demigod-or-almost

[demigod-or-almost]

Commission to Clyn. Title: Once in a Moon. Request: Drunken confession, Larissa finds out and happy ending. Words: 5648. Ratings/Warnings: General Audiences/No Archive Warnings Apply. Relationships: Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates/Larissa Weems. Summary: She feels a lump in her throat, a heaviness in her stomach, and discomfort in her eyes. Larissa is using all her strength not to scream, not to cry, yet, as the other's diminutive figure seems even smaller and more fragile cowering in the centre of her bed, it makes everything difficult. Silently, Larissa Weems wishes she could go back to before, when she was still ignorant, to a time when she did not know the sleeping being in front of her. She wishes she could go back to the days long gone when she had yet to lose her heart to Laurel Gates. Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

“Why do you want to work at Nevermore, Mrs. Thornhill?" Larissa uses her most professional voice. 

“Miss," the redhead corrects. “Nevermore is one of the best schools in the country and I..." she proceeds to say a decorated speech. Larissa is well aware of her school's reputation, both the good and the bad, she doesn't need people to remind her of that. Weems admits that she has stopped paying attention between one word and another. After several boring interviews, it is normal to lose interest past a certain point. Everything she needs to know about the candidates is in the curriculums anyway. She studies the resume she has in hand. Exceptional track record, flowery references, no complaints or disgusted notes.

On paper, Marilyn Thornhill looks practically perfect in every way. 

“And what did you say your skill is?" Not that it will change her final decision at all, but Weems likes to keep track of what kind of person she's dealing with. 

“I didn't say," Thornhill smiles yellow, almost nervously, “I don't have one," she reveals. This catches Larissa's attention as she carries her gaze to her with a quickness that makes her dizzy.

“Are you a normie?" Larissa thinks she's put too much poison in the word, considering how Marilyn shrinks back in her chair. “Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." 

“No, it's okay, that's kind of my fault for omitting information." Again with the fake smile and nervousness.

“It's not like you're obligated to put that on your resume," the blonde tries to soften the damage she's caused. Weems looks at Marilyn and notices her, really notices her. The long red hair, the fringes married to the giant glasses that help hide her face, the simple clothes and nothing flashy. She looks like a low-budget red-headed version of some Zooey Deschanel character. There is absolutely nothing over-the-top about her. Marilyn Thornhill is ordinary, forgettable. One of those people who stand in the back of the room and nobody notices, as if they have a perception filter over them, deflecting away all eyes. Had Larissa not known better, she would never have married Marilyn Thornhill's resume to the person of Marilyn Thornhill. “Why do you want to work here?" Larissa asks again, this time genuinely interested. 

Marilyn holds Weems' gaze, defiant. “I used to live in Jericho years ago as a child. I observed first-hand how the townspeople treated Nevermore students. Even as a kid, the aloofness, anger and ostracism never felt right to me.

“When my family left, I thought it would be different, better, however, the sad reality is that the situation away from these walls, from this town, manages to be infinitely worse. Admittedly, the citizens of Jericho are not receptive and can even cause problems for the institution and its students. However, the young people who inhabit these dark halls are not alone in the world, and as long as they have someone like you, Principal Weems, to pray for them, they are safe.

“Which, disgracefully, cannot be said about thousands of people who have their lives cowardly cut short just for being different. Like..." She interrupts herself, her eyes glistening with tears that she refuses to let fall. Taking a deep breath, Thornhill continues, “My reason for wanting to work at this very prestigious institution is not because of professional relevance, the fat salary or anything else. I stand before you today out of an extremely selfish personal desire, just that and nothing more."

“What would that be?" 

“I want to protect those children, or at least try to." All the redhead's nervousness and discomfort are washed away, and suddenly Marilyn Thornhill no longer looks like someone dull who is lost in the landscape. She emanates a glow of her own, capable of blinding anyone who dares to look at her directly. The shy woman at the beginning of the interview and the woman who gave the touching speech are two completely different people. Larissa gets a glimpse of something she can't name but wants to see again. “I know I'm not much and that it's very preposterous to think that some random person with no powers can achieve something so great, or even that you need the help of someone like me, but if I can do anything to help, I need to try. 

“That, Larissa Weems, is the real reason I want to work at your school."

**

Weems searches Thornhill around the room with her eyes, knowing exactly where the woman will be. The months following Marilyn's hiring have passed smoothly, and the school year follows its routine cycle without end. The students keep on giving work to the same extent as in all the other years, the faculty goes on as usual. As far as the eye can see, everything is normal, everything is fine. However, Larissa is neither stupid nor ignorant, she knows how to look beyond appearances, beyond the surface. She notices how the botany teacher has a little more difficulty in her classes than the other teachers, she perceives how the shorter one is almost always isolated in the corner and on the rare occasions she saw her talking to a student or another teacher it was for something related to her classes. 

In staff meetings, Thornhill is in the corner, standing by the wall, blending into the environment. In those situations, she is only noticed by those who are looking for her, otherwise, it is as if no one is there. Weems remembers her first impression of her, of finding her ordinary, forgettable. She also remembers her words, her heart-warming speech and the small glimpse of something magical she saw that day.

“Miss Thornhill," the headmistress calls out once the meeting is over and the room begins to empty, “will you come with me? There is something I need to discuss with you." 

“Of course," she agrees with a shy smile. 

The walk to Weems' office never seemed so long, the atmosphere between the two similar to a burial. Corridor after corridor, Weems feels the prying eyes on them, students and staff who are probably thinking the teacher is in some kind of pickle. Glancing around, she notices a smile here and a giggle there. Something uncomfortable stirs inside her, but the tall woman just ignores it. 

“Am I in trouble?” Thornhill asks once they reach the blonde's office. She sounds like a child afraid of being scolded. 

“I don't know, do you have reason to be in trouble, miss?” Weems heads straight for the bar, she studies her options carefully. Checking the hours, she sighs defeatedly. “Tea?” She offers, smiling. 

“Yes?”

“Are you accepting the tea or admitting you committed a crime?" the Principal asks, amused. “You don't have to be nervous.”

“Are you sure? Because I kind of feel like I should be terrified.”

“Yeah, I'm sure.” She assures. “Please sit down,” she indicates one of the armchairs near the fireplace. Looking a little more relaxed, yet still nervous, Thornhill accepts the invitation to sit down. Between heating water in the electric kettle and choosing tea, they fall into an almost comfortable silence. Weems feels the redhead's eyes following her every move. 

“I was about to ask you that before, but I didn't find an opportunity,” the blonde breaks the silence. “How have you been? Is your adjustment going well?”

Thornhill doesn't answer immediately. For a moment she looks confused, surprised by the question, then her countenance changes to thoughtful. “Everything is fine,” she answers finally. 

“Are you sure?" She insists. Weems put a few spoonfuls of tea leaves into a previously scalded French press, then pours the water in circular motions until the container is almost full. “You can tell me if something's not going well, you know that, don't you? Whether it's a student causing too much trouble or some inside difficulty, you can tell me anything.”

“I appreciate the concern, but it's not necessary," she assures. “Everything is fine.”

The headmistress turns to face the teacher, her concern stamped in her eyes. Weems needs to know if everything really is fine or if the woman is just being strong. Larissa cares about her staff as much as she cares about her students. Everything and everyone related to this school is important to her (admittedly, some more than others). She analyses the little redhead, looking for anything that would give away the lie in her words, however, she finds nothing. 

“Either she's a great actress and a first-rate liar or she's telling the truth,” the blonde thinks to herself. 

“Well,” the woman settles for saying. She approaches Thornhill, bringing with her a tray with the French press, two mugs and other things she needs to serve the tea. Depositing the tray on the small coffee table between the two armchairs, she sets about serving. “Sugar or honey?”

“Sugar.” Weems hands the cup with the blue liquid lightly sweetened with a sugar cube to Thornhill, who takes a sip of the drink before adding another four sugar cubes. “What?” she asks innocently when she notices how Larissa stares at her.

“You're a criminal,” the blonde replies. 

“Pardon?”

“There is no pardon for someone who puts five sugar cubes in their tea.”

“I like sweet things,” the redhead defends herself. 

“That's not sweet, that's diabetes in a cup,” she jokes. “Next time, I'll offer you just the sugar cubes right away.”

“Do so, and I'll gladly accept,” Marilyn replies with a smile.

**

Larissa tries to steal some of Marilyn's popcorn once hers is finished. They are in the headmistress' quarters, watching a film of dubious quality that the teacher has chosen. It's about a brain that won't die, however, Larissa believes the title is misleading as it's about a whole head and not just the brain. She also thinks the film is nonsensical, more than once she has commented on how a head cannot remain not only alive but also conscious without a body. In Weems' opinion, the brain surviving alone would make much more sense than the whole head. Thornhill just told her to be quiet and watch the film, which she did, even though she is itching to point out every absurd thing happening on the screen. Larissa doesn't know why she still lets Marilyn pick the movies, it's more than proven that the redhead has terrible taste in movies. The week before she picked a movie about a wormy woman, and the week before that she made the blonde watch Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, because, according to her, the fact that Larissa had never seen the movie until then was a crime. 

Weems lets her eyes wander from the screen to the person sitting next to her. Marilyn is sitting with her legs folded under her on the sofa, the bucket of popcorn, her inseparable companion, resting on her lap, her eyes glued to the screen, she hardly blinks, absolutely engrossed in the plot. She wears grey sweatpants and a pastel pink shirt with a kitten on it, her hair tied up in messy braids and her glasses forgotten on the coffee table. Larissa can't help but notice how Marilyn seems to belong in the room as if she's the person who actually lives there. 

“You're staring at me again,” Thornhill says, and only then does Larissa realize that the film is over. 

“No, I'm not.” She doesn't even bother to stop staring. 

“Yes, you are!”

“I'm not, but if I was, you can't blame me if you're so much more interesting than these bad movies you pick.”

“My movies aren't bad.” 

“Oh, but they are, honey. They're terrible.”

“If you think the movies I pick are so bad, why do you keep letting me pick the movies?”

“Because you look very pretty while you're watching bad movies, and I like that very much.” Marilyn stares at Weems wide-eyed in surprise for half a second before quickly turning her face away. 

“Idiot,” the redhead says in a low voice. Larissa can see the slight blush on her cheeks and can't help but smile.

**

They walk side by side through the city streets, their fingers intertwined and their shoulders rubbing lightly with each step. It is their first official date outside of school since until then they have reserved themselves for movie nights of dubious quality, idle Wednesdays drinking fancy teas, and one particularly disastrous Friday when Larissa decided to cook and ended up exploding the casserole (in her defence, Marilyn said the sauce was fine, even if it was sticking to the wall). 

Marilyn talks about her passion for carnivorous and poisonous plants, the main reason she chose botany in the first place, citing some of the types they have at the Nevermore Conservatory. Weems listens intently, confused by all the scientific names that the little woman throws at her — the principal's knowledge of botany is limited to which plants she can make tea with. There aren't many people on the street, but the few they do meet give them a tail-eyed stare, with each new encounter, Larissa feels she's very close to punching someone. Realizing this, Thornhill gently squeezes her hand, calming her down and telling her it's all right. 

When a group of teenagers dressed as pilgrims approach them, laughing and pointing brazenly, Larissa moves towards them, but Marilyn pulls her to the other side. 

“This way, I know a shortcut.”

“This isn't a shortcut,” the blonde says, acknowledging where they are. “This is the opposite of a shortcut, it will take us at least another half hour to get to the school grounds.”

“Good,” the teacher smiles, "so I have you all to myself for another half hour.”

Larissa feels her ears burn and the blood rises to her cheeks, she thanks the moonless night for hiding the blush that she is sure has taken over her face (mentally, she imagines her head being replaced by a tomato). She slips her arm around Marilyn's shoulder, who in turn slips her arm around Weems' waist. And so they continued walking, in each other's arms, to the gates of Nevermore. 

**

Weems wakes up with a sound similar to a cry. Marilyn is curled up on her side of the bed, looking even smaller than usual, her eyes closed, her fists clenched, her countenance contorted in pain. Lightly bathed in the moonlight streaming through the half-closed curtains, she looks like a wounded animal.

“Mar...” Larissa calls out, concerned. “Marilyn!” She shakes the woman when she gets no answer. 

Marilyn wakes up in a jump, frightened and bewildered, she attacks Weems, her hands going straight for the woman's neck. Larissa doesn't move, doesn't fight back, just waits until the mist in the redhead's eyes dissipates and she understands where she is and what is happening, which doesn't take long. Quickly, Thornhill pulls her hands back and turns away from Larissa, terrified by her actions. 

“I'm sorry,” she asks in a low, weak voice. Larissa hates it when she uses that voice. Throughout their time together, the blonde has noticed that Marilyn has a lot of nightmares. Occasionally, they tend to get worse, as if they have a seasonal trigger that makes everything go downhill. A trigger that Larissa has yet to figure out what it is to protect Marilyn from it. 

“It's okay,” Weems says hoarsely. She smiles, trying to lessen the weight of the situation. They fall silent, feeling the atmosphere weigh on them. “You... you were calling for your brother...” Larissa says small, uncertain. Marilyn rarely talks about her nightmares, and Larissa respects that, though she thinks talking about it might help her. “I didn't know you had a brother."

“I don't!” She bites, her voice a thunderclap in the night. Marilyn's harsh words echo acidly in the darkness. The silence that consumes them this time is heavier, more suffocating. Larissa feels guilty, the small voice in the back of her mind telling her that she messed up. Screaming that she should have stayed quiet like all the other times. She falls into a spiral of self-deprecating thoughts. “Not anymore...” Marilyn's voice is so low that Larissa almost doesn't realize she's said anything. 

“I... I'm sorry for bringing it up.”

“It's okay, I know you were concerned... and curious.” Marilyn shakes her head. She attempts a smile, but she has no strength or will, all she can manage is the shadow of something listless, lifeless. “It's just that I don't usually talk about my brother.”

“And you don't have to if you don't want to.”

“But I want to!” It's a cry for help. "I want to...”

“And I want to listen.” 

For a third time, silence devours them. The anticipation of what Marilyn is going to say fills the air with statistics. Weems holds her hands and squeezes them lightly in a comforting gesture. Assuring her that it is safe to continue, safe to share whatever it is with her. 

“My brother was an amazing person..." she begins, her voice so low and yet so high at the same time. “I followed him everywhere, his friends used to say I was his second shadow, and even though he was ten years older, he never treated me like the annoying little sister... I love... loved him so much... He was my best friend and the best person in the world, and he... He was taken from me...” Marilyn's voice dies. She feels Larissa wiping away her tears, and only then does she realize she is crying. Larissa hugs her and lets her girlfriend cry on her chest, she uses one of her hands to draw imaginary patterns on the redhead's back, something she knows calms her. When Marilyn finally stops crying, the first rays of sunlight can be seen through the window. 

“Do you want to get up and get ready, or call in and say you're sick?” Larissa asks. 

“Call who? You're my boss.”

“It's going to be a strange call, but I think I can convince myself to give us the day off.”

“ʽUsʼ?”

“If you're going to stay home and eat ice cream all day, so am I.”

**

Larissa walks through the green maze that is the corridors of the conservatory. Marilyn has missed another staff meeting. Although Weems is mature enough to admit that a part of her is relieved not to have to spend three hours locked in a room with her ex-girlfriend and all the other teachers looking at her funny, she's still the principal and Thornhill is still a teacher who needs to shoulder her responsibilities. 

Aisle after aisle, the blonde makes her way to the farthest and most private part of the room. It has been a few weeks since she and Marilyn broke up, or rather, since the other woman ended it all with no explanation or apparent reason. Larissa still feels sad, empty and bitter, and potentially angry. She let the redhead have her time, and her space and waited for her to come back on her decision to break up, but it didn't happen. To make matters worse, Marilyn's performance has declined greatly, causing even more friction in the relationship between the two, who meet only to have the headmistress scold her. 

Larissa goes over the conversation she intends to have with Thornhill in her head again, she needs things to work out. She doesn't want to keep fighting with the redhead every time they see each other. Marilyn was the best thing that ever happened to Weems, and if the redhead no longer wants to be her girlfriend, she understands and hopes that they can at least be friends — because Larissa can't go back to an empty and insignificant life where Marilyn Thornhill isn't part of it. The blonde takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She needs everything to work out, or at least not be a total disaster. The principal still feels bad about her last encounter with the teacher, where a professional discussion turned into a person and she said things that weren't true just to hurt Marilyn as her anger and frustration got the better of her. Larissa has not seen Marilyn since that day. 

Turning down the last corridor, the scene Larissa encounters makes all her speech disappear from her mind in a matter of seconds. Marilyn is lying on the floor, liquor bottles were thrown around her, and a syringe with a blue liquid is near her hand. Larissa feels desperation grow in her chest, and she screams the woman's name, or so she thinks she does, but she couldn't tell since she can't hear her voice. She shakes the small body, looking for signs of life, takes her in her arms and runs out. At some point, someone appears and she believes she has given orders for the doctor to be sent to her quarters, for when she reaches her room with Marilyn in her arms, the middle-aged woman in charge of the infirmary is waiting for her at the door. 

“She's fine,” the doctor says after what seemed an eternity to Weems. 

“What do you mean ‘she's fineʼ, she's unconscious!” Larissa screams. She feels bad about that, but she can't afford to care at the moment. “There was a syringe on the side of her body! She tried to kill herself!”

“She has no sting marks, so I don't believe the syringe was for that.” The doctor says calmly, used to dealing with people on the edge of their emotions. “She drank a bit too much and ended up sleeping halfway through whatever she was working on.”

“She's just sleeping?” She asks, discredited and relieved. 

“Exactly.”

“I'm going to kill her.”

**

When Marilyn wakes up, Larissa barely gives her time to find her way around before saying that they need to talk. 

“We don't need anything.” The redhead replies dryly and dismissively. Larissa feels terrible for being used to this kind of hostility coming from the woman. Precariously and keeping herself upright by some miracle, Marilyn stands up and begins to walk towards the exit. Weems is faster than her and uses her body to barricade the door. 

“You're not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

“Is that an order from my superior?”

“It's a friend's request.”

“We're not friends,” she yells. 

“No, we are more than that, but you for some reason decided to ignore that fact and start acting like you don't know me!" Larissa returns in the same tone. She doesn't like shouting, even less so when the other person is not in a good place, however, she can't keep it all bottled up inside anymore. Weems knew she would explode one time or another and it seems that time has come. 

“If that's not an order, then I don't need to answer." Thornhill ignores Larissa's words. She tries to walk past the blonde, but the woman's tall body doesn't even move. Right now, she is like a stake fixed into the ground with concrete. 

“Please, can't you see that I'm trying here?”

“I didn't ask you to try,” she hisses. 

“That's the point, you don't have to ask!” Exasperates. “I'm trying hard to give you the space you need to sort your shit out, but every second you seem more distant and lost and it's hurting you and me. To make it worse, I found you lying on the conservatory floor with a syringe full of poison thrown beside you. I thought... 

“I thought you were dead... I thought I'd lost you again, only now for good.” Her voice is choked with emotion. “I can't go on like this anymore, I can't go on watching you sink deeper and deeper. When you give someone too much rope, they end up hanging themselves and I'm not going to lose you. Not like this.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I love you, you moron! That's why I care!”

“Don't say that.”

“I. Love. You. And no matter how hard you try to push me away, my feelings for you won't change.”

“You can't love me.” Marilyn sounds like a hurt and frightened child. 

“Why not?”

“Because you don't know me!" She screams with tears in her eyes. “My past, the things I've done, the things I plan to do. The real reason I came to this school in the first place. You know absolutely nothing about me, that's why you can't love me. Because if you knew anything, you would hate me...”

“I could never hate you, Marilyn.”

“I am not Marilyn! My name is Laurel. I'm Garrett Gates' sister! And I hate you. You and all these freaks in this goddamn school. Every student, every teacher, every outcast, I hate them all.” Her eyes burn with the tears she refuses to let fall. “Your kind is the reason my brother is dead. The reason I lost my entire family, and because of that I want all of you destroyed, dead! Every freak, every abnormal, every outcast, you all deserve death. All of you. 

“Or at least I thought it should be that way until you showed up...” Between the few stubborn tears that managed to escape, she gives a sad, pained smile. “You who are so serious and yet kind and cheerful and perfect. You lured me in with your warm smiles and fancy teas and soft laughter and beautiful personality. What mortal could resist the charms of Larissa Weems? None, I tell you. Before I could do anything to stop it, I caught myself completely in love with you. My revenge no longer mattered as long as I could be with you. But...

“Every time you call me Marilyn, I feel my heart being torn apart. All the things you say you love about me are lies. You love a lie. That's why you can't love me, Larissa. Marilyn Thornhill, the person you love, it's not me. So, I'm the one who's begging you now, because I can't keep pretending to be someone I'm not anymore, and more importantly, I can't keep hurting you any longer. Please, let me go.”

Weems doesn't understand what is going on. She knows that she has heard everything that Mar-- Laurel has said. She feels a suffocating pain in her chest, the air, or lack of it in this case. Her head feels heavy, and she is sure she is crying, and even though everything indicates that Larissa is just seconds away from falling, it is not her body that crashes dramatically onto the ground. 

**

Larissa watches over the sleeping woman in her bed. The small body curled up into a ball, her face swollen from crying. She wants to hold her in her arms and protect her from the rest of the world, to promise that everything will be all right and nothing and no one will ever hurt her again. However, she can do neither, so, with a tightness in her chest, she settles for slowly brushing her fingers across the woman's soft skin, up her exposed arms and into the fair redhead's relaxed face, taking the opportunity to brush a strand of hair from her face.

She feels a lump in her throat, a heaviness in her stomach, and discomfort in her eyes. Larissa is using all her strength not to scream, not to cry, yet, as the other's diminutive figure seems even smaller and more fragile cowering in the centre of her bed, it makes everything difficult. 

Silently, Larissa Weems wishes she could go back to before, when she was still ignorant, to a time when she did not know the sleeping being in front of her. She wishes she could go back to the days long gone when she had yet to lose her heart to Laurel Gates. 

**

In the morning, Larissa wakes up in her empty bed. It doesn't take long for her to discover that Marilyn, Laurel, or whatever the redhead's name is, has left the school in the dead of night. Weems notices the stares at her, the tension of the questions that no one dares to ask, she ignores everything and everyone. She ignores her feelings and the desire to scream that grows inside her chest. The redhead's words echoed in her ears, burning in her mind, repeating endlessly. She knows that everything that was said is true, Laurel's hatred was perceptible in each of her words, dripping like venom. Larissa cannot understand how Marilyn, so sweet and kind, could be Laurel, so bitter and sick. However, thinking about it wouldn't change anything, because Laurel ran away and took Marilyn with her, and that's the part Larissa can't forgive. 

**

When the police show up asking questions and hinting that the botany teacher had a connection to the strange deaths that had been happening in the woods on the edge of town, Weems said nothing beyond what was public knowledge (or the public imagination).

“Yes, we had a relationship,” she replies coldly. “No, I don't know anything about the possibility of her being a serial killer,” she thus ends the interview, practically throwing the sheriff out of her office. 

**

Larissa walks around the old cottage, opening the windows and airing out the place. She still remembers the last time she visited her family's cottage. Of the picnic, she and her mother had near the lake, the boat rides with her father, and how her brothers fought over the last s'more around the campfire. The old Weems Family Cottage was once a place of great joy, but now, it is just a pile of rotten wood falling to pieces. 

Since her mother passed away almost ten years ago, neither Larissa nor her brothers, nor her father has dared to set foot near the place. All the good memories created in this place have been transformed into daggers that pierce the soul overnight. The blonde walks slowly and carefully through the place, parts of the floorboards look like they will give way at any moment. She wonders how she let herself be dragged to that place, but now that she was there, she had no reason to dwell on her life choices. 

She sees her mother at the kitchen island cutting vegetables. Her father is by the fireplace reading the newspaper. She hears her brothers' footsteps running upstairs. Between one memory and another, she finds herself making a list of everything that needs to be fixed or replaced, or demolished. Immersed in nostalgia, in pain and longing, she hardly hears the knocks on the door. 

As she opens the door, she is confronted with the reason she is there, to begin with. Laurel Gates, better known as Marilyn Thornhill, stares at her uncertainly.

“Hi...” her voice is only a whisper. 

“What took you so long?” Larissa asks with a big smile that makes all of Laurel's nervousness disappear. 

“The traffic was horrible.” She replies with a smile as big as the blonde. “But I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“You can be sure of that.”

**

Larissa places her cell phone on top of the mantelpiece, and the soft melody of the music she has chosen gradually begins to fill the room. She offers her hand to the person who dragged her to that place. “Will you grant me this dance?” She asks with a smile on her face. 

“Of course.”

Weems takes Laurel in her arms, fitting her into her body. They follow the quiet rhythm of the music. Laurel rests her head on Larissa's chest, listening to the slightly accelerated heartbeat of the blonde. It is like a scene from a musical. 

The moon shines on them like a spotlight, the damp, dusty atmosphere giving way to the cozy warmth created by the fire crackling in the hearth. The feeling of detachment and strangeness slowly went away. The world around them darkens and loses focus, and all that is left is the two of them nestled in each other's arms and Neil Young's voice echoing through the air. 

“I missed you,” Larissa admits, her voice a whisper in the night. 

“I missed you too,” Laurel replies in the same tone. They continue to dance together, neither daring to say anything more, unable to break the little bubble of happiness they find themselves in. They are not naive and know they need to talk about everything, but not now. Right now, what they need is music and each other's embrace. 

As the music ends, Larissa stops and stands aside just enough to admire the woman with her. The new haircut, the spectacles with a different frame, the extra holes in her ears. Visually, so distinct from the last time the blonde had seen her, yet still the same person. Weems rubs her fingers slowly across Laurel's face, gently caressing her cheek. Laurel closes her eyes and lets herself be carried away by the touch, basking in the thrill of being touched by Larissa again. 

“I really want to kiss you.” Softly, Larissa runs her finger along the outline of Laurel's lips.

Laurel opens her eyes and stares into Larissa's deep blue eyes that flicker in the half-light of the fireplace. There is no doubt in the blonde's eyes. “Please do so.” It is a plea. 

Larissa leans in and ends the distance between them. Their first kiss after all these months apart is salted by tears that the two have not bothered to stop. Laurel's lips are the perfect match for Larissa's, just as Marilyn's were. As the kiss intensifies, Larissa feels something in her chest. She feels the hole that opened when Marilyn ran away being closed. Marilyn Thornhill may no longer be there, but Laurel Gates is, and Larissa loves her with all her being, and she will never let her disappear from her life again. 

“I love you, Laurel Gates,” Larissa utters. 

“I love you, Larissa Weems.” She replies with a smile and tears.

[demigod-or-almost]

Commission. Title: Forgive me, Father. Word count: 2326. Ratings: Explicit. Relationship: Corto Maltese/Rasputin Request:  Corto gives Father Rasputin a blow job. Warnings: praise kink, priest kink, catholic imaginary, religion, heresy, semi-public sex, oral sex, plot what plot/porn without plot, porn with feelings. Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Corto observes the man looking down at him from his mockery of a throne, pursing his thin lips in a lascivious smile, eating him with his eyes and pleasing himself in the image of Corto on his knees by his feet.

“It has been too long since my last confession.” That is a lie, and the smirk on the priest's face tells he knows that much. Never before in his life has Corto ever confessed. He doesn't believe in God enough for that.

“I have never been one for religion.” Still on his knees, the sailor leans forward, pressing his hand against the thief's chest and pushing him further against the chair. Taking advantage of the five centimetres of height difference between them, Corto towers over Rasputin. “I never thought there was much in it for me.” With a mischievous smile on his lips, Corto caresses the priest's torso through his clothes, cherishing the ravishing vision that the man before him is — the black cassock falls nicely on the thief, in a sinful and perfidious way that makes something buried deep inside Corto crawl and ripple and twist, screaming and begging for attention.

“Maybe I was wrong,” Corto continues with a lopsided smile. “Maybe I should have given religion a chance.” Corto slides his hands under the Father's soutane, making his way to his sensitive areas and electing a faint moan from him. It is a nice sound — small and shy and nothing like Rasputin at all. “I mean, if all the priests are like you, maybe there is something for me in it, after all.”

Bending over, Corto kisses the Russian's exposed neck. His skin tastes salty, and he smells of cigarette ash, cheap wine and wood polish. The sailor smiles against the thief's skin, he can see Rasputin clear as day breaking into the cupboard where the wine for Mass is kept, and taking as many bottles as he can before sneaking out to smoke and get drunk away from the prying eyes of the religious portraits scattered around the small church.

Father or not, Rasputin is still Rasputin, and that man is a bastard — Corto's bastard.

“Perhaps,” Rasputin says with a strangled breath. His vocal cords vibrate against Corto's lips. Swallowing dryly and taking a deep breath, the so-called priest digs his nails into the armrest of his pulpit chair, using all his willpower to keep his composure. Once his breathing is under control, he tries again, “Perhaps this would be easier if you told me what you've done.”

Leaning back minimally, Corto allows himself to observe the scene as a whole. Rasputin is tense and rigid with his hands clenched at his sides; his face is red, his chest rises and falls in long, deep breaths, and sweat drips down his throat, falling onto the collar of his messy, crumpled cassock.

Corto drags his fingers down Rasputin's jawline, enjoying the way the thief tenses even further under his touch. The man laughs to himself, no matter what, his dear friend will always be headstrong. Not that it matters, Corto has proven more than once that he can be as stubborn as Rasputin, if not worse.

If Rasputin wants to play hard, all Corto needs to do is play harder.

Corto meets Rasputin's gaze, a crooked smile on his face. In a deep silky voice, with lust and arousal dripping from his every word like poison, he declares, “I'm not seeking penance for what I've done, Father.”

Rasputin gulps dryly, his Adam's apple bobbing. The Russian's dark eyes shine fiercely in the pale candlelight, broadcasting his raw emotions to anyone who knows the man well enough to read them — malice, lust, desire, hunger, passion, and possession.

“I'm asking forgiveness for what I'm about to do.”

As the Angel of Death had descended to Earth once before on an Egyptian night, Corte descends on Rasputin taking what has long been rightfully marked as his. The Russian's lips are thin and parched, and his mouth has the same cigarette ash and cheap wine as his skin. Rasputin moans into Corto's mouth, losing the one-sided battle against his urges. Parting his lips, he allows Corto to fully savour his mouth. Corto lets his tongue become reacquainted with Rasputin's mouth, relearning everything that may have been forgotten during all the time the Russian was playing dead.

Once the inconvenience of needing to breathe becomes sufficiently inconvenient that neither of them can ignore it any longer, Corto pulls away, much to the annoyance of Rasputin, who whimpers at the loss of the sailor's lips.

Corto grins openly at Rasputin's indignation, savouring the way the thief's defences are falling one by one.

With a swift movement that could be considered offensive, Corto rips the priest's cassock, exposing his hairy, sweaty chest and causing a few buttons to fly away — not that any of them care.

Rasputin's chest is marred by scars, small and large, conspicuous or faded, every corner of his skin is marked by a memento of an encounter gone wrong, a lie that has been caught, or a friend turned foe. Every scar is a reminder that not even the thief of thieves can go through life without bearing the consequences of his actions. They are also a testament to the fact that Rasputin survived, and will continue to do so.

On Rasputin's right side, just below his ribs, there is a mark larger than the others, with deformed, red skin. Corto swallows dryly at the sight of the burn that could easily be bigger than his hand. Logically, Corto knows that the possibility of Rasputin coming out unscathed from the explosion that caused his near-death was almost nil, but Corto had also spent a long time believing that Rasputin had died only to find him again in a godforsaken village in Mexico of all places, so perhaps the logical part of his brain hasn't put two and two together yet.

Rasputin stirs slightly in his chair, and Corto realizes that his staring contest with Rasputin's exposed torso is making the man uncomfortable.

With a thoroughness that doesn't quite belong to him, Corto trails his fingers along the burn scar; studying its edges, feeling the bruised skin against the calluses on his fingers. Rasputin breathed sharply, waiting for his companion's next move.

Corto kisses the scarred skin. It's a sweet, almost innocent gesture, but above all, it's a declaration of acceptance.

Rasputin is Rasputin no matter what, and Corto accepts every bit of him — stellar personality and charred skin included.

“Perhaps,” Corto starts, his voice uncharacteristically soft. Leaning back, Corto rests on his knees. From his place at the Father's feet, Rasputin looks way too big. Bigger than life and death itself. The candles’ light shines upon him, surrounding the priest with a regal aura. The thief looks almost ethereal. “I should pray to God, after all.”

“Yeah, what for?”

“To thank him, of course,” Corto continued in the same soft tone.

Thank him for this absurdity of a man, this thief that stole Corto's heart and has yet to give it back — not that Corto will ever take it back. He should say his graces for Rasputin, for this man who is half of his life, half of his soul. God, real or not, is responsible for creating this outrageous man down to his atrocious personality, kleptomaniac tendencies, pathological lies, and all the other little things that make Corto's heart beat harder. For all that, for all the little pieces that make Rasputin nothing else but Rasputin himself, God should get some prayers and even some praise, too. Because once one creates the epitome of man, a being so perfectly imperfect that he breathtakingly captures the essence of humanity, one definitely deserves some congratulations.

Rasputin is God's most grotesque creation, and Corto is very thankful for His work. And maybe someday he will say that to Rasputin's face. Not that he needs to, since the look on Rasputin's face when the gazes meet tells Corto his dear had caught the words he doesn't dare to say out loud yet.

“Well,” Rasputin begins, using the tone he adopts when speaking to parishioners — cocky and condensed. “If you really want to strengthen your ties with God, you can always start with a good relationship with His most faithful servants.”

“And that would be you, I assume?”

“Of course,” the bastard says with a smirk. “Who else but me?”

Corto laughs.

Indeed, who else but him?

“Tell me, Father, what do you have in mind?”

“I believe it was the Bible that says that to please a man of God is to please God Himself.”

“The Bible says that?”

“Of course,” Rasputin says nonchalantly. “Maybe. Probably. I never read the damn thing.”

Corto chuckles.

“Oh, Father, what would your parishioners say if they heard you talk like that?”

“I think they'd be too scandalized by what we're doing to pay attention to what I'm saying.”

“And what are we're doing, Father?”

“Sinning, of course.”

“Do you think this is a sin?”

“Tell me, pretty boy, when have we done anything other than sinning?” Rasputin caresses Corto's face. “Besides, I'm pretty sure it says somewhere that a man shouldn't lie down with another man.”

“Good thing we're not lying down, then.”

Corto grins maniacally, and Rasputin laughs loudly

“You, my dearest, are nothing but an incorrigible bastard walking down the dark path.” Rasputin pulls Corto by the collar, forcing the sailor to meet him on his level. “But fear not, Father Rasputin will make sure to wash away all your sins.”

The following kiss is initiated by Rasputin, and for once in a long time, Corto lets him have all the control. Rasputin's kisses are fierce and hungry, filled with pent-up tension mixed with passion and possession. Rasputin is taking what is rightfully his, and for a brief moment, Corto allows him to. But that is not the game they're playing, and so Corto pulls away.

“Now, Father, I believe I was the one supposed to please you.” Corto wipes the corner of Rasputin's mouth with his thumb. “This is my confession, after all.”

Pushing Rasputin against the chair once more, Corto busies himself with untying the sash that rests lazily on the Russian's waist. Swallowing hard, Corto takes a moment to bathe in the image before him.

Rasputin is hard, so fucking hard.

Corto is not a merciful man. With long, deliberate movements, he teases and arouses Rasputin, trailing a path of kisses down his inner thigh and slowly making his way to his erection.

Rasputin moans beneath him, shaking under his touch — so helpless, so defenceless, so desperate.

“God!” Rasputin screams.

“Now, Father,” Corto says against his burning skin, “you cannot say God’s name in vain.”

“Fuck you, Corto!” He bites.

“No.” Corto licks Rasputin's inner thighs. “I'll fuck you.”

God's name is not the only thing Rasputin says in vain once Corto finally touches his hard erection with his mouth. Kissing the base of the so-called priest's penis, the sailor makes his way up from the base to the tip with long, deliberate licks. Rasputin's hands find their way to Corto's hair, and the thief's fingers pull it violently; his legs wrap themselves around Corto unconsciously, locking him in place and making it almost impossible to pull back — not that Corto wants to. Sliding up and down slowly, Corto uses his tongue to rub the length of Rasputin's cock, sucking hard and playing with the head of his penis. Rasputin's breath is harsh and weak, and Corto is not sure whether he can understand the things his lover is saying anymore — he is pretty sure Rasputin isn't talking in English any longer.

Never being the one to voluntarily get down on his knees, Corto can't remember the last time he's had Rasputin in his mouth, but the pleasure of having his man in his mouth, with his legs spread around him and his long, calluses fingers deep in his hair makes Corto question if he's as clever as he believes himself to be since anyone with half a brain would do anything to be in that prestigious position at any given moment.

Rasputin howls, screaming Corto's name as if it was God's. Corto takes it as the incentive to intensify the rhythm, adding his hands to mix and causing Rasputin to scream even louder. The thief's body shakes, his legs twitch, he arches his back and his breath shortens.

The Father is loud, obscene and vulgar, he says Corto's name repeatedly, along with a mix of expletives and profanities. He screams for God while begging Corto to go deeper; he asks for mercy but doesn't allow Corto to pull back. He is the one sitting on the throne, but he's actually the slave.

Corto plays with Rasputin like a tiger plays with its prey. He toys with him, bringing the thief to the edge only to stop. He tests Rasputin's limits, his patience, his wits, and, above all, his pride. Corto enjoys being a bastard and enjoys making Rasputin whimper and beg. He loves to see this insufferable man so irrefutably under his control.

Torture would be kinder.

Rasputin's cum drips down the side of Corto's mouth. Wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, Corto licks the cum off his finger and leans back, giving Rasputin space to recover.

His hair, his beard and even his chest hair are frizzy and matted, and sweat drips down his forehead, neck and chest, making his skin glisten in an angelic way. The thief's muscles tremble with exhaustion, and his breathing is laboured and shallow. The beautiful cassock was reduced to nothing but rags.

Faced with such a magnanimous display, Corto can't help but smile proudly.

This is beautiful, Rasputin is beautiful.

Corto may not believe in Heaven, but he's sure he's never been closer to the Gates of Paradise before.

[demigod-or-almost]

Anonymous Commission Title: A Piece of You. Word count: 3859. Request: Hinata being fucked by two Kumo ninjas. Warnings: Explicit sexual content, cheating, masturbation, multiple orgasms, oral sex, anal sex, p-in-v sex, double penetration. Commissions info here!

Kuma is drunk. Not drunk enough to fall over or start puking, but drunk enough for his vision to get a little blurry and his head to get dizzy and for that little voice in the back of his mind that keeps him from doing anything stupid to shut up for a while. He's inebriated just enough to feel good and enjoy the atmosphere, even if the atmosphere is a crowded, noisy bar smelling of cheap alcohol and perspiration. Kuma laughs loudly and calls out for another drink. It's the first time in weeks that he can afford to drink without worrying about a hangover the next day. His mission is over, and he's back in his home village, and he will get a week off as a reward for a job well done. His team-mate, Shin, is already on his fifth bottle of sake, ready to finish another. Kuma is loose and free. He has no outstanding obligations, no emergencies around the corner, not a worry in the world, and if he did, he wouldn't care about any of them at the moment.

All that matters to Kuma is getting his fill and finding someone to spend the night with.

On the other side of the pub, sitting alone on one of the stools by the bar is a woman with hair as blue as the night and a shapely bottom so big it won't even fit on the seat. Kuma watches her from afar. The glasses scattered around her indicate that she's been there for a while. The barman brings her another drink, and she throws her head back and swallows it all in one go. Her tits, fat and plump, sway with the movement. Some of the drink drips down the corner of her mouth, making its way down her neck, and disappearing into the valley of her breasts.

Kuma elbows Shin, drawing his friend's attention back to the woman. Shin whistles, understanding perfectly how Kuma feels.

Without wasting any time, they call for a hostess and send the woman a drink. When the drink arrives, the mysterious, bulky woman searches them with her eyes as the waitress explains the situation. She stares at them for a long moment before nodding and raising her drink towards them before swallowing it down. They both mirror her actions. A short while later, the three of them are sitting side by side, laughing and drinking.

The woman, Hinata, tells them that she is a Konoha kunoichi on an official mission and that by morning she will be on her way back home. Where her children and husband are waiting for her. In all honesty, Kuma would admit that the information about her being married was a bit of a cold shower, but then she started talking about her husband and Kuma saw a glimmer of hope. Hinata is the kind of honest drunk, Kuma can see. The kind who says everything she can't say when she's sober to avoid fatigue and a headache. She's a tired wife, with a husband who only knows how to work and hasn't fulfilled his marital duties for far too long. Hinata is a mother who loves her children but needs a break from them because she is the only one and there are two of them. She's also an unappreciated ninja, who has to listen to bullshit from the people she works with because she's decided to only take really important jobs since she can't spend so much time away from home. For Kuma, Hinata is, above all, a woman who deserves to be treated well and appreciated and to have someone look after her from time to time. Which is perfect, because he's more than willing to look after her.

The thing about Hinata, Kuma soon realises, is that she's a good and decent person. She is a good wife who would probably never think of cheating on her husband, no matter how flawed he may be. Kuma wants to give her a break, he wants to make her feel good. He wants to make her scream his name and beg for more, make her have to postpone her journey home because she won't be able to walk properly in the morning. But Hinata doesn't seem interested in that, or perhaps, she doesn't even know that's an option. To Hinata, Kuma and Shin are just two kind strangers willing to buy her a drink and listen to her rant about her life. Shin doesn't mind just listening, Kuma knows his friend and knows that he likes to hear about other people's lives. Shin is single and lives alone, so he doesn't have much going on in his life. Any distraction is a good distraction, Shin once said. Kuma doesn't care much either, he has done it many times and will do it many more times in the future. However, Hinata is different. Kuma can't stop imagining what it would be like to take her by surprise, to make her fall to her knees in front of him, to have her on all fours waiting for him. Kuma wants Hinata in a way he's never wanted anyone before. But he won't force her. Kuma would never forgive himself if he did.

The three of them drink and drink and close the pub. Dissatisfied with the evening ending like this, they decide to go somewhere else. Shin's flat is the nearest, and he has some beer at home. Hinata climbs the stairs leaning on Shin, who in turn is leaning on Kuma who is leaning on the stair railing. Neither of them remembers how to walk in a straight line.

Hinata collapses on the sofa. Smiling and at ease, without a single worry in the world. Shin fetches his drink from the kitchen, stumbling on the way. Kuma sits next to Hinata. He watches her. Her luscious boobs swaying as she breathes, her big arse taking up two cushions at once. Her clothes are short and tight, and Kuma can see her panties. She's so hot, Kuma wants to have her.

Kuma doesn't realise what he's doing, doesn't notice how his hand slips inside his trousers or how he squeezes his already hard cock. He isn't even aware of how his breathing is starting to fail and his body is going tight or how he's almost there. Kuma only grasps what's happening when he notices Hinata's gaze on his trousers. When he looks away from her for the first time in a long time, he notices that his fly is open and his cock is sticking out hard and begging him to continue.

"I'm sorry," he says somewhat self-consciously. He usually has more self-control. Under normal circumstances, he'd go to the bathroom or wait until he got home. Or he'd ask first before doing it in front of another person. Kuma swallows dryly, certain that he has spoiled the evening, and ruined any chance he had with Hinata. He's sure she'll scream and slap him and run out the door.

Yet Hinata does no such thing. She stirs on the sofa and Kuma notices something else that has gone completely unnoticed by his mind. The hem of Hinata's skirt is up, her underwear is pulled to the side and Hinata's fingers are working frantically as her breathing becomes shallower and shallower. Out of the corner of his eye, Kuma notices Shin standing at the kitchen door, no beer in sight and his hands working rapidly on his arousal. Hinata and Shin's loud moans fill the small flat. Kuma feels hot and burning, his throbbing erection begging him to finish what he started. And so he does. Kuma grabs his cock and with firm, strong movements continue to masturbate, his panting moans loud, mingling with those of the other two. But Hinata's cries are louder, more pleasurable. Hinata is outrageous. With a cacophony, the three of them climax at the same time.

Kuma lies back on the sofa, catching his breath. Shin slides down the wall to the floor and hides his face between his legs, as tired as he is. Hinata lets her body sink into the sofa. Her skirt was still up, her thighs dirty and sticky. She gasps, her breasts rising and falling. Her forehead is sweaty, her hair sticky.

"I want to fuck you." Kuma is honest and direct. He wants to know what it's like to go down on her, and what her screams are like when someone else makes her scream. Kuma wants to know if she's as tight and delicious as she looks. "I want to fuck you, I want to make you scream, I want to give you pleasure. I want to feel pleasure. You can deny it and walk away, I won't stop you." He lays his cards on the table.

Hinata stares at him, but answers. She won't leave either, and that's all the permission Kuma needs.

Kuma moves from his place on the sofa and kneels in front of her. Without hesitation, he spreads her legs and pulls down her wet, honeyed underwear. Kuma inhales the scent of Hinata impregnated in the item of clothing. He gropes her, running his hands up and down her broad, thick thighs. He runs his tongue through the remnants of her cum, savouring the taste of her. Hinata shudders under his touch. Kuma goes to her centre, running his tongue along Hinata's slit. Her taste is strongest there. With gentle movements, he makes her shiver at his kiss. Penetrating her lightly with his tongue, he makes her moan. Kuma likes to think of himself as a good shinobi, someone who knows how to pay attention to detail and who does his job practically and meticulously, always aiming for the best result. He also applies his work habits to his personal life, which doesn't always work out, but sometimes the result is better than he expects. Like now, when he takes the time to explore every corner of Hinata's intimacy with his tongue and feels how her body twitches in pleasure. Kuma focuses his mouth on her clitoris, sucking on it like a popsicle about to melt in the summer heat. Her moan is muffled. He lifts his gaze to Hinata and realises why. Her mouth is occupied with Shin's dick.

Kuma is envious. He can see how skilful Hinata is. How she uses her hands to massage his balls and the tip of her tongue to play with the tip of his cock as she makes him moan louder and louder. Kuma wants her mouth on his dick too. He intensifies his work, venting his envy and frustration at not being in Shin's place. Kuma inserts two fingers inside her, making her squeal louder. Not even his friend's cock in her mouth can silence her moans. That makes him happy. Stroking her hard, he continues to suck her clitoris, nibbling and licking to cause different reactions. Her cries get louder and her whole body reacts as she comes in his mouth. Hinata's nectar tastes much better straight from the source. Kuma swallows every drop of it.

He sits on the floor, leaning on his hands. Kuma watches as Hinata works on Shin. His screams are as intense as her seconds ago. When Shin cums, Hinata doesn't miss a drop.

Kuma sits still, facing Hinata for a while. The sight of her is perfect. Sweaty, messy, dirty with cum. Her tits are sticking out of her blouse, her nipples hard. Kuma seeks Shin out with his eyes, his friend is in a deplorable state. His trousers are down around his ankles, his cum-soaked briefs are stuck to his knees, his hair is stuck to his forehead, and his shirt is soaked with sweat. His cock sprung free, throbbing and begging for more. Shin returns Kuma's gaze, smiling in a way that tells Kuma that he's not much better off than his friend either. They hold each other's gaze for a long second. Kuma laughs back.

Turning to Hinata, Kuma pushes her back against the sofa. He kneels on the couch, putting his legs on either side of her, restraining her. Kuma kisses her. It's something hungry, and needy. He invades her mouth with his tongue. Biting her lips, he makes her moan against his mouth. Kuma uses his hands to grope her breasts, massaging them. He pinches her hard nipples, drawing a delicious reaction from her. Hinata grabs his waist, pulling him to her. Making him sit on her lap, his penis rubbing against her belly. The friction makes him harder. Kuma hears footsteps rushing through the house, something falling in the distance, and Shin lets out a swear word. He doesn't care about any of it. He's too busy sucking on one of Hinata's tits to care about any of it.

Kuma thinks of nothing but Hinata's moans or how her skin is as velvety smooth beneath his touch. He feels Hinata's hands leave his waist and work their way down to his penis. She takes his dick in both hands and squeezes it, making him grunt. Pleased, Hinata smiles. Using long, prolonged strokes, she stimulates him. Kuma feels his breathing start to falter again, but he doesn't stop. He continues his work on Hinata's breasts. Sucking and massaging her. He can feel another orgasm coming on. But it doesn't come, because Shin interrupts them.

Kuma wants to kill Shin. But he changes his mind when he realises why there is so much noise in the bedroom. Without moving, Kuma takes a condom from his friend's hand and puts it on. He slips it under Hinata's skirt. She screams in such a delicious way that it makes his cock ache. Hinata is as tight as Kuma imagined. He can imagine the damage his cock will do to her pussy. Hinata rocks underneath him, doing the work for both of them because Kuma chooses such a bad position. But he wouldn't trade the sight of Hinata all rumpled and dishevelled underneath him for anything. She looks like a fucking whore, with her tits out and her eyes begging for his cock. Kuma steadies his body on his knees and uses his arms to support himself on the back of the sofa. Following the rhythm of Hinata's hips, he thrusts hard into her. Hinata moans and howls and screams. She's a fucking show-off. Hinata runs her hands down his neck, pulling him closer and taking his mouth. Between wet kisses and rhythmic rocking and heavy thrusting, they moan and scream and howl. Kuma and Hinata reach their climax again.

Kuma lets his body relax, his heart returns to normal. He allows his lungs to remember how to work. Kuma collapses on the sofa next to Hinata. Tired. He disposes of the condom by throwing it on the floor, this is a problem for the Shin of the future to deal with. Kuma watches his friend pull Hinata off. He sees how Shin goes to the trouble of undressing her. Shin positions Hinata leaning over against the edge of the sofa, her plump ass sticking out and her voluminous breasts sprawled on the cushions.

Shin is a rash guy with no patience. He always does what's best for him, regardless of whether it inconveniences anyone else. But occasionally he has lapses of empathy. Where he thinks about what's best for someone else and not for himself. When Shin inserts his fingers inside Hinata first, to get her tight, pink hole used to it, instead of just thrusting into her, Kuma knows that this is one of the rare moments when Shin seeks someone else's satisfaction before his own.

Hinata moans at Shin's stroke. She thrusts her bum out, begging for more. He puts in another finger and then another. Using all three fingers, he makes simple back-and-forth movements. Kuma observes how Hinata is sprawled on the sofa, supporting her body with her elbows. One of her tits is leaking out, as big as it is. Shin slaps her bottom, her flesh bouncing. Hinata lets out a sound of surprise. She's adorable.

Kuma repositions himself on the sofa, leaving his member in her face. He lets his cock slap against her face. She moistens her lips, eager. Kuma does not waste any time, he wants to feel the same pleasure as his friend. He fucks her mouth with pleasure. Her lips are soft, her tongue is smooth to the touch, her saliva is warm and her teeth brush slowly against his length, sending shivers through his body. Hinata licks him, sliding her tongue from the tip to the root. She cries out against his cock and Kuma sees that Shin is fully inside her. His friend thrusts into her as if he had never fucked anyone in his life, pulling her towards him. Hinata is swept away from Kuma's cock. Disgruntled, Kuma grabs Hinata by the neck, pulling her towards him. He shoves his entire member into her mouth, making her choke. Shin and Kuma engage in a tug-of-war with Hinata, each pulling her towards him. Hinata doesn't seem to care if her moans are any indication. She engulfs Kuma's balls, sucking on them. He feels waves of pleasure.

She plays with his length, working with her hands and mouth in a coordination that must have taken her years to perfect. The moans she lets out against his member as Shin eats her from behind make the experience even better.

The screams of the three of them get louder, the neighbours must probably have noticed what they're doing. The thought makes Kuma hornier. He wants to cum again, but he has already seen what Hinata is like when she swallows everything. Now he wants to know what she's like when she gets dirty. Kuma pulls away. Hinata whimpers. She is so fucking hot doing it. Using his hands, he works quickly. His loud wails mingle with Shin's, showing that they've both come at the same time. Shin inside Hinata, Kuma on her face. Hinata is so perfect when she is nasty.

All three of them are worn out. The flat is hot, stinking of cum and sweat. But they haven't finished yet. Kuma exchanges a look with Shin, who smiles as if reading his mind. Kuma vacates the sofa, he pulls Hinata with him. Kuma knows Shin's flat off the top of his head, so he has no problem finding his way to his friend's room. He throws Hinata onto the bed, and she falls on her back. Hinata looks him up and down, she bites her lip and tilts her head. Her eyes beg for more, her expression dares him to try and deny what she wants. Extremely conscious of every piece of clothing he's wearing, Kuma discards his sweat-soaked shirt and semen-stained trousers. Using his hands he asks her to climb further onto the bed. Hinata is quick to fulfil his request. Kuma gets on the bed with her. Hinata is underneath him, so ready. She is hungry for more, for someone to lie on top of her, to have someone else's body crash into hers, to be fucked again. And that's what Kuma is going to do.

Using one hand and all the strength he had acquired in years of training, Kuma turned her over on the bed. Ever since he saw her in the pub, all Kuma could think about was how good it would feel to fuck her big, fat bottom. How it would feel to have her riding his cock. Kuma pulls Hinata onto his lap. With the protection in place and the lube ready, Kuma fucks Hinata. Her scream is like a song Kuma never thought he needed to hear, but he doesn't know how he lived so many years without it. Thanks to Shin, Hinata is already hot and eager for him, so Kuma doesn't have to be careful. Hinata rolls onto his cock, riding him as if competing for first place in a mounted contest. Kuma rests his forehead against her bare, sweaty back. He lets his hands roam her body, making their way to Hinata's breasts. Kuma plays with her breasts, giving the woman even more pleasure.

He knows that Shin is watching everything. He knows that his friend is hard, with a new lubricated condom in place and ready to fuck her again. But Kuma won't budge, he won't give up Hinata's asshole. Except he doesn't have to, because Kuma and Shin are best friends and best friends share everything. Even the sluts they've picked up in the pub.

Together, like the good team-mates they are, Kuma and Shin fuck Hinata together. Kuma had to give up having Hinata riding his cock for this to happen, but the way her screams become louder and more intelligible makes it all worthwhile. Shin is lying down. Hinata is on top of him, leaning on her arms. Kuma is behind Hinata, holding her tight around the waist, moving inside her at the same pace she uses to pleasure his friend. Kuma understands why Shin slapped her. It's impossible to find yourself in that position, with her ass devouring his cock and the sound of their bodies colliding filling the room along with her moans, and not feel an insatiable urge to slam into that big, fat, luscious arse. He squeezes her plump cheeks, his cock disappearing completely between them. Hinata is so hot, that every part of her makes Kuma want to bite her and mark her. He continues his work and continues to make her scream.

The three of them tangle with each other. Their cries, their bodies, their fluids. Nothing is individual anymore, nothing is singular. The pleasure is on a level that none of them has ever felt before. On a level, they fear they will never feel again. They moan in the night, screaming profanities, grunting and howling. There is no logic, no reason. There is only the carnal desire that keeps their bodies moving despite their tiredness. Kuma comes first, it's a full-body orgasm that robs him of the rest of his strength, but he can't stop. Because the others haven't stopped yet. So he continues. Every atom of him is begging him to stop, but he keeps going. Shin comes in second. His final moan is loud and vulgar, like everything else he does. But Shin doesn't stop either. They both continue, waiting for Hinata. They can't be satisfied if she doesn't feel the same pleasure as them. So the two continue. Their bodies cry for mercy. But they continue. Time passes differently when you're tired, when your body is heavy and rigid and all you want to do is collapse. Time drags on and tortures you and a second lasts an eternity. However, the moment Hinata's moan cuts through the air and she lets her body give in, falling on top of Shin and breathing heavily against his neck, Kuma feels a satisfaction he has never felt in his life.

Kuma is so, so happy that he let his best friend drag him out to drink today. He is even more happy for Hinata's husband, he has a really hot and delicious wife.

[demigod-or-almost]

Fanfiction. Title: Under The Moonlight. Word count: 1831. Ratings: Explicit. Relationship: Marilyn Thornhill | Laurel Gates/Larissa Weems Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex, vaginal sex, lesbian sex. Summary: Under the moonlight, Larissa contemplates the vision that is Marilyn. She is wearing a dress in a dark shade of green. The gown is long enough to skim the ground and has inlaid stones on the collar, sleeves and hem, as well as black details alongside the stones. It's closed at the front with a row of buttons and open at the legs — every step is torture for Larissa, who does her best not to stare at the redhead's legs.  Links: ao3, tips!. Commissions info here!

Larissa doesn't know why she's so nervous, but she can't help wiping her sweaty palms on her trousers. With a trembling hand and lingering movements, she presses her knuckles to the wood of the door and knocks twice. 

She takes a deep breath. She fiddles with her fingers, bites her lips, and shifts her weight from one foot to the other. Waits and waits. The silence that follows the knocks consumes the night and suffocates the blonde, who feels her entrails turning inside her. 

Larissa begins to wonder if there's anyone at home if she's got the place or the day right, if she has time to leave and pretend that none of this has happened. Her mind is a whirlwind and time passes faster inside her head than outside — milliseconds become seconds and seconds become minutes and minutes become hours and nothing happens. 

Then a miracle happens and Larissa's demons are silenced by the divine vision of Marilyn opening the door.

“You look beautiful,” Larissa says, smiling, all her anxiety melting away at the image of Marilyn standing in front of her.

“And you look marvellous,” Marilyn contemplates. Larissa is wearing a SHINee's colour three-piece suit with big black buttons. 

“This old thing?” 

“Old thing, huh?” Marilyn asks, reaching out to pull something from the sleeve of Larissa's blazer — it's a price tag.

“Maybe not that old,” Larissa smiles sheepishly.

Marilyn doesn't hold back and lets out a laugh. It's a sweet sound that spreads through the night and sounds like music to Larissa's ears. 

“Shall we?” Larissa asks, offering her arm to the other woman. 

“Yes, we shall,” Marilyn says, taking the blonde's arm.

It's their sixth date, but it's the first time they've been out in public together. Although relationships between employees are not forbidden, both Larissa and Marilyn wanted to make sure that their casual encounters in the principal's study and their conversations over glasses of wine would lead somewhere before they put themselves in the public eye. 

The place Larissa has chosen for dinner is not far from Marilyn's flat, so they decide to take advantage of the calm evening air and walk to the place. Under the moonlight, Larissa contemplates the vision that is Marilyn. She is wearing a dress in a dark shade of green. The gown is long enough to skim the ground and has inlaid stones on the collar, sleeves and hem, as well as black details alongside the stones. It's closed at the front with a row of buttons and open at the legs — every step is torture for Larissa, who does her best not to stare at the redhead's legs. 

For a Friday night, the restaurant was quieter than expected. They sit at a table away from the door but near one of the windows. 

Throughout the dinner, they talk about many different topics. It starts with Marilyn talking about her adjustment to school and about her favourite students and those who are a bit more trouble but are still good people. Eventually, the topic of conversation changes, and they talk about life before working at the school. Larissa talks a little about her family, about her years as a student, mentioning some stories about the crazy things Wednesday's father got up to in high school (Marilyn laughs at these stories and Larissa finds herself falling even more in love with the sound of her laughter). Over dessert (which they share), Marilyn talks about the future, about wanting to retire to a small chalet in the mountains and watch the sunset from her balcony every afternoon. Larissa admits that she can't see her life away from the school, since she has spent so much of her life at Nevermore (as a student, a teacher and now principal). Marilyn says that, if Larissa wants, they can share the redhead's plans for the future (Larissa accepts without a second thought). 

The walk home is filled with stories from Marilyn's adolescence and childhood - when she broke her arm, when she punched a boy in class, when she ran away from home and only got as far as the corner before running back into her mum's arms. Step after step, they fall into pleasant conversation. Marilyn talks more than Larissa, who is content to just listen. 

The interior of the flat is cozy. The wallpaper is a pastel colour and the walls are covered in photos. Larissa realizes that most of them feature a tall, dark-haired young man.

“That's my brother,” Marilyn says as she catches her examining one of the photos. “This picture was taken on my fifteenth birthday. My parents were fighting a lot at the time and could barely stay in the same place, so my brother took the money he earned working in the local café and took me out. We spent the day away from home, it was my best birthday,” she says. 

“Your brother sounds like an amazing guy,” Larissa contemplates. 

“He is,” Marilyn smiles. “Here.” She offers Larissa a glass of wine. 

“Thanks.”

Their fingers brush as Larissa takes the glass. Marilyn swallows dryly, her eyes fixed on Larissa's crimson-coloured lips. She desperately wants to kiss her. Larissa seems to want to do the same, as she slowly leans in. Marilyn stands on tiptoe. Their lips almost meet. 

“May I?”

“Please.”

At first, the kiss is as calm and sweet as a spring day. Marilyn puts her hands on Larissa's waist, who brings one of her hands up to the redhead's hair. This is their first kiss, and they can't think of a more perfect kiss.

The second kiss is the complete opposite. It's not pretty or delicate at all. It's heated and passionate and hungry, a kiss that carries all the repressed desires of both of them. It's like a sudden summer rain that destroys everything in its path. 

The way to the bedroom is marked by the clothes Larissa leaves behind. Marilyn unceremoniously shoves the blonde onto the bed. Larissa pulls Marilyn onto her lap, and the redhead doesn't resist. 

Provocatively, Larissa reaches for the buttons of Marilyn's dress and slowly unbuttons them one by one. She then runs her hands over the redhead's exposed skin, taking them down to the band of her bra. With one hand, she draws small patterns on the other's nipples before turning them into a stimulus that makes the teacher gasp. Larissa then takes her mouth to the other breast and starts sucking on it. Marilyn moans. 

Marilyn makes a simple movement of her hips, provoking a reaction in Larissa that the blonde doesn't have time to describe. The little twist makes Larissa take her hands to the waistband of her trousers (her penultimate item of clothing) and get rid of it. 

She lays Larissa on the bed, climbing on top of her. Maliciously, she teases the blonde again by running the tip of her nose along her soft skin, trailing a path down to her thighs. Under her touch, Larissa lets out little gasps of excitement. The redhead moves slowly down and up the blonde's bare chest, leaving small kisses along the way that cause more moans. Finally, she approaches the lying woman, kissing her intensely while one of her hands travels to the middle of Larissa's thighs, creating nothing more but a friction that makes the principal bite her lip in disapproval.

“Please…” Larissa begs. 

A snort of laughter escapes Marilyn's lips as she retraces her path to the other woman's centre. She squeezes Larissa's naked thighs. Marilyn places kisses and bites on the inside of Larissa's thigh, who lets out little whimpers at her actions. 

With her teeth, Marilyn pulls Larissa's panties out of the way, which makes Larissa exclaim. Excited and satisfied with the state of affairs, she decides to end the torture. She runs the tip of her tongue around Larissa's clitoris, making the blonde's body stiffen at the sensation - the gasp of air coming from the taller woman's lips is the perfect incentive for Marilyn to get down to sucking the place.

Larissa feels her whole body tremble, Marilyn's lips between her legs are enough to make the blonde let out uncontrollable little moans. The little squeeze her thighs make is unconscious, as is her body making a little arch under the bed. Marilyn, for her part, has total control over the situation, taking her time to smile contentedly as she worries about repeating the movements that cause the most interesting spasms.

Marilyn continues to stimulate Larissa's clitoris when she inserts a finger into the blonde, whose body reacts by begging for more. With sinuous movements, she gently fucks the woman, introducing a second finger when she feels Larissa's nails digging into her shoulders. 

Taking pity on her prey, Marilyn increases the speed of her actions, receiving the most delicious reaction from Larissa, who screams her name into the night. The air in the room changes, getting hotter and making the women sweat. Marilyn slides her free hand nimbly down Larissa's body — squeezing her legs, pulling her hips, leaving little pinches on her thighs — while her tongue and her other hand continue to work to elicit moans from the blonde and make her legs tingle and her muscles contract.

The loudest moan is like the main act of the night, echoing through the room and shaking the walls.

Silence follows the orgasm.

Marilyn makes her way to the top of Larissa and places a kiss on her lips. They just stand there, exchanging kisses and caresses for a while, until Larissa looks up at her with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

With a swift movement, the taller woman changes the position of the two. 

Larissa kisses Marilyn intensely while her hands play with the woman's breasts. She brings her lips to the redhead's neck and takes her time marking her territory. When Marilyn's moans get louder, Larissa smiles against the other woman's exposed skin. Unlike Marilyn, the blonde is charitable and takes pity on her partner. She makes her way between the legs of the redhead, who shudders at Larissa's breath so close to her centre. 

She stimulates the redhead's clitoris with her thumb while running the tip of her tongue along the other woman's entrance, enjoying every little reaction she gets out of Marilyn. Larissa's tongue slides into just the right place, causing the redhead's hips to buck so violently that Larissa has to hold her in place. She swipes her tongue and then sucks, and the pressure Marilyn feels is so good. It's as if the blonde has found a magic button.

Marilyn screams louder and louder until the room falls into post-orgasm silence again.

Larissa lies down next to Marilyn. They both gasped for breath. They intertwine their fingers and enjoy the calm after the storm. 

Under the moonlight coming through the window, Marilyn admires Larissa. She is sweaty and dishevelled and has red marks all over her body, but to the redhead, she has never looked so beautiful. 

[demigod-or-almost]

Fanfiction. Title: Lucky. Word count: 1679. Ratings: Explicit. Relationship: Diana (Wonder Woman)/Lois Lane/Bruce Wayne Warnings: cheating, alcohol consumption, sex between women, bisexuality, threesome [f/f/m], fingering, masturbation, multiple orgasms, oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, p-in-v sex Summary: Bruce goes to a charity event and has more fun than he expected. Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

Diana Prince is a big woman. On her own, she's a tall woman. But her high-heeled shoes make her a head taller than most people in the room. Her broad shoulders, her shapely arms, her full breasts. She's a vision to mere mortals, like a goddess, or in this case, a demigoddess. Come to the world of men to capture hearts and trample them with her stiletto heels. Diana is elegant in a way that many are not. Happy is the man who walks side by side with her, who can call her his own. Happy is Steve Trevor with his silly, champion smile and his arm entwined with hers, walking beside her like the king of men. 

Bruce brings his whisky, it's the third of the night. He watches from his seat at the bar as Diana smiles and chats with people who don't deserve her attention — strolling among the masses, carrying her little dog with her. Bruce doesn't hate Steve, far from it. He's a decent bloke. But he's too lucky. After all, any man who can say he slept with Diana Prince is too lucky. Bruce wants to be lucky, too. Every man and woman in this ballroom wants to be lucky, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Clark Kent. The slender, fumbling journalist who is just a front for something even more irritating. If Bruce doesn't hate Steve, Clark is someone he can't stand. Not because he's tall or strong or handsome, even though he hides behind those hideous framed glasses. No. Bruce hates Clark because he is lucky. Any man who can say he's dating Lois Lane is lucky. 

Bruce hates lucky men. Even more so now that Selina has broken up with him. So he drinks. Bruce Wayne is a womaniser. Bruce Wayne is a playboy. Bruce Wayne is a drunk. Bruce Wayne is a pitiful creature. Tonight, all these things are real. 

From his fixed spot by the bar, he observes and watches and drinks. 

Lois and Diana chat like old friends. They laugh, brush up against each other, and exchange glances. They have fun amid so many unfortunate souls. Lois' black dress is tight and matches perfectly with Diana's equally tight red dress.

Noticing Bruce's gaze fixed on them, they nod and smile. He doesn't do much more than nod back. And that's all they need to do to acknowledge each other's existence. 

The seconds drag into minutes and turn into hours. Eventually, Bruce loses sight of them both and with nothing else to do, he decides there's a limit to how long he can sit around feeling sorry for himself. Looking around one last time, he contemplates the idea of picking up a woman at random and taking her with him. But he decides against it. Even though he's a millionaire playboy, he's still a vigilante and certain marks on his body are hard to explain. 

Walking through the corridors with heavy steps, he passes a multitude of doors. Many rooms are closed or occupied. Bruce can hear the sound of people screwing everywhere. Rich people are like that, he thinks. All they care about is drinking and shagging. Maybe if he were a normal rich guy like everyone else, he'd be like that too. 

Without paying much attention to his steps, he stumbles over an abandoned shoe in the corridor. If Dick or Jason saw him, they would laugh at how the great Batman nearly broke his neck over a high heel dropped in the middle of the road. Muttering a swear word, he notices that the nearest door is ajar. Most likely, the owner of the shoe ran into the room without caring about nearly causing someone's broken neck. Grunting, he throws the heel inside the room. That's when he notices who's in the room.

Diana and Lois. 

Diana Prince is kissing Lois Lane. 

Clark Kent's girlfriend has her hand up Steve Trevor's girlfriend's dress. 

The redhead's hair is cascading around her face. The brunette's bun is messy and loose. Their dresses crumpled. A red lace bra lying on the floor. Her heels are lost in the partially lit room. 

Bruce lets out a laugh. It's something half mad, half incredulous. It's a sound that comes from deep in his throat and reaches the ears of the two women, who move apart immediately. The three of them stare at each other for a long second. 

“Don't let me interrupt you, ladies,” he says eventually. 

”As if you could interrupt us,” Lois retorts. She always has an answer on the tip of her tongue. 

“I couldn't if I wanted to,” Bruce agrees. 

“And what are you going to do?” Diana asks in a defiant voice. 

“I could walk away and pretend I didn't see anything,” he replies.

“Or…?” Diana begins but doesn't finish. 

Bruce finishes Diana's sentence wordlessly by closing the door behind him. The three of them face each other again. The silence is longer and more tense, and the surrounding air is hot and heavy. Diana and Lois exchange glances that Bruce could only describe as mischievous. 

With long, seductive strides, they walk up to him. Pulling him by the tie, they lead him to an armchair and drop him unceremoniously into it. The place they are in is like an office. There's a two-seater sofa and two armchairs facing the sofa. A large desk in one corner. A bookcase to one side and large windows covered by heavy velvet curtains. 

Bruce accepts the seat they have chosen for him and watches as they make their way to the sofa opposite him. 

Diana pulls Lois into a long, wet kiss. Her tongue roamed through her mouth. The brunette throws the redhead's head back, regaining access to her neck. She trails a path of kisses down to the tips of her full breasts that peek out over the top of Lane's dress. Using her long, slender fingers, Diana gropes for the zip of the dress, finding it in seconds. The sound of the zip being opened fills the room. She lets the straps of the dress fall, and Lois' breasts practically jump out. Diana uses her calloused hands from years of sword training to massage and stimulate Lois' breasts, and Lane moans loudly. 

Bruce feels his erection growing against the unflattering fabric of his trousers. He slips his hand inside his trousers and runs his fingers along his shaft. 

Diana realises what he's doing and laughs. 

As the princess of the Amazons, Diana Prince can be a very cruel woman when she wants to be, but she also knows how to treat a lady. She runs her fingers down Lois's body, causing her to spasm and make sounds as one of her hands continues to work on her breasts. Diana trails a hand down to the hem of her dress, and her hand disappears under Lane's dress. Lois moans loudly. Diana's movements are provocative, she plays with Lois. She plays with Bruce. Diana Prince is a cruel monarch. Her thrusts pick up speed as Bruce's movements on himself get faster. Bruce and Lois are breathing hard, gasping and moaning and howling, and they both scream together. They reach orgasm. 

Diana takes the fingers she used on Lois into her mouth and sucks them eagerly. 

Prince stands up with careful movements. Without difficulty, she discards her dress, letting it fall to the floor. Without hesitation, she marches over to Bruce wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties. Bruce realises how wet the material is. Diana kneels in front of Wayne and spreads his legs. She pulls down his trousers, which are now stained, and his underwear comes off with them.

Without much thought, she grabs his cock. Her thin, long, warm fingers work on his member. Diana takes the head of his cock into her mouth and moistens it. Bruce moans against her warm, soft mouth. 

Diana sucks and blows and goes all the way. She bites and nips and scratches him with her teeth in a way he didn't even know he could enjoy. 

Bruce can see Lois open on the sofa, playing by herself as she watches them. With Diana sucking him off and Lois masturbating in front of him, it doesn't take Bruce long to cum. Prince swallows every drop of his juice. The air around them gets hotter. The smell of sweat and cum is strong.

Diana is not satisfied. She gets rid of her last piece of clothing and sits on Bruce's cock. She rocks and rides, and Bruce moans louder. Perhaps, were it not for the deliberately loud music in the ballroom, people would hear him screaming. Bruce pulls Diana to him, kissing her and tasting his taste mixed with Lois. He massages her breasts, making her wail louder against his mouth. They use each other and Bruce comes inside her. When Diana gets off him, Bruce notices Lois leaning over the table. She's waiting. Bruce may be many things, but he's not a man to keep a woman waiting. The brunette takes the redhead from behind, thrusting hard into her hole. Clark Kent may be Super, but it's Bruce who makes Lois roll her eyes and scream obscenities and call his name. He fucks her until she forgets who the alien is and when he's finished, he comes inside her, just like he did with Diana. 

Diana licks Bruce's cum off Lois's leg, turning her around on the table and sitting her face towards herself. She takes the redhead's hole with her tongue and makes her scream without having time to catch her breath. Prince penetrates Lois with her tongue and fingers, she touches a special place that makes her scream. Lois holds onto the table, arching her back and hooking her legs around Diana's shoulders.

Lois is like a divine vision. Diana is like a sinful vision. Bruce feels as if he has died and gone to heaven. Or maybe hell. 

He doesn't care which is which, he just knows he's a very lucky man.

[demigod-or-almost]

Fanfiction. Title: Canary. Word count: 3769. Ratings: Explicit. Relationship: Hyuuga Hinata/Inuzuka Kiba; Aburame Shino/Hyuuga Hinata; Darui/Hyuuga Hinata; Hyuuga Hinata/Omoi; Hyuuga Hinata/Original Male Character(s); Hyuuga Hinata/Uzumaki Naruto (mentioned). Warnings: cheating, gangbang, anal sex, oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, rough oral sex, penis in vagina sex, unprotected sex, cum slut hyuuga hinata, son-cuckold, pov uzumaki boruto, implied/referenced incest, cuckolding, incest (but not really unless watching counts as incest), bakunyuu, netorare, kink, plot what plot/porn without plot, shameless smut. Summary: It's like the nightmares he's been having while travelling, but it's real. Boruto knows it's real because he has pinched himself and bitten himself and scratched himself and hit himself and done all those things they say you have to do to know if something is a dream or not. He even counted his fingers, all twenty of them, and tried the genjutsu dispersal technique, but nothing worked. The image in front of him hasn't changed. No matter what he does, his mother is still being passed around between these guys.  Links: ao3, tips! Commissions info here!

Boruto leaps between the trees. It's been over two days since his mother left on a mission, and he needs to catch up with her. Honestly, he doesn't know what his father has in mind sometimes. Sure, his mother is a great ninja who can handle herself. But she's also a woman! A woman who went on a mission alone with eleven different guys. Boruto trusts his mother's teammates to protect her, but it's still two guys against nine. Darui and Omoi are also reliable people, but they're from another village, and Boruto wouldn't put his hand on the fire for them, especially when his mother is involved. 

It's not as if Boruto expected any of them to try to force his mother into anything, far from it. Boruto trusts Kiba and Shino and trusts his father enough to know that he wouldn't send his mother on a mission if he is not sure that she would be safe with the team he sent with her. The point is that Boruto isn't an idiot. Even less innocent. He has two eyes and ears and notices how all the ninjas look at his mother. Both men and women. The whispers, the lingering glances, the way some have to fix themselves or sit still. He notices the marked trousers, the mischievous smiles, the random trips to the toilet. No one is too blatant about it. They can't be. Naruto is an idiot, but even an idiot can tell when everyone around him is trying to get luck behind his back. However, a week away from the watchful eyes of the Hokage can make some people lose their fear of danger and even death. Boruto doesn't need a bunch of men flirting and drooling shamelessly over his mother or trying their luck with her.

So he runs as fast as he can. Jumping between the branches, tracing the path he hopes his mother and her companions have taken. For the tenth time in the last hour, Boruto thinks that Naruto is an idiot. Perhaps his mother really should let herself be taken by one of the many people waiting in line to have her, just so Naruto can learn not to leave his wife alone with eleven men. 

**

Boruto stands among the trees, watching from the shadows. He doesn't want his mother to know he's there. He doesn't want her to think that he doesn't trust his ability to protect himself. 

It's the fourth day of their journey, and it's only a few hours since Boruto caught up with them. The boy is exhausted, but he can't rest. Fighting sleep and tiredness, he keeps his eyes peeled, following every step of nine out of eleven men. The teenager senses that some of them know he's there, but that doesn't matter. It's good that they know he's there, it's good that they know Boruto won't let any of them try anything with his mother. 

His mother is too kind. She looks after them, makes them food, asks them how they are, and smiles at them. Hinata is like a mother, like a wife. And maybe that's what she is at the end of the day. But she's also beautiful. Her hair is a deep shade of blue, her eyes milky, her lips pink. Her full, voluminous breasts, her big, plump ass. She is a complete delight, not just for the eyes, but also for the soul. Hinata is the kind of person you want waiting for you at home at the end of the day. Boruto has never thought about getting married, but he understands why someone would choose to get married, especially if the bride is like his mother. 

**

Boruto's sleep is disturbed by a loud sound. The fright almost causes him to fall out of the tree where he is perched. Looking around to see who caused the noise, he finds a vision straight out of a nightmare.

It's nighttime, which means he's slept for most of the afternoon. The camp is still in the same place, with the campfire in the middle now lit. Halfway to the right, at an angle too perfect to have been a coincidence, nine of the eleven men stand in a semicircle. All are positioned perfectly in Boruto's line of sight. Their trousers unzipped, their big, hard dicks dangling inches from Boruto's mother's face. 

Hinata is tied up. Her hands are tied to her feet with a white rope with thick knots. She is not wearing a top, her breasts marked by the binding as well as her ass. Her face is smeared with the cum of all those men. The men masturbate in sync, spurting into Boruto's mother's mouth. 

One of them pulls her to him, fucking her mouth hard. Feeding her straight from the source. 

Boruto tries to stop them, but he's tied to the tree trunk. The men look at Boruto and laugh and point, and Hinata looks straight at him and she laughs too. She says something that Boruto doesn't quite hear, but she doesn't seem unhappy. Boruto would say that he has never seen his mother so happy. 

The man with the cock in her mouth laughs louder than everyone else, pulling her towards him faster. He's tall and strong and muscular, and he dirties Boruto's mother more than anyone else. 

A strong wind knocks Boruto from his place in the tree and the boy wakes up. The camp is no longer there. His mother is no longer there. It was all a dream. Just a dream. 

**

Boruto grits his teeth. It's the last day of the journey, and nothing has happened in the three and a half days that Boruto has been hiding in the shadows. It's precisely because nothing has happened that he thinks he can relax a little. Konoha is just over five hours away, but it's evening, and they've been running all afternoon and decided it would be better to reach the village in the morning than to exhaust themselves for the rest of the night trying to get there. Boruto silently thanked his mother when she made the suggestion. Staying in the shadows is tiresome, trying to keep pace with twelve elite ninjas with long, agile legs is even worse. Boruto leans back against the branch of the tree where he has made his improvised camp. He eats some of the food he stole from Darui's rucksack when he wasn't looking, and drinks the drink he took from Omoi's bag when he was laughing at Darui for being robbed. 

It's a clear night, with the moon high in the sky and the stars twinkling merrily. Naruto and Hinata often talk about how there were more stars when they were children. There, in the middle of the untouched wilderness and miles from the nearest populated centre, Boruto feels envious of them. It would be nice to be able to look up and see all those stars from the village, with Himawari on one side and her mother on the other, and Naruto could have a place in the picture too if he showed up for real instead of sending a clone. 

Boruto yawns. His eyes are heavy. The sound of the fire crackling in the bonfire mixed with the voices of the ninjas is like a lullaby, making him drowsy. It's the last night, he remembers, and nothing has happened. Feeling satisfied with his job as watchman so far, he allows himself to close his eyes. His mother can take care of herself, he reaffirms. She's a strong, intelligent ninja and can kill anyone who tries to get funny with her without permission. With these happy thoughts, Boruto allows himself to rest his eyes and maybe even fall asleep for the moment. 

**

Maybe he shouldn't have slept. It's like the nightmares he's been having while travelling, but it's real. Boruto knows it's real because he has pinched himself and bitten himself and scratched himself and hit himself and done all those things they say you have to do to know if something is a dream or not. He even counted his fingers, all twenty of them, and tried the genjutsu dispersal technique, but nothing worked. The image in front of him hasn't changed. 

No matter what he does, his mother is still being passed around between these guys. 

One of the men holds his mother by the neck. Boruto doesn't know his name, but he feels like he could blow the guy away, but he's paralysed. He has spent days chasing after these people just to interfere in case something like this happened, and now that it is happening, he doesn't feel in control of his own body to stop them and can't do anything but watch. The nameless ninja is rough and violent. He pulls Boruto's mother towards him with a possession that doesn't belong to him. Tearing her blouse, and pulling her hair. Boruto wants to do something, needs to do something, but right now he's just a scared little boy. 

Hinata makes a sound that Boruto has never heard her make. It's a mixture of something between a howl and a moan. A high-pitched, throaty sound that makes something turn in Boruto's stomach. The ninja holding his mother laughs. A second ninja takes her for himself. His big, strong hands wrapping around her thin, fragile neck, he pulls her head back, showing off her smooth, unmarked skin. A third ninja approaches Boruto's mother from behind and nuzzles his face into the curve of her neck, and this draws another sound from Boruto's mother. This one is most definitely a moan. 

Boruto isn't dumb, stupid or innocent. He knows his mother and the sounds she makes when she doesn't realise she's being too loud with his father. He knows the face she makes when something pleases her or makes her happy.

Hinata may be being used by these men, but she is not being abused. 

Before he realises it, Boruto can breathe again. His mother is as fine as a woman being taken by so many men could be. 

These men continue to trade her from hand to hand. Each one tore off a piece of her clothing. Pulling her hair and leaving marks that would be hard to explain if they hadn't just finished a dangerous mission. Hinata makes sounds that make Boruto go from a scared little boy to an extremely confused, hormonal young adult. When his mother and father do things, Boruto feels nothing but disgust and revulsion. But now, watching her with all these men, he feels something different. It's a nameless feeling that burns deep inside him, begging to come out. But Boruto represses this feeling. The disgust and revulsion are still there, but it's something driven towards himself, something created in fear of what would happen if someone saw inside his mind. Something deep-seated in the shame and guilt he's feeling for being so turned on by seeing his mother having sex with another man. Other men. Boruto won't admit these feelings. He can't, he mustn't. 

He continues to watch from the shadows as the men kiss and grope and use his mother. One of them slips his hand under what's left of her skirt, another shoves his cock into her mouth. Yet another takes her from behind. They slap her plump ass, bite her full breasts, mark her thighs. Devouring Hinata whole as if she were prey, and they were savages without manners. 

Darui forces Boruto's mother to her knees in front of him. The cloud ninja is just as violent as his colleagues. Hinata tries to touch him, but the man slaps her. He denies it with his head and calls her things that make the problem in Boruto's trousers bigger and more painful. The ninjas make a semicircle, just like in the teenager's dream. With a synchronisation that could have been rehearsed, they undress, letting their trousers fall to their ankles. Hinata tries to reach Darui again, and once more he hits her hand, calling her worse things than before. 

Half naked, the men begin to play with their erections. They masturbate and slap her across the face with their boners. Two share her mouth, going as far as they can without it being uncomfortable for them or her. The nine men groan and moan. The two inside her mouth are the loudest, their cries making Boruto feel things that turn his stomach in a way he doesn't know if it's good or bad. 

Darui pushes the two men sharing the boy's mother apart and fucks her mouth eagerly. He manages to be even rougher than the previous men. Pulling her head towards himself and putting himself inside her as far as he could. Boruto can see everything. He can see how these men's cocks grow and expand and moisten and spurt and dirty his mother. Hinata is like flaky ice cream with icing. Her new marks are like chocolate chips, and the enjoyment of all these men is like the condensed milk she loves so much. 

Omoi takes Hinata for himself. Kissing her in an animalistic way. He manages to be even more violent. Boruto watches as he forces his way inside her mouth, his long tongue taking up all the space. When he separates, a long thread of saliva connects the two. Just like Darui, he brings Boruto's mother to her knees. But his orders are different: he wants her on all fours. Hinata accepts his orders like a trained dog. 

Omoi surrounds Hinata, tracing a path down her back with his nails from her neck to the valley between her ass cheeks. He kneels behind her, opening her arse with his hands and using his tongue on her entrance. Boruto's mother moans louder than before. The cloud ninja to whom he entrusted his wife plays with the Hokage's wife's asshole. 

While Omoi occupies himself with Hinata's ass, another ninja fucks her mouth while yet another position himself close enough to finger her pussy. They work as if Hinata were meat in need of tenderising. Boruto's mother's cries are loud even when they are muffled by the cock of one of the ninjas. When Omoi puts three fingers inside her at once, Hinata screams so loudly that Boruto is afraid his father might hear from the Hokage's Tower (it would never happen, after all, they're kilometres apart). Unlike before, Omoi is delicate with his fingers. Taking care not to cause discomfort. When the ninja being sucked off by Hinata cums in her mouth, a second one takes his place. The teen's mother doesn't even have time to swallow one guy's cum properly before another takes his place. The man fingering her pulls her close enough for her to sit on his face. 

Boruto watches with his aching erection as Hinata sucks off one man, gets sucked off by another and gets fucked by the fingers of a third. 

Kiba and Shino, who weren't taking part in any of this, appear from between the trees. The men are paralysed. The two of them stride over to the scene and pull the men off Hinata. They shout something and say a few swear words. The two call Hinata things that Boruto never imagined they would say to his mother. Darui tries to get in the middle and say something, but Kiba punches him in the face. Omoi tries to help, but Shino gets between them. 

Boruto has a bad feeling. He feels guilty for not having stopped it before. But he was paralysed by something he would never say out loud. 

Hinata doesn't seem bothered by the situation. She crawls over to Kiba. Her breasts, soiled with the cum of nine men, sway with her movements. Boruto's mother kneels in front of Kiba and looks at him in a way that Boruto could only compare to a puppy begging for attention. Hinata unbuttons Kiba's trousers, who doesn't protest. With her calloused hands and long, agile fingers, she takes hold of his cock and begins to make long, lingering strokes. 

Boruto holds onto the branch he's occupying. If he uses any more force, he might break it, but that doesn't matter. With ragged breathing, he continues to watch as his mother masturbates one of her teammates. When Kiba's penis is hard, Hinata guides him towards her mouth. She kisses the entire length of the dog-taming ninja. Licking him, she brings her tongue to a very special spot that makes Kiba hold back a moan, biting his lip until it bleeds. Thanks to the sex education lessons he receives against his will, Boruto knows exactly what his mother did to make Kiba scream like that. 

The blond feels the discomfort in his groin area getting worse.

(A little voice in the back of Boruto's mind tells him that he could scream like that too if he'd stop being such a coward and just grab his aching cock).

Using her thumb to stimulate Kiba's special spot, Hinata sets about sucking off one of her oldest friends. The other ninjas watch, their erections glistening. Envy flashes across their faces. Shino stands between them all. No one can get in the way of Kiba's fun. The scream that Kiba lets out as he reaches orgasm is just as outrageous as Hinata's minutes before. The sound resounds through the clearing, scaring away some birds sleeping in neighbouring trees. She swallows every drop of her teammate's juice. Kiba's legs give way, and he falls to the ground, his breathing as heavy as everyone else's. She looks back over her shoulder. Looking over her shoulder, she faces Shino. There is a dispute between the two, one that Hinata seems to be winning when the insect ninja walks up to her. 

Shino has always been calm and cool-headed. He is methodical, as every ninja should be. A role model. At least that's what Boruto's parents always said. 

Shino takes Hinata by the hand. He guides her to one of the sleeping bags forgotten by the fire. Shino gently lays Boruto's mother down. He traces a path down her body. Kissing and marking. Following it to Hinata's centre. Unceremoniously, Shino rips off what's left of her clothes. He spreads her legs, giving Boruto a privileged view of his mother's wet, pink pussy. The blond whimpers as his erection grows even more painful. 

He breathes in her intimacy. Boruto watches it all. Of all the trees he had to choose from, he chose the one that gave him a view that not even the men below with his hand had. 

Speaking of them, they gather around Shino and Hinata. Hungry and desperate. Eager for their turn. But Shino is not a hurried man. He's a quiet, calm ninja who knows how to do his job. 

He sucks Hinata's breasts, making Boruto's mother moan more. Not only that, but he bites, pinches, and blows. Shino plays with her, kisses her, and teases her. The leaf ninja uses his long tongue to penetrate Hinata's pussy. Causing reactions that Boruto is sure his father never caused. His mother writhes and twists, and she seems to be in heaven. Her screams are so loud, causing envy in everyone present (Boruto included). 

Boruto tries not to think about how seeing his mother being fucked by so many men gives him so much pleasure. He tries not to think about how he's no longer paralysed and could stop all this, but he won't for another reason. He doesn't because he wants to see more. Furthermore, he wants to see his mother taken by all these men. 

Shino continues to cause absurd reactions in Hinata and to make everyone jealous. Hinata comes in his mouth. The man with the stoic expression wipes her off with his tongue. He says nothing, as if making Hinata moan his name was an ordinary deal. 

Shino takes a step back, observing his work. With his long, slender fingers, he unbuttons his trousers. Hinata has already had her moment of pleasure, now it's his turn. He turns her onto all fours. Omoi has prepared Boruto's mother well enough so that Shino doesn't have to worry about anything. Firm but gentle, the brunette ninja inserts himself inside Boruto's mother. Shino isn't desperate or hungry, but he isn't calm either. His thrusts are energetic and strong and constant and perhaps a little too loud because Boruto can hear the sound of their flesh slapping together, but Hinata's screams mixed with Shino's moans drown out all the other sounds made in the night. There are only the two of them. There is only Shino inside Hinata, making her scream and squirm. Eventually, Shino comes inside Boruto's mother. But he doesn't stop. He keeps fucking her until he makes her cum a second time.

The men revel in the image of post-cum Hinata, but the lull doesn't last long. They fight over who will be next. Who will take her, who will make her scream. 

Boruto's mother laughs at their desperation.  

The men take her by the pussy and from behind. By themselves and in pairs. They fuck her mouth, her pussy, her ass. They suck her and get sucked. They shout her name, they make her shout their name. Boruto has never heard so many dirty words in his life. Some he didn't even know existed. 

Boruto can't connect names to faces, he's too busy committing his mother's every expression to memory to worry about it. But he knows he'll never forget those names.

At one point, Kiba fucks Hinata from behind while Shino fucks her from the front and Darui and Omoi take turns with her mouth. The five ninjas are as noisy as Konohagakure's most populous commercial centre. 

When the four men finish, another four take their place, and so they take turns making Boruto's mother sing like a canary. 

Boruto's mother is like a toy being passed around between these men. The best toy of these ninjas' lives. Hinata doesn't complain. Delighting in her role. She is used, abused, broken and mistreated and begs for more every time. All the slaps and pulls and hickeys and marks left on her body were hidden in parts that no one could see. Marks that could be excused as a mission gone wrong. Marks that no one will ever know the real reason behind. Nobody but Boruto and all those men. 

All these men come inside her. Hinata drinks their juices and lets herself be filled by them. She's sweaty, sticky, and dirty. So, so dirty. 

And so is Boruto. 

[demigod-or-almost]

Fanfiction. Title: Match-Point. Word count: 457. Ratings: General Audiences. Relationship: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor. Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply. Summary: Kara wants to punch someone. Hard. Maybe even pull their hair and knock out some teeth. Kick them in the shin. She really, really wants to punch someone right now and that someone is none other than Lena Luthor. Links: ao3, tips!

Commissions info here!

Kara wants to punch someone. Hard. Maybe even pull their hair and knock out some teeth. Kick them in the shin. She really, really wants to punch someone right now and that someone is none other than Lena Luthor.

Taking a deep breath, she concentrates on the task before her. It's the women's intercollegiate volleyball final. Kara has the serve. Her team has the second match point of the time break. The opposing team is two points behind. Kara has to make a clean shot, she has to get that ball into the opponent's court. If it were any other team, any other school, she wouldn't doubt her ability to make an ace point. But she's playing Cadmus Academy, against the only team with Lena Luthor as their libero. And Lena Luthor is annoyingly good at her job.

The buzzer sounds, and Kara prepares for her serve. It's a fast, strong ball that goes exactly where she aimed. Lena is there in seconds, she dives, and her small hand with its long, slender fingers prevents the ball from hitting the floor. Her teammates prepare for the counter-attack, running from all directions in a synchronised attack. Kara watches as her team tenses up, spreads out and joins in, trying to cover as much of the court as possible. The blocker waits and jumps at the right moment, but the ball rebounds and goes up.

Nia dives and saves the ball, Alex lifts it and Kara smashes it. Lena handles it again. Kelly sets it up, and Andrea cuts it back. Kate saves. And on they go, for forty long, painful seconds, the ball doesn't hit the ground. For forty torturous seconds, the ball flies across the court defying the laws of gravity at an almost imperceptible speed. Until, finally, it falls. The last serve of the day is made by Kara who hits the ball centimetres from Lena's foot, cementing her team's victory in the intercollegiate. Marking Kara's first victory against Lena since they met for the first time two and a half years ago.

A primal scream from deep within Kara forces itself down her throat and echoes through the gym. Nia, Alex, Iris and Kate and all the others join her in screaming.

While one side of the court erupts in joy and victory and pride, the other mourns the defeat they accept with resignation.

"Luthor!" Kara shouts from the other side of the court.

"Danvers," Lena replies in a not-so-loud tone.

"I won." She speaks proudly, her smile as bright as the sun.

"I lost."

"Will you go out with me now?

Lena holds Kara's gaze for a long moment, then amid the tears of defeat, she allows herself a small smile.

"Yes, I will."

[demigod-or-almost]

[For Hire] SFW/NSFW Creative Writing/Fanfic Writer Commissions

SFW narrative fiction: from fluffy to domestic to a day out in the park or even from whump to hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort, I can do it. 

NSFW narrative fiction: cuckold/hotwife; incest and pseudocest; cheating/affairs; monsterfuckers or furries; public sex; voyeurism, etc. From a nice and savoury kink to a deep and dark fantasy, nothing is too fucked up I can't do.

Fanfiction: OCs, self-insert, comfort characters, rare pairs, incredible popular pairs, CLIF (Characters I'd Like To Fuck) etc. The sky is the limit. 

In case of it being a fandom and/or characters I'm not familiar with, I'll not charge extra for additional research. I'll have some questions, though. 

Rate 

My current rate is 20$ per thousand words.. 

Preferred Payment Method 

Wise. 

Payoneer.

Ko-fi.

PayPal.

Contact 

Chat.

Explore my portfolio here: https://thorul.wordpress.com/

[demigod-or-almost]

Greetings, clan!

I have been a fanfic writer for almost a decade, and started working on commissioned work about two to three years ago.

Writing Services 

SFW narrative fiction: from fluffy to domestic to a day out in the park or even from whump to hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort, I can do it. 

NSFW narrative fiction: cuckold/hotwife; incest and pseudocest; cheating/affairs; monsterfuckers or furries; public sex; voyeurism, etc. From a nice and savoury kink to a deep and dark fantasy, everything short of minor/adult, I can do it. 

In case of it being a fandom and/or characters I'm not familiar with, I'll not charge extra for additional research. I'll have some questions, though.

Rate 

My rate is 15$ per thousand words.

Preferred Payment Method

Wise.

Payoneer.

PayPal.

Ko-fi.

Interested parties can contact me by DM.

[demigod-or-almost]

Guys, my laptop broke again, so if anyone wants to help me by taking some of the writing commissions slots I have open so I can finally buy I new laptop and end my misery, I would be very grateful.

My rate is only 20 bucks per thousands words, and there is very little I don't write. I also can do multi chapter as well.

[demigod-or-almost]

My top surgery fund is at 12%! If you'd like to support my gender affirming journey, consider buying me a Ko-fi.

[demigod-or-almost]

[demigod-or-almost]

SFW/NSFW Creative Writing/Fanfic Writer Commissions

Greetings, clan!  

I have been a fanfic writer for almost a decade, and started working on commissioned work about two to three years ago. Although my professional work is not as extensive as my personal work, the years I’ve spent as a fanfic writer have been instrumental in my development and improvement as a writer.

Writing Services

SFW narrative fiction: from fluffy to domestic to a day out in the park or even from whump to hurt/comfort or hurt/no comfort, I can do it. 

NSFW narrative fiction: cuckold/hotwife; incest and pseudocest; cheating/affairs; monsterfuckers or furries; public sex; voyeurism, etc. From a nice and savoury kink to a deep and dark fantasy, everything short to minor/adult, I can do it. 

Fanfiction: OCs, self-insert, comfort characters, rare pairs, incredible popular pairs, CLIF (Characters I'd Like To Fuck), etc. The sky is the limit. 

In case of it being a fandom and/or characters I'm not familiar with, I'll not charge extra for additional research. I'll have some questions, though. 

Others? Ghosting Writing? Brainstorming? Body doubling? I could work with it. 

Rate

My rate is $0.02 per word for my writing services. I also prefer payment upfront, however I understand that some people don't trust/like it so much, so I'm willing to compromise, and by that I mean that I'll write the story and send proof of it, but I'll only send the complete work once the payment is done. 

Preferred Payment Method

PayPal. 

Wise. 

Contact

DM. 

Explore my portfolio here: https://thorul.wordpress.com/

[demigod-or-almost]

Greetings, clan!

I am pleased to announce that my writing commissions are open.

If you’re seeking to explore and express your most intimate fantasies through richly descriptive narratives, you’re in the right place.

With a deep focus on creating vivid and evocative scenes, I’m here to transform your desires into engaging stories.

My services are available at:

Writing: $0.02 per word

I am open to working with a variety of themes, kinks, and fetishes, but I do not write about:

minors/adults.

If you’re interested in working together, please send me a DM. I look forward to bringing your vision to life.

Explore my portfolio here: https://thorul.wordpress.com

[demigod-or-almost]

I cannot get over the assassination happening while I was trying to get coverage for my testosterone. Imagine going into the pharmacy all excited to get your first ever testosterone prescription but find out it costs 800$ out of pocket for a three month supply and UHC won't cover it. So then you wait for your provider to get back to you about changing your prescription for an entire week and a half, and during that wait someone just. goes and fucking murders the CEO of your insurance company. Like they just kill him on the street. They had so much calculated hatred for this guy that they even engraved each bullet that hit him. Then, as if the heavens themselves opened up entirely to watch brian thompson descend into hell, your testosterone is ready two days later for pickup, and only costs 10 delicious dollars.

[demigod-or-almost]

Fanfiction

Title: Hero.

Words: 1618

Ratings: Teen And Up.

Warnings: hurt no comfort, canon-typically violence, blood, injury, dissociation.

Summary: It is unnerving. Aizawa knows his student, he knows the boy knows how or when to be quiet. To keep to himself. But this, this is not it. This unsettling and unnatural silence is not a conscious or deliberate choice. He knows his student is not here, not really. And that is a terrifying thought.

Links: ao3, tips!

Commissions info here!

Shouta stares at his students. The child's head pending low, chin to chest. The kid's face is covered by his hair, hidden away from peering eyes. There's blood in his face, blood all over his tiny body. His hands were so strained that one would need to really pay attention to notice that not all the red is blood, that some of it is the flesh showing up between the gaps in the thorn skin. It has been two hours since the teacher found his student. The child has yet to say a word.

It is unnerving. Aizawa knows his student, he knows the boy knows how or when to be quiet. But this, this is not it. Shouta is almost sure this unnerving and unnatural silence is not a conscious or deliberate choice. He knows his student is not here, not really. And that is a terrifying thought.

The door to his left opened with a woosh kind of sound. Shouta takes his eyes off his student long enough to see the newcomers. Shuzenji enters the most abandoned conference room followed by Nedzu, Yagi and Tsukauchi.

“How is the other?” Aizawa asks before anyone has time to do anything but loot around the entrance.

“Stable,” the old nurse says. She sounds ever so old. “The boy?”

“Has come back yet,” the teacher replies, bringing his eyes back to his student.

The nurse hummed to herself. Shouta observes as she closes the distance between herself and the dissociated kid. Recovery Girl takes the boy's hands on hers. Whipping the blood away and dressing his busted knuckles and fingers. She takes care of the bruises on his cheeks and his split lips, too. But that's all she does. All she can do right now. The kid is out cold to the word, even though he is, technically, very much awake. And they can't move him until he comes back, which doesn't seem to be happening any time soon. For the past hour or two, since Aizawa found his student covered in blood and bruises, the kid didn't do as much as flinching. He just stood there, sitting with his head hanging low and eyes fixed in a strain on the wood table that Shouta was certain the kid was not even seeing. Unnerving. Unsettling. No one should be this quiet, especially not a child. Even less so one of his students, and definitely not this one. It is all just so unnatural. Those dead, dead eyes do not belong to the face of his bright student.

This is wrong. All of this is just wrong.

**

He didn't cry. Not one tear. Nothing. His eyes were as dry as an African desert. And just as dead as the Brazilian Pantanal after the fire season. It had been about a quarter of an hour since the boy came back from his dissociative stage, and he had yet to acknowledge any of the people in the room with him. The kid sits there, seeing nothing and hearing nothing. They're questioning him, or at least trying. Shuzenji asks if he's in pain, if something is broken. What he needs help with. He gives nothing in return. Yagi tries a more personal approach, inquiring if he's alright. Why did he do what he did. Begging him to say something. Anything. To let them help him. Silence. Nedzu stares at the student for a long, long time. Black beans locked onto dark eyes, devoid of all and any emotions. The chimaera breaks first. Tsukauchi interrogates him, questioning about what happened, and asking how things ended up as they did. Not a word, he stays silent.

Aizawa observes. The unnerving feeling of wrongness ever living him.

**

“Is he dead?” His voice is cold. Like a shivering through the spine, a winter night away from the fire. Akin to the void of the space, negated of any life, warmth, or kindness. It is wrong, so very not right. The child's eyes share the same coldness in them, the same deadness. Staring at them, Aizawa felt uneasy, as if his skin was being picked at and removed and liquid nitrogen was poured into the open flesh.

“No,” he answers his student. Because the questions as for him, those dark, lifeless eyes are looking at him, acknowledging him. Shouta knows, he just knows that the kid didn't even notice any of the other people in the room with them.

The boy gives him a blank stare, and with that, Aizawa knows his student doesn't see him any longer.

**

The sun is almost up. They are tired, all of them. The kid, more than any of them. He did not say anything else outside those three words, that one question. Did not do anything besides staring up front with those empty eyes. Even his breath didn't disturb that sickly stillness of the boy. Making those around him question more than once if he was indeed breathing.

**

“I want a lawyer,” the boy says.

Aizawa wants to laugh. But he doesn't. Instead, he looks through the window, watching the sun rising peeking through the trees, signalling the end of a night wasted away.

**

It is way past curfew and the alarm is going off. Some students are off the bed, not only that, but they're off the dormitories altogether. It pisses him off. Aizawa had a long, long day. All he wants to do is finish grading some papers and then go to bed. It is his right off patrol, and he can finally get some sleep like a normal person. But no! Those problem children need to do something to mess up with his plans. They have to do something stupid and selfish and break the rules and probably themselves because what? Teenage angst drama? Why can they act up by dying their hair like kids used to do back in the day? Whoever is the idiot that thought it was a good idea to start an unsupervised and unauthorized fight in one of the training grounds, is up to a hell of a pain. Shouta is going to make them beg to do suicide sprints.

The vision he finds once he reaches the training grounds makes him stop in his tracks. The place is trashed. There is rubble everywhere. Buildings falling apart. Fire spreads around the grounds. The street is mouthing more than dust. The fake city is destroyed.

It is dark in the fake city. There is no moon up in the sky, the few stars blinking shyly through the pollution. The street lights of the fake city are nowhere to be seen, lost in the wreck. It is silent, too. It is wrong, so not right. Unnatural. Unsettling.

Aizawa tugs his capture weapon, readying himself for what is coming. Walking through the empty streets, eyes locked in every dark corner, every shadow. Anything and everything. Following the destruction pattern. Every new step brings him close to the epicentre of all the madness surrounding him.

Shouta hears them before seeing them. Or, well, Shouta hears him before seeing them.

It is like a scene from a horror movie.

His student is on the ground. Limp, unconscious. Deadly still.

There is blood. So much blood. Splash everywhere. Pooling around his student's sickly form.

His other student is at the top of his so very unnaturally quiet classmate.

His hand goes up and down.

The sound of flesh against flesh cutting through the night.

Punch after punch after punch.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Again.

Repeat.

Rising.

Descending.

Rising.

Descending.

Up.

Down.

Again.

Repeat.

Up.

Down.

Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

His student.

His Problem Child.

Midoriya Izuku is killing his classmate.

Is killing Bakugou Katsuki.

And he is doing it with a smile.

[demigod-or-almost]

Greetings, clan!

I am pleased to announce that my writing commissions are now open.

I can write about almost any fandom or theme, except for the ones listed below:

minor/adult;

zoophilia/necrophilia.

My services are available at:

writing: 0.02¢ per word;

Interested parties can contact me by DM.