco threw up a shield spell to intercept it somehow in the instant he shouldn't have even known it was coming, and spun around, fluidly grabbing a half dozen of the floating candles with a gesture and flinging them at him. They bounced off the wall when he stepped back behind the doorway. 

"Draco, stop," he commanded. 

"Get away!"

"Drop your wand!" he heard called from the other side of the room, security coming from the street entrance or from a higher floor, perhaps. And of course that didn't work for a variety of reasons, and he heard Draco engage them while telling them to leave him alone. He came back around the door and found two guards trying to Stun him. He joined them; one of them would be able to take him down before he hurt someone.

In theory. In practise…

Whose brilliant idea was it to teach Draco to duel wandlessly? Oh right, Severus kindly taught him not to use a wand, and he started duelling when Narcissa cut him off from their vaults. Well, they had created a monster. He could cast magic so quickly and seamlessly that he hardly even seemed like a wizard using spells. He easily held off the three of them, performing not just simple defensive magic, but also complex calculations like transfiguring the wall to wrap around one of the guards and hold her. 

When he raised his wand to bind Draco while he was distracted, Draco gestured at him with a sudden glance and his arm fell instantly limp and literally boneless, flopping like a glove filled with water. His wand flew back into the entry room somewhere. Draco's attention was already turned on another threat, flinging the desk into the air between him and a flurry of spells that were no longer merely intended to Stun and bind, as they realised the level of threat he posed.

"Draco!" he snapped in his most commanding voice, because he knew Draco would respond to the sound of authority the way he needed — he looked. Lucius met his eyes and applied Legilimency with all the force instead of finesse possible, to really make him repel the invasion. 

It was extremely unpleasant; it took no effort whatsoever to get into Draco's mind, and it was sheer chaos. He had always been overly emotional, but he had been taught from a young age to control that and compartmentalise it properly. Now that had broken down into a howling maelstrom of impressions and feelings that conveyed almost nothing but layers and layers of different kinds of fear. 

He couldn't withstand that assault for long, but it worked. While they both flinched away from the contact, Draco was too distracted to block the guards' spells. Two stunning spells hit Draco almost at once, and he crumpled. He hoped Draco's heart was strong enough to take it. 

"Master's wand," a small voice behind him said, and he looked down. Sometime in the chaos, Tolly had Apparated in with Nott, whose injuries were apparently beyond home remedy, and who was now leaning heavily on the wall where he could see through the doorway, holding his chest and breathing laboriously. The elf was holding up his wand with deferentially drooping ears. 

A surge of revulsion at the sight of an elf with a wand showed on his face, and he snatched it up without acknowledging it. "Inform Narcissa," he instructed. She cringed a bow and vanished. 

--

After getting his arm tended to, Lucius waited around in the café on the top floor until morning when he was allowed to visit. The delay gave him an unfortunate amount of time to consider what broken impressions he had taken from Draco's mind, and he didn't like what he saw there.

When it was time, he found Draco in ward 49: long-term patients whose minds had been affected by magic. It was grim. The ward itself tried to be cheerful enough, in clean neutral colours and littered with the residents' personal belongings, but it was still a half dozen helpless people stored in a locked room without an ounce of privacy or dignity. And it was seeming ever more likely that it would eventually be Draco's permanent fate.

They wouldn't leave him here, of course. Even if he needed permanent care, they would bring him home and bring someone in to provide it. But the haunting spirit was the same.

The witch watching the ward was occupied with one of the Longbottoms having a fit, and he went on to find Draco's bed without announcing himself. He sat beside the bed with his arms crossed, staring at him. He wasn't sure if Draco was asleep or unconscious, either sedated or Stunned, but he looked like he was where he belonged, and that itself was unpleasant.

Not long after the beginning of visiting hours, someone else entered the ward. Lucius listened without moving as he approached the ward matron and asked after Draco.

"Is everything all right, Auror? He was brought in unconscious and hasn't woken yet."

"Just following up." 

He finally got up and stepped out to meet them just before they arrived at Draco's bed, pulling the curtains closed to hide him. The matron showed surprise that he was there and greeted him pleasantly, but he focused on the Auror, a portly older man with a grey moustache and a bowler named Janssen. "He's still asleep. I take it this is about the incident last night."

"It is." 

"My son had an… episode. I think you'll find that no one was seriously hurt." 

"Spells were exchanged in the hospital. We obviously have to check on that." He flipped his notebook open. "I see here that you, a Healer, and two responding guards required treatment after this 'episode', as well as a Theodore Nott." 

"That's a private matter." 

"When it sends people to the hospital, domestic matters become our business." 

"I didn't say 'domestic'," he snapped. "Nott is his assistant." 

"Who he injured?" 

That was a question. He was fishing. Just like an Auror, barging in where he didn't belong, when he didn't know anything… He took hold of his anger and pushed it away. "What do you want?"

The Auror looked back at him and saw he wasn't going to play along. "To hear his side of the story. Can you wake him up?" He nodded to the matron. 

Pulling back the curtains to expose the sleeping Draco, she stepped up beside his bed and uncapped what looked like a potion, but instead let out a strong scent of flowers. Lilies, daffodils, grass, and water - it smelled just like their gardens in the summer. Had he really been here so often that they had these tricks on hand to keep him calm?

"All right, Draco, honey," she was saying in a soothing voice as she roused him with a spell. He opened his eyes calmly, and she smiled. "That's it, welcome back…"

Lucius could not have said what he saw that told him everything was about to go horribly wrong, but he trusted his instincts and stepped backward. In the next instant, Draco cast a shield spell so powerful it flashed in a visible violet orb around him, and shoved everything — nurse, Auror, table, curtain dividers, the bed on the other side it — ten feet away from him in every direction. Someone screamed. 

"Stay away!" 

Janssen was thrown to the floor, and he pulled his wand before even getting his feet back under him. Lucius whipped his out and disarmed him before he could use it. 

"What are you doing, Malfoy?" The Auror scrambled back to his feet and snatched his wand off the floor without taking his eyes off him. 

Lucius held up his wand in two fingers, overtly unthreatening. "He is not fighting." 

And it was true. Draco had grabbed his hair and pressed back against the head of the bed, one hand outstretched and shaking, hiding his face. He hadn't cast another spell and wasn't even watching them.

"You attacked an Auror — you'll go back t—"

"I stopped you escalating a volatile situation," he interrupted. Threatening him with Azkaban in range of Draco's hearing and magic was a dangerous idea, he had a feeling. "He is not fighting," he reiterated, and dropped into a low, controlled voice. "He is terrified." 

"Stop this!" the ward matron commanded. If she minded being thrown about by Draco's spell, she didn't show it at all. "The both of you need to leave, you're upsetting them. It's all right, honey." She rubbed Frank Longbottom's shoulder to relax him. Somewhere in his broken mind, he must have remembered being an Auror, because he was standing in front of his wife and a cowering Lockhart with his arm outstretched as though he had a wand, glaring at him and Janssen. 

Lucius took a step back to defuse the situation. For the moment, he would cooperate. "Stay away from Draco," he warned her. "He's not trying to hurt anyone; he's lashing out in panic when people try getting close enough to touch him." 

"That won't be a problem," she said, her tone of voice incongruously soothing and attention still on Longbottom, getting him to lower his arm. Perhaps they responded to tone rather than words. "No one wants to scare anyone, do we?" 

"I'll be relieving him of his wand first," Janssen said firmly, making no move to leave.

"He isn't using a wand," Lucius told him flatly. 

The Auror glanced at Draco swiftly and then looked hard at him. "Accidental magic?" 

He clenched his jaw rather than admit to it. That would have been an embarrassment ten years ago. Even fifteen years ago he'd basically had control of his magic before he even had a wand. Now to admit that the family harboured a full-grown adult guilty of such emotional and magical… incontinence… 

"Out, gentlemen," the matron commanded, sweeping them with a steely stare. 

Lucius put his wand away and pointedly waited for the Auror to precede him out into the corridor. The door audibly locked behind them.

"This is a dangerous situation," Janssen was saying, scribbling himself some notes. "Uncontrolled magic of this magnitude… if it is uncontrolled…"

"Do you see which ward you are in?" he demanded in a low, sharp voice, his anger barely reined in behind it. Lunatics. Every patient in this ward was a lunatic. 

Every last one. 

"Leave. Him. Alone." 

Janssen looked at the Janus Thickey ward plaque for a silent second, then left without another word.

[gor3sigil]

I have to share a story about why I HATE the term "trauma dumping".

So basically, we were at my at the time partner's house with friends of them and we were talking about mental health.

I don't remember exactly how we came to this but one woman started talking about psychosis and her sister who is schizophrenic.

She had a lot of preconception about this and, while I am not schizophrenic, I dealt with psychosis and hallucinations.

So I started to talk about my experiences with that, stating AGAIN that I wasn't schizophrenic but I thought it was an interesting point of view.

Some other people started asking questions so I answered them, asking here and there if it was okay for me to talk about it, and nobody, INCLUDING the woman who started the conversation in the first place, said anything.

And at one point I saw she was uncomfortable and asked her if she'd rather drop the subject.

And then, she BLEW UP on me saying that I was trauma dumping, that she felt like she was partaking in a conversation she NEVER ASKED to partake in (again, she was the one who brought up the subject), that I was being insensitive and over sharing shit and that she didn't like it.

Like, bitch, I asked a bunch of time if it was okay, you were the one talking about these symptoms without even living it and trying to teach people some crappy over the counter shit, but now that she wasn't the Main Character with the Knowledge it became an issue and I was the problem.

I know that I'm open about my experiences and tend to talk about it but I ALWAYS make sure that people on the other end are okay with me sharing this. This was just utter bullshit.

And online or IRL, I just noticed that the term "trauma dumping" is just the easy way out of a conversation that makes you feel uncomfortable while putting the blame on the person doing it.

You can absolutely put boundaries, but don't you dare guilt someone just to avoid being seen as an asshole and make yourself clean of anything. It's healthy to state that you are uncomfortable talking about things, but you can do so without making up shit about others.

[winepresswrath]

Armand's simpering little "and I never have" has taken on new dimensions for me. Technicality king and also I think very in keeping with his whole malign fairy creature deal. You can tell him not to hurt the bae, but you should really specify what "hurt" entails. Is chopping someone's hands off really hurting them? If they have annoyed you very much I mean.

-questions Armand might pose to Lestat that inspire him to leave the country

[crowpunkcognitivedecline]

i always think it’s obvious when i’m posting high but then i realize that while that’s probably true it’s not obvious when i’m posting sober

mind altering medications + schizotypy + autism + brain snake broken = always sounding high in different ways or whatever

[woodlandscab1n]

Wakes up.

Feels my heart going ten miles an hour, wants to go back to sleep again.

I wish I wasn't explosion sound effect holder. No yeah put all the anxiety, psychosis, trauma into one guy and make em host, then take em away from host so he can freak out about it. Great job brain now you've rlly done it.

[sclfmastery]

"Fire...fire. The Citadel. The portals on that moon. Fire follows me, eh? So. Did I do this for you or....or me?"

The Master is once more a resident of the Doctor's TARDIS, inside which his TARDIS sleeps. Free--but is he? He has left their bed. Starting a fire in so extensive a laboratory is no difficult feat. He is Bertha Rochester, madwoman in the Victorian attic of Jane Eyre, a title self-inflicted, because the old gray Scotsman never meant the Vault that way, but it feels right to the Spymaster now, purple shirt open, pants rolled up at the hem to look like Hers, one sock slipped down to the ankle, the other not. He is Bertha Rochester with a torch made of bits of wood soaked in gasoline, setting room after room ablaze.

"Fire. I killed them all, didn't I." Brain's soup these days. Silver soup. Cyberium telling me to convert and kill like the worst of evangelists. Fire, fire, fire. Burned it.

'Leaving love notes for you on their graves,' the song goes.

He tilts his head, soot coating his features, blaze backlighting their disturbing expression of soft wonder in violent orange light. When I told you to ask me why, even that was just ..just. Indulgence. You didn't care for my gift. You just wanted it to stop. Did I think I could have a cute coffeeshop reunion with you, after killing every elder in our childhood home?

There is no point. There is no point. There is no point.

Never, you said. Too late now. Too late probably ten, twenty faces ago. Probably too late the moment Torvic of House Fordfarding stopped breathing.

"I guess this is bad too. You might get burned." He tosses the torch aside and sits down. It's hot and he knows it, but he can't seem to move.

I'm not well. I have nothing you want. And I'm no longer entitled to any of your time. I am purposeless.

"...... help me."

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

the king of sex

pairing: javi x reader

cws/tags: p in v, m! receiving oral, unprotected sex, handcuffs, coworkers, sex as stress relief, pwp, not beta read

summary: almost no plot, literally javi is just grouchy so reader offers him sex (but handcuffs him) ... in the office... they really just kinda give up on the case at the end lmao

a/n: i like to imagine the voiceover of steve going "in case you were wondering, this is the asshole..." at the beginning of this fic

wc: 3k

You're at your wits end with Javier Peña. He's known to be (at the very least) kind of a dick. You're fairly sure it's unintentional, just his natural demeanor, but he's also made no efforts to remedy his behavior. He's an asshole because he's grumpy and he's grumpy because he's stressed. And he becomes more stressed and more grumpy and more of an asshole when you provoke him. You have the practiced self-restraint to bite back your snide remarks until he's out of earshot.

It hits you one day when he's particularly irritated as there's a huge roadblock in the case against Escobar that he can't seem to charm his way past - he's tried a wad of cash, a gun to the head, and of course, sex. He's grumbling about whatever-the-fuck when he slams his hands down on his desk with a loud, "Goddamnit!" He's lucky he works with you and not someone over 50 who would've certainly had a heart attack with how startling it was.

You could say 'no harm, no foul', but enough is enough. Javier Peña is inching his way towards 40 and needs to learn a thing or two about civil and professional behavior.

"Look, I get that you're upset right now, but it's not necessary or appropriate-"

"I don't need a lecture from you," he snaps.

"I wasn't lecturing you. I was being nice."

You were being nice, but your tone quickly takes on the bitterness that's been building inside you for weeks.

"If you were nice, you would let it go." His words are slightly muffled by the cigarette he holds between his lips. 

"Are you even hearing yourself? I was being sympathetic and diplomatic. I could've said way worse things to you."

"Go ahead. Maybe I'd appreciate your honesty."

The smoke blown in your direction when he fully turns to face you is the final straw. 

"Okay," you say, taking the deep breath you need to form the next string of words that leave your mouth. "Would you shut the fuck up for one fucking second?! I don't know if all the whores you fuck have been telling you that your voice is sexy but you should know that I'm tired of fucking hearing it."

"Wow, chica. You've got a mouth on you. Could be of better use but-"

"No," you cut him off with an accusatory finger pointed in his direction. "I'm not just going to sit here and twirl my hair and giggle at your sexual harrassment. Sorry if that's what you're used to."

"I don't think it's harassment since you didn't even wait to hear the full sentence. You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I don't care. You should get used to women not stroking your ego because someday soon your good looks will be gone and you'll have nothing but your shitty personality."

"So you think I'm good-looking?"

"That's what you took from that statement? It doesn't matter if you're good-looking because everything else about you is terrible."

"What do you want me to do? Cry? Grovel? Because I don't care that much about your opinion, and I'm done having this conversation."

You don't speak for the rest of the day, but you're in the office well-past daytime. You're on a time crunch, so you cooperate in silence so as not to get your asses handed to you by the ambassador or your heads put on a stick by the cartel. Sometime after everyone else has gone home - which makes Javi particularly pissed - he gets a phone call. You do not know what the person on the other line is saying, and Javi only speaks in Spanish, and says very few words before he slams the handset down so hard the phone falls off his desk.

He looks like he's about to have a psychotic break when he notices that the phone is broken.

"You need to calm down."

"I'm trying to calm down. I'm always trying to calm down."

"Maybe you need a Valium prescription or something because it's not working."

"Are you not stressed? Do you not care about catching Escobar?"

"Of course I am, and of course I do, but I know how to take care of my stress."

"Fine. Then, tell me how you do it."

"First off, you need to take a break, step away from your work. Stand up, take a walk, sit down somewhere else where you can't look through those folders anymore."

He stands up, maintaining a level of eye-contact that says he's determined to disprove your methods.

You motion for him to sit in a different chair and he does with the same permanent scowl plastered across his face.

"Now what? What else do you suggest?"

"I usually put on a movie or take a hot bath or…" You stop yourself before saying it.

"We don't have a VCR in here or a bathtub, so tell me what the third option is before I lose my mind."

"You know…" You make a motion that's supposed to indicate masturbation.

"You're saying I should jerk off? Right now? In this office?"

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never done it before."

"Not while you're here."

"Do you care if I'm here?"

"You would care. You just asked me to stop making sexual remarks about you earlier."

"Because your remarks were insulting and uncalled for and you were using them to deflect from the problem at hand."

"I don't get it. Are you saying you want to watch me jerk off?"

Truth be told, you wouldn't mind watching him get off. It’s not like you haven’t thought of it before. Seeing him finally vulnerable, undressed. Hearing his breath hitch, the choked out moans he struggles to hold back. His eyes closed, head thrown back, the sweat beading on his forehead, his lips parted -

"If that's what you want. But, I can do you one better."

At this point, you're just satisfying your own fantasy. You're more selfish than Javi, but he doesn’t need to know that.

For the first time in weeks his lips curve into a smile. "Yeah? You want to?"

"If it'll make you calm down and you swear on your life that you will never tell anyone that we did this."

"Deal."

"It better be. Or I will hand your ass over to Escobar."

"You're gonna make me go soft if you talk about him."

You're hard? Already? you think but don't say. Instead, you take a not-so-subtle glance at the front of his jeans. 

"What? You offered me sexual favors. Of course I'm hard."

You approach him and he waits for you to slide into his lap and kiss him. It's sloppy, wet, tongue-tangled, teeth mashing together. You pull back nearly panting, and you begin to understand why women let him get away with things.

"I have one more condition."

"Lay it on me."

"I'm in charge."

"You've been in charge, cariño."

He hasn't called you that in at least a month - after you begged him to stop. You insisted he call you by your name because ‘this is a work environment’. And nicknames make you weak in the knees. But you can't tell him that being on a first name basis with him is almost worse. Every time he says your name it goes straight to that debauched part of your brain that you try to suppress.

You nod and stand up, and he says, mildly offended but mostly desperate, "Does 'in charge' mean you're leaving me high and dry?"

"No, I'm getting something." You walk to his desk. "Where are your handcuffs?"

You have handcuffs too, but there's something more enticing about restraining him with his own. 

"Top right hand drawer. Why? Which one of us is getting handcuffed?"

"Take a guess," you say walking back towards him with the cuffs in hand.

"It's me, isn't it?"

"You're so smart, Javi," you tease. Even though you’re joking, you swear you hear his breathing change. You rarely praise him because he rarely deserves it. Maybe you should do it more often, you think. 

"Take off your shirt first and put your hands behind your back."

He does as he's asked. Javi is suddenly more obedient when your tits are eye-level with him. "I can't believe I'm doing this. It better not be some sort of trap."

"It's not. I just think it'll be fun for both of us if I do this to you." The handcuffs click as you attach them to his wrists. It’s the only sound that fills the rare silence in the office. 

"Do you hear that?" you ask with a serene smile.

"No, what?"

"Nothing. It's quiet in here for the first time ever."

"Not for long if you're any good."

"I am very good, I'll have you know."

"Have me know."

You straddle his lap and run your hands along the smooth skin of his broad chest. You lock eyes with him, tilt your head slightly and part your lips like you're going to kiss him, but when he leans in, you pull back.

You stifle a laugh when he leans forward, trying to reach your lips. It’s his only option as his handcuffs prevent him from grabbing your cheeks and pulling you towards him. 

"That's fucked up," he says.

You're not cruel so you kiss him for real. Your tongue brushes against him and you arch your body towards him. You kiss him until you need to come up for air.

"You're not gonna pull back and leave me hanging this time, are you?"

"No, not unless you do something to deserve it."

"Like this?" he asks before biting your bottom lip gently.

"No, not like that," you whisper against his lips. You place featherlight kisses from his jaw to his collarbone, lips ghosting along his skin, teasing.

"You're making me more stressed, chica."

You hum, ignoring him, and then making your way up to the nape of his neck where you lightly suck and nip at his skin.

"Oh, fuck me," he groans.

"Be patient," you say softly as you place your hand on his hard cock, still covered by his jeans.

You palm him slowly, looking up into his eyes when you begin to unbuckle his belt. You wonder what kind of underwear he's wearing - is he a boxers type of guy? Briefs? Boxer-briefs? Every guess is incorrect, you find, as you unzip his jeans - he's gone commando.

"I knew you were a slut, Peña, but no underwear with jeans? That's bold."

"Easy access."

"Easy, that's for sure," you say, as you work together to get his pants down to his ankles. "And yet, very hard," you remark, taking his cock in your hand.

His hips twitch and you can tell he's trying not to fuck your fist, knowing you won't take kindly to it. You're in charge - that's the deal. You spit into your hand and watch as a bead of pre-cum forms at the tip of his dick. His breath hitches when you run your finger over it before you stroke him, increasing the speed of your hand gradually.

You dare to get on your knees and lap at the head, reveling in the way his head lolls back. Dying to get his eyes back on you, you take his cock as far as you can into your mouth - though you hadn't initially planned on sucking him off as he doesn't deserve it. His eyes fly open and he stares at you slack-jawed, his mouth slowly forming an 'o'. When he gets close, you stop, pull back, and stand up.

"Huh?" he asks in an uncharacteristically pathetic voice.

"You were enjoying yourself a little too much." You shrug.

"Yeah, I was enjoying myself. I was gonna cum soon." He pouts, lower lip jutting out and making him look boyish despite the mustache on his upper lip.

"I know."

"Are you not gonna let me cum? Is that what this is? A plan to torture me?"

"No, you'll get to cum eventually. This is an exercise in patience."

"I thought this was supposed to be stress-relief."

"Correct me if I'm wrong but it doesn't seem like you're thinking about work at all right now."

"I'm not."

"What are you thinking about?"

"What do you think?"

"I think, I want you to tell me." You sit down atop the desk across from the one he's sitting at and spread your legs. You watch his eyes as he figures out what you're doing.

"I'm thinking about what you'd look like without that skirt on. I'd rip it off you."

"I'm glad your hands are tied then," you say as you unzip it and let it fall to the floor. "Because it was expensive."

Javi doesn't say much about your black lace panties but his eyes are fixated on them. You begin to unbutton your top and his eyes follow your fingers as you slowly reveal your bra, and then your tits. This is the most he's paid attention to you in your entire time working here.

"God, I wish I could touch you," he says. "You're so fuckin' hot."

"I'm actually quite chilly," you say with a coy grin as you walk over to him and grab his shirt from the desk in front of him. You put it on, but don't button it up so your tits still peek through.

"It looks so much better on you."

"Thanks," you say with a genuine smile. "I expected it to smell like cigarettes but it smells nice."

He half-laughs. "What does it smell like?"

"You." You slide your panties to the side and begin to touch yourself nonchalantly.

"This is so unfair. You get to touch yourself, but I don't."

"I thought you would like watching me."

"I do, you have no idea how much I do."

You intended to tease him, but you find yourself going further, even slipping a finger inside yourself. When you add another, you moan, "Javi."

It's barely a tease anymore. His name slips out just as it does when you're alone in your bedroom with your hands in the same position. But now, you're watching Javi who’s watching you with his pink cheeks and leaking cock - all for you, because of you.

"Yeah? Feels good?"

"Uh-huh." You wish it was him, so much so that you get up from the desk and walk towards him. You sit in his lap, wearing nothing but his shirt, letting your skin touch his.

"You're so wet, cariño."

The way his voice rasps does something to you, grinding on him isn't enough. You need him inside you.

As you position yourself so that his tip is at your entrance, you ask, "promise you won't come inside me?"

"Promise. I'll let you know when I'm close."

You believe him because you have to, because you're going to fuck him anyway. You need him. So, you nod and sink down on his cock. You figured he'd be big - his tight jeans don't hide very much though you try not to stare, lest he catch you doing so, but you still whimper at the stretch.

"You're doing great, cariño."

You don't expect it to feel as good as it does, nor do you expect it to drain your stamina the way that it does. Your legs are shaking by the time you get close to the edge.

"You're struggling, querida," Javi says. "I can help, but you have to let me out of these."

"Yeah," you say, standing up to grab the key. He sighs at the loss of your wetness surrounding him.

You uncuff him and he grabs your hips gently, helping you back into the position you were in previously.

"I've got you," he says, and you trust that he does.

You let your head rest upon his shoulder, and when you moan, he can feel your breath on his skin - he can barely hear you over the sound of your skin meeting his over and over, the slick sounds of your arousal adding another layer to the pornographic chorus of your noises.

Your names are traded back and forth, both of your voices getting progressively needier. One of his hands slides under your - his - shirt to stroke the bare skin of your back as the other remains steady on your ass. You bite into his shoulder despite the fact that no one is in the office to hear you. You get a groan in response and you can tell his orgasm is approaching too.

"Gonna cum," he says. "Where do you want it?"

"Inside," you say because it's the truth.

It's like you've cast a spell on him or rewired his brain. He should not cum inside you but he does. His whole body jolts as euphoria washes over him.

Your walls clamp down around him and your fingernails dig into his flesh, and you've never been high but there's no way cocaine feels this good. If you could crush an orgasm up into a powder, you'd be rich.

When you come back to reality, you're faced with Javi's beautiful brown eyes and a smile.

"Thank you," he says. "I feel a lot better."

You're beginning to envision your happily ever after when you stand up and you hear Javi say, "Oh fuck."

"What?" You say, looking down and watching your mistake drip out of you.

"I think we just created another problem to be stressed about."

"I'm on the pill. We'll be fine. And, if you're stressed, we can always do it again."

"You're right. I think we need to give it another shot. You said baths are relaxing, right? We could try it in a bathtub, maybe even in the shower."

You shake your head. "Uh-huh," you say sarcastically. "And since movies are relaxing, we should do it in the theater."

"That's a great idea, actually."

"Yeah? You think risking an arrest would help your stress?"

"I don't know, baby. I guess we'll have to find out."

Maybe you have yet to catch the King of Cocaine, but tonight, you feel satisfied as you climb into bed with the King of Sex.

[earlgreydream]

wicked. | feyd rautha x reader

1.2k words - betraying feyd rautha has dangerous consequences. some nasty little smut to celebrating Dune 2 being released on streaming <3

cw: highly dubcon, mentions of blood, feyd rautha being canonically psychotic!

smut inspired by @little-diable's love for psychotic feyd rautha... she dragged me to the dark side <3 if you enjoyed this, please like, reblog & comment to keep your favorite creators motivated!

“go,” the commandment shuddered through the room, feyd’s servants skittering away like the beetles on the surface of arrakis.

not you. no, you knew better. the young baron wordlessly pointed a long finger down at the ground in front of him, demanding you kneel before him.

your movements were instinctual, sinking to your knees where he pointed, obeying him without hesitation. you kept your eyes trained downward, focusing on the sheer fabric that hung helplessly off your limbs.

“little pet,” feyd spoke, permission for you to lift your gaze.

there was a terrible stillness in his chambers, the only movement the heavy rise of his muscular chest as he inhaled. your mouth tasted of metal, fingertips tingling with anticipatory dread.

a crazed smile slowly crossed his face, pulling his features taught, stretching skin across bone until all that was left was a wicked grin. your spine turned to ice, your body going numb as his tongue slithered out of his mouth. the wet muscle dragged up the blade of his knife, wild eyes never leaving yours as he toyed with you, dragging out the execution of your fate. you yearned to tear your eyes away but you maintained his gaze, determined not to show the fear that ate you from the inside out.

feyd dropped the knife to his side, shoulders sagging as his head cocked, expression going slack. he moved as if he were a puppet on strings, a puppet controlled by the bene gesserit — the knife an extension of his drooping arm.

“you thought you could… betray house harkonnen and I wouldn’t find out?” he hissed, the words dripping off his tongue like honey.

you didn’t answer — the question wasn’t an invitation to speak. he knew the truth, and so did you. the once-loyal servant of na-baron feyd rautha harkonnen had tried to escape. your attempt to flee to the safety of your messiah had been fruitless, caught swiftly and dragged back before your cruel master.

feyd sneered down at you, lifting the blade and tracing it along your exposed collarbones, not quite pressing hard enough to break the skin.

“the only one that you need to seek salvation from is me.”

you exhaled sharply as the knife tore through your garment, shredding it to pieces. you knelt completely bare at his feet, the fabric pooling around you like white blood. the blade’s tip pricked your stomach, daring you to squirm. he slowly dragged it up your torso, between the valley of your breasts, around the delicate curve of your throat.

“look at you, nothing more than easy prey. it would take nothing to kill you,” feyd taunted your inferiority.

he delighted at the small mewl that escaped your lips as his blade broke the perfect smoothness of your throat. the sting was sharp, warm blood trickling from the thin wound. you forced yourself to keep your gaze down, not looking at your tormenter that you had so foolishly betrayed.

at one time, you had hope of a messiah. the bene gesserit whispered stories of your lisan al gaib, and the freedom he could bring. the stories had slowly chipped away at your loyalty to house harkonnen, creeping into your brain and changing your heart. the promise that something better had lured you out of submission, now crumbled to pieces.

you startled as feyd rautha fell to his knees, leaning in to press his hot tongue to the skin that bled. he yanked your head back, a hand twisted in your hair, as his teeth grazed your breast, smearing blood.

feyd was practically on top of you — pushing you to the floor, his cock hard against your thigh. the baron toyed with his pet, nipping at your delicate skin, wanting to mark you everywhere.

you’d tried to escape — needing the clear reminder of who it was you belonged to.

another sharp pain bloomed in your shoulder, soothed a moment later by his tongue. he pushed your face away when you tried to look, wanting to see the face of your master. feyd nursed the bite, wet lips kissing the skin he had just broken, admiring his work as he rutted lazily against your leg.

his pale lips were smeared with your blood when he sat up, stroking his cock as he stared down at you. his knife was still in the other hand, twisting it so the hilt faced you.

“your treasonous little witch cunt isn’t worthy of me,” he hissed with a lopsided grin, dragging the black hilt between your hips.

you swallowed the cry that rose in your throat, refusing to give him the satisfaction as he kicked your knees further apart. feyd dragged the hilt through your sopping folds before bringing it to his lips to taste. he looked psychotic, bloody tongue licking your taste off of the weapon.

a scream died in your throat as he slowly impaled you on the knife's hilt, watching your body swallow it, stretching over the harsh metal. the na-baron's laughter was terrible and sickening as your hips rose, helplessly struggling against the unwanted intrusion.

you found yourself yearning for his cock as the rough hilt dragged sharply against the tight walls of your cunt, humiliated and reduced to nothing as feyd fucked you with the object.

your skin was streaked with blood and the black paint that he was decorated with, hair messy and eyes wild from his torture. once he grew bored of toying with you, he stood, walking across the cold room to grab restraints.

"you will not touch me," he hissed, binding your wrists to the wall as he wrestled you onto your back.

"na-baron, please," your pathetic beg earned a glare.

his eyes flashed briefly before he was kneeling down and pulling a rough fabric between your teeth, gagging your protests before shoving you back down to the stone floor. he hissed through lips pulled over bared teeth, animalistic and violent as he slithered behind you.

for a moment you didn't feel him, a split second of solace before he slapped your cunt, sending you reeling forward in pain. he relished in your strangled noise of pain, pulling your hair to prevent you from hiding your face from him. he wanted to see the pain and fear in your eyes, to rob you of something far worse than your faith.

strong hips rocked into yours as he fucked you, his cock even thicker than the handle of his knife, splitting you open and tearing you apart. the gag muffled your desperate howls, skin blooming with scratches as feyd clawed at your body. he tore you open from the inside, taking every inch of you - every ounce of your being, exerting complete possession.

when you crawled away from house harkonnen, feyd rautha dragged you back.

feyd rautha's deep groan reverberated through his chest, echoing off of stone walls, his cock throbbing inside of you. he withheld your pleasure, this was for him, instilling your loyalty one final time as he filled you with his seed.

you were carelessly pushed to the floor as he pulled out, standing over you in all of his sinister glory.

"you'll meet the other end of my knife in the colosseum tomorrow, and i'll invite your precious lisan al gaib to watch."

[steveseddie]

friends don’t lie

for @steddie-week day four “body swap”

rated: t | cw: none | wc: 3,1 k | tags: established steddie, secret relationship, stobin body swap, eddie’s pov, humor

click here to read on ao3

Eddie wakes up in Steve’s arms.

One month ago he would’ve thought he was still dreaming. Three weeks ago he would’ve laid there completely still, worried that as soon as he woke up Steve would regret everything they said and did the night before and kick Eddie out.

Now Eddie sighs happily and rolls over in Steve’s arms so that they’re chest to chest, face to face, their legs tangled under the blankets.

He opens his eyes and studies his boyfriend’s beautiful face. He still doesn’t know what he did to be this lucky, but at least he’s no longer constantly worrying that his luck is going to change, not when Steve has proven again and again that he wants this as much as Eddie does.

Not when just last night Steve told Eddie that he loves him for the first time. Some might think that three weeks is too soon, but to Eddie, who has been feeling this way for months, it was perfect.

This is perfect, Eddie thinks as he lies there, counting the moles and freckles on Steve’s face. He’s been debating for a while whether the one near his chin has always been there or if it appeared overnight when Steve starts to stir.

His eyes twitch but remain closed and his nose scrunches up adorably. Eddie sighs like the lovesick fool that he is.

When Steve’s eyes finally flutter open, Eddie swoops in and kisses the tip of his nose. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

He expects Steve to whine about wanting to go back to sleep or jokingly complain about Eddie’s morning breath-

What he doesn’t expect is for Steve’s eyes to widen in alarm and for him to push Eddie away with a shrill: “What the hell?”

Taking Eddie by surprise, he fails to grab onto anything and he topples over the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a thud. “Ouch, shit! Steve! What the fuck?”

His backside immediately starts hurting and there are flashes of pain coming from his elbow, which hit the bedside table on his way down.

Steve doesn’t pop his head over the edge of the bed to check on Eddie and apologize for whatever knee-jerk reaction that was- or to snigger like this was his idea of a joke.

So, groaning, Eddie untangles himself from the blankets and shuffles to his knees. “You could’ve just said my morning breath is bad, Stevie, Jesus. No need to kick me off the bed,” he jokes, but Steve doesn’t reply or move. His eyes dart all over the room, his expression panicked.

Eddie’s eyebrows knit in concern. “Steve, baby, are you okay? Were you having a nightmare?”

“I- I might be,” Steve mumbles, staring down at his hands, then poking his face with his fingers. “God, please let it be a nightmare.”

Slowly, Eddie gets up from the floor and sits down on the bed, keeping his distance from Steve, not wanting to spook him. “You’re awake now. Whatever you were dreaming about isn’t real,” he says, but the words don’t have the desired effect, they make him look more terrified. “Steve?”

“I’m not Steve.”

Eddie blinks. “You’re not- oh God, are you having a psychotic break? Did you forget who you are?” He asks, alarmed. If Steve forgot who he is then he probably forgot Eddie too. Oh no. “Do you know who I am?”

If Steve forgot about him, if he forgot about the last couple of weeks, if he forgot about last night when he told Eddie he loved him, Eddie doesn’t know what he’ll do-

“Eddie.”

“Oh, thank fuck!” Eddie sighs in relief.

“You’re dating Steve,” he says next, which makes Eddie frown again.

“Uh.” He tries to remember if Steve hit his head last night, but the only thing he can recall is pushing him against the door to kiss him, but- that wouldn’t be enough to leave his brain all scrambled, right? Then again, with the amount of concussions Steve has apparently suffered over the years, it might. “We’re dating, yeah.”

Steve’s betrayed expression is one Eddie has never seen on his boyfriend’s face, but he knows he’s seen it somewhere.

He can’t pinpoint where until Steve speaks again.

“Oh my god, I’m going to kill that dingus! I can’t believe he didn’t tell me!”

Eddie blinks, wondering for a moment if he’s the one with a scrambled brain because that- that sounded a lot like- but it can’t be- there’s no way-

And sure, this is Hawkins fucking Indiana, where weird things happen every few months, but monsters and alternate dimensions are one thing, this- this is too insane even for this goddamned town.

But then Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s, and while they’re the same big hazel eyes that Eddie loves, the person staring at him through them isn’t Steve.

“Holy shit-” He gasps, his eyes widening in realization. “Buckley?”

Steve- no, Robin nods slowly and Eddie’s heart falls out of his ass. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t know!” Robin says, and it’s Steve’s voice but the panicky tone is all her.

Eddie is feeling quite panicky himself. “Why are you in Steve’s body? How is this possible?”

“I don’t know, Eddie!” Robin snaps in a high pitched voice, her hands viciously pulling her hair- Steve’s hair. Fuck, this is confusing. “All I know is I went to sleep in my body and in my room and then I woke up here and Steve-”

“Shit, where is Steve?” Eddie asks quietly because- that’s his boyfriend’s body in front of him, but where is the rest of him?

“Probably at my house, in my body, confused as hell,” she narrows her eyes at Eddie (Steve’s eyes- whatever). “But not as confused as I am that my best friend apparently has been dating the guy he’s coo coo bananas over for God knows how long and he didn’t tell me!”

Eddie grimaces, hanging a hand from his neck. “It’s only been like three weeks and he wanted to tell you right away, we just agreed to figure things out first, just us.”

Robin sighs. “Whatever, I’ll yell at you dumbasses later. Right now, we need to figure this-” she gestures at Steve’s body, “-out.”

They both seem to realize Steve’s state of undress in that moment- and Eddie’s, for that matter. Both of them in nothing but their underwear.

“Oh my god, this is so weird,” Robin says, looking down at herself. She covers Steve’s chest with her arms. “You two couldn’t sleep in pajamas like normal people?”

“Be grateful we actually put on underwear after we- uh. Before going to sleep,” Eddie says sheepishly.

Robin full-body shudders at that, her face scrunching up. Taking pity on her, Eddie walks over to Steve’s desk chair and grabs some basketball shorts and a shirt from the pile of clean clothes that Steve forgot to put away last night. “Here,” he says, tossing them on the bed. Then he locates the clothes he was wearing last night, discarded haphazardly on the floor, and gets dressed too.

“So what do you think is going on here?” He asks, buttoning up his jeans.

“More Upside Down bullshit probably?” Robin suggests, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, visibly uncomfortable in Steve’s skin.

“Or maybe Steve and I accidentally took our soulmate bond to the next level.”

Eddie scratches his head, unsure of what to do now. “Should we call someone?”

Robin chews on Steve’s lip, and Eddie is momentarily distracted. His brain hasn’t caught up with the fact that that’s not his boyfriend and is still demanding that Eddie walks over there and soothes the sting with his tongue.

“Probably Steve, or I guess, me. My house. Robin’s house, you know what I mean.”

At that moment, they hear front door to Steve’s house open and close in quick succession, followed by Robin’s voice. “Guys!”

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Eddie says, exchanging a look with Robin as they hear footsteps coming up the stairs.

Seconds later, the bedroom door swings open, revealing Robin panting and trying to catch her breath. Steve wouldn’t have any trouble running up the stairs, but Robin’s body is clearly protesting.

If that’s actually Steve inside Robin’s body. They don’t know for sure if they’re the only ones who switched bodies or if that’s someone else-

“Steve?” Eddie asks warily.

Robin’s eyes meet his, and even if they’re blue and not hazel, and the face they’re on is all wrong, that’s clearly Steve staring back at him.

“Eds?” His voice sounds different too, but the way he says Eddie’s name is the same.

“Oh thank god,” Eddie says, relief washing over him. Steve also seems relieved to find his boyfriend is in his own body.

“Ew, don’t look at Eddie like that while you’re in my body, dingus.”

Robin’s eyes- Steve’s eyes snap to him- her. Jesus H. Christ, this is going to give Eddie a headache.

“Rob?” Steve asks, big blue eyes blinking at his friend.

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck is going on?” He asks, attempting to run his hand through his hair like he does when he’s stressed out, only for his fingers to get stuck in the pigtails that Robin slept in.

“I have no idea! All I remember is that I was dreaming about you and then I woke up with Eddie.”

Steve’s eyes widen, darting between Robin and Eddie. “Listen, Rob-” He starts, clearly trying to come up with an explanation as to why they would platonically be sharing a bed.

“Don’t bother, sweetheart, she knows,” Eddie tells him. He might’ve been able to explain away the bed sharing, maybe even the cuddling, but not Eddie kissing his nose to wake him up or the fact that they slept together in their underwear.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, dingus, you have some explaining to do,” Robin says, her hands on her hips in a way that is so Steve it ends up being a little trippy. Then her eyes narrow at Steve. “How did you even get here?”

Steve shrugs. “I snuck out the back door without your parents seeing me and used your old bike.”

“And you didn’t think about changing before leaving the house? Someone could’ve seen you! Vickie could’ve seen you!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That wasn’t exactly my priority, Rob- hey! Maybe I should go see Vickie while I’m like this, ask her out for you.”

“Don’t!” Robin says, her expression turning horrified. “I’ll break up with Eddie for you!”

Eddie snorts. “Sorry, Birdie, but not even the real Steve could get rid of me.”

“Then I’ll shave this jungle in his chest!”

Now it’s Eddie’s expression that turns horrified.

“Alright, alright, I won’t do it,” Steve says, holding up his hands in surrender.

Robin wrinkles her nose. “I might just do it anyway, there’s just so much. And it tickles.”

“Don’t you dare, Buckley!” Eddie protests.

“Geez, fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But I will, if you kiss me again.”

Steve’s eyes go wide. “You kissed her?”

“Only because I thought it was you!” Eddie explains lest anyone decides to accuse him of cheating. “And all I did was kiss her nose- his- yours, fuck! She didn’t have to push me off the bed for it!”

“You pushed him off the bed?” Steve asks, sounding more concerned about that than he did about Eddie accidentally cheating on him- though considering it was Steve’s body and Eddie had no way of knowing it wasn’t him, Eddie would argue it shouldn’t count.

“I panicked!”

Steve sighs. “Maybe we should all agree to no kissing until Robin and I are back in our bodies?” He suggests and both Robin and Eddie nod.

“How do we get back to our bodies?” Robin asks.

Eddie’s bottom lip juts out in a pout. “Yeah, because I would like to be able to kiss my boyfriend again.”

Robin gives him a look that tells Eddie that his wanting to kiss Steve isn’t one of her priorities, but doesn’t say anything about it, jumping into one of her rambles instead.

“Okay, all we know so far is that this seems to be affecting just us or we would’ve heard about our friends swapping bodies already. Now is this related to the Upside Down? Is it the Russians? Maybe it’s a very late effect from that truth serum! Or maybe Vecna isn’t dead and he’s messing with our heads. Can he do that? Swap people’s minds instead of just making them see things? Or maybe there’s something else in Hawkins that could do this- another wizard or a witch! But why would they do that? Why us?” She narrows her eyes at Steve. “Maybe the witch knew you two were lying to me and decided to do something about it!”

Steve scoffs. “Why would a witch or Vecna or the Russians care about that, Rob? And we weren’t lying, okay? We were going to tell you!”

Robin shakes her head. “I should’ve known- I should’ve known something happened when you stopped whining about Eddie never wanting you back!”

Eddie perks up at that. He coos at Steve. “Aw baby, you were pining after me?”

Steve’s blush is even more noticeable thanks to Robin’s pale cheeks. He flips Eddie off. “Fine, let’s pretend this was just a very complicated plan to get me to come clean- why haven’t we switched back? You already know.”

“I don’t know, maybe we have to be asleep for the swap to take place, we could take a-” Robin cuts off abruptly, eyes widening. “Oh no.”

Steve and Eddie both look at each other in alarm. “What?”

Robin wrinkles her nose. “I have to pee.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at her. “Then go?”

“I can’t, I don’t- I don’t want to touch it.”

Eddie’s eyes dart down and he bursts out laughing while Steve is nicer about it and just snorts.

Robin huffs, crossing his arms. “Assholes.”

Eddie flashes her a shit-eating grin. “Want me to hold it for you? It wouldn’t be the first time I touch it.”

Robin goes red and she glowers at Eddie. “I hate you!” She says and then storms off to Steve’s bathroom, the sound of Eddie’s laughter following her until she closes the door.

When he calms down and glances at Steve, he’s shaking his head at him, but there’s a ghost of a smile in his face. “You’re insufferable.”

“That I am, sweetheart, but you still love me.”

A full smile breaks on Steve’s face- soft and dopey. If Robin was here she would protest about Steve looking at Eddie like that while in her body. “Yeah, I do,” he says, causing butterflies to flutter in Eddie’s stomach. “And I want to kiss my boyfriend too so I’m gonna call El and hope she knows a way to fix this.”

To Eddie that sounds as good a place to start as any.

***

Turns out El actually knows how to fix it.

She knows because she was the one who caused it in the first place.

“Friends don’t lie,” El explains to the dumbfounded trio once they make it to the new Byers-Hopper home. “You were lying to Robin so I made you tell the truth.”

“Thanks?” Robin says, back in her own body. All it took was El closing her eyes and the lights flickering around them and ta-da! Steve and Robin were back to normal.

El accepts her thanks with a nod and turns to the other two. Eddie can’t help but shudder under her stare- knowing what she can do.

“We’re sorry,” Steve says, giving her his best puppy look. Eddie is glad they switched back already- it wouldn’t have the same effect without his big doe eyes. “We won’t lie to Robin again, right Eddie?”

He nudges Eddie’s side and Eddie nods jerkily lest supergirl here decides to body swap him with a squirrel or something. “Yup. Scout’s honor,” he says, holding up three fingers.

“But- we only lied because we weren’t ready to tell Robin or anyone else yet, not because we don’t care about her,” Steve explains and El’s eyebrows furrow. “Sometimes people just need time.”

She nods. “I understand, Steve.” Then she stands up and offers them a smile. “Joyce is making Eggos. Do you want to stay?”

“I should probably go home and change,” Robin says, looking down at her pajamas.

Eddie grabs Steve’s hand. “We have things to do,” (read: kiss) “And places to be,” (read: Steve’s bed).

“We’ll see you tomorrow for movie night,” Steve says, standing up too. El nods, waving them goodbye.

They’re already at the door when Eddie thinks of something. He turns around, narrowing his eyes at El. “You’re not gonna body swap us with the whole party are you, supergirl?”

She shakes her head. “You can tell them when you’re ready.”

They sigh in relief and leave, waving goodbye to an animated Joyce and a suspicious Hopper on their way out.

The three of them climb into Eddie’s van and sit in silence for a moment.

“I know she meant well,” Eddie says, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “But she scares me more than any fifteen-year-old should.”

Steve and Robin hum in agreement.

Eddie glances at Robin through his rearview mirror. “Want us to drop you off home?”

“Yeah, I need to shower and change and,” she pauses, biting her lip, and then mumbles the last part: “go to Vickie’s house to ask her out.”

Steve and Eddie whirl around in their seats. “What?”

Robin shrugs. “If you two dorks managed to get your heads out of your asses long enough to confess your feelings then I can do the same. Maybe. Who knows? Some of Steve’s game might’ve stuck to me while he was in here,” she says, tapping her knuckles against her head.

Eddie snorts. His life is so fucking weird. “As you wish, my lady,” he says with a hand flourish. “But first-”

He reaches across the console to cup Steve’s cheeks and bring him close enough for a kiss like he’s been waiting to do all morning. He keeps it short, chaste, knowing that Robin will protest otherwise. When he pulls back, it’s a relief to find his Steve beaming back at him.

It’s also a relief not to be pushed onto the floor. His fucking elbow still hurts. Damn, Buckley.

In the backseat, Robin groans. “Oh no, you two are gonna be gross and mushy in front of me from now on, aren’t you?”

Eddie shoots Steve a smile only to find him already grinning back. “Yup,” he admits.

After all, friends don’t lie.

[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: Annnngsssstttttt, mentions of sexual abuse but nothing is depicted, Steven being the bean that he is, Reader does a smort, knowledge is power, and knowing is half the battle lol

A/N: Finally! Things are falling into place! Will Steven reveal the truth? Nah.

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 15:

Sphinx of Black Quartz

"Steven?"

Steven winced when you said his name, almost shrunk away when your hands squished his cheeks as you peered into his eyes; your gaze full of confusion, concern and... maybe a little hurt?

"I, uh... well... I..." He blathered, tugging on his sleeves anxiously, his nails pinching the threading in an effort to ground himself.

"Wait, what?" You released his face pressing your finger to the sides of your head as you gawked at him like he'd grown a second head. Not that that wasn't too far off the mark...

Technically speaking, we could be considered Cerberus then, couldn't we? Steven had asked himself.

"No, what?" You asked again, blinking at him as your brain struggled to catch up. One minute, you and Marc and Puck were just relaxing and chatting over some coffee, and then... The moment you got that phone call about the shipment you'd gotten approved for, and then Marc was just... screaming, yelling at the air. "Stay away from her!" He had cried, "She's our friend!"

Did he have a psychotic break? Had something happened on that trip he had taken--

Wait.

The "trip"? Was that even the truth? How was it, that Steven Grant sat before you know, where just moments before, Marc Spector had stood?

"Steven?" You repeated.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed at the lump there, and he nodded, a few stray curls bouncing free as he hunched over a bit on himself, continuing to pluck at the long shirt you'd loaned him.

"Y-Yes." He replied softly, his eyes shying away from you. Looking anywhere but you.

He was... he was afraid. Steven was afraid of you?

"I..."

Steven had taken a scant second to lock eyes with you again, taking in the depths of your gaze with lucid intensity--before darting away again.

"Steve." You breathed, rubbing your temples. "I... what? What happened to--did Marc--I... Can you please explain before I have an aneurysm? Did Marc have a psychotic episode?"

"Not... not far from it, actually." Steven mumbled again. His posture stiffened when Puck meowed at him, sauntering up to crawl into his lap, rubbing herself along his chest.

"Oh, hello... who're you?" Steven asked, getting distracted by the furry critter. His hands stopped plucking and tugging on his sleeves in favor of stroking Puck's silky black fur, "You're a sweet one, eh?"

You blinked for the millionth time at him, your brain abuzz with confusion, wanting--no, craving--some sort of explanation. You watched for another moment as Steven was suddenly laser-focused on Puck, speaking softly to the cat, petting her with his shaky hands.

"Steven.." You said gently.

His shoulders jumped when he remembered you were staring at him. "O-oh, s-sorry, luv."

Puck curled up in his lap, loafing as she blinked up at you slowly. Oh, you wished you could read her little kitty mind to hear what she thought of the situation...

Steven swallowed roughly once more, his hands petting Puck again--likely in an effort to relax himself from suddenly being brought to the forefront of this situation. His tongue swept across his lips before drawing it between his teeth; trying to think about where to begin.

"Marc is... W-We are..." He began to murmur, staring intently down at the soft black cat occupying his lap.

"It's difficult to explain, um... But we--Jake 'n me--we... We live in Marc's head. S-Sort of? We--we share the body, we... Uh. B-But it's not all the time, er... Sometimes not all of us are aware of what goes on when one of us is in control of the body, and..." He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead while the other continued to almost frantically stroke Puck.

"Oh, bollocks! We--we didn't want you to find out like this, but Marc..." He hissed out an upset sigh; "He was--he was upset, and... I tried to calm him down from inside, but he just... he checked out, and..."

You stare intently at him, his nervous posture, how he just seemed more... Submissive in the moment. A complete change from the guarded, stiff Marc you'd come to know. And the rather calm and carefree (almost) Jake, at Steven's admission.

Your brain began connecting the dots; one by one. So... Jake had been in control of the body these past few weeks. And... Marc and Steven weren't aware. You remembered how shocked Marc had been when you'd told him about having dinner with Jake in your flat; how Marc--and now Steven--didn't recognize Puck.

You always thought the three of them looked too similar to be triplets--they even had the same scars on their hands.

They "shared" the body. But at times weren't aware what was going on when one of them "checked out", as Steven had plainly put it.

Jake was apparently nowhere to be seen, Steven was trying to be a calming influence on Marc...

"Steven..." You said slowly, watching as his deep, soulful eyes finally crawled up to lock with yours. "Do you--do you have dissociative identity disorder?"

Steven rocked his head back, shaking it slightly as he gawked at you, bewildered, "How do you--"

"I own a bookstore, Steven," You said to him, your voice rather deadpan. "I've definitely read a few of the dozen and a half of the psychology textbooks and studies on psychological disorders."

"Oh... right. Heh..." He coughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"So..." You reached out and clasped his fingers in yours, making Steven's heart leap with anxiety once again.

Puck jumped from his lap as you took his other hand, gently guiding him to his feet and leading him back to your sofa. "...explain it to me, okay? If I ask a question that upsets you... please tell me. You won't have to answer it. I just... I'd like to know who I've been making friends with."

Layla groaned as she crawled back through the window, cursing as she bonked her head on the windowsill. Yeah, she had the helmet, but it was still annoying to have her proverbial eggs scrambled.

She spent most of the day hammering down on a cruel scheme begotten by a group of rather cruel landlords and real estate agents--they would find legal loopholes in contracts and leases, they abused the power they held over their tenants--in some cases sexually in return for "breaks" in rent--some, they would evict with little to no reason, sell out the rentals from beneath the feet of others...

Taweret had pleaded with Layla to put a stop to it. Even Khonshu had helped her for a bit, watching from the sidelines and giving his (not really wanted) input. The truth was, it was a sort of criminal gang behind it all, they just paid the landlords and agents to get a hefty chunk of the proceeds from their illicit goings-on. But... somewhere during her mission, Khonshu had left. Taweret had seemed miffed; annoyed that Khonshu would up and leave after being so bothersome and insisting that they "needed his help"...

She arched her back, groaning as the helmet slid away; vanishing to free her curls with a bounce. Pressing her hands against the curve of her spine, she looked around as the rest of her holy garb melted away.

"Marc?" She asked the empty flat.

No answer. Strange. She left him here earlier. He'd expressed no interest in going out today; especially given the weather outside.

Layla pulled her cell out of her back pocket and unlocked it, dialing the boys' phone. As she held it up to her ear, she became aware that the ringtone buzzed from somewhere in the flat.

"Marc?" Layla asked, not hanging up quite yet as she walked through the proverbial minefield of Steven's books, DIY'd desk, past Gus & Co's fish tank... to the bed in the back of the room.

It was made neatly--Marc's habit, definitely. Steven always left the bed in a mess, often forgetting to make it until just before he settled down for the night. Odd, how he would leave it a tangled nest all day and only be able to sleep in it if it were made up just before cosying down to sleep.

She shook her head and furrowed her brows as her eyes settled upon their cellphone, laying tossed at the edge of the bed, ringing.

"Lonely is A Man." Steven's favorite little jingle that she'd be lying about if she didn't say it got caught in her head every other day since coming back to London from doing Taweret's work in Cairo. It annoyed her how often she would find herself humming the tune...

She picked up the phone and hung hers up, sliding it back into her jeans, staring at it curiously as she walked back into the main area of the flat, and into the kitchenette.

She sighed, frowning even deeper. Khonshu's work, no doubt. The old bastard always had something to do with it when Marc (and by extension Steven and Jake) would vanish with no word. But why leave their phone? Did Khonshu have them doing something dangerous? Shady?

"Gods, what have you gotten yourselves into, Marc..?" Layla groaned, pressing her hands to her forehead as she leaned over the counter.

As she opened her eyes, she looked over the granite countertop, staring at the abandoned phone. Something was wrong. Something she didn't quite like. She--

Her long eyelashes batted for a moment, sweeting her cheeks as she tried to fathom what else her eyes had just landed on. Mail. Not just any mail, but bills in Marc's name. The address for some of said bills being...

She and Marc's old address, from when they had been married.

Her fingers quickly snatched up the envelope and used the letter opener to get a look at its contents. As she unfolded the paper, her eyes scanned the writing with lightning efficiency.

It was a receipt. A receipt for paid rent and utilities. Had he really been paying the rent and electric at an apartment he no longer used..? Why? Why wouldn't he mention that?

Taweret suddenly appeared, her ears flopping about in concert, "Layla? Something the matter, m'love? I sensed you were upset."

"Marc is gone. Left his phone." She replied on a mumbled breath as she continued to read through the other receipts, blindly walking through the flat until a sparkle caught her attention out of the corner of her eye.

A keyring. Marc's keyring, glittering under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the flat.

"Layla?"

"He's been paying our old bills, still." Layla further explained, setting the receipt on the end table by the door as she plucked the ring off the hook on the wall.

Her thumb caressed the scratched-up colorful key once depicting a rather cheery cartoon house; faded writing that said "home" at the flattest end of it, making her heart twinge slightly.

Some things Marc just really couldn't let go...

"He must still be doing mercenary work. Or, Jake is at least, to be able to afford both flats on his own."

Taweret frowned, tilting her head to the side, "What are you going to do?"

"Well, I'm going to see if he's been by the place, today... and when I get back--assuming he's back home by then--lecture him for letting me sleep in that sofa of his. I got a crick in my neck from it!"

The goddess giggled, nodding, "Be careful, Layla. Oh! And grab your umbrella!"

The woman grinned up at her, grabbing her scarf Jake had knitted for her, and her coat; before snatching up said protection from the sleet outside, wiggling it.

"Way ahead of you."

"So... Marc was arguing with... one of you?" You asked, your brows pinched as you try to make sense of thr fragmented story Steven was unfurling before you.

"Well, er... kind of. He was having a bit of... panic?" He laughed anxiously, his fingers carding through Puck's fur. The little cat seemed content to let Steven work out his nervous energy by petting her; her silky fur being a very nice texture for his hands to fiddle with while he rambled on for you.

"He has been having a bit of internalized guilt, lately, over... things."

""Things" being..."

"Things that, um..." He scratched Puck's chin as he thought carefully of what to say. He couldn't just spill the proverbial pot of beans to you. Like you'd believe him, anyway. Having cursory knowledge of the psychological... problems that they suffered with was one thing, but he sincerely doubted you believed that Egyptian gods were real, or that they and Layla were Avatars to two of said gods...

"I don't know if Marc would be comfortable with sharing much of it, 'm afraid."

"Does it... have something to do with him being a Marine? I know how common it is for soldiers to develop PTSD." You murmur softly, your eyes casting down into your half-empty mug. You and Steven had switched to decaf tea; the gravity and air inside your flat far too tense for the caffeine-loaded drinks you and Marc had imbibed just before.

Your eyes looked back into his, and, uncharacteristically, Steven was gazing right back, connecting with you.

"Is... that how... you know. You and Jake..?"

Steven shook his head, his curls flopping about, "No, DID sort of... it typically happens during traumatic events during childhood. In some people it isn't obvious until much later, and is sometimes misdiagnosed as schizophrenia or multiple personalty disorder. Marc has just been feeling... guilty, lately. Over people he... couldn't save."

As he uttered that last phrase oh so meekly, you could see that poor Steven was feeling Marc's internalized guilt as well. Your heart broke for them. You reached out and placed your hand on his shoulder, feeling how tense he was.

"Does Layla know?"

"Yes. That's part of why... why Marc has been so upset lately." Steven replied softly, nuzzling into Puck as she stood with her front paws on his soft chest, sniffing at his hair.

"He had an... episode. He woke up and... he was on top of Layla and he was--he was going to hurt her, and--he snapped out of it, but--"

"He feels guilty about it." You finished for him, your heart sinking in sympathetic despair.

Steven nodded and looked up at you, practically hiding behind Puck, "Yeah. Layla told him it was okay, that it happens, but Marc is just so... stubborn. He tries to handle everything himself when it comes to stuff like this; doesn't want the help Jake and I try to give 'im."

"And what does Jake have to say? Is he... listening right now?" You asked.

"No. He and Marc are..." Steven forced out a sigh as Puck settled down again, rolling to show her his belly that he was more than happy to rub for her, relishing in how hard she was purring, the vibration soothing as it thrummed through his hands.

"Sometimes we... we recede into the background. Into our own little "rooms" in the headspace." He explained difficultly, your poor brain trying to follow. "When we're in there, we aren't really aware of what's going on, or even feel each other. It's why I didn't know Marc or Jake existed--why I didn't know the body wasn't actually mine."

"Your headspace is where you share things with each other..?" You tried, tilting your head.

"Yes! Well, in basic terms. It's... I don't know how else to explain it to you, I'm afraid." He muttered awkwardly, poking at Puck's toe beans one by one.

"That's okay... I think if you try to explain anymore my head is going to explode." You chuckle softly, sipping at your tea.

Steven finally cracked a smile.

"It is quite a lot to absorb, innit?" He asked you, smiling a bit wider as Puck grabbed his hand with her paws and tugged it closer to her body.

You smiled affectionately as Puck seemed so intent on helping Steven relax, pulling out every ounce of cute feline charm her tiny body could muster. "Puck really likes you guys... Y'know when she first met Jake she snatched his glove and ran off with it? Stuffed it right into her little cubby where she hoards her toys I keep buying for her."

"Oh, no!" He laughed quietly, booping Puck on her little nose.

"Mhmm... that's kind of why I named her Puck." You explained, setting your mug onto the coaster on your coffee table.

"After the trickster fae from A Midsummer Night's Dream?" He grinned widely.

His knowledge of folklore didn't surprise you one bit; you nodded, grinning right back. "She doesn't spoil milk or lead people astray at night... But she certainly has her moments."

Steven sighed, smiling fondly at the fluffy little terror currently occupying his lap, "No, I'd say she does a very good job at bering very sweet when she wants to be..."

A comfortable, pregnant silence stretched between you, only interrupted by Puck's very loud purring. Until, Steven cleared his throat, rolling his shoulder as he looked away briefly.

"So... you invited Jake up here, too..?"

"Oh, yeah. That goof! I walked in on him at the market trying to buy one of those cheap microwave meals!" You huffed, rolling your eyes.

Steven seemed appalled at the news, but not at all surprised, "He didn't!"

"Nope, 'cause I didn't let him." You told him, "I finished my shopping and dragged his butt back here and made him eat an actual meal."

Steven was quiet for another moment, fidgeting awkwardly in his seat. His face seemed to get a little flush as he cleared his throat once again, the sound rough and forced.

"What's wrong?"

"Jake didn't... oh, bloody hell." Steven wiped a hand down his face, unable to meet your eyes as his face heated up, "Jake didn't... didn't try to... to..."

He swallowed, "...do it with you or anything?"

You could just hear the record scratch on an antique vinyl player as your brain came to a halt. His words sank in, and you couldn't keep down the laughter that bubbled out from inside of you, rocking back onto your side on the cushion as the humor of his question overtook you.

"I--! I'm only askin' because he's--he's kind of done it b'fore!" Steven squawked nervously, confident his face was eight shades of red right now. "Bloke thinks of himself as a bloody Casanova, he does! Damned bellend..."

You giggled again, sitting up to look at him, mirth overtaking the glimmer in your eye, happy the tension in the air was finally alleviated, "No, Steven, Jake and I didn't "do it". We had dinner, and Puck annoyed him for a bit. That's it."

He seemed to deflate and relax at your admission, trusting you wholly, "...Oh. Well, good. We'd rather him not ruin one of the relatively normal friendships we have by... boinking you."

His choice of words once again made you break out laughing, tears burning in your eyes as he floundered about nervously.

"Oh, my god--Steven! What are you, twelve?" You snorted, trying to gasp for air. ""Do it"? "Boinking"?! Pfsh!"

"H-Hey! The more vulgar language is usually Marc and Jake's territory, not mine!" He sputtered. "I try to stay more civilized, thank you very much!"

You snickered as he began to get all huffy, defending his quirky and conservative way of speaking rather haughtily.

"Right... right. Steven Grant, a man of absolute--snrk!--rectitude!" You squeaked, covering your mouth as a tear beaded in one of your eyes.

"Exactly! I'm the most sensible of--" Steven jerked his head to look at you, his mouth open wide.

"Wha--hey! You're still havin' a go at me, aren't you?!"

You just rolled back onto the couch, crying tears of laughter at the absurdity of your day as Steven fretted, muttering under his breath with a faint glow to his cheeks.

Chapter 16: Link

[virginsexgod69]

5| Rebuilding

pairing Daryl Dixon x F! Reader

summary You and Daryl get started on removing the tree that fell through the window, but your mind wanders elsewhere.

cw descriptions of killing walkers, sexy thoughts, female masturbation

note heehee things are spicing up a bit

1.6k words

Series Masterlist

“Daryl, you don’t have to stay jus’ for me. I’ll be fine on my own like I was before.” You really did want him to stay, but you knew he had people to look for. You’d hate to be the reason he never finds them again, so you convinced yourself that you were ready to let him go. 

“You want help fixing’ yer cabin?” He asked. You looked at him, confused. Normally, you’d just call a window repairman to come fix it, but nothing was normal about the times you were living in. You didn’t think it was salvageable, and even if it was, you didn’t have the first clue on how to fix it. 

“Uh- I..yes?” 

“Then I’ma stay an’ help you.” His tone had a sense of finality to it, closing any doors to an argument, so you kept your mouth shut and nodded your head in agreement. You wanted to let him know that he didn’t owe you anything and that was free to go, but then again, it’d be idiotic to turn down such an offer. 

You and Daryl stood at the side of your cabin where the tree fell, watching as the undead mindlessly stumbled around in that area, some even tripping over the fallen tree. He nodded his head in their direction as if to say it was time to kill them, so you nodded your head in agreement. Hearing crack after crack of their skulls shattering beneath your sledgehammer was gratifying. You weren’t even phased by the blood that splattered on you. It was almost therapeutic, the way you channeled all your anger into each swing of the tool. The anger from your husband leaving you alone with a child and a baby during a fucking apocalypse so he could live out his fantasies with your best friend. The anger from a tree crashing into your house, destroying some of the little memories you had left of your babies. The feeling of Daryl’s warm hand on your shoulder snapped you out of your rage filled haze. You looked around to see all of the bodies dead on the ground. Your eyes focused in on the sight in front of you, the corpse before you’s head was obliterated into an unrecognizable pulp. Pieces of bloody brain fragments decorated the lush, green grass and partially your clothing, too. You glanced away from it and looked into Daryl’s concerned baby blues instead. 

“I’m great!” you promised, stepping away from him and the carcass at your feet. You really were feeling a lot better. Maybe it was because you were finally out in the sunshine after days of stormy weather or because Daryl stayed to help you, or because killing all those undead helped you release a lot of steam. 

“How should we get started!?” You asked with cheerily with a wide smile splitting your face in half. You were sure you looked something out of a horror movie, covered in blood and brains, smiling almost psychotically. Slightly perturbed, Daryl glanced away before looking back at you. 

“Got any axes or anythin’? We gotta get this tree outta here,” he explained. 

 You left and came back with two axes after searching your house for a moment or two. The tingle you felt in your spine from brushing fingers with Daryl as you handed him an axe lifted your spirits even more. You followed his lead as he hacked at pieces of the tree. Piece by piece, there was less and less tree protruding through the window. 

 The hot, Georgia sun beaming on your skin was increasingly uncomfortable. You were sweating bullets and desperately needed a break, but as long as Daryl was working you would, too. You glanced over at Daryl to gage how he was doing only to have your breath taken from you. The sunlight glistened off his tanned, sweaty arms, only accentuating the way his muscular biceps flexed with every swing of the axe. His chocolate brown hair dripped with sweat, making him look downright delicious. You needed to focus on the task at hand! You ripped your eyes away from him and got back to chopping wood, this time, more ferociously as you tried to force those thoughts of Daryl out of your head. He must’ve gotten to a particularly difficult piece, because you heard him grunt each time he forced the axe out from being lodged into the wood. The sound made your mind wonder, imagining if those were the noises he made in bed. The pulsating throb you felt in your core forced you to drop the axe and step away. 

“I’ma get us some waters,” you rushed out before hurrying off into the cabin. You gulped down your bottle of water as if it would cleanse your mind of those previous thoughts. Seeing Daryl like that made you realize it had been a small eternity since you’ve had sex, even before the world turned upside down. It felt weird to have this side of you awakened again, but a good weird. But nothing good lasts, especially not these days, so you buried those thoughts and desires deep down within. You polished off the water and grabbed a bottle for Daryl before heading back out. 

  When you came back outside, Daryl was tossing the some of the last parts of the tree out of your window. He wiped the sweat from his forehead before gratefully accepting the water from you. He uncapped the plastic bottle before bringing it to his lips and chugging it. You watched as streams of water escaped the corners of his mouth and leaked down his chin and dripped onto his chest, sliding down until it met the fabric of his sleeveless shirt. The thoughts came flooding back tenfold and you and to had turn away. 

"Sun's settin'. We can finish tomorrow," he said as he stretched his sore arms. 

"I thought we did finish?" you questioned. Your whole body was a sore, sweaty, bloody mess. The thought of more work made your back hurt. You stretched your sore limbs as you stared at the orangey sky, enjoying the cool evening breeze against your damp skin. 

"Gotta board it up, unless you want walkers gettin' in," he said as if it were obvious, which it kind of was, but your brain was tired. 

"You call them things walkers?" you asked, laughter hidden in your voice. 

"Yeah? Wha's wrong with tha?" he asked suspiciously. 

"Nothin', but I mean they do a whole hell of a lot more than walk..." 

"Well wha' do you call 'em, then?" 

You shrugged your shoulders. "Never thought to name 'em, just call them 'the undead'." You glanced back up at the sky, admiring the beauty that had been hidden behind thick storm clouds for the past week. You glanced over at Daryl and saw him quickly turn away from you and look at the sunset too. 

"I'm gonna go in and take a shower. You're free to use it when I'm done, if you'd like." And with that, you were off to the cabin. 

Once you locked the bathroom door behind you, you quickly shed off your disgusting, bloody, sweaty clothes and hopped in the shower, turning on the cold water. Without electricity, cold water was the only option, but you were grateful to have running water at all. You stared at the floor, watching as the dried blood was rinsed off your body, staining the water pink until it finally faded to clear again. The thoughts of Daryl from earlier resurfaced, making you want to bang your head against the wall. You felt guilty for thinking of him in such a way. Here he was, a guest in your home who was kind enough to stick around to help fix the damage to your cabin. And here you were, thirsting over him like a cat in heat. You splashed the cold water over your face, but it did nothing to cool your thoughts. You were sure you were only feeling like this because it had been almost two years since you've gotten any. Maybe, you thought, if you just touched yourself the thoughts would calm down. 

 Your hand slipped down between your thighs and you slid a finger between your folds, feeling how wet you were. You were almost embarrassed at how soaked you were, but there was no going back now. Your fingers began rubbing slow circles on your neglected clit. Pleasure shot throughout your body, urging you to keep going. You increased your pace, simultaneously increasing your pleasure as you continued those circular motions. You bit back a moan at the same time you swallowed your guilt. The coil in your tummy was building up, waiting to explode. Images of Daryl painted your eyelids causing your cunt to clench over nothing. You slipped a finger into your slick hole, wishing it was Daryl's instead. You slipped another one in once the sting from the first subsided, but it still didn't feel like enough. You grew frustrated at how your own fingers couldn't quite reach that spot, so instead you focused on your clit, applying more pressure and chasing that orgasm that was so close to coming. You thought of the way Daryl's tanned arms flexed as he was chopping the wood earlier and that coil burst, making you see stars as you came. But once you came down from that high and realized what you just did, shame washed over you like a bucket of ice water, colder than the shower's spray that was currently splashing you.

Next Chapter►

sorry, it took me a minute to finish this, but i did it, yaaay! Thank you for reading =]

join the taglist?

Taglist @eternalrose81 @the-dixon-effect @millybaby @daryldixmedown @theoraekenslover @aeriean @lesbian-horror-fan @paintlavillered @zhannamustdie @thegeorgiahuntsman @bigbaldheadname @Lumi362 @lettersfromyourlover-blog

[transpersian]

Zena and Poppy: Abusive Hypocrites - Master Post

For legal purposes, all testimonies and commentary on this page or any of the documents linked from it are allegations. The screenshots, however, are evidence. Any edits will be very obvious and for the purpose of respecting confidentiality. (click here to skip to the Hub Doc)

~~~~~~~~~~

Hi there! I'm Milena, Poppy Diabolique's "psychotic ex" and the alleged head of what she dubbed her "League of Evil Exes." While we're more of a co-op, that doesn't have the same ring to it as "League," does it?

This is mostly to track my own I'll be updating this post with additional content as it's published, so please check back to my page for the most up-to-date version, which I'll leave pinned.

Please be sure to also check out @poppyandzena's page (not actually run by Poppy and Zena), as they've been diligently collecting and cataloguing evidence and other testimonies for months.

Please take your time reading through these. It's emotionally difficult content and there's a lot of it, so please prioritize taking care of yourself. It gets worse than you think and I've put plenty of headers in these so it's easy to find your place again.

Feel free to reach out with any asks. Barring confidentiality agreements, I'm an open book.

Also, I've got a searchable index of everything they've ever said on stream. Tell me what you're looking for; I'll let you know where it pops up (with timestamps!) and potentially maybe telling you where to find the video itself.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Documentation

To save space here, I've moved the list of documents and their descriptions to the Abusive Hypocrites Hub Doc. If you're new to this and want to get right into the big stuff, start with Abusive Hypocrites 2.

My goal with these posts and documents is to provide as much context and evidence as possible, so please remember to take care of yourself if you need to and take a break. It's a wild ride full of deeply upsetting behavior. All of the abuse-related CWs, short of flat-out physical violence.

Please also check out @poppyandzena for more testimonies linked in their pinned. There are a lot.

Other significant posts:

Deep Cover - How I navigated going undercover with Poppy for over two and a half months.

Doc 3 is about PZ's kid - My initial announcement that I was in touch with Spawn and that I was planning on releasing a doc for them. The catalyst for Poppy reaching back out to me in January.

Zena's PMDD does not excuse their behavior

Why are you doing this?

@zenaandpoppyonyoutube are an engaged pair of content creators who have positioned themselves and their community as a safe place for neurodivergent, traumatized, emotionally vulnerable, and queer people, including specifically being a safe place for Lily Orchard's victims and fans to escape to. Poppy is a professional licensed therapist. Zena is... there.

Unfortunately, while they say some of the right things, what they do is a completely different matter.

If you're here, you want to know more.

The goal of our documentation and callout campaign is twofold:

to protect online communities from them

to provide a space for other survivors of their abuse to feel understood and heard

Why are you waging a hate campaign against a fellow trans woman?

Because this is not a hate campaign; it's a callout of PZ's patterns of harmful and dangerous behavior. It tends to start small and then turn into something genuinely horrifying. Nobody who treats people the way that they do in private should be in any position to tell anyone what's best for their mental health, much less be regarded as authorities, role models, and community leaders.

Poppy is charismatic, quick on her feet with responses, and weirdly mean-spirited sometimes; somewhat of a perfect combination for the leftist political space. Even now, I know people with friends on their server who've said that those friends have been slowly getting more bitter, judgmental, and cruel.

Despite their channel numbers falling, they still have the potential to gain some real momentum if they recover, and PZ aren't just abusers; I firmly believe that they're a toxic influence that will spread their genuinely harmful ideas about how relationships and boundaries work, particularly to younger people.

If they're not going to recognize, acknowledge, or change the ways in which they have, do, and will hurt people, we need to make sure people know to stay away from them and why.

~~~~~~~~~~

Why are you still doing this? Don't you think you've done enough?

At this point, our evidence has spoken for itself and literally over a million people are aware of the situation, but for one, these need to stay up for posterity. They need to be available as a resource for people looking to find out more about Poppy and Zena.

But beyond that, it's not over. Not by a long shot.

Since our last major doc drop in March, things have only expanded and escalated. We are currently pursuing litigation because their group's crimes now include doxxing my legal name, photo, and place of work, along with months of harassment smearing the names of other trans women for daring to not giving in to their emotional demands (including what has now inextricably linked one of them to the false accusation of "rapist" when you search her legal name).

On top of that, more victims are still coming to us. We need to make sure that they have a place to go.

PZ are not going to get better. We've tried. They don't even see the problem with their behavior in the first place.

And if they don't stop, we don't stop.

[a-aexotic]

CONGRATS WITH 800 FOLLOWERS! YOU DESERVE IT SO MUCH!!! ❤️❤️

🌙 with Rafe and Blank Space (i havent heard that song in a while so😖) Maybe like reader is as “crazy” as Rafe or something like that? Love you❤️

ofc babe, thank u sm!!!!!!!!! love u more

cw's: very toxic relationship but like funny... not conveyed in a very serious way, illusions to smut but no actual smut, crazy reader who's a little too much like me, uhhh lmk if i missed anything!

Opposites attract, people always love to say it. But have they actually ever seen it actually work out? People who preach "opposites attract" have never met you and Rafe.

You are equally as psychotic as Rafe, always chaos in your life. You live in constant chaos and you're fine with it. It adds plot to your story, you love to say.

When you met Rafe, there was an instant connection. When you met him, you knew that he was your next obsession. He was exactly your type - blonde, tall but most importantly, batshit crazy.

One day at a party, Rafe had approached you and you knew this was your time to shine. You'd been stalking his instagram for what seemed weeks and you knew he loved golf. So, you taught yourself everything there was about golf. He was very impressed, golf wasn't a very common interest for girls.

He suggested you guys could play sometime and that's how you got his number. And that's how it all began.

The first 3 months of you and Rafe was absolute summer heaven; yacht parties every week, delicious brunch at the country club, mind-blowing sex on the beach in Cabo.

But the 3 month rule is real, even for you and Rafe. The first argument you guys ever got in was of course about an ex; it always is.

"What the fuck Rafe, hearts? On her post? Are you serious?" You were standing next to his bed, your phone in hand as you showed him his ex's post, with his comment.

He was laying on his bed, annoyance evident on his face. "It was her birthday and they weren't even red hearts-"

"The color of the fucking hearts doesn't matter, Rafe! They're still hearts." You snapped making him get off the bed to stand in front of you, exhaling dramatically.

"Y/N, this is childish and stupid, why are you even mad-"

You were so mad you couldn't even contain a shout. "Why aren't you more understanding? What if I did that to my ex?"

"I wouldn't fucking know because I don't follow them." Rafe stated as you let out an angry scoff.

That fight ended with less understanding of you anger and more of Rafe making it up to you in a less wholesome way.

And thus began the next cycle - fight and scream, block and ignore, kiss and make up. Every time you would get angry, Rafe would be angrier even if the situation doesn't call for it. Sometimes, when you guys would make up, you couldn't even remember why you fought in the first place - you just did it for pure entertainment.

Rafe eventually caught on to your little ruse and decided maybe it was his turn. Now, every time he felt even a little intimidated by a guy you were talking to, he made it into a huge thing as well."

"He was grinding on you!"

You rolled your eyes, unfazed by Rafe's sudden anger. You were seated outside of the Cameron's house at the pool. "Hardly! Rafe, he just put his hand on-"

"I don't care." Rafe was suddenly up close to your face, his expression angry and annoyed. "No one is allowed to touch you but me, Y/N."

You smiled at that. "Yes, Rafe. Of course."

Petty arguments and faux anger wasn't the only thing going for you and Rafe. Sometimes, your fights were genuine but were taken too far. Like the time you banged up Rafe's car because he had started talking to his ex again during your "break."

You knew where Rafe kept his golf clubs and you decided to borrow just for this. His dad had bought him his dream car just a few months ago and you were about to wreck it.

You went up to the car and started banging it on the hood of the car. The door of the house opened and some shouting, you recognized it as Rafe.

"What the fuck-" He ran up to you. "Are you doing to my car?"

You stopped the banging and throw the golf club lightly at Rafe. "You fucking cheater!"

Rafe looked at you with confusion as he caught the golf club. "What-"

"Oh, you look sooo pretty in that tight sundress!" You mocked him and suddenly his face turned bright red. "Orange is such a pretty color on you!"

"Shit, Y/N! Don't act like you haven't texted any one of your exes just to get a raise out of me." He defended, scoffing.

"Never the one I knew you actually hated though, Rafe. You're a fucking asshole!" You then turned away from him and you felt like you were going to explode.

He sighed, walking towards you to put a hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry, you're right. I was just angry when I saw you touching that guy and I got caught up."

You shrugged.

He moved his hand to your jaw, making you look back up at him. "Can you forgive me?"

As you looked into those pretty eyes, you saw the sweet boy you had met just a few months ago. Your heart melted and you turned to face him. "Yeah.. Sorry about the car."

He pulled you in for a hug and you inhaled his expensive cologne and you felt like you were home again. You forgot everything in his touch; every bad thing he's ever done.

"Yeah, no it's fine Ward can repair it if we tell him one of Sarah's friends did it."

You held in your laugh at Rafe's solution, squeezing him tighter. "I love you, Rafe."

"Yeah, I love you too."

[cerosin-bis]

Hello again and don't worry about the former question :) and I'm sorry to annoy again😭 but I can't help it.. KruegerNikto gives me something to think about. Can you give us Headcannons especially about their relationship? Like, are they jealous(u mentioned that Krueger will 100% cheat but is also kinda possessive), do they beat each other bloody when they have a disagreement, are there things that they hate about each other, and what I am the most interested about: how does Krueger manage to calm Nikto during a psychotic episode??

I feel so annoying, I'm so sorry!!

Hi! and you're not annoying!! You're ALL being super lovely in your asks, which makes my heart full - I'm just slow, I'm sorry 🥲 But I am more than happy to be asked for more Krueger/Nikto!! So it is my pleasure to answer your questions. Sorry this got long, when given the opportunity to talk about them it just flows out from my fingertips. CW for unhealthy dynamics.

Both of them are jealous, in a territorial way, but particularly Nikto. @modernghostfare summarised it well here. Nikto is direct about it, while Krueger is underhanded. Krueger is used to having a hold on people/people coming back to him, while Nikto is insecure (in his Nikto way). For Krueger it's about asserting control and for Nikto it's more about asserting possession.

They do fight sometimes. It can be nasty. It's usually a game for Krueger since he has the upper hand in melee combat, but if Nikto is mad *mad* and actually wants to hurt him, Krueger has to actively retaliate and it can escalate quickly to the point they break bones and/or need to be physically separated.

They don't hate anything about one another, really. Nikto just hates the fact that he trusts Krueger. and that he cannot read his mind.

Krueger has 2 ways to ground Nikto during a psychotic episode (*disclaimer: this is NOT how it works in real life. this is just my fictionalised "version" of nikto's condition and kn's dynamic) :

1) if it's a violent outburst Krueger immobilises him. Nikto can be extremely violent but if he's not entirely there, then Krueger can and will overpower him quite easily and keep his face on the floor for as long as necessary. It's foolproof and works everytime in this specific case.

2) if it's "just" hardcore dissociation he has ways to talk him through it. Asking him questions if he feels like Nikto is almost there. Provoking him (making his brain stop and recalculate, if you will), or reassuring him. Nikto's psychotic outbursts are often immediately followed by distress/anguish, in which case Krueger will stand by him. Cushion the coming down phase with silence, a shared cigarette and a hand stroking his hair.

[http-tokki]

You were meant to be mine

~prohero!bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ~ tags/cw: aged up bakugou, toxic bakugou, smut, explicit language, possessive/toxic relationships, dark content, borderline abusive relationship, dub con ~ wc: 840

Katsuki doesn't handle your breakup very well; psychotic levels of not handling things well. From constantly texting and calling, sending flowers, showing up at your job, waiting outside for you to get off work, following you to the gym, and walking behind you as you rush home, Everything that could warrant you getting a restraining order, but because he is a hero and has the entire fucking system in his pocket, everyone brushes it off as him being concerned for the wellbeing of his girlfriend. 

Your phone blinks again with a new message. 

Answer your phone. I need to talk to you.

More messages follow.

Baby, please, I miss you. Call me.

I'm sorry, can you please call me.

Answer your fucking phone. I swear to god. 

I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to be so rude. Please just answer your phone or call me. I need to talk to you. 

Baby, please.

You refuse to answer, fearing to let him back in because you love this type of desperation. A small part of you screams in joy every time a message comes through, excited to see how much he begs for some form of contact. Bakugou needed you, the great pro hero was metaphorically on his knees for you, pleading with you, and you weren't ready to give that up. 

Princess, I'm begging you. Answer me before I lose my fucking mind. Please, angel, talk to me.

Your stomach twists, and you're so close to giving in and texting him to come over and bend you over the couch so he can fuck you good and dumb, filling you up so you are tied to him forever. You bite down on your bottom lip, teeth digging into ravaged flesh as you battle your logical self. Logic wins out, and you let your phone ring all night. 

Umm, idk what I was going to write here because there was a massive gap, but it was filler about you hanging out with Izuku, cause you two were close before you and Katsuki got together, and that's what sends Bakugou over the edge. He then breaks into your house, and this is the scene we have, lmao. I told y'all this is draft dumping.

So you get home one day, and he is sitting on your once-shared couch. All the lights are off to avoid giving him away in case you had brought home Izuku. Katsuki's imagination had run wild with that scenario. There were two paths he could go down. One, chase Midroiya out of your apartment with the little knife he had bought with him, ending his hero image, OR make Deku watch while he fucks you, reminding you and his former friend who you belong to. Either way, he was about to ruin his future and didn't care. You were getting back together with him even if he had to hold you hostage. You only notice someone else is in your apartment when you hear his boot knock against the coffee table. You jump, shopping bags falling from your hands as they fly towards your bag, searching for the pepper spray you keep.

"Relax, it's me." he drawls from the darkness. 

Your heart stops as you recognise the voice. "What the fuck, Katsuki?" your fingers wrap around the small aerosol in your bag. 

The couch creaks as he stands. "I could ask you the same thing," heavy footsteps echo in your still-dark apartment. "Deku? Really?"

"Yes, because we are friends. Am I not allowed to have friends?" 

Katsuki's chuckle is low and menacing. "No, because I saw the way he looked at you, and I don't like it," you feel the warmth radiating off his body as he stops before you. "Only I'm allowed to look at you like that. I'm the only one who can think about you that way." He places a hand against your chest, fingers digging into your collarbones, itching to reach up and wrap around your throat. "I'm the only one who can kiss you the way you like" You feel his lips ghost along your cheek.

Your grip on the can of mace slackens, your whole body giving into his touch as his other hand rests on your hip. 

"I'm the only one who can grab you like this" his fingers slide up to the base of your throat, squeezing lightly. "the only one who can slide their cock in your mouth and watch you gag and drool while you try so hard to swallow me" the hand on your hip tightens, pulling you closer against his hard body. Your head spins at the closeness, your heart pounding in your chest, and your stomach twisting because you're going to fuck him. You've decided that you're about to fuck your crazy stalker, yet hero boyfriend turned ex in your doorway, and would you come out of it alive? At this point, you didn't care. 

"Do you want me to do that?" Katsuki's mouth ghosts over yours. "Do you want my cock in you, huh?" 

a/n: thats all i got lmao