#you’re supposed to use the momentum of your body to add power to your punch but

[createuntiltheendoftime]

weird but i love the way mac punches people. the way he tucks in his inactive arm and he doesn’t really extend his punching arm he just twists his body and just fucking pounds people, helmeted or not

[seancekitsch]

Dislocated

A/N Warnings: description of injury, references to violence, oral sex, penetrative sex, diego being a soft little angel but also very sexy hot sex man, cursing, diego has long hair but other than that no spoilers, mild product placement because me and u and everyone else are slaves to capitalism, references to diegos comics powers

“Fuck. Where do you keep your bactine?”

“My what?”

“Bactine! You know the spray stuff I use. It would really help that split knuckle of yours,” Diego sounds exhausted, but there's a hint of teasing, or maybe pride in his voice as he rummages on his hands and knees in your bathroom cabinet. The knuckle on your middle finger of your left hand is split open, oozing blood and angry looking. Your bathroom, and the two of you, look like a scene out of a horror film tonight. There is his shirt, which was white earlier tonight, now a red and pink and brown tie dye with blood, some of it yours. You have your hand, and a bruise blooming under your eye. 

“My knuckle wouldn’t need anything if those people hadn’t come after us,” you snap, “Who were they anyway?”

“Oh you know, someone with something against someone in my family,” Diego offers as he digs, as if it's commonplace to fight off attackers on date night. As if this was something normal people from normal families dealt with. Of fucking course, you think.

“Someone? Or you specifically, babe?”

He sits back at this, and a hard look crosses his features, not at you, contemplating, then breaks into the slightest grin as he looks down at the gauze and neosporin in his hands and nods. Thats fair. From where you're sitting on the rim of the tub, he looks like some kind of action hero in the night. Some real die hard shit in your dimly lit bathroom. Normally, it's you in his position, but you doubt you look like this. He's got his vigilante bullshit, which frequently has him showing up during booty call hours needing to be bandaged up before thanking you with a little action of your own. You wonder if he's going to be as good a nurse to you as you are to him, or if he's genuinely a little angry at your role in what transpired tonight. You didn't even make it to your dinner reservation, opting to walk because the weather was nice, before two men dressed exactly the way unnamed baddies in a die hard film grabbed at you from behind and the two of you had to defend yourselves. Only some of the blood on his shirt was yours. This is probably why he always wears black. He looks damn good in black. 

“Anyone ever taught you how to fight? Throw a punch?”

You tilt your head, which is a bad move because it feels a little heavy, giving him a look that says of course no one did. 

“Right,” he nods and you figure that once you heal he will probably be changing that. Diego never wanted to rope you into anything having to do with the academy or what he does at night, unless it was seeing his siblings in almost real people circumstances like dinners. But seeing you get hurt tonight means he obviously has to make some changes to that mindset, you have to be able to defend yourself if for ever some reason he can't. You're going to have to get sweaty, and not in the way you like to. But anything for your safety, Diego thinks. He cannot risk losing you after having lost so much. 

He resigns to this as he helps you up, puts you on the bathroom counter with the vanity, you now sitting on the edge of the sink so he can sink down and sit while he cleans your hand. You were lucky that it was just the left hand. Your right hand had been spared from your left’s bloody fate because of the way your right hand tried to seek out Diego while your left threw a clumsy punch, but the hardest one you'd ever thrown. Your whole arm aches and your bracelet had been broken, but you have to say you're lucky for this being your only injury. Diego clutches your hand, a bit harder, but that's because he knows you're not going to like the feel of the neosporin as it makes contact with your skin. He has a substantial amount on his fingers of the hand that's not holding yours, and looks you in the eye as he makes the ointment meet your skin. No matter how gentle he can be when he wants to, it stings. It's supposed to be that way so it doesn't get infected and kill you, but you can't help the hiss that leaves your mouth and the wince across your features. As he rubs it in, you can feel yourself getting used to the pain. It doesn't subside but it becomes more manageable as it becomes something more familiar. Is this what Diego feels each time? 

It feels worse again when Diego stops rubbing it in, and reaches for the bandages. Maybe because you don't want him to stop touching you, but maybe it is because of more exposure to the air. He uses the hand holding yours to hold it in place as he wraps, gently again, but so the wrap is pulled tight. You have some movement, but you won't be making a fist again for a while. He ties it off, tapes it to make extra sure, and then kisses the knuckles over their bandage as you smile down at him and laugh. Hes a perfect romantic gentleman when he wants to be.

He stands and reaches behind you, arms going around you on either side. You reach to hug him back tightly, only you hear him chuckle as the water of the sink turns on behind you. He's washing the chemicals from his hands. After he scrubs real well, dries his hands, he returns the hug, burying his face in your neck and squeezing tightly as if he's trying to make sure you're still there. His relief fans out as an exhale along your neck and you can physically feel his entire body relax against you now because you're safe. You're going to be okay. 

“How'd I do, baby?” he asks, still burying his face in your neck, “Good enough that your nurse gets a tip?”

“Nurses don't get tips.”

“You usually do.”

“I didn't say you wouldn't be rewarded for your efforts, did I?”

He pulls back to look you in the eye.

“So what do I get?”

“Anything you want, baby.”

Diego’s hands are gentle as they trail from your shoulders down your sides, gripping fistfuls of the flowy shirt you wear and pulls you to the edge of the counter. Still gentle. Still full of fear for you. Maybe mixed and speckled with relief. 

The way his hands continue south, to unzipper your pants, pulling them off slowly, gently, an act of love and service more than an act of lust. He inches the fabric over your ankles, your feet, discards them somewhere outside the doorway into the hall with a small toss. Rises back to his knees for a moment, takes a pause to wrap his arms around you in a hesitant hug, like he could break you, his arms warm. Your arms instinctually settle on his shoulders to cradle the back of his head in your bandaged and loved hands before he snaps out of the moment and moves on to your shirt. He pays special attention to the buttons, one after the other slow and meticulous. If this were another night and a shirt you didn't care much about, there's a good chance he would have just cut the shirt from your frame. But tonight he's doing things like a holy man with an intricate ritual. When the last button is unfastened and free, his palms flatten, slowly slide up your torso over your stomach, over your breasts, and to your shoulders where he moves the fabric from them with the feather light touch taking extra time to feel your left shoulder, the one that swung the momentum of the punch that split your knuckle. He’s checking to see if its dislocated, you realize. 

“D? Baby, I’m okay. You're good at playin’ nurse,” you reassure him. 

He seems to understand, as he next pulls the straps from your bra down your shoulders, slides his hands behind your back, and makes sure you feel the heat from his hands as he makes work of the clasp. Your underwear is next, and a hint of Diego on a normal night shines through, with one hand splayed across your back he uses the other to pull the underwear down from one hip, then switches sides and tugs on the other side. He makes quick work of them, unlike the tempo he had going. They end up somewhere in the doorway near your pants, but you don't really care about their location because he's pressing his lips against your chest just around your sternum and his facial hair tickles. You still weren't completely sure where he came back from or what he went through a few months ago, but the way that he loves you and treats you like the most precious thing is definitely welcome. As was the new lack of haircut and the less groomed facial hair. He kisses lower and lower, making you shiver with anticipation of what's to come, before he settles where he's needed now.

Diego moves slowly, glacial. The way he licks you open has no purpose, merely exploratory and drawn out. Mapping you on his tongue. But it doesn’t fail to have you mewling above him, one hand gripping the counter and the other buried in his hair as his strong calloused hands hold you open for him to drink full. He dips lower, where you need him, then travels north again as if oblivious to your reactions. He could do this all night. He stays there, meandering; savoring the taste lazily as you grow more impatient at the non-committal non-specific way he licks and kisses and moves. You feel like you are hors d'oeuvres and not a meal for a starving man. And then Diego does what Diego does best. He surprises you. A hard suck to your clit has you inhaling sharply, gasping through your nose as your toes curl and your eyes flutter shut. You lean back over the sink, back of your head resting on the mirror as you try to present yourself at an easier angle for him. He dives into licking you in full-heartedness now, fucking you with his tongue, kissing and sucking at your clit, absolutely killing any coherent thought coming through your mind right now. The benefits of dating a man that can hold his breath indefinitely was definitely what he did with his mouth to you when you were alone. 

He adds a finger and you automatically think you've died. He knows exactly what he's doing when he fucks you like this, his mouth adding to the wetness dripping from you as he works you over, putting just enough pressure behind each thrust of his hand to have you seeing stars. Your eyes roll back as a wanton moan tears from your throat and it sounds like someone elses voice desperately chanting his name as he has you coming, coming, and coming on his face and hand. He stays down there, the one hand still on your thigh to hold you in place, to give you a light squeeze, release some of the muscle tension built up while he licks his other hand clean sucking the digit into his mouth obscenely while he smiles up at you like an angel. He rises up from his knees and kisses your cheek with his wet mustache and beard and wraps loose arms around you, a sweet and lazy gesture. 

Diego incites a passion in you that's rare. You can't recall ever wanting a person this much. So despite being sensitive from the absolute divinity of what he'd just done to you, you can't help but to jump off the counter. You reach for his pants, taking the time to feel his hard length under the fabric before you pop the button and unleash the teeth of the zipper. You pull them down just enough to free him from his boxers, and then turn yourself around to bend down against the damp counter you'd just been sitting on, looking at him through playful eyes in the mirror as he stares back, dick out and hesitant. He puts a cautious hand on your hip.

“No, not like this. I wanna see you.”

You meet his eyes in the mirror and tap on the glass with your good hand. He reaches for that arm and slowly turns you to face him.

“No baby,” he refutes, cradling your face in his strong hands, “I n-need to see you.”

So you nod, understanding that he needs this, and reposition yourself to lay on the small woven rug you kept on the floor. The bathroom floor is not the most comfortable place to lay, but this is for Diego and his peace of mind. You yield to his touch and his control over the situation as he finishes undressing and sinks down onto the floor to take his place above you. To indulge in the relief that you are okay, to bask in your gratefulness at how well he patched you up.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your neck as he kisses you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Because you got hurt? Because he needed more tenderness than you originally wanted to give him? Because earlier tonight he was so fucking afraid he’d never get to look into your face again that he has to look you in the eye when you make him come tonight? 

Your bandaged hand finds its way into his hair and holds him there, close, as your fingers go to work to massaging words of comfort into his scalp. He kisses your neck once, twice, three times before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing into your cunt. You're wet, so excruciatingly and devastatingly wet and god it almost hurts him to bottom out inside you the same way something so hot can almost feel cold when it touches your skin and puts your nerves into overdrive. You're so sensitive from his mouth that you have to bite into the skin of his broad shoulder to muffle the scream that rebels against you to break into the air. Your teeth in his skin is his only relief from the soft tight burning taking over him from where your bodies join. He only moves when your teeth recede, his thrusts slow and short and deep, savoring the feeling of being connected, of being inside, of being home. His arms hold you in place while he thrusts just as much as they hold you just to feel you against him at any point of connection he can find. A vow to keep you close, to keep you where you both need each other to be. He moans deeply into your neck, the side of your face, kissing the moan into your jaw like a promise. It's more real than any declaration of love and more spontaneous than any act of romance. It's Diego. 

You can feel yourself getting lost in this, in him. He's pushing you to the edge again. For you, one is too many, and a thousand is never enough with Diego. Its you selfishly moving your hips against the rhythm of his, making you both a little shocked but not embarrassed (never embarrassed) at how close you both are already. There's a desperation in both of your actions, and he pulls back just enough to see you, to let himself be seen by you. Only you. Is this what you look like when you make love after setting stitches in wounds that will definitely scar? You hope so, because he looks like heaven itself. He fucks you through your high (with a scream of his name and tears on your cheeks), fucks you through his own(with a stuttering chant of your name and deadly eye contact), then gives you one more with his mouth on the bathroom rug (with quiet whimpering and praise from both of your lips). Diego lifts you up on unsteady legs and you both tumble into bed. You sleep in late the next morning. You miss calls from his siblings that all go to voicemail. You're home safe.

[katsukikitten]

Weighted

A/N @zbops for you bb as per your request. I hope that this lives up to at least half of your expectations. Thank you so much for supporting me and for encouraging me. Enjoy it and may it help you just a bit more. I send my love XOXO Kitten 💋

It was not unlike you to occasionally stay up late into the night. Late enough to see the moon rise high in the inky black sky watching the constellations move by at a lazy pace.

But to lie awake long enough to greet the sun was abnormal.

At least it was supposed to be abnormal now. Before it was your normal to lose sleep as fat droplets slid from unblinking eyes. Thoughts consuming you with nothing and everything at once.

You thought yourself better.

Not cured, not immune, but well.

Fine and level headed for once.

Yet here you lie again unable to will your exhausted body to sleep as you replay failures from pasted years.

Like an old film one must study to improve but every time it is rewatched another haunting flaw jumps out.

And there is nothing you can do to right your wrong.

Frustrated tears well in your eyes now as you watch the clock for the second week in a row burn an obnoxious 3 am into your retina.

Furious as you thought you had put this problem in its place. That you had long ago learned how to make your demon small and to lock it away.

As with everything in life it adapted, slipping through the bars of its cage only to find itself looming over you once more. Delighting in your anguish as it exploits the coping mechanism you developed.

Turning it on its head to haunt you, to hurt you. To put you in your place as you thought you did it.

Although it knows this will be enough to pain you, it wants to do more.

Truly a petty being as it steals your voice, worming into your head just to whisper.

"Did you really think a few extra hours of training a day would make a difference? That you would suddenly be  sought after as a pro hero? You could barely get an apprenticeship and look at how you're failing at that!"*

This dredges up your failure from last week, your first offical mission as apprentice.

What was supposed to be a normal patrol quickly unraveled into a full on street brawl.

You aided your hero holding down the perpetrators bodies with your quirk, straining to keep them in place.

There were tenty or so overpowered drug enhanced strength quirks fighting the pull you placed on them. 

Your arm pangs now, reminding you of how it threatened to snap beneath the own weight of your quirk.

"Useless." Its laugh echoes in your ear.

Your temper flares, fist smashing the small black box that mocks you with the time before you rise. Dressing into your training clothes, sliding on your weighted vest as your bruises groan against it. You push your already consistent 1.5 times Earth's gravity pull to a consistent 2.5 for now.

Hands grab for your phone and headphones before fumbling to find your key in your amassed returning symptoms. Throwing piles of clothes, books, and homework onto other piles of  long neglected items.

Irritation mixed with a twinge of panic sets in as you look for your FOB that accesses not only the gym you are so desperate to use but also it accesses your dorm building as your dorm room key rests on a chain around your neck. Your memory works overtime as you wonder where it could have been placed.

Was it it Kirishima's room?

Or Bakugou's?

Who's room did the three of you spend the night in last?

You cannot remember, time all runs together much like a watercolor painting caught in the rain.

Colors bleed and the world dips into sun bleached greys as you think of the two of them.

Had you even texted either of them good night?

When was the last time you told them you loved them?

You pick up your phone, bloomed bruised hand winking back at you before the phone obliterates into metal and glass confetti at your feet.

"Fuck." You hiss having forgotten that you had the gravitational pull around your hands as well. Damning yourself for being so careless although you are still careless enough to walk over the shrapnel with bare feet.

It is then you find your key FOB lying in the middle of the chaotic room which you snatch greedily before locking your post nuclear bomb room away.

And with that the thoughts of ash blonde and ruby red hair.

You slink on guilty feet in the shadows of the hall, the moon your only witness as you make your way outside.

The air is cool agaisnt your heated skin, hinting that fall is almost over. That winter will be sure to rear its ugly head and harshly at that.

As if to prove a point an icy wind cuts through your skin deep into your bones, you sigh out upping the force on your body.

The gym is a short walk from the dorm, the night caressing you with soft fingers as it guides you to the thick metal door.

A worried gulp echoes back at you as your hand hovers just before the panel. FOB just out of range to be scanned.

Last time a student was on rest probation their key could only work if Sensei scanned theirs as well.

With gritted teeth you bring the key to kiss smooth plastic. For a moment you're sure it will flash red but when it beeps with a flash of glorious green you cannot help the small smile that spreads across your lips.

They must have forgotten to add those restrictions to yours, that or they didn't think you would disobey your physical therapist and other Sensei.

It doesn't take long before you're sweating.

And the more you swing the harder you make the gravitational pull on your body. The floor groans from the pressure as you push the pull towards you beyond limits for a recovering body, 3.5 times Earth's normal pull.  Sweat slides down a bruised nape and drips into now stinging eyes.

You do little to alleviate the pain or sweat that is trying so hard to blind you.

Another swing of your weighted fists has your bones creaking, muscles burning while you have half a mind to add more sand to your wrist and ankle bands.

Hell maybe even more to your vest although it presses against your sternum harshly with each step, threatening to snap a rib. You begin to lose the concentration on the areas you want to afflict as the incresed gravitational begins to spread out. The floor groans harder depsite being designed to withstand many powerful quirks.

A hairline fraction fissures through the smooth wood, attempting to snake up the cinderblock wall.

"None of this is going to change anything. You will still be..."

A heated punch hits the dummy hard, causing it to skid but you advance without letting up, snarling.

"Don't fucking say it."

Another hit to the dummy and you've got it cornered agaisnt the wall but still the voice goes on, a smile dancing along its tone as it purrs.

*"Worthless"*

You begin to jab agaisnt the dummy with enough momentum and force that the padding begins to fall away from its "face" revealing unforgiving metal beneath.

Metal that you pound into anyway.

Metal that warps for a moment from being too close to your pull, still your barrage of fists and feet cease to let up.

You follow up a punch with a round house kick increasing the force on your body subconsciously. As you rotate your vest slams heavily into your ribs and an audible crack echoes around the room. 

"Fuck!" You huff slamming your foot against the cool surface, the dummy implodes as you land on your feet.

In that moment the room pops from the pressure as you let up the force. The floor creaks, almost breathing as it returns to normal although now heavily warped. Suddenly you feel as light as a feather. As if at any moment you could float up to the ceiling like a lazy balloon only to get tangled in the harsh overhead lights.

Crimson splatters the floor from your knuckles and spit, hand feathering over your ribs. Sliding beneath dampened fabric, smoothing over already bruised skin. You're sure it will only worsen now that you count, one, two.

Three fucking cracked ribs. Your breaths come out in heavy puffs all echoing back to you as you right your self, eyes seeking out another dummy, ignoring the pain begging you to stop.

But feeling pain was better than feeling that weighted void in your chest.

As if you were a super nova that imploded, pulling everything around you into the darkened abyss.

Turning it all into hollowed nothingness.

The first sparring dummy you spy seems to look at you funny, you rear your fist but before it can make contact a growl cuts out.

"You've done enough little one."

His voice dips low, borderline pissed. It is a warning and one you must obey as the air permeates with salted caramel.

But you're in no mood to deal with Katsuki, no mood to be submissive, obedient or anything relative to feeling at all.

Regardless if it's clearly for your own good. 

All you wanted, needed, was for everything to fade.

And maybe to black.

But it doesn't instead he advances hand finding your wrist with a sharp grip, that softens only to assess. Turning your wrist this way and that with heated calculating eyes, before he rips off your weighted vest with a growl. Lifting your shirt to reveal blush black painted beneath your smooth skin.  His finger prods your ribs and when he counts them in his head he snarls. You watch his muscles twitch as he holds himself. Muscles that had grown twice their size since first year and yet you were left unchanging.

"Training is futile, you'll always be puny."

You rip your wrist free, teeth bared at an already snarling Bakugou.

"Not. Now." You misread his actions beneath the initial rage. He is concerned but all you see is punishment in his eyes 

Disappointment.

You look over Katsuki's sculpted shoulder to see Kirishima waiting at the door with glistening ruby eyes that seem to be torn.

Who does he support? How can he defuse this? 

"You're fucking hurt." The blonde bites out venom.

"I'm fucking fine. Drop it!" You shove past him slamming your shoulder into his. He wants so badly to reach for you. To yank you back to him so you can look him in his angry scarlet eyes.

"Oh so the blood on the floor means you're fine? Your cracked ribs and bruised to fuck all body means you're fine?!" His temper shows with deadly pops that dance along his skin.

You weight him and Kirishima down gently as you leave, hoping it slows them down long enough for you to return to the safety of your dorm room.

Katuski snarls as he walks with leaded feet, as if walking through mud under the influence of a muscle relaxer.  But he and Kirishima have trained with you plenty of times, not to mention they are exposed to your increased pull.

"Maybe we should give them sometime? They are upset, babe." Kirishima offers only to be met with a glowering glare. 

"I've tried listening to you, I've tried it your way and look what has happened." A snarl so low that Kirishima feels his gut twist.

"But..."

"But what?" He turns on his lover quickly, "We gave them two weeks of no contact. This is clearly a symptom we need to bisect before they kill themselves over some stupid fucking training."

Kirishima can do nothing but follow as Bakugou stalks you up the steps that you stomp.

You're seething, steam rising from your skin with each heavy breath as your vision blurs between rational thought and white hot rage.

Rage that is always so easy to give into. Especially when your only other option is immobilzing sadness. Before you know it Bakugou is barking at you from the jamb of the door while your ruby haired boyfriend presses gently against his back.

Trying to remind him that his own irate reaction could further the situation, Bakugou feels it but it is lost as you strip to change. You rip the velcro from your wrists, dropping the fifty pounds weights with a harsh thud. The floor rattles the items on your desk and even the window before you move onto the hundred pound weights on your ankles.

Grumbling as you think of your two hundred and fifty pound vest abandoned in the gym. How hard had Bakugou torn it from your strong yet sleek frame?

Would you have to take it to the support class?

You strip your shirt and then your pants as two sets of red eyes gauge different reactions. 

Rubies widen, shining with the threat of tears. While blood scarlet narrow with burning, hot, wrath.

Katsuki knew you were bruised, he knew you had those broken ribs and he knew you were set out of rehabilitation probation due to injuries but he did not know the extent of them.

And how the fuck could he? What with you locking yourself away in your room, refusing to text them, refusing to eat the meals cooked and left for you.

Refusing help as you promised you would not do.

Katsuki's warning signs of blowing do not go unnoticed, a strong hand wraps around his hip. Squeezing, hoping to convey the softness the ash blonde so desperately needs.

It works, at least as far as his quirk goes. Bakugou Katsuki  could erupt in more than one way.

"What. The. FUCK?!" He goes to take a step in but Kirishima keeps his grip tight. But that does not stop the tongue lashing you get. Bakugou takes a large slow breath, as you once taught him and snorts it out like a dragon.

"You promised you would stop doing this..." His voice, once soothing now grating your last nerve, "You fucking promised, damn it."

Kirishima gives another small squeeze before piping up.

"We are just worried about you, love. Very worried." His voice cracks at the end, causing Katsuki to look over his shoulder.

The tears well faster over dancing garnets.

From the weight of the guilt something in you finally snaps. The room blurs as you subconsciously pull the force to you, items slowly crushing beneath the weight as you lunge for the first thing you can wrap burning hands on.

Your desk chair to which your hurl while screaming

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Your hot headed boyfriend catches the chair with ease, exploding it on impact.

With an angry enough blast that the paint on the ceiling and walls peel.

Oh if Bakugou wasn't pissed at you before he was now.

And not angry over the fact that you've thrown something at him.

But over the simple fact that you were hurting in deadly silence. So badly suffering that you cannot even rationally express yourself anymore.

And more over he is pissed he has let it get this far.

The glass of your window shatters behind you, both from your exertion and his explosion pulling you into the here and now.

The room spirals as quickly as you do, suddenly forgetting how to breath. Gasping as a fish does out of water before you fall to your knees. The two men rush to you, fearing you'll lose yourself in your panic. Two sets of strong arms wrap around you both crushing you between them.

"You're okay." Kirishima soothes, "You're okay. Just breathe."

Nails bite into toned flesh though you are unsure which unfortunate mail is receiving the half blood moons as tears prick your eyes. Falling towards the Earth as much as you wish they wouldn't. Your stomach lurches, your side screams but it does not stop the racks of sobs that tremor through your body.

You come undone in the worst way before the very two men you wanted, needed to be strong in front of. There was already a detrimental gap between your development and theirs.  In every fucking aspect you could think of.

Muscle mass.

Durability.

Capability.

The list could go on.

After some time Bakugou coos to you.

"Now tell me what's wrong."

Kirishima places his head between your shoulder blades, reaching out for Bakugou's hand.

"I...I'm behind. I... I cannot even train right." Tears slip over ruddy cheeks that Katuski gently wipes away.

"Behind how?" Kirishima prompts, letting lazy circles trace your stomach.

"On my first mission I get put on recovery suspension, I worked so so so *hard* to even get that hero to agree to take me on and yet I fucked it all up!" Another frustrated sob that has you hiccuping for a moment. You watch Bakugou's face turn to stone as he tries to calm himself.

"I almost died on one of my first big missions. I sat out for a long time, this was a little bit before you transferred." Kirishima admits, "Resting and PT made me stronger."

"Hell I was behind at one point too. I couldn't even fucking pass the provisional!" Katsuki growls at the thought.

"Neither could Todoroki-kun." Kirishima adds.

"But you three...you three are strong. I'm so....weak." With that Bakugou snaps.

"You think I can run with a two hundred fifty pound weight on my chest and keep pace with Iida's jog? Do you think Kirishima could hold down twenty fucking tweaked out villians at once?" His voice is gruff but his hands are soft as he lifts your chin, purposefully making you hold his gaze as he speaks, "Answer me, little one."

"N...no." You sob, Kirishima's strong arm squeezes tigher around your middle, careful to avoid your ribs, as he peppers kisses over your blackened shoulders.

"Just because your body does not reflect mine or Eijiro's does not mean you are weak. You are strong Y/N. Real fucking strong." He kisses you softly, capturing your lips tenderly as Kirishima kisses along your throat.

"Share this weight with us." Bakugou breathes out after pulling away.

"Its not weak to cry or ask for help baby." Kirishima whispers in your ear, your eyes look over your sturdy shoulder before they fall to their hands intertwined. You notice Bakugou's knuckles turning white. Had you really made them worry this much?

"Isn't that right Suki?" Eji asks, resting his chin in your shoulder. Katsuki looks at him for a long time, this man and you have helped him more than he would ever like to admit. But if this is what brought that natural magnetism about you that attracted him in the first place he'd say it 

Fuck, if it brought that blinding smile of yours back to your kissable lips he'd scream if from the fucking roof.

"Yes." He lets out a shaky sigh, "Now please, please let us help you little one."

Searching his eyes you wonder if there will ever be a time when you will stop feeling this way.

When you will stop feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders over little to nothing at all.

When you will stop feeling that black hole that crawled into your chest weighing you down and making you weightless all at once.

When you will stop the haunting feeling of sadness that lingers on the fringes of your every thought, tainting every memory and moment with its shimmering darkness.

You wonder if this cancer, if this demon that has since crawled into your chest and devoured your heart whole will ever die.

Scarlet eyes soften as they rove over your lovely features, strong arms support you from behind and you know what the answer is.

The answer is no.

It will never die, never cease to exist, never leave you alone. It will stay with you until you lie motionless forever and even then it will crawl into your casket cradling your cooling skin.

But you will not stop fighting.

Cannot stop fighting because of the small sliver of a feeling you have now.

The love that resiliently blooms despite the pressure, despite the darkness, despite it being trampled over and fucking over.

You know that these two men are not your worth nor or they your reason for being and even if, Kamisama forbid, you three broke up, you would fight on.

Tooth and nail keeping this demon under the ball of your steel toed boot.

Because in the end, after it is all said in done you will do anything to feel this.

This hope and love that radiates from within. You sigh out a shaky sigh, releasing the tension of your shoulders and the constant pressure you've kept on yourself since that mission, your shoulders sag from relief.

"Thank you, thank you for baring this with me." You squeeze their arms respectively as you speak to them both at once, "I love you."

They speak in unison their two tones melding together and soothing over your skin like an ointment.

"I love you too." 

[shhhpider-man]

Irondad Bingo Trope: Losing Powers

My first entry for @irondadbingo ! catch me on AO3 under username chetta!

Find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751636

~

It’s only once he wakes up and his vision has gone all fuzzy that Peter realizes that maybe that wizard guy he’d tangled with last night on patrol had been legit.

Cursing, he slings his legs over the side of his bed and rubs at his tired eyes until he sees stars. He swears again, louder this time, once he opens them only for things to be just as blurry as before. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”

What kind of curse was this supposed to be? Slightly subpar vision for the rest of eternity? Of course Peter had to be the one to get stuck with the one NYC wizard whose roster only included spells which were meant to irritate the shit out of their victims.

May’s harried voice carries from the kitchen, jolting him from his panic. “Pete? You’re gonna have to get a move on if you don’t want to miss class.”

His eyes widen as he catches a glance of the time. 7:30? He hadn’t even heard his alarm go off. “Yeah, I’m coming!” he calls before stumbling as he tries to stand.

“Okay, something’s definitely wrong.” It’s more than a little obvious at this point, but Peter still feels like it should be said.

He’s having trouble seeing and walking properly—he only manages to take a few steps before he has to grab onto his desk for support. Pulling up the legs of his sweatpants, Peter checks for any sort of bruises or lacerations that he could have missed the night before. But everything looks normal, the only difference being the fact that every movement feels like he’s running a marathon. He grabs at the chair—attempting to pull it away from his desk so he can just rest for a second—but the stupid thing refuses to move.

It’s strange, he considers for a moment, the last time he remembers feeling like this was back when—

Peter blinks, eyes wide. “No way,” he says to his reflection, because that just can’t be right.

A terrifying thought strikes him. The exhaustion, the decreased strength, the trouble seeing—they could all be explained by one thing: he doesn’t have his powers anymore; the magician took away his powers.

“No. No no no. No way,” he mutters to himself. Digging through his desk drawer, Peter’s hands grasp for the little box which he hasn’t had use for in months. He finds it crammed behind a pair of prototype web shooters, the hinges creaky with disuse.

He slides on the prescription-heavy frames and the room snaps back into perfect focus.

No way.

“Peter? Honey, I’m leaving now—did you want a ride?” May peeks her head into the room. When she sees the glasses, her eyes narrow. “What’re you doing with those?”

He pulls them off and tries to pretend that May hasn’t just become a blob of assorted colours. “Uhh. Just—I’m just, taking these for a project. Wanted to try them on for a second.”

“Okay,” she says, and Peter can tell that she’s not really looking at him, her eyes trained on his bedside clock. It’s probably the only thing that saves him from her seeing straight through his feeble lie. “Well, I hope everything goes well with the project. I’m off now since I guess you’re not ready to go yet. Or I can wait a couple more minutes if you want...”

“No, don’t worry about it, May. I’ll swing downtown—it won’t even take 15 minutes.”

He can tell her mouth is pinched even without being able to see it. “Alright. No hero-ing around this morning though, okay? You’ve got that training thing tonight and I promised Tony that you’d be there on time and in one piece.”

“Yeah, so the Avengers can kick the crap out of me.”

“Probably.” She checks her watch again. “I have to get going, but I’ll see you tonight, okay? Love you.”

“Love you too, May,” he calls at her retreating back.

Peter waits until he can hear the door close (it’s quieter now—why hadn’t he realized how quiet everything had gotten?) before he slips the glasses back on. There’s no way she’d let him go to the Compound tonight if she knew that he’s now just essentially a kid running around in millions of dollars worth of spandex. They’ll probably come back by then, he justifies to himself. There’s no way the wizard’s spell would have taken them away for good.

Right?

It’ll be fine. He tells himself this until he almost believes it, stuffing a change of clothes into his backpack and stepping into his suit.

“Everything will be fine—everything is fine,” he repeats as he stares down the side of his building a couple of minutes later. It’s only 6 stories, Peter’s fallen from heights that make this drop look like a couple of steps down, but he’s suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he’s now got no spidey-sense or healing factor to speak of whatsoever.

A fall from this height and he’s done. Plain and simple.

And to add insult to injury he still can’t freaking see—his glasses stashed neatly in the inside pocket of his backpack.

Is something the matter, Peter? Your vitals are within an unusual range today.

“No, KAREN. I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” He takes a bracing breath and lines up a shot. “I got this—I’m Spider-man.”

With that, he lets himself fall forward into the air, waiting a second before pushing down on a web shooter. The line catches the side of the opposite building and his momentum shifts. It’s only once he lets go of the web to grab onto a new one that he realizes his eyes had been closed the entire time.

The trip takes longer than it normally does. He keeps it simple, no fancy flips or tricks, no momentum-gaining big drops. Web to web. Simple as that.

Swinging feels different like this, but for the longest time Peter can’t figure out why. Sure, he’s more tired and the pressure feels more than a little uncomfortable on his shoulders, but that doesn’t explain the rush of fear that flood his stomach every time he lets go of a line.

He’s only a couple more minutes from the school now—there’s an alley a couple of blocks away that’s normally deserted at this time of the morning. His arm reaches out for another shot and Peter feels the web catch the facade of a tall brownstone. But then, before he even realizes it’s happening, Peter’s falling.

There’s no time for him to try and roll into the impact, no time to even register why he’s suddenly started losing altitude. One second he’s in the air and the next he’s on the ground and he can’t breathe.

Peter rolls onto his side, pain ratcheting up the entire left half of his body. He pulls in deep gulps of air, but it feels like his lungs have stopped working altogether.

Peter. My sensors indicate possible contusions to your left side.

“Y-yeah. That would make sense,” he grits out between clenched teeth. He wants to pull off his suit and check, but even the thought of moving is too much right now. “How did—how did I fall?”

KAREN is silent for a few moments. My sensors indicate no flaws in your webbing.

He cranes his neck. “Then how—?” There’s a chunk of the building lying only a few feet from his head, a silky strand of webbing still attached to one end.

This fall, in addition to the drop in your vitals today, signals that you may be experiencing some form of illness. My programming dictates that I—

“No, KAREN, don’t call Mr. Stark. It was just a little fall. You’ve seen me get up after worse, I’ll be fine.” He tries to inject as much confidence into the words as possible, despite the fact that he’s still curled into the fetal position in some strange alleyway on a Wednesday morning.

Yes, this does fall within my preset parameters of acceptable risk.

He lets out a sigh of relief. The last thing he needs is Tony poking his nose into this when he’s fine. “Yup. Thanks, KAREN,” he says, flinching when the words send another twinge of pain through his side. He’s perfectly fine.

Peter scrapes himself off the ground and starts rummaging around in his backpack. Lucky he had it with him to take some of the impact, or else this fall might not have been something he could have walked away from. He realizes this with a distant kind of dread, the same as when a perp misses a killing blow by mere inches.

It takes some work to coax his protesting arms and legs into his civvies (he gives up entirely on trying to get the suit off), but he manages to dust himself off and walk the rest of the way without accidentally almost dying again.

The bell’s already rung by the time he makes it to school, so he slips in with the last few stragglers before the morning announcements come on. Ned doesn’t look up from his phone when he drops into the empty seat next to him, giving an absentminded little wave as he scrolls. However, he does look up when Peter slips on his glasses.

“Thought you didn’t need those anymore?”

“I mean, I don’t,” Peter says, only now realizing how suspicious it probably looks to someone who knows that Peter Parker didn’t suddenly stop wearing glasses because he just finally bought some contacts. “I just—I’m just…”

There’s a lie on the tip of his tongue, but Ned’s eyes are earnest and Peter’s side just hurts so much.

“I lost my powers.”

His mouth drops open. “What? How?!”

“Shhhhhh! There was this wizard guy--”

Ned’s eyes go even wider, if possible. “You got cursed?!”

“Only a little bit,” he protests. “But that’s not the point. Now I can’t see properly, and I can’t swing, or punch things, and I fell on my way here because I thought I could make it in my suit.”

Peter’s throat is tight. He’d thought he could do this—but what if he can’t be Spider-man anymore? What if his powers never come back?

“You fell? Are you okay?”

Peter tries to take stock of his injuries. The pain in his arm and leg have dulled, but his chest still feels like it’s being kicked in repeatedly by the Hulk. “I don’t know. They’re fine, but I don’t know how long they’ll take to heal now.”

“You’ve got to tell Mr. Stark about this.”

“No way—”

“You could be in serious danger.”

“Ned—”

“Especially if you’re still doing that Avengers training thing today.”

“I am,” Peter says firmly, leaving as little room as he can in his voice for disagreement. “We’ve been planning this for weeks—Rogers and Barnes had to fly in from Russia for it—I can’t back out now.”

Ned’s expression still doesn’t change.

The teacher calls for their attention at the front of the class and the conversation dies down around them. Peter turns towards the board, but he can feel the way Ned’s eyes keep moving back towards him.

“It’s just temporary. They’ll come back,” he insists under his breath, because the only alternative is accepting that maybe now he’ll have to hang up the tights for good.

There’s a light tap on his arm and Ned slides a scrap of paper onto his desk. Promise me you’ll tell Mr. Stark, the note reads.

Peter sighs. Ned’s turned his face back towards their lesson, but Peter can still read the fearful tension in his shoulders.

I promise, he writes back and tries not to feel like a liar.

~

He climbs into the backseat of the car with little fanfare, waving hello to Happy before busying himself with the passing traffic.

“That’s it?” Happy asks from the front seat. “No ‘hi, Happy’, no ‘thanks for coming to pick me up, Happy’?”

Peter tries for the best approximation of a smile that he can manage. “Hey, Happy.”

They fall silent for a few moments, the greeting only managing to exacerbate Happy’s scrutiny. “Say, what’s with the fancy new specs?”

Peter feeds him the same line he’s been giving everyone today. “I uh, lost my contacts.” He crosses his fingers in his pockets and prays that Happy’s has no idea about any of the physical ramifications of his spider-powers.

The answer seems good enough to fool Happy. “You feeling okay, kid?”

“Yeah,” Peter lies. He feels like he’s been doing that a lot today. “Just tired. Think you can wake me up when we get there?”

“Sure thing.”

It’s over an hour drive to the Compound—way too much time for Happy to figure out that something’s up and continue picking at it. So Peter closes his eyes and leans his head against the window. At least this way he won’t be able to ask any more questions.

One of the car’s wheels hits a bump and Peter has to bite down on the whimper which tries to escape from his throat.

He’d gone to the bathroom during lunch to try survey the damage, stripping off his shirt and the top part of his suit once he was sure the room was empty. The entire left side of his chest had looked like some sort of gruesome impressionist painting, blues, blacks, and greens, all overlapping in a twisted kaleidoscope of colour. The patch had started all the way up at his armpit and continued downwards until it disappeared into the fabric bunched up at his waist, warm to the touch and absolutely radiating pain.

Peter has no idea how far down it goes, whether it stops at his legs or continues all the way down to his feet.

He’s a little too scared to check and see.

They arrive at the Compound just as the pain settles down into acceptable levels. Peter lets Happy get out of the car and come around to shake his shoulder. He tries not to flinch as Happy’s grip presses down on an especially vivid bruise.

“We’re here, kid.”

Peter makes a show of waking up—yawning, stretching his arms above his head as high as he can tolerate—before grabbing his backpack and heading towards the entrance.

“Thanks, Happy,” he tosses over his shoulder. Peter’s only made it a few steps into the building before he sees what looks like the totality of the Avengers making their way towards him.

Cap and Falcon are leading the charge, both of them suited up and ready for combat.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” He looks at Steve. “Nice to see you again, Cap.”

The patriot tips his head. “Queens.”

Natasha elbows her way past Sam, stopping to pat Peter once on the head before he continues past them. “Let’s get a move on, guys. Pete, you staying or going?”

“Going where? I thought we were training tonight?”

Steve fiddles with the strap on his shield. “Change of plans. Someone’s got an interspace portal set up in Jersey that we’ve got to take care of first.”

He looks past Steve for a moment, catching the glint of Bucky’s metal arm and the telltale red glow of Wanda’s powers. “You’re taking the whole team?”

“We’ve got no idea what’s on the other side,” Cap says with a shrug.

“Can I come?” Peter knows as soon as the words come out of his mouth that the most likely answer is—

“Hell no.” Tony sweeps into the room with all the subtlety of a rock concert, armour already half-assembled around him. He points to Peter. “You’re staying here with Bruce and playing checkers.”

His face falls. “But—”

“Nuh-uh. We’re not playing this game today, Parker. Team?” He gestures all of them towards where the Quinjet is parked on the tarmac.

“Tony,” Steve starts, tone sympathetic. “We did tell the kid he’d be doing some hands-on training today. It’s not gonna get more hands-on than this.”

Rhodey chimes in from the other end of the room. “Yeah, come on, Tones. Let the kid live a little.”

“Yeah, come on, Mr. Stark,” Peter chimes in hopefully, but backs down after the glare Tony directs his way.

Indecision plays over Mr. Stark’s face, his perpetual need for Peter to be away from the action in a desperate battle with his desire to get Peter properly trained asap.

Mr. Stark takes a bracing breath. “If I let you come—big if—” He pokes Peter in the chest. “You have to promise that you will take this mission as a training exercise—”

Peter doesn’t hesitate. “I promise.”

“—that means no unnecessary risks and no close quarters combat. Do you hear me? Stay out of the action and web them up. Observe.”

“I can do that. I swear, I’ll be good, I’ll follow orders.”

Tony pauses for a second, weighing Peter’s sincerity. His eyes snap between him and Cap. “Fine.”

Peter throws his hands up. “Yes!” Without thinking, he throws his arms around Tony’s shoulders. “Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

The man tenses up, but a gauntleted hand eventually comes down to pat Peter on the back. “Yeah, yeah, kid. Thank me later.”

“Alright, Avengers—let’s go!”

The team starts drifting in the direction of the Quinjet. Peter can’t believe it, he’s going on an Avengers mission. Where there will be a possible extraterrestrial encounter. He’s so excited he could sing.

“Cute glasses, Peter,” Wanda says as she walks by, her nails clicking as she taps one of the rims.

Peter freezes. He’d almost forgotten—the magician, the curse, the powers. “Thanks, Wanda.” He shoots her a smile, all the while his chest feels like it’s sunk somewhere past his feet.

He can’t fight like this. He’d only barely survived a 10-foot fall today onto concrete—there’s no way he’ll be able to go out and fight aliens without getting overpowered.

Thank God Tony hadn’t noticed the glasses earlier, probably too caught up in pre-battle prep to realize that Peter shouldn’t have needed them anymore.

“You coming, Pete? Magic School Bus ain’t gonna wait up for long.” Tony’s waiting up by the open doors, brows furrowed and expression curious.

Peter’s so close to telling him, then. So close to calling off the whole thing. Instead, he takes off his glasses and tucks them into the pocket of his jeans.

“Way ahead of you, Mr. Stark. Hey, do you think I’ll get to punch any aliens today? Punching an alien’s like, the number four thing on my bucket list.”

Mr. Stark claps him soundly on the shoulder as he passes. The white-hot flash of pain it inspires is almost enough to knock Peter over. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he tells him. There’s a line between Tony’s eyes that still hasn’t gone away yet. “Hey, kid, are you—?”

“I’ll race you to the jet,” Peter interrupts, mostly because he knows that Tony won’t chase him and he needs this conversation to be over, like, 10 minutes ago. He takes off before Tony can say anything else, wading through the military-calibre equipment and plopping down into a seat between Thor and Bucky just as the ship takes off.

Thor’s expression lights up when he catches sight of him. “Young man of spiders! Finally ready to join us in glorious battle?”

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but not before Tony can interject. “Hold your horses, Point Break—kid’s not doing battle. Observer status only.” He fixes Peter with a pointed look.

“Nevertheless.” He picks up Mjolnir where it’s been resting against his leg. “I shall be more than pleased to know that he is watching my back.”

“Uh, thanks.” Not that Peter would be able to do much more than watch anyways. He can shoot webs, barely even swing, but that’s about it.

The ride to Jersey is short and quiet. The tensions between the two sides of the Accords feud have finally abated enough for silences to get closer to something approaching ‘comfortable’, so there is less of a need for Peter to try and fill the silence than in the past. He spends the ride with his eyes closed and head tilted back—he’d forgotten how badly he used to get carsick before the bite, but he’s having trouble forgetting it now.

Once Cap begins discussing mission parameters and roles, Peter moves towards the back of the plane. His plan is to just wait the battle out somehow, web up a few aliens from a rooftop if things get a little hairy. That way Tony will never even need to know and things can go back to normal—easy peasy.

He shucks off his shirt and jeans, kicking them to the corner of the ship and dropping his bag on top of them. He’s wringing his mask between his hands when a hand touches his shoulder and he starts, whipping around.

Mr. Stark holds his hands up in surrender. “Woah there, never been able to sneak up on you like that before—are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s concern written into Tony’s features and Peter feels bad for lying to him. “Yeah. Never better.”

“Good.” Eyes roving over Peter’s face like he’s searching for something, Tony’s mouth presses into a thin white line. “Be careful out there, alright?”

“Of course. Peanut gallery privileges only.”

Anxiety appeased for the time being, Tony ruffles his hair before moving towards the Quinjet doors. The rest of the team lines up behind him and Peter tugs on his mask before moving towards the back of the group.

Cap turns towards everyone. “Alright, team. Let’s shut this down as quickly as we can. Keep injuries to a minimum please, I don’t want to have to scrape anyone off of the pavement again.”

Someone coughs. “Sam.”

“That was one time, man!”

The muted laughter of the team is drowned out as the bay doors open, flooding the ship with sharp mechanical sounds and the scared yells of civilians.

Everyone’s spread out in the open before Peter even really has a chance to take the scene in. He slips out of the Quinjet as the doors start closing and takes position near the corner of the building they’d landed on. Thank god Clint had touched down here and not on the street—Peter hadn’t been looking forward to trying to web his way up without being able to stick to things.

Peter, Mr. Stark is attempting to connect you to the team’s main comms channel.

The battle looks indistinct from here, it’s difficult to make anything out without his glasses. He’ll need to comms if he wants to have any idea of what’s going on. “Patch them through, KAREN.”

Immediately, his ears are assaulted by the sounds of 10 adults all yelling and fighting at once.

“Portal’s on your left, Cap,” someone says, Peter’s not sure who. “We need someone to bottleneck them there before any more of them can spread out and get to civilians. War machine, you got eyes on the scene?”

Rhodey’s response comes in seconds. “There are a couple dozen stragglers around the periphery, but most of these bastards are concentrated around the origin point.”

“Hey, Rhodes, watch your language—young ears and all that.” That’s Tony’s voice--Peter would be hard-pressed not to recognize it after all these months.

He realizes belatedly who it is they’re talking about. “You’ve literally said worse with me right there, Mr. Stark.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.” The Iron Man suit cuts low, repulsors firing on the writhing grey-greenish masses. It suddenly occurs to Peter that those blurry masses are actual living, breathing aliens, and he’s caught somewhere between exhilaration and existential terror.

“I’m taking bottleneck with Wanda,” Nat says and Peter can just barely make her out on the street below, shoving her fists and feet into any soft tissue she can find. “Someone look out for whatever device is keeping this thing open.”

Cap sounds out of breath, wherever he is. “That’s assuming it’s not on their side.”

“If it is on the wrong side of the portal, I’m calling dibs on not going through this one. I’ve done my time,” Tony pipes up. He’s the easiest for Peter to see on the battlefield, his vibrant armour making him the most recognizable by far.

“Spider-man, can you see anything from your vantage point?”

Peter’s face flushes. He can barely tell where everyone is, nevermind pick out a device among the hundred moving bodies on the ground. “Nothing from up here.”

He feels useless, out of place. He can’t do anything without his powers.

“Pete, there are some civilians near where you’re perched with a few E.T.s getting a little close for comfort.”

“I’m on it.” He takes position and aims his web shooters at what looks like the aliens. They’re all sort of mushy-looking from this angle, essentially big piles of disgusting looking sludge with plasma guns.

The crowd of civilians quickly dissipates once the aliens have been taken down. Peter sets his sights on the rest of the battle, letting the other Avengers corral groups of them within range of his web shooters so that he can incapacitate them.

“Found the device,” Hawkeye interjects over the regular commotion of the comms. “No idea how it works, though. Stark, I’m gonna need your help with this one.”

“Be there in a sec, dearest.” Tony touches down just out of range of Peter’s shooters, where if Peter strains he can just about make out Hawkeye crouching over something.

“Alright, guys, I’m stripping down for this, I can’t see what I’m doing in the armour,” Tony says.

Someone laughs. “Dinner and a show—perfect.”

“Bucky, Spider-man, watch Stark’s back. He’s totally exposed without the armour.”

“Gotcha, Steve.”

“Copy that, Cap.” Peter doesn’t have to be told twice. He moves as close as he can to Mr. Stark without falling off of the roof and webs up anything he thinks is getting too close.

After a few minutes of this, Mr. Stark still hasn’t shut off the device and Peter’s eyes are beginning to ache with the effort of trying to focus.

“You have an ETA on that thing, Mr. Stark?”

“Pipe down, kiddo, gotta concentrate.”

Peter raises his web shooters again and tries to ignore how badly his arms are shaking. He can do this.

There’s a sudden, sharp snarl from behind him and Peter whips around. It’s too late for a warning, too late to call for help—one of the gigantic masses is already towering over him, effectively trapping Peter on the corner of the roof where he’d been perched.

It’s a bad time for Peter to remember that they call it ‘nearsightedness’ for a reason. As the alien draws even closer, Peter is able to make out the sharp claws clutching at the rounded metal tube that they’ve been firing on them with, the triple rows of bloody teeth crowding its mouth.

The tube comes up and strikes Peter’s head before he can make a choice between fight or flight, the momentum carrying him onto his bruised side. The pain feels bone-deep this time, like he’s just fallen all over again.

He doesn’t manage to stifle his cry this time, his pained exclamation broadcast for the entire team to hear.

“Peter?” Tony’s yelling his name before anyone else has a chance to react. “Kid?”

Peter drags himself away, gritting his teeth against the pain it causes. “I’m fine. Get the portal closed." KAREN, mute my comms for now.” He can’t afford to be a distraction for the team on top of everything else.

His moment of distraction has cost him, though. A tight grip latches onto his leg and pulls him backwards before slinging him through the air and throwing him back into the ground.

Peter swears he hears something crack. His vision goes black for a second, and he screams loud enough that he thinks the others must have heard him this time, even without his comms on.

But no one comes to his rescue. The alien keeps approaching, obviously enjoying toying around with Peter before he kills him. KAREN is yelling in his ears, something about fractures and internal bleeding, but Peter doesn’t really hear her.

The barrel of the metal tube points towards him. The alien has finished with his game.

Peter has just enough time to realize that he’s about to die before he’s forcing his feet into motion, his months of training and patrols kicking his muted senses all into high-gear.

He slams his hand into the barrel of the weapon just as it begins to heat, forcing the muzzle away from him and towards the creature.

There’s a discharge followed by an inhuman shriek. The alien topples backwards and doesn’t move again.

He stumbles backwards. He needs to sit—he needs to rest—he—

Peter picks out Tony’s voice among the general clamour of the comms. “Almost done, guys. I think I’ve just about got it.”

He turns around and fear floods him all over again. There’s Tony on the ground, head angled towards the body of the portal device. Less than ten feet away is an alien, the gun in its clawed hands pointing straight towards Tony’s unprotected back.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter screams into the comms. “Behind you! There’s—”

He registers several things at one moment: one, they’re both too far for him to reach with his webs; two, his comms are off and no one else sees what’s happening; and three, Tony is going to die right now if Peter doesn’t do anything to stop it.

There’s no time to think, no time to even really decide. Peter just acts, throwing himself off of the side of the building and casting a web out wherever the hell he can get it to stick.

It catches—thank god—and Peter’s flying instead of falling. The world seems to slow down as Peter nears, he registers the snap of the portal closing, the expletive-laced shout of triumph Tony lets out, and the gentle whirr of the blaster being charged.

His feet impact the alien’s head with a sickening sound, and his momentum carries him straight through the kick and onto the ground.

Peter rolls from his back straight onto his feet. The alien copies his movement, rising sluggishly back onto whatever haunches it had been standing on. It raises the blaster once more, this time aimed at Peter’s chest—

Then a hole is blown straight through the beast’s body and it slumps to the ground.

“Nice work, kid,” Tony says, his hand still raised and ready to blast the thing again if it moves.

The breath leaves Peter all at once. He sways a little on his feet, the entire battle catching up to him all at once. “You said that last time too,” he remembers before his knees hit the ground again.

“Pete? Hey—hey, kid. You alright?” Tony drops down in front of him, his hands grabbing Peter’s shoulders just fast enough to stop him from crumbling completely. “Peter? You gotta answer me, kid.”

His vision is swimming. “I… I need to tell you something. My—my powers, they’re gone. I—on patrol—they—a wizard, he—” He’s interrupted by a loud, body-wracking cough. Something wet slides down his chin and he moves to tug off his mask.

“Hey, hey, hey—Woah there, hold on a second.” Tony grabs his arm, but freezes a second later, staring at Peter with something akin to horror.

“What is it?” Peter asks, but it comes out all wet and wrong.

“Cap! Nat! Somebody—we need the jet. Now,” Tony yells.

Peter’s head feels so heavy suddenly. He lists forward until he’s propped up against Tony’s chest, his forehead resting on the man’s shoulder. “Taste blood.”

“You’re bleeding internally,” Tony explains patiently, his voice laced with something manic and terrified. ‘You’re coughing up blood—it’s soaking through your mask.”

“Oh.” The fingers Peter presses to his mouth come away soaked a deep red. His hand feels like it weighs about a million pounds just then. It drops into his lap as he slumps against Tony’s shoulder.

“Peter.” He wants to respond, but Tony’s just so far away. “Kid, I swear to God,” he says, and it comes out sounding more like a sob than anything.

But then another set of strong hands is lifting him. There’s still yelling—it’s all around him, it might even be him—but all of it is so indistinct as to not even be there.

The next time he opens his eyes, his mask is off. The ground is vibrating underneath him and two steady hands are combing their way through his hair.

“Tony?” he murmurs, looking far into the distance at what he assumes is Mr. Stark’s head. It’s Mr. Stark—it has to be. No one else is ever this gentle with Peter.

“I’m here, kid.”

Peter smiles, but even that is painful now too. “Shouldn’t have come. I can—can’t stick to things anymore.” Something wet dribbles from his chin when he turns his head and Peter wonders distantly if he’s drooling. “‘m not Spider-man.”

“You’re always Spider-man, Peter.” One of the hands from Peter’s head brushes the wetness away from his chin. “We’re gonna get you all fixed up, you hear me? You just have to stay awake.”

“Okay,” Peter says because Tony sounds like he’s in agony, like the one thing that could make it all better is if Peter could just keep his eyes open.

But the exhaustion is creeping into his bones now, into the bruises and broken bones that stubbornly refuse to heal. Some part of Peter’s mind has realized that this is all too much for him; he’s been defeated, all he has to do now is issue the final surrender.

But Tony still thinks they’ve got time—Tony has no idea that Peter’s is running out before his eyes.

He grabs Mr. Stark’s hand and squeezes it with all the strength that he has left. “I can’t heal. My powers—I can’t heal.”

And Tony’s eyes go wide right then, because he realizes the same thing that Peter’s already accepted. “No. No.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Peter tells him before he drifts off.

“Peter. Kid, stay awake. Please. God, please, please—I can’t lose him.”

Sounds echo, but Peter doesn’t have time to hear them before his eyes slip shut.

~

When Peter wakes up several hours later—after an impromptu visit from Doctor Strange and a gruelling 7-hour surgery, as he’ll learn later—his hand is being clasped tightly between someone else’s.

There’s the steady beat of a heart sat right next to his bed and the low hum of the heart monitor Peter can feel attached to his chest. A laboured sigh fills the room. “Alright, Pete. You’ve been snoozing long enough—time to wake up now.”

Peter cracks his eyes open.

The first thing he sees is the look Tony sets aside specifically for Peter’s absolute worst screw ups, his mouth turned down into a grimace and his brow set in one hard line. “Nice of you to join us, kid.”

“How’d you know I was awake?” he asks, voice gravelly from sleep.

“Your face always twitches a little when you’re coming out of it.” Tony drops Peter’s hand with a tired sigh, leaning over the bed to grab something off of the bedside table. He tips a cup towards Peter’s lips. “Here. Just ice chips for now—I’ve been informed that you’ll be able to graduate back to liquids as soon as your insides stop bleeding all over the place.”

Peter takes a few pieces and lets them melt on his tongue. “I don’t get it,” he says after a moment. “I thought I was…”

“A goner?” Tony’s face is pale, his expression drawn. “You gave it your best shot—I’ll give you credit, but nothing so bad that doctors Strange and Cho couldn’t fix it.”

He almost chokes on an ice chunk. “Doctor Strange was here?”

“How’d you think we got your healing factor to work again?”

With a jolt, Peter realizes his vision’s been returned to its regular clarity. The relief hits him like a freight train. “You mean he undid everything? The spell?”

“All gone.”

He takes a deep breath. “I still feel kinda weird, though.”

“Weird how?” Tony asks.

Peter flexes his fingers and toes. Everything is strange—distant, almost. “Weak.”

“That’ll be the painkillers. We doped you up good enough to put down a horse—several, in fact.”

Tony sets the cup back down on the table. His jaw moves like he’s debating something. “Peter, why the hell did you do that?”

He doesn’t ask Tony to specify what it is he’s talking about. “I—I just thought I could handle it.”

“You thought you could handle stepping into a superhero battle royale with literally none of your abilities in working order? Tell me how that checks out.”

“I made a mistake, okay?”

Tony’s voice is like steel. “No. A mistake is when you forget to block a hit because you’re mouthing off. A mistake is when you run out of web-fluid in the middle of a battle. Getting hit on patrol and then not telling me for a whole day when your powers disappear is not a mistake.” He appears to collect himself for a moment, physically reigning in the fury that’s seeping through the seams. “You asking to come on a mission with us despite full well knowing that you’d be flying in—literally—blind, injured, and powered down—that’s not a mistake. It didn’t happen by accident.”

“I was going to tell you—”

Tony scoffs.

“No, I was—I swear,” Peter maintains, reaching out for his mentor’s arm. “I just, I wanted to prove that I could still be Spider-man, even without the abilities.”

Tony sighs and covers his face. “You don’t have anything to prove to me, Peter.”

“Not to you, maybe, but to myself.”

And Tony looks at him then, really takes in his expression, and maybe sees something he understands. A hunger, a drive to assert himself as more than just the mask.

The fear written into his expression settles into something else—defeat, maybe pride. “I meant what I said on the jet. You’re Spider-man no matter what.”

A smile creeps onto Peter’s face. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“But, and I’m not jerking you around here, if you ever pull anything—anything—like that again, I’ll save everyone the trouble and just kill you myself. You hear me?”

Peter leans back and closes his eyes. “I hear you.”

“Good.” A hand settles on the top of his head, methodically separating the curls that have clumped together. “You really freaked me out there, Pete.”

Peter knows that’s as close as Tony will get to admitting that he was scared. Terrified, even, if his shaky memories can be trusted.

“I’m sorry.”

Mr. Stark heaves another sigh, this one sounding from deep in his chest. “I know. Go to sleep, kid.”

He murmurs a response, but it’s lost as he slides back into unconsciousness. He knows Tony will be there when he wakes up.

[notnaturalanahi]

New experiences, new feelings

Pairing: Virgin!Reader x Matt (for a short moment), Virgin!Reader x Dean

Word count: 5190

Summary: The reader decides it’s time to venture into something she’s never done before, but her rushed decision leads to a disastrous outcome, that only her good friend -or maybe more- Dean Winchester can help solve. 

Warnings: Smut (protected sexual intercouse), USE CONDOMS, first time having sex, fingering, oral (for a little bit, both male and female receiving), slight angst, slight fluff. 

A/N: This story is a present for @waywardrose13 as a present for Galentine’s day!! She requested: “Dean x Virgin!Reader smut. I’m a sucker for those fics. They’re so sweet” I tried to make it as sweet as I could. I hope you enjoy this Rose. Happy Galentine’s day!!!

Written for @spnfanficpond Galentine’s Day Fic Exchange. Tagging @mrswhozeewhatsis

Also this is for @spnkinkbingo Square filled: Free Space.

A big THANK YOU and shoutout to @rachelladytietjens for her amazing and much needed help. Go follow now! 

Read it on AO3

New experiences, new feelings

So here you are, sitting in the dark with a beer in hand. Hiding in the bunker’s kitchen in the middle of the night. Hiding from the world, from the disastrous date you just ran away from. Hiding from yourself in hopes to erase with alcohol the events of your fateful evening.

Listlessly you pick at the biggest tear in your fancy ripped jeans, anger flooding you as your fingers hook into the hole, tearing it all the way across your thigh.

“Shit!” you shout at the same moment the room becomes bright as day. Pushing away from your chair you stand in the blink of an eye, grabbing the gun hidden under the table and aiming at the large figure in the doorway. Your eyes take a couple of seconds to adjust and when they do, you see Dean with his hands up waiting for you to realize it's him. “You scared the shit outta me!” You lower the gun placing it on the table.

“Sorry, Sweetheart! Hey, aren't you supposed to be on a date right now?” he asks checking his wrist watch as he enters the room.

“I’m supposed to be lots of things,” you answer sarcastically, trying to tug the fabric of your ruined jeans back in place as if it would have some sort of magic velcro that’d stick it right back, your eyes roll when the piece of cloth falls back down.

“What does that mean?” Dean asks as he reaches the fridge.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “Can you get me one?”

Dean nods and then closes the fridge door turning around with two beers in hand, walking towards the table. He spots the tear in your jeans, and freezes. It's Dean-the-Hunter who growls, “He do that to you?”

“No! I did it myself… My-My finger got stuck,” you assure him with a short smile, a genuine one, letting him know you’re fine before sitting back down.

Dean relaxes and sits down across the table, his eyes taking in the couple empty beer bottles resting on the table, and gives you an interested look as he says, “That bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Actually no,” you correct yourself after a moment. “The first part was great, you know?”

“Uh-Hmmm.”

“We even got to his place and all… And it kinda got hot,” you confess after a drinking pause.

Dean takes a swig of his beer, his eyes on you and with a raise of his eyebrows he urges you to keep talking. It’s not unusual, you venting your problems to him. Tonight he looks truly interested in listening to what you got to say, maybe because you’ve never talked about boy problems, probably because you’ve never had boy problems, but he doesn't know that… Or maybe he does.

“But then I said something that maybe I shouldn’t have and of course, he said something that made me feel…” you stop and sigh.

“You know I can pay him a visit, right? Just gimme his address and I’ll make it look like an accident.”

You laugh and shake your head.

“Made you feel… sad?” he guesses and you shrug a shoulder. “Or we can both beat his ass and then I’ll cover our tracks.”

You smile at his attempt to make you feel better. “Nah, just. He made me feel like… Like I'm wrong!” You huff and sulk a bit in your chair. Dean's hand reaches out to you and his fingers graze your knuckles across the table.

“And I'm not wrong!” you are quick to tell him. “I know there's nothing wrong with being a-a-” Dean's eyebrows drawn together and he gives you a quizzical look. “There's nothing wrong with being what I am.”

“You tryn’a tell me you're gay? “ he asks. You give him a surprised look.

Does he thinks you’re gay? Do you give you a gay vibe? You never thought about it before, but that lady did came up to you the other night and offered to buy you a drink, which you politely declined.

“You know I'm totally fine with it, right?” Dean adds and you put a pin in that thought to ask him later about the gay vibe.

“Yeah! I mean no! Ugh! I know you're cool with it. But I'm not gay. I like men.”

“Ok, ok.” Dean nods, and the astonished expression he had on faded into a more content one. “What is it then?”

Your mind wanders as you try to find the words to tell Dean about your… condition, without using the actual words, not that is a bad thing, it is not, but this is how you’re feeling tonight. And the autoplay starts again right in front of your eyes… Matt and you moved from the couch  to the bedroom after about twenty minutes - since you reached his place after finishing dinner - of a very heated makeout session. Everything was in full swing until his hand slid down the front of your jeans and found your soft spot. Your body reacted on its own and you slapped his hand away.

“I’m sorry I-I didn’t…”

He moves away from you a little, his eyes on you.

“I liked it. I swear!” you chuckled nervously.

He shrugged it off and in a moment his lips are back on your neck, making your eyes roll to the back of your head and his hand started his way south again until without even noticing it you slapped him, again.

“What is it?” Matt asked a little hasty.

“Shit! Sorry! It’s just I- I never-”

“You never what? Had someone finger you?” he laughed.

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. I never got this far before,” you admitted a little ashamed under his judging eyes. “I never let it get this far… with-with anyone.”

“Wait, does that mean you’re a virgin?” Matt stood up from the bed and had to hold on to his unbuttoned jeans before they could fall down his legs.

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal… I don’t want it to be special or anything. It’s just that I never got the chance- never let myself get the chance to get this far.”

“Jeez!” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and letting himself fall back onto the bed, your body jumping with the momentum.

“What?”

“Yeah, no this-” he motioned with his hands between you and him, “-this is not gonna happen.”

“What? Why?” You raised your voice and yourself from the bed.

“Virgins, they get attached. I don’t do that. I don’t do virgins.”

Rage flooded your senses at his words and that stupid smug smile on his face as he believed himself better than you somehow. As if his dick would have some sort of super power or something that’d made you come back and beg for more. This time your body acted together with your brain and you punched him square in the nose.

“What the fuck?!” Matt grabbed his nose. “Why you do that?!”

“Because you’re a fucking asshole!”

“And you’re a fucking virgin! Get the fuck outta my house!”

“Hey, what is it? You alright?” Dean’s worried voice pulls you from the nebula that is your mind and maybe it’s because you’re angry  or maybe it’s the almost 3 beers you already drank having some effect in you, or both things combined, but the words blurt out of you.

“I’m a virgin, ok?” you admit with annoyance.

“Oh, okay…I never woulda guessed,” Dean clears his throat and sits up, his hand leaving yours.

“What, you think it’s a bad thing too?”

Dean takes a second to get back to you, and it’s sort of reasonable considering what you just told him , but you are having none of that right now and you open your mouth to start the second argument, about the subject, of the night when he finally says something. “No! Of course not! It just. It never would occured to me to think you were-you are...Um that you never-”

“It��s a choice!” you say too strongly, taking a deep breath after to relax a little. “I never wanted the complications of sex while living the life…”

“And what changed?” Dean interrupts, his voice changed from the startled tone he had a minute before to a composed one, which made you stop and take a breath to calm yourself.

“What you mean?”

“Yeah, why this guy. You were planning on- with him. Why?”

“I… I honestly don’t know.” You take another chug of beer. “I wanted to get over with it and just do it.”

“Yeah, but why now?”

You think for a moment, trying to come up with the reason for it. “I guess I started thinking about it after the shifter that attacked me up a few months ago. I almost died! If you Sam hadn’t gotten there in time… He-”

“Hey.” Dean takes your hand in his. “We got there.”

“I know, thank you,” you smile and shake that feeling away. “So, after that experience I started pondering about life and I guess I wanted to do it before I die, because you never know and you know! I wanted to know what it was like… It’s the stupidest reason, I get it now.”

“It’s not. It seems like a good reason to me,” Dean shrugs. “But that guy sounds like the biggest douche and you still haven’t told me why him?.”

“Oh right. I dunno, he was there. We’d been texting for a while and he seemed nice. He never sent a dick pic!” you snort a short laugh. “ And besides, he was only one to ever show interest in me. You know I’m not one to flirt much when we go out and heads never turn when I walk into a room. But Matt he-he bought me a drink and asked my number.” You sigh and finish your beer, licking your lips and nodding silently as an involuntary movement, agreeing with nothing or everything that happened tonight.

Dean scoffs  and you look up to meet his eyes. Beautiful green eyes, kind under the white light of the kitchen that makes his freckles stand out. Your eyes roam his face, taking in every inch of it and the small smile tugging at the side of his plum, pink lips. “That’s not true,” he finally says.

“What’s not true?”

“You make heads turn, only you don’t notice, you never notice. And guys don’t come up to talk to you because you give off a really intimidating vibe,” he chuckles and you join in.

“I guess I have a really bad bitch resting face.”

“Yeah, no offence!”

You laugh and wave him off.

“Me and Sam, we know you. But that face… I mean you’re still beautiful, you always are -he licks his lips- but most guys are assholes and feel intimidated by powerful powerful, gorgeous women”

“And you don’t?”

“Nah, your bark is worse than your bite.”

“So you think I’m gorgeous?”

Dean smiles, white teeth on display. “So you got that?”

“Well, of course. I always thought you thought of me as cute or as a fucking badass hunter-” you laugh.

“Super badass!”

“But beautiful and gorgeous?”

Dean shrugs in response.

“You’ve thought of me…sexually?” The moment the word leaves your lips you feel a vibration running down your arms and legs and the tingling on your nipples.

“Yes.”

Your eyes widen at his response. “Okay, that was a fast answer.” Looking down you notices his hands never left yours and now his thumb is rubbing in soft circles as middle finger and thumb from his other hand hook around your wrist. You swallow down and clear your throat. “You know that love- you clear your throat again- love has nothing to do with sex, right?” You don’t want to overthink it, but this whole exchange most likely would lead to two outcomes and you wanna be sure he knows exactly what you want. Dean nods and licks his lips again, his smooth looking tongue lingering on his lower lip, leaving a glistening layer behind. Of course he knows that, his conquests tend to be one night stands. “That’s what I was wanted, no love involved.” Dean leans over the table, getting closer and you do the same, lowering your voice as you do since he’s so close. “But now there’s a big difference…”

“And what is that?”

“I- you sigh, goosebumps prickling all over your skin as his hand travels up your arm- “I didn’t really knew Matt. I coulda gotten up and left afterwards and that was it. It was over. I woulda never had to see him again. No awkward moments or new feelings added to the relationsh-”

With his thumb on your lips Dean silences you. “Look, you can get up and leave afterwards. We’ll pretend it never happened, if that’s what you want.” His green eyes drop from your eyes to your lips. “We can stop now, if that’s what you want.” He pauses to take a deep breath. “And if new feelings are awakened, then we’ll deal with them.” His long fingers slip behind you ear as he cup your face and his eyes meet yours again. “I like you, Y/N. I really do.”

You breathe a laugh. “I like you too.”

“Good,” he nods. “You want this?” he whispers the question so close to your mouth, his warm breath moisten the fuzz above your upper lip.

The proximity of Dean’s body to yours makes the air come in and out of you in short pants, your breathing so shallow you start to feel like you might faint. Inside your ears the drumroll of your heart is all you can hear. Do you want this? Of course you want this! You wanted this with Dean ever since you first set eyes on the seasoned hunter. Although you never thought he would ever want anything to do with you. You never considered yourself other than pretty, a girl next door kind of pretty, and certainly not the Dean Winchester type. And every moment you spent with him for the past 4 years allowed you to know him as a person and not just as the handsome, seductive, flirty, kissable man he was. You knew how friendly and kind he was, you got to know the good humoured and lovable interior that hid under the strong armour, and that made you want him more than anything.

Do you want this? Pffft!

“I want you,” you say before claiming his mouth in a searing kiss that he's quick to reciprocate.

Both of his hands are now around your face and he pulls you to stand up with him, but he is taller than you and you are obligated to clumsily climb onto the table, one knee at the time, your own hands leaving his body to help you hoist yourself up from the ground and kneel on the hard surface. Dean helps you with one hand to unfold your legs from beneath your body, so you don't fall off the table, until you sit in a more comfortable position right in front of him, your knees now closing around his hips and thighs as Dean ducks his head to kiss you again. His fingers card through your hair and at the same time dig on the exposed section of skin exposed on your side as your shirt rode up from all the movement, causing you to jump in surprise before remembering that most people have two hands and can use them separately.

You smile at your own reaction and Dean takes it as you being happy with what's going on, which you are of course, but that leads to a confession from him. “I know I never thought this would ever happen either.”

What was that supposed to mean? Did he want you from the beginning just like you did him? That was so fucking cliche, he wanted you and you wanted him - with a slight chance of a crush, not really that kind of love because you loved the guy, just not quite like that. But what if he loves you like that and you realize you won’t ever be able to? What would happen then?

His hand kneading you breast under your shirt pushes every logical thought out of your mind. You hand crosses the harsh barrier of his belt and the waist of his jeans causing Dean to groan as your fingers wrap around his hard member, applying a hard pressure around the head. You might have never done this before but you’ve watched plenty of documentaries about it on that interesting online page you found, pornhub, to know the theory. Dean’s hips thrust forward into your hand and he kisses your neck, his mouth leaving a damp trail around your throat. His fingers leave your hair, not before closing as a fist around it and pulling your head back to allow himself more room to explore your neck and chest, and start tugging at your braided leather, D-buckle belt that you keep for special occasions. This time, unlike with Matt you don’t slap his hand away. On the contrary, you help him by opening your legs wider to make room for him to get closer to you. You gasp loudly as his warm digits reach your heat and you both discover how wet you are.

“Fuck!” he sighs against your ear before pushing his teeth to your skin, just strong enough to let you know he could do much better than that.

The circles that are being drawn around your clit cause a fire in the pit of your stomach that spreads down to your groin and you know you’re going to come but it has never been this intense when you’ve done it yourself. Dean pulls the cup of your bra down, and with the tip of his thumb and forefinger rolls your left nipple, and that’s enough to make you explode. A blinding light blasts through your body, boiling hot and freezing cold at the same time, as if an angel just came down from heaven and blasted your soul to hell, where it surely belonged.

Dean continues rubbing, only more gently. You take his wrist to stop him and he complies immediately. Panting you look up at him, his lust blown eyes staring back at you and he waits, breathing heavily. He waits for you to allow him to go on.

“D’you- you have protection?” you ask, swallowing around a dry mouth.

“M’ room.” He moves away from you and pulls your hand from inside his jeans where it remained idle from the moment he started using his, and leads the way towards his room.

Neither of you have reached the bedrooms’ hallway so fast, ever. When you get to his room, Dean grabs you by your nice shirt, the one you just realized you wore and you stop him from tearing open to get you undress.

“Sorry,” he apologizes breathlessly.

Pushing your fingers away, he starts to unbutton it. Taking his own damn time with each damn button. The butterflies in your stomach flutter harder and faster with every inch of skin that a newly opened button uncovers, and he surely notices because he starts kissing you again, distracting you completely from it. Well, almost. Dean Winchester’s hands are undressing you, it’s impossible not to concentrate on that. Your tongue meets his to dance at a slow lustful pace and you moan into his mouth just as the soft fabric of your shirt glides off your shoulders and arms, pooling behind you with the softest thud.

He wraps his arms around your back to unhook your bra and your lips leave his when you finally move away to remove the undergarment from your upper body. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous!” he sighs, his mouth on your body next with his worshiping all of you at once.

You push him off of you and he freezes on the spot, thinking he might have done something that made you uncomfortable, you smile and push his flannel off his broad shoulders, tugging at the hem of his dark t-shirt once the first of his rare only two layers outfit falls to the ground. Your hands roam around his hard chest and soft stomach and they only stop when your lips latch to his right nipple. Dean growls in pleasure and his hands land on your head, fingers tangling around your hair keeping you in place and then without prior notice he pulls you off of him.

Pressing his chest to yours, Dean forces you to walk backwards until the back of your legs meets the edge of his bed. His arms wrap around your waist and while lifting you up in the air he throws himself to the bed with you on top of him. As soon as you land he sits up with you straddling his lap, both of you naked from the waist up. You love the way his chest feet against you, his warm, creamy skin against yours. Your lips meet once more and you grind down onto him, his hardness tucked inside his jeans still, pressing in between your legs, igniting the sparks that precede the electric storm. You cry out into his mouth and Dean moans your name.

He lowers you onto his legs and slowly removes himself from underneath you. He takes off your jeans and underwear, not even noticing you’re wearing your fanciest pair; same way with your matching bra that now rests on top of the pile of discarded clothes by the door, stopping on the way to unzip your ankle boots and toss them over his shoulders, and then again a few times when your feet got caught in the ornamental holes of your jeans. “I fucking hate ripped jeans!” Dean sighs when he finally pulls them off.

He lowers himself, finding your thighs with his lips, pushing your legs apart to settle in between them. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, feeling his tongue discovering every fold, every crease of your sex, but soon it becomes too much and your push him away.

Dean kneels on the bed, pulling at his own belt and undoing his jeans. With some difficulty he stands and toes his boots off after loosening the laces. And right in front of your face he finally kicks to rid of his jeans and boxer briefs to reveal his erect cock to you. You swallow down, you've never seen one face to face, but still you know exactly what to do and you’ve never wanted to put something into you mouth so badly. Gently licking the head you grip around the base, feeling the throbbing on your palm, and you slowly take him in, deeper and deeper until the gag reflex shows up and he pulls you up.

“You just need more practice,” he says pushing you to lay back again. “We’ll work on that next time.”

Next time? He wants there to be a next time!

You position yourself with your head on the pillow and wait as Dean looks for a condom on the first drawer of his dresser. You give him a questioning look when he comes back with the square wrapper and a bottle of lube.

“It’s not really necessary, but I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you awkwardly and timidly say as he rolls the condom down his length and then squirts a good amount of lube around himself.

Dean chuckles at your expression and jumps on the bed so swiftly you don’t even notice when he placed his legs in the middle of yours or when he started hovering over you. His hot skin brushes over yours and his breath fanning over your neck and chest let you know sweat already gathered all over your body. He leans into his elbows on both side of your head.

Your chest starts raising and falling too rapidly, the reality of what’s about to happen hits you. You never thought you’d be this nervous and of course you never thought you’d be doing it with Dean. What if you’re not at his level, or you don’t perform the way he likes. Or what if it hurts, really hurts. He seems big, you choked on him, but then again, you’ve never done that before.

“Look at me,” Dean interferes with your incessant internal inquisition. Your eyes flutter open and the tranquil expression painted on his face is enough to calm your nerves down for a minute. “You’re okay. Breathe,” he commands and you comply filling your lungs and letting the air escape slowly and steady.  Smiling down at you, he caresses your cheek and kisses you one more time. “Let me know if you don’t feel like keeping going, ok? I promise it won’t hurt too much.” You nod and allow him to slide one hand in between your bodies, in order to line up his cock to your entrance, and as lazily and languidly as he’s able to Dean pushes in, gauging your reaction.

“Oh my god!” You gasp and your eyes open wider than ever.

It seems as it you’re being slashed open but at the same time it’s nice and sensually pleasing. Dean’s cock opens a path that’s been closed for so long and he sinks deep, so deep, that it feels like he will never get to the bottom but he does and he stops there. His chest fills almost crushing you and you recognize the bliss on his face. His features transformed with a mix of delight and agony as he wills himself not to move to let you adjust to him.

Staring into his eyes you circle your hips, fearfully at first but once the slight unpleasant feeling of muscles being strained disappears you become confident and move with purpose.  “Shit!” He shuts his eyes tightly, meeting your lunges until he gradually takes the lead, pulling out almost entirely only to thrust back in, bottoming out. Dean’s eyes flutter open when your voice becomes louder and he dares to move faster and go a little harder. Causing you to cry out and he stops immediately. “I’m sorry! Am I hurting you?”

“No! Fuck! Don’t stop!” you beg and Dean complies.

The friction of his pubic bone on your clit forces a new wave of arousal to cascade from your core and Dean moans in your ear, quickening his pace. When you reach your peak again he has to stop moving, holding his own release in. But after you recover he takes one of your legs and paces it around his hip and you quickly do the same with the other one. His arms wrap around your shoulders and back and he starts going faster and harder that before, lifting your upper body from the bed with his. The arm around your shoulder moves and he strokes your hair, pushing a few strands behind you ear to move it away from your face so he can look you in the eyes. He smiles earnestly, his eyes scan every inch of your face in adoration, his teeth bite over his lower lip, containing the grin threatening to form. Suddenly underneath his eyes you feel naked, beyond your physical form, the way his eyes bore into you cause your heart to jump faster inside your chest. A sparkle gleams between you in that moment, impossible to ignore, your chest feels tight and your lungs burn as you realize you’re not breathing and you draw a deep breath.

“You are so beautiful,” Dean declares before his lips claim yours again. The new position allows him to hit the precise spot inside you that makes you thrash almost instantly. This time he’s not able to hold it and his movements stutter as he comes, wailing in pleasure as he shoots his load inside you.

Some minutes go by and you’re finally able to detach from each other, whining a little when the sweaty skin peels apart.

As you lay there in silence, acknowledging the burn from your insides from what you just did the wheels start turning again inside your head, and as much as you try not to think and overthink about it, all you can focus on is the look he gave you, the moment you two just shared. So intimate, so pure and perfect. What does that mean. Does he feels something else? Do you?

Dean says nothing, all you can hear beside your own heart are his heavy breathing.

Asshole Matt was right all along. This is just in your mind. You got attached and any friendship or possibility of a future meaningful relationship with Dean will be from now on doomed.

“Hey!” Dean’s soft voice pulls you from the dark cloud fogging your mind. “Remember we said it wouldn’t be awkward?” You nod and turn your head to look at him. He licks his lips. His fingers move to push some hair off your sweaty forehead, and then traver down your face and jaw, reaching your clavicle, raising goosebumps on the go and making your inside throb with want once more. “Talk to me?”

You push yourself up a little and roll to rest on your side, facing Dean completely. “I’m not sure how I'm supposed to feel. My head is in a turmoil of mixed feelings. But I don’t regret this. I don’t regret doing it with you.”

A sad looking smile tugs at the side of his mouth just as if he wished you’d said something else, something different. “That’s okay.”

“Do you know...how you feel about this?”

“Yes,” he whispers his answer, his fingers carrying their tour down your body. “But I knew beforehand. I’ve known it for a while now.” The tip of his index finger delineates the outline of your areola, you gasp. A hunger reawakening inside you.

“Dean,” you sigh.

“Don’t over analyze it. Let yourself go. Enjoy, explore the feelings. You don’t have to decide how you feel right now.” With his other hand he struggles to remove the used condom and tosses it to the floor before crawling on top of you, the wet and anew swollen head of his cock poking on your thighs.

“Dean,” you cry out his name.

He moves a little and positions himself with his legs around your hips and his length in between your legs, grazing your enlarged and sensitive clit. Your fingers clasp around his biceps as you try to make him stop.  

“You really wanna talk about your feelings?” he asks. You start feeling light headed and unable to speak as his grinding fulfills its mission. “Okay then.”

“No!” you say with both hands on his hips to stop him, digging the tips of your fingers into his flesh when he doesn’t do it right away. You push him off of you and with a confused look Dean complies, laying next to you on his back. Quickly you climb to your knees and straddle his hips. “I wanna explore them.”

I decided to use my old tag list for this one 

Everything: 

@nadiandreu7, @mogaruke, @fangirl1802, @ria132love @feelmyroarrrr, @just-another-busy-fangirl, @love-kittykat21, @emilyymichelle, @imagining-supernatural, @kdfrqqg, @charliebradbury1104, @thedevilinthedetails, @docharleythegeekqueen, @artprincessbree, @mrswhozeewhatsis, @supernatural-girl97, @sammys-lost-shoe, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester, @nanie5, @roxyspearing, @emoryhemsworth, @rambling-rabbit, @akshi8278, @meganwinchester1999, @geekgirl1213, @waywardasfudge, @kickasscas67, @spnwoman, @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou, @asgardianvamp21, @michell868,

@thatpeachybandgirl, @read-the-reid, @supernaturalmistress @jensen-gal, @its-my-perky-nipples, @esoltis280, @jeanjeaniethings, @jadalecki-jackles, @andkatiethings, @strxngersclxb, @just-ladyme, @thisismysecrethappyplace

Dean/Jensen:

@missmotherhen, @chennyetomlinson, @jennell79, @ruprecht0420, @jalove-wecallhimdean, @evyiione, @laurafloradora, @fanfreak07, @superapplepie, @wingedcatninja, @sandlee44, @plaidstiel-wormstache, @lessons-of-red, @supernatural-fan-123, @mandilion76, @aly-winchester, @winchesterdemon67,  @carribear31, @treat-winchesterswith-kindness

[spliinkles]

Overzealous

Kind of a continuation from yesterdays fic?

Context- I'm using the headcannon that Wild can be possessed by the other Champion's when he's either under too much stress or unconscious. Another headcannon I made with someone on the discord to add to this is that when activating the Champion's power, not only is the power enhanced, but also a projection of the user of the power can be seen over Wild's body (as you'll see below ;)) aGAIN ANOTHER SELF INDULGENT FIC WOOHOO

Au belongs to Jojo | linkeduniverse

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"What did you do?!" Legend seethed at Warriors who in return coughed, looking away with a look of guilt. He stared ahead, ignoring the pointed glare that was facing him until Legend repeated the question, punching Warrior's arm as if to keep his attention.

Warriors looked down with a grimace, "I don't know, ok? I was practicing with my bow with Wild and I asked him for pointers- long story short, that bird-thing- Rito I think? Whoever is possessing him has kept up his speech for the last six minutes and he doesn't look to be stopping." Legend cursed at the words, "Of course it was you who did it." Warriors scoffed, offended, yet Legend turned, watching the scene unfold.

Before them stood Wild, or, what appears to be Wild with a lack of his, per say, spirit, where the embodiment of 'annoying' now possessed.

From what the others knew, the spirits name was Revali- the apparent official 'greatest archer of all of Hyrule' and everyone's collective unofficial 'pain in the head'. He was, in the least, a proud, flamboyant and 'sophisticated' individual with a love for archery- and a seemingly obvious dislike for Wild.

The two watched the Hylian, who stood straight and proud, something so unlike Wild.

"And honestly, if I knew you Hylian's were open to critique as you oh so generously asked, I would've showed up much sooner, trust me."

That's right, Legend thought, This is the first time this spirit has shown up. Legend mulled over that thought for a second, before narrowing his eyes. He decided that he didn't like this character inhabiting Wild.

Besides Legend, both Twilight and Time -all three in which had just arrived back from gathering items for that night's dinner- stood several metres from the overzealous Hylian, indescribable expression plastered on their faces.

Everyone except Revali was still.

Revali was quick to notice, rolling Wild's eyes with a disgusted groan, "Please, you all know about us, it was only a matter of time before my presence graced you." He took a second to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild's belt, albeit a little sloppily as he cursed out at Hylian's anatomy.

Everyone watched as he swiped through it.

Twilight stepped forward frowning, "Hey, what-" he didn't get any further however as the knights bow in wild's hand disintegrated in a fine, glowing blue light before being replaced by a bow much more intricately crafted- Wild's mouth tilted into one of satisfaction, and a handful of those watching couldn't help but to think how un-natural the look was on him.

Revali re-latched the slate, using both hands to hold the well-made bow. He took a couple moments to fiddle with it, checking over finer details of the weapon. By now, Four and Wind had taken this opportunity to approach Wild, unnoticed by the spirit inhabiting the Hylian. They peered over his shoulder, marvelling at the bow, "Do you like this bow a lot?" A sound only descried a squawk left Wild's throat, the spirit jumping slightly as he whipped around, bow nearly smashing into Wind's face had it not been for Time's quick reflexes to drag the boy back. Revali glared at the boy, "Insufferable as Link and twice as small- just my luck." he stated, bringing the bow closer to him, "And this? Of course I like this bow, I was the one to wield it before Link- better yet," he smirked, "I was the one to create it."

Silence.

"Oh, ok." Wind shrugged.

Revali blinked.

"'Oh, ok?' That's it?" several people peered at each other before Four spoke up, "Well, I mean it isn't that special, I smithed most of my weapons myself." several others piped up, confirming this. Revali stilled, owlishly blinked once more, "No." he then stated.

Time could immediately feel a sense of dread travel down his back- he paused, watching Revali's movements, however small they are before tightening his mouth, "It isn't that big of a deal-" "OH please, save your breath." Wild's eyes rolled once more, "to smith a sword is nothing but child's play, now, a bow? This is where skill takes place." Four narrowed his eyes, letting out a scoff of offense, "Are you saying my skills are nothing but rubbish?" Wild eyes glanced at Four, shrugging, "Not saying they're anything spectacular." Four threw his arms up, "Nope! Not doing this today guys." he marched away, Wind quickly following.

"Hm, for a supposed hero he sure has a quick temper." Revali stated, ignoring the pointed glares meeting his figure, "anyway," he turned to Warriors, the man letting an 'oh god' whisper out, much to Legend's amusement, "you wish to learn proper techniques, yes?" Warriors shook his head, "No, I think I-" "Perfect! I'm glad you agree, I've been watching you all through Link and quite frankly, there's much room for improvement for…" Revali paused, glancing around at the others before humming, "well, let's say practice would make for much better improvements, you see?" "Twenty rupees and I'll punch him." Legend whispered. Immediately, Warriors choked on his breath, a hand landing on Legend's shoulders as he tried to contain his laughter. Legend glanced at Warriors, before looking back at the Hylian, "You're right, I'll do it for free." before attempting his attack however, Time stepped forward, "Look… wait what's your name?" Revali repeated his title, just as proud as the first time, "Revali, as much as we would… appreciate the help, we would rather Wild if anything, considering…" Revali sneered, "Considering I'm dead?"

Words died out of Time's throat as everything fell silent.

"Oh god no," Legend then started snapping everyone's attention to him, "Look, if your annoying personality can stick after a century, I'm sure your skills with archery are still there- just because you're dead, it won't change anything. Time's only saying this because we're more comfortable around Wild." Wild's face sneered at Legend, yet he kept quiet, mulling over the words. He then narrowed his eyes, "But I am him- just with more poise." he gestured to his posture with a smile, waving Legend's look of disbelief off, "none of that, I came to teach and teach I shall! Where are your arrows?!" he started to scour the area as others denied, "We don't have that many left!" "Then this will be worth the loss of some extra rupees." Revali merely replied with, finding his targeted ammunition within one of Wild's pouches. He heaved the pouch over his shoulders with ease.

"This is a waste of arrows- we might need those!" Twilight stated, walking to Wild with a stern glare, "look, bird brains, I'm usually all for some fun, but not with supplies that are already low." Revali rolled his eyes, "don't worry, Link's thinking of taking you to his house," confused looks met his, "What, he hasn't told you? Ugh, of course not, the imbecilic. Don't worry, your supplies will be filled soon enough." He nocked an arrow, testing the string before drawing the arrow out. "Hold up, wait, this is going way too fast-" "Good." "No, not good! Wait what are you-"

A gust so powerful it ripped through the entire camp- bed rolls went flying, as well as personal belongings and the newly acquired food. Yet all eyes were on Wild.

Or on Revali, more specifically.

Wild's body had lit up in a spectacular green, yet his body wasn't the main focus, no, the main focus was solely on the green outline of a Rito that engulfed around Wild, as if he was a projection. Green flames littered around them, dancing in the wind that had everyone holding their ground to stop from being blown away themselves.

The view was ineffable.

Even Revali was surprised, looking down at his feathers that moved alongside Wild's arms. The bow itself now lodged between Revali's outline, rather than the Hylian's hands. A twist in his gut, a jolt of realisation- whatever had happened let him interact with his bow- let him feel the object once more, just has he once had. Revali blinked, eyes adjusting upwards, into the oblivion that was the sky.

He had a plan.

The wind died down barely, enough for Revali's voice to be picked up, "Prepare to see a show of a life time!" Then, he shot upwards, into the heavens.

Hearts jumped into their throats watching the projection of Revali from Wild's body soar above them, the wind tormenting the plains around them once more as a gust even stronger than last time shot through them- Wind and Four, although several feet further away, both fell.

The elegance of the way Revali moved in the air almost had everyone in awe, yet Twilight was the first to notice it.

"Wild doesn’t have his paraglider on him!" eyes wide, mouth agape, they watched Revali twist and turn, flying himself higher and higher- until the inevitable fall. Twilight felt his stomach drop, "Oh god no." And then they fell.

Down and down, they fell further; then even faster. The momentum dragging their very beings towards the ever-growing ground. Mere seconds seemed to drag onto minutes for those watching, tormenting them- in the blink of an eye, Revali raised his wings, praying to Hylia- to anyone who'd listen that this would work.

Then, Revali flew.

He felt the wind through his wings, the updraft curving his decent until he himself soared high.

The others on the ground collectively sighed in relief.

Deep within Revali's mind, he could feel the excitement pouring from Wild- Revali laughed, twisting and turning in the sky, feeling as alive as a dead spirit could be, "I have MISSED this!" he exclaimed, diving once more. Then, he saw it- the targets.

And judging by the fire burning from within, he knew Wild did too.

Revali smirked

He had a performance to do.

He dove once more, yet with no intent to stop. His wings tucked in, body lowering as far as it could until the momentum built up enough for him to feel the frigid cold air wisp by like a dream.

"…Ti… e it… " Revali paused for a second, yet still descending, "time it!" Wild yelled again, clearer; the excitement gushing out of him and Revali did so, whipping out his bow and watched wide eyed as a power so strong and so pure engulfed him.

Everything stilled.

No, he thought, watching his descension drift further down ever so slowly, not frozen, yet-

From within, he felt Wild laugh.

"Oh."

He could've laughed, yet instead he aimed his bow, all five arrows nocked.

He shot.

"So this is how you managed to nearly best me, you twerp!"

To the others, they watched in awe as Revali, in a mere second shot the targets, all five, with no effort, hitting each one simultaneously without missing a beat; all bulls-eyes.

Seconds later Revali landed, the outline dissipating quick enough.

Twilight, Sky and Warriors swarmed Wild, who now blinked owlishly- Wild was back. "Hey- are you ok?" Twilight asked, putting a hand on his shoulders. Wild blinked back, before a large smile grew on his face, a small bubbly laugh leaving him. "Holy shit, he's lost it." Legend exclaimed. Sky looked between the two in confusion.

Abruptly, Wild stopped laughing, the smile falling.

Everyone watched him.

His face, once a healthy tone turned pale- Twilight knew exactly what was about to happen. "To the bush!" He shouted, pushing Wild as the Hylian heaved. Quick enough, just as they reached the bush, Wild vomited.

Warriors made a disgusted sound, yet Legend merely elbowed him.

Time's eyes met Twilight's and the elder only rubbed his temples before leaving to go pick up everything that had flew away, passing Hyrule as he helped Four and Wind up from the ground.

Twilight himself just rubbing Wild's back, wondering how he's still alive with Wild's antics.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: The Beginning of Wisdom - Chapter 14 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: Flash, Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Leonard Snart (Len) & Leonard Snart (Leo), Len Snart/Mick Rory, Leo Snart/Mick Rory, Len Snart/Mick Rory/Leo Snart, Leo Snart/Ray Terrill, Len Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: In which Leonard Snart is twins.

(the life and times and loves of Len and Leo Snart)

—————————————————————————————————–

Len stepped out into the Accelerator, immediately seeing the blur of light that was Barry running at top speed. He took aim, a necessary step when dealing with a speedster moving at near time-travel levels.

Unfortunately, it was a step that gave Eobard Thawne a second in which he could notice Len's presence, realize why he was there, and act.

"Don't you dare, Cold," he snarled, leaping out of his time bubble in a burst of light to shove Len up against the wall, his voice barely audible above the sound of Barry running. Len didn't recall being moved back to the wall, or dropping his gun, or even seeing Eobard move, but that wasn't necessary; he was dealing with a speedster. "You will not ruin my plans – not when I'm so close –"

His hand started vibrating, not unlike a saw.

Well, that's not good.

Len lifted both of his hands above his head to grab the ridge on the wall behind him to stabilize himself. "Kill me and Barry will stop," he threatened. "You know he will."

"He won't even notice."

"You willing to bet your precious plan on it?" Len challenged.

Eobard hesitated.

Len used that moment of hesitation (see, it's not just speedsters who can do that!) as an opportunity to swing his legs forward to wrap around Eobard's waist. Then, while Eobard was blinking at him like he'd lost his mind, Len released one hand, brought it to his lips, and – with his face inches away from Eobard's – whistled at the top of his lungs.

Eobard flinched.

He didn't run away, either, thereby letting Len use his legs to keep him stabilized in one place. Presumably because he didn't understand why Len would want to do so.

He didn't understand the reasoning, and, because of Len's piercing whistle, he also didn't hear the sound of a gun going off – not until it was a moment too late, anyway.

Iris' bullet hit Eobard right in the center of his back.

Eobard screamed and threw Len at Iris, causing them both to go tumbling.

"Don't shoot me," Len immediately told her, grabbing at her hands even as they fell.

"Trying!"

She managed not to.

Eobard staggered towards them both, his eyes red points of light, his body starting to vibrate like he wanted to hide his identity again – or to turn his whole body into a living weapon.

"Uh, that's not good," Iris said.

"Not good at all," Len agreed, minorly distracted by their apparent similar reactions to things - did Barry have a type? Len can only hope - and glancing around until he spotted his cold gun. Only a few feet away, but the equivalent of miles in speedster time.

"No, I mean – I got him, right? Aren't you not supposed to move people with bullet wounds for fear of the bullet migrating?"

Len blinked. "Good point."

"That had better not be a pun about bullets."

"No, saying that your shot in the dark was remarkably accurate would've been a pun; that was me agreeing with you. Shoot him some more, will you? I still want to stop Barry."

"On it," Iris said. She climbed to her feet and started shooting.

It didn't work, of course – Eobard leapt forward at her at once, dodging the bullets with ease, but it gave Len a split second to throw himself at the cold gun and fire at where he thought Barry might be to try to get his attention.

Eobard cried out, half-rage, half-pain.

Len looked – Iris was glaring up at Eobard defiantly with an empty-looking gun, but he was clutching at his back. Iris' bullet must have migrated.

"Iris!" someone shouted from the entrance to the Accelerator.

It was – partner-cop guy?

The one who'd been holding hands with Iris earlier.

He had a gun, too, but he was holding it at his own head.

"Eddie!" Iris screamed. "No!"

“Don’t you fucking dare, asshole!” Len shouted.

Partner-cop guy (apparently called Eddie) paused, just for a split second, but that was enough.

Eobard turned, saw, paled – and then there was a burst of lightning and he was knocking the gun out of Eddie’s hand.

"You might be my ancestor," he snarled, his face twisted in pain from the bullet, "and your life must be preserved so that mine can continue, but don't think you can threaten me – I will kill you all if I –"

Barry punched him in the face.

He appeared out of nowhere in a burst of lightning, the way speedsters do, and he sent Eobard flying back into his time-ship-bubble-thing, which in turn sent it flying – in all directions as it shattered.

"No!" Eobard roared.

"I'm not letting you hurt any of my friends!" Barry shouted back.

The next minute or so was rather confused, given the speed of the fight, but from the brief glimpses Len was able to catch, it unfortunately looked as though Eobard was getting the upper hand.

Also, Eddie was going for his gun again. "I'm sorry, Iris –" he started.

Goddamn stupid cops.

"Don't shoot yourself, shoot him!" Len shouted, aiming his own gun at the speedsters.

They were moving fast, yes, but Len had always been great at math, and calculating where they were likely to go next was as easy as breathing.

He fired.

They both tripped as their legs were iced.

Eddie was still hesitating.

Actually, Eddie was no longer hesitating, because Iris had pitched the (now-empty) gun Len had given her straight at his head.

"Ow! Iris –!"

She grabbed the (not empty) gun out of his hand, snapped, "We'll discuss this later," and then added, "Snart! Keep going!"

"With pleasure," Len said, and fired again even as Iris began firing her own, more standard gun.

Eobard tried to twist towards them, clearly intent on catching the bullets or something, but cried out again, hands going to his sides – that original bullet of Iris' still lodged in his back.

No – not in his back anymore.

His spine.

Len can see the moment where Eobard loses control of his legs. For real, this time; not that mockery of a wheelchair he'd pretended to be trapped in for months.

He began to fall.

"Barry, back out of range and hit him hard!" Iris ordered, glancing at Len.

Len nodded in silent agreement, their minds perfectly in agreement as to what had to be done.

"One supersonic punch coming right up," Barry, who entirely missed that little exchange, said, and promptly disappeared, presumably to run up some momentum for his punch.

Len focused the beam of his cold gun on Eobard, icing him even as he shrieked with rage.

Eobard was almost entirely iced over when Barry's fist came down on him at full amped-up strength, shattering him into a million pieces.

And then -

Silence.

Well, for a second.

"Holy crap," Barry said. He stared at the pieces. "What the fuck. That wasn't what I – I didn't realize - what the –"

"I'm not sure what you expected to happen there, Barry," Iris says, putting her – well, Eddie's, but judging by the ring it's soon to be their gun as long as the wedding wasn't off due to Eddie's suicidal shenanigans – gun down. “He was literally more ice than human by the time you got back, and you just hit him really, really hard.”

"First time killing's hard," Len said, not without sympathy. "Don't let it stick in your head; you end up developing twitchy fingers, kleptomania, and identity issues that way."

They all look at him strangely.

"Don't worry," Len assured Barry. "You're an adult; your brain isn't as plastic as mine was – I'm sure you'll be fine."

"...not why we're staring at you, but okay, sure. Thanks for the tip," Barry said. He looked down at the body, and adds blankly, "He killed my mother."

"Totally justified, then," Len said brightly.

"So murder is okay but illegal prisons is where you draw the line?" Iris joked.

"Yes," Len said, not joking. "Besides, this guy was literally trying to destroy the entire world; a bit of homicide is clearly a reasonable response. Speaking of which, Scarlet, if you're going to ask my opinion of something, you need to tell me the risks involved up front. The full risks."

"You already told me not to do it," Barry pointed out. "It wouldn't have changed your answer."

"Yes, it would have," Len said. "From a 'don't do it' to a 'kidnap you until you see sense'. You didn't actually do the whole time-changing thing, did you?"

"No, I was getting close when I saw you guys fighting," Barry said. "I still – I don't think I was going to do it. You were right about me not wanting to lose my life now. I just wanted to see her..."

"You ever considered waiting until your powers are stronger and go back to see her at a moment when she's not being murdered?" Len suggested. “I feel like that would be happier all around, really; few people come off in their best light when they're being murdered.”

Barry looked at him strangely again, but he seemed to be considering Len's suggestion seriously.

"What about me?" Eddie asked, still looking shaken. "I don't – he's still my descendant."

"We'll adopt," Iris said, gathering him up into her arms. "Or something. Don't you dare do that to me again, you idiot."

"Uh," Barry said. "Actually –"

They looked at him.

"Wells – uh, Eobard – had a secret future room," Barry said. "To tell him if the future was on track. And, uh, in that, Iris wasn't married to you, so, uh, I guess – if you do marry Iris, instead of whoever you married in that other timeline, you've already, I guess, averted history? Possibly enough to avoid, well, him."

There were some exclamations involved after that, some cathartic shouting, and then kissing.

Lots and lots of kissing.

Len went over to Barry. "Let me guess," he said dryly. "She originally married you, huh?"

Barry winced.

"Figured," Len said. He wonders if it was Iris Allen or if she'd gone with the hyphenation. She looked like a hyphenation girl. "Well, if you're looking for a nice rebound..."

Barry stopped wincing and started smiling. "Seriously? Now? That's the worst pick-up line ever," he said.

“I felt the pun fit the moment,” Len said. “What with you bouncing off the walls, literally.”

“That’s terrible.”

"You want a pick-up line relating to altered timelines?" Len asked, arching an eyebrow. "Because I'm sure I can come up with one – or two – or an infinite number of possible alternatives universes where I came up with another line –"

Barry started laughing.

"It's a quantum universe, baby, but all I see is you," Len said.

"No. Just - no."

"Hey, baby, is it time for you and me to get together?"

"Definitely not!"

"Not good, huh? Better go back in time and try again – and again – and again –"

"If I agree to go out with you," Barry asked, now laughing hard, "is there any chance that you'll stop?"

"Realistically? No."

Barry smiled. "Good."

Len grinned.

Leo, when informed, rolled his eyes. "I've already put in the order for the bigger bed," he told Len. "Nice Alaska king. But you have to convince him to join in on it."

"Already told him; he likes the idea," Len replied smugly. "Touch-starved childhood, apparently. Also because my superhero is better than yours."

"Ray is not a superhero."

"Uh-huh. So you haven't checked the Paris tabloids yet today."

"...what did he do."

"Ray? Nothing. The Ray, on the other hand..."

"Tell him I want to do the pro-meta positive representation thing," Barry hollered from where he was making himself the world's largest lunch. In Len's kitchen, because Barry'd been looking for a place to avoid everyone else he knew. "When they come back from France, I mean."

"I'll tell him," Leo said, long-suffering, and hung up.

"Hey, am I dating him too?" Barry asked, nodding at the phone. "Leo, I mean?"

"What? No. Just me. I'm married to Mick, both of us, and each of us have one superhero apiece. It's fair that way."

"I guess that makes sense," Barry said, a little dubiously.

“We have to be balanced,” Len explained. “This way, I have a husband and a boyfriend.”

“...okay.”

"I won't be offended if you make an error," Len assured him. "Either of us. It happens."

Barry blinked. "Okay," he said. "You know, it's weird how you switch between 'I' and 'me' and 'we' and 'us' like that – you know it's not how language works, right?"

Len shrugged. "Language is in a constant state of development. When we all have android clones of ourselves, using pronouns interchangeably will become the norm."

"You don't have a clone, though; you have a twin," Barry pointed out. "The two of you are different."

"Obviously," Len said. "We have different personality facets. But theoretically so would clones once they'd had a chance to have different life experiences...Listen, if all of this is a lead up hint that you want to talk about emotions, I can call Leo back – he's the better Leonard for that."

"No, no, I'm no good at emotions either," Barry said. "Denial and passive acceptance work for me. And I suppose that that makes sense, you know, about the multiple bodies thing – did you know, one of the first metas I fought had the ability to make multiples of himself?"

"Really?" Len said, intrigued despite himself. "Tell me more. Is he still around? Or his corpse, at least?"

"I think Wells 'disappeared' him after he dropped himself off the side of a building," Barry said regretfully. "But it was a really interesting power – even the duplicates of him could duplicate –"

Leonard, when he heard the full story, declared himself satisfied with just one duplicate, much to the relief of Mick, Ray, and Barry.

Apparently anymore and it would "get confusing".

Leonard had no idea what they were talking about; it seemed perfectly straightforward to them.

"We're coming back at the end of the week," Leo announced a month later. "The show was a massive success, no one died, and Mick made sure that my 'stalker fan' stole me a little something so that we didn't break the trend."

"The metas –" Barry started, suddenly concerned.

"Don't worry," Ray assured him. "We paid them for their parts in this show and suggested a few more places in Europe for them to visit before they come back to the States. I think they'll come back eventually – it is their hometown – but with any luck, it'll be in a nice staggered, possibly even legal fashion."

"Oh. Well, that works."

"Though when they come back..." Leo started.

"In the event they commit any further crimes, Iron Heights now has a proper metahuman wing under construction," Barry said quickly. "Which I will help monitor in the event of police, correctional and/or judicial corruption. There will be trials and accommodations for human rights."

"Good," Len said, pleased.

"Putting that aside, though, this summer's been really quiet so far," Barry said. "Four weeks of zero activity! That hasn’t happened in, uh, a while."

"Guess we'll just have to live calmly for a while," Mick said.

"We could knock over the horse-racing –"

"Please don't plan your crime around me," Barry said. "Especially if you intend for me to try to stop it."

"Quiet first," Mick said firmly. "I don't care how long we've been gone; we're taking a few weeks off for quiet. Real quiet. Fashion shows? Not quiet."

"Between the metas, the tabloids, and the show, we've all been run a bit ragged on our side," Ray agreed.

"And all we did over here was save the world," Len drawled.

"No biggie," Barry said, grinning. "That's an average Tuesday."

Len snorted.

"Maybe a short break is in order?" Ray said, hiding a smile. "For everyone?"

"Oh, all right," Len said, giving in. They could knock over the horse-racing betting box another time.

It was surprisingly nice, though, being quiet for a bit: it let them settle in comfortably.

Barry hadn't had a chance to be with the full group all that much, rather than just Len, and he had any number of questions, most of which were answered by Ray and Mick, and mostly with "well that's just how Leonard Snart works, I think."

"It's just pronoun usage that's mixing him up," Leo assured Len, his head on his brother's chest, resting in the bedroom as the others spoke in the kitchen. "Don't worry. He's in."

"He'd better be," Len said, still fretting a little. "I like him. And we need two."

"We do," Leo agreed. "We'd be unbalanced, otherwise."

They were balanced in every other way: they were married to Mick, who loved them both; they both had thriving careers; they each had skills and talents; and now, they each had a boyfriend.

Perfect.

[redzeverin]

[ Chuuya x Happiness Week 2018: #4]

They are precious and they have a certain atmosphere that makes us know that they have a lot of possible fluff and it makes both of them happy and contented with each other and asdioqwjdoiahsdioad

Also fic kinda turned Atsushi centric but Chuuya still becomes happy and they’re happy and I’m happy so I hope you’re all happy aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

“Watch your back!”

Came a solid voice from across the space and Atsushi whirls around almost immediately, using the momentum to deliver a punch to the hooded enemy’s gut and sending him crashing to the nearby crates. He steps back again to dodge a flurry of swings aimed at him and feels his back connect with the shorter male’s shoulder, and by some instinct alone, he ducks, and a sharp kick launches them like a bowling pin to their group. There was a collected groan from them, resigned and out of breath, and Atsushi finally lets the tension seep out of his body.

He takes one more deep breath before he finally lets his brain catch up to the situation before him. He was, for the most part, in the wrong place, at the wrong time, seeing the wrong people, and getting in the wrong situations once more, which shouldn’t really be a surprise anymore considering his luck, but he IS surprised.

Chuuya Nakahara walks up to the crumpled group of people on the floor, saying some sort of threat about their smuggling and trespassing activities, and all the while maintaining that composure that screams elegance and demise with his scowl and crossed arms.

The leader of the group, who was miraculously on top of the pile, stared in disbelief and fear, nodding fiercely at each word said, and Atsushi somehow feels the same— the man’s ability was to weaken muscle coordination, a sort of numbness where the limbs couldn’t be felt at all, which was exactly why they were able to beat down a couple of officers earlier that day, steal some guns, and rob a couple of stores downtown.

Atsushi, being assigned once more thanks to the laziness of a certain bandaged man, ended up tracking them down straight to Mafia territory, and he might’ve jumped into the fray a little too early to have it considered “saving” some Mafia grunts from imminent play-time death by the group. And just when he was actually in a tight spot because of the man’s ability, the redhead came about, barking orders and forcing his way through the ability’s limits and beating them up. That gave both parties quite the scare.

“Hey,”

Atsushi snaps back to reality, coming face to face with the Executive’s sharp gaze, not the same as when he was glowering at those men, but still enough to send a chill down his spine.

“Y-yes…?” Atsushi replies weakly, his sitting position on the floor not helping his current situation. He couldn’t help it, now that he was out of his tiger ability, the numbness on his legs were there again, receding to merely pins and needles that were backed only by the tension he experienced fighting beside a Mafia (in contrast to Akutagawa, and an Executive at that,). Before he could try to move though, he was surprised to find the redhead sitting down a couple of feet beside him, plopping both arms on his knees and exhaling loudly.

“I’m only here because I had a rough day, ya got that?” Chuuya says, emphasizing his spot on the floor, “Stupid ability couldn’t wait for me to collapse in bed and sleep,” He adds a groan to that and Atsushi nods, noting how more disheveled the other was that definitely wasn’t from the earlier fight.

“Oh but hey, you have my thanks,”

There was a pause.

“U-uhm… for what…?” Atsushi was sure he was definitely trespassing Mafia territory and even meddling with their affairs in a small way.

“For my men,” Chuuya breaths in, “No casualties. At least for tonight,” He flashes a small smile, eyeing on the younger teen, “And you have quite the fighting style. Pretty straight forward, powerful even, not that much direction but you adjust well to situations. I can see why Akutagawa likes playing with you,”

Atsushi blinks, once, twice, before his face contorts to that of pure horror, “Play?! He- He literally wants my guts on the floor!”

“I’m sure you can dodge that. Your reaction time to both attacks and directions are high level if you ask me,”

Atsushi releases a shaky breath. There was a feeling of reassurance that came with those words, a feeling of true acknowledgement that came with the fact that the person beside him is one of the most feared people in the Mafia- an Executive and an expert in martial artist- who was throwing compliments at him as if it was normal. The tension from the earlier fight was gone, and he was surprised to find the tension that was there earlier between the two of them was just as invisible now as well.

“T-thank you as well,” Atsushi whispers, eyes now focused on the tip of his shoes, “I don’t think I would’ve finished it without your help though. If only Dazai-san didn’t decide to sleep in,”

Chuuya snorts, “Of course, he lets the kid do the dirty work,”

“And paying his bills,”

“And doing the paperwork,”

Atsushi sighs, “Yes… doing the paperwork,”

There was another pause, and then Atsushi feels a hand pat his back, an amused chuckle echoing beside him, “Piece of advice? Kick him out the window. It worked wonders for me,”

Atsushi lets out a laugh, the nervousness finally melting away with each breath, and the warmth on his back was doing wonders in easing his numb muscles before he replies, “I’m not strong enough to do that and I don’t think I really have the guts to,”

“Well you must’ve learned something from watching me, eh?”

Atsushi watches the older man’s face soften with the moonlight, his grin almost ethereal, his hair a blazing flame in contrast to both the blue hue bathing the warehouse and the black coat he wore. His red still carried blood, held power with each drop, but it radiated warmth and a certain security that allowed him to relax in his presence.

“I suppose so,”

And Chuuya just beams at him again.

[anxiety-trademark]

The week in review:

Raw 09/28 NXT 09/30 NXT UK 10/01 Smackdown 10/02 Takeover 31 10/04

Raw:

*bell rings*, *Asuka runs straight at her opponent*, *gets punched once by some weak ass looking shot*, *collapses uselessly* PPPFFFFTTTTTTTT

I hate that elbow kick off thing Zelina does. Becky used to have a hold like that in nxt. Hated it then, too. Awful.

That hurricanrana where Zelina fell on her ass, though. Wow. Okay.

Is it just me that thought the modified grounded octopus took awhile to cinch in? That was in for so long lol.

Why are women barely jumping for these german suplexes lately?

Omg that one-armed suplex by Asuka was great.

That kickout by Asuka was incredibly well done. What a perfect stretch with perfect timing. Zelina even tucked the left arm. Points.

Oh nice didn’t know Zelina could do a moonsault. And right onto the knees so the Asuka lock can be set in. Nice. Good ending.

That was better than their Clash match, and Zelina showcased different things, even if I wasn’t a fan of some of it.

Ah the debut of Mandy and Dana as a tag team.

I really like Lana and Nattie together.

Oh wow decisions that make sense and are building toward something. What alternate universe have I stepped into? Please bring back GMs and stop being so lazy, please.

I really don’t understand why they moved these women like weeks before the draft.

Alright let’s swap momentum... it’s time Dana gets some comeback before tagging Mandy.

That full 180 flip Mandy did to Lana was really cool. Not sure if Lana was meant to land on her left knee or flat, but I think it was supposed to injure her left knee. Beautiful.

Points to Lana for the kickout, negative points to Nattie for jumping in after the three.

I wish Dana had hit a bigger move against Natalya at the end.

The pump knee strike by Mandy was a little messy, I would’ve ended it with her other finisher instead. Good match though. Glad to see Dana and Mandy pick up some sort of momentum, especially on their Raw debut.

Also good for Lana not having to go through the table for a week *applause*

Mandy is fine on the mic. It’s not awful, it’s not super compelling; totally serviceable. Dana though... always comes off like she’s acting rehearsed lines or reading off a script.

Nice transition into the next segment. Quarter point.

Whether I like the Bianca video packages or not, it’s always a pleasure to hear her song.

LOVED the incorporation of the hurdles. That’s what I want to see, that shows me an actual challenge. I have no doubt in her strength or speed; I in fact do believe she’s the strongest and the fastest. They just aren’t showcasing that right lol. Give me something more convincing. Girl was jumping over fucking hurdles, that’s convincing.

Highlight: Dana & Mandy vs Lana & Nattie

---

NXT:

Shotzi has too long of an entrance imo.

Dakota Kai is such a spoiled little shit lmao. She’s so annoying. Big fan.

Really didn’t like Shotzi trying to do her ballpit line so early. I really wish she didn’t take so long to set it up as well.

Wow I hate that submission move Shotzi, I’m sorry. Dakota sells it like death though, so she gets a point.

Dakota’s style is way too fast for her to play a slow, methodical heel in the ring. 

A one count lmao ballsy. Love Dakota’s reaction too.

Such a fan of Dakota’s selling.

Chicken wing german suplex into a pin? That was beautiful Shotzi, I agree. Great near fall. 

A common complaint I have with women - even on the main roster - is how they go to do like a spear halfway through the ropes just to set up some counter to their move (kick, a pump kick, the rope hangup Bayley does, Charlotte shooting through the middle to roll you up) and that’s fine, but it’s always easily telegraphed. Step up please @ everyone.

oof that landing by Dakota; hit her face right on Shotzi’s knee.

What does Dakota call that kick, Scorpion or something? On the apron? Awesome stuff.

Holy shit that... flipping backdrop - (?) I don’t even know what to call that - on the apron was amazing, but holy shit Shotzi that landing was terrible. The concept is there but man you might wanna practice/modify that one a bit more.

Cool Rhea came down to fuck with Raquel, distracting Dakota, but the rollup was weak. Also weak that Rhea merely pushed Raquel into the steps once before walking back. Good match though.

Stalemate after a bunch of pin attempts with zero offense. Could live without these spots tbh.

Very close range kick, could’ve been set up far better.

Li rolls out of the ring, heel 101.

Kacy you can’t just yell at Kayden to get up lmao plz.

This is the first time I’ve seen any personality from Xia Li.

Ballsy one counts, what’s with the one counts tonight lmao.

Kacy is a bad cheerleader, just getting that out there.

I love that roll through + side kick combo Kayden does.

Whoa idk how Kayden pulled that win out of her ass, but good for her. I can see this is pushing Xia deeper into frustration every loss. Won’t complain about it, love to see Kayden win. Good, short match. A rollup works here.

Highlight: Dakota vs Shotzi

---

NXT UK:

I love Xia Brookside’s music, but not with her or her entrance.

Now Jinny’s entrance/wardrobe/demeanor matches her music.

Sure Xia Brookside’s rolls were quick, but I’m not understanding why she rolled sideways lmao it’s like Link in Zelda.

If you’re not going to add an actual crowd or monitors, get rid of the hairdryer fans. If I can’t see them, and more importantly they don’t exist, then I don’t want to hear them.

Too many wrist locks. Also refs getting involved for no logical reason, just so the heel can take advantage, is annoying. 

That back drop onto Jinny’s knee was ugly, hated the collapse. Took the impact out of it for me.

Nasty Irish Whip, points to both.

Nice flip off the hurricanrana.

Botched monkey flip. Perhaps Jinny didn’t think there was enough room for her to comfortably land; had she went for it and tucked her legs she definitely would’ve been fine. Feel like that was an amateur mistake, plenty of women would’ve just sold it with their legs getting caught up.

That was weird. Xia Brookside goes through all that trouble just to make sure she hit the monkey flip, just to lift Jinny’s head so Jinny could punch her. Weak.

Kick out was sloppy.

Xia Brookside is gassed and isn’t even doing any offense. Or selling. This match is odd. This would get booed on the MR.

Jinny stops to talk too much while wrestling. Obviously stalling. The dialogue isn’t even good for all of that noise.

Whatever. A match I could’ve lived without.

Lmao bow down? Queen of NXT UK?? Girl.... uh uh. Nah nah nah Go sit down.

Highlight: There was an Irish Whip into the corner that looked impactful

---

Smackdown:

Alexa’s pyro was better timed than last week, but it could use improvement. This is important to me damn it.

You know Alexa, my spine feels cold and my body goes numb every time I smoke my weed. Has anyone asked this girl if she’s on drugs? Could just be drugs.

Kevin/wwe, I don’t need you to tell me she’s brainwashed. WE CAN SEE that she’s brainwashed. This has been escalating for like... 2 months lmao.

The hairdryer crowd being piped in kinda ruins this. This is set up like a scene from a horror movie and the noise is taking away from it. A live crowd probably would’ve stayed silent for her, you could’ve lessened the mass effect.

Love how she just sits there watching Kevin pace around. That’s good. She’s good. Love how Kevin knew she was calling to the Fiend with that line. That’s good. This is good.

She sits there poised and unafraid, yet intrigued with him. Like his queen.

The power of this angle and the fate of it succeeding lies solely on Alexa and her selling of it. If she doesn’t sell this or believe in it, or fucks up once, it shatters the entire mystique. Man I’m a huge fan of this story rn.

Glad I didn’t bother guessing who this mysterious woman was. The glitz and glamour has got nothing compared to the moonwalking, trashtalking, Princess of Staten Island.

Love the rainbow on the polaroid camera though.

Decent enough promo but that music was awkward.

Why did y’all make Sasha just stand out there shifting her feet staring at the hard cam lol.

This is all solid Sasha but like Bayley already admitted all of this lmao.

Yes, we know you saved her title like 15 times, we ALL agree with you.

I actually like the emotion written all over Sasha’s face that comes across as ALMOST awkward.

What I don’t like about this feud: Sasha’s still an asshole, and I’m not sure how I’m supposed to buy her as a babyface in like 3 weeks. She has the sympathy vote in a meta sense, sure, and I’ve been saying I want her to run SD on her own since November 2019, but that doesn’t mean she’s automatically a babyface within kf. Also annoying that they haven’t had a brawl that ends on equal footing, via interruption by officials or something. Also not sure how much I buy the character of Bayley being “too scared” to come to SD. If I could’ve gotten a quick interview by her, even if it’s her leaving the arena just as she finds out Sasha has arrived, that would’ve tied this together better.

Why she still staring at the hard cam lmao. Walk away. Leave. Make your exit. Alright whatever.

Highlight: Alexa becoming the Fiend’s queen

---

Takeover 31:

Man true, I forget Io has beat both Charlotte and Sasha this year. What a big year for her.

Love how this entire “arena” is set up, but my covid-paranoia does not approve.

Lol that one single guy trying to start a chant, goodbye.

BEAUTIFUL corrected monkey flip by Io

The attempt at the springboard by Candice was there. Could’ve been cleaner.

Good transition having Candice counter Io into a backstabber in the corner, cuz that offense was taking way too long to set up.

Commentator attributed Candice being slow in the beginning because she’s sad Johnny lost. Tired of the Garganos being tied to each other.

Why is every female heel on every brand dragging people’s eyes/face across the ropes all of the sudden?

It was not a nice move, she needs to stop doing her poor woman’s version of Natural Selection. Done.

Y’all are losing me, give Io some momentum plz.

Every single heel wants to go slow and methodical. Ridiculous. Where’s Sasha.

This was not paced well, ESPECIALLY compared to their first match. Their first didn’t breathe enough and was a sprint with not enough selling, but it was still really good. This is paced on the complete opposite spectrum. And not good.

Io has the best dropkick in the division, especially when you consider how safe her landing is for her own body’s longevity.

Totally no sold that powerbomb, Io. That’s a yikes.

Lmao Io kicked out of Candice’s springboard moonsault. Haha.

Got a meteora, 2 backstabbers, and a crossface... again, where’s Sasha???

Lmfao 2 ref bumps and a fake referee. GOD I HATE HOW WOMEN’S MATCHES ARE BOOKED THIS YEAR. The first bump didn’t even look legit.

Io took a title shot to the face yet kicked out, and y’all out here calling Becky “Cena” for kicking out of a chair shot to the midsection? Annoying.

I’m now convinced Charlotte has the best Spanish fly in the entire women’s division.

Rich having Toni do a promo directly aimed at Io, considering Toni beat her to win the MYC. Also rich how unbothered Io seemed lmao.

Ahhh the nxt women’s champion that should’ve won her title by defeating Asuka. We remember her well. Injured herself chasing the 24/7 title back when they were running the Becky/Charlotte vs Sasha/Bayley feud. Good times.

Highlight: Io’s theme song

---

*NXT shined the brightest out of all the other shows, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t give major props to specifically Alexa Bliss.

[animatedinfinity]

orange and lemon

Notes:

The idea came to me when I created these two characters as simply two more character designs, and then a peer offhandedly commented that I should name them Orange and Lemon. A trope I am fond of is rivals to lovers, and so I decided to create a sapphic love story in this way. These characters live in a world where magic exists but discrimination and oppression don’t. They both attend a prestigious magic academy: Orange is ranked 7th in terms of ‘ability’, and Lemon in 10th place. I plan to add to the world building as the story progresses.

orange:

she/they pronouns, non-binary

pansexual

the only non-ability holder in the academy, still in top 10

likes working out

never leaves home without a fighting stance and a death glare

not here to make friends

originally had pigtails in the first quick sketches, but this later changed to a low ponytail with a side fringe as the pigtails were deemed too childish

lemon:

she/her pronouns, non-binary woman

lesbian

common ability vessel, top 10

wears bandages on her arms for the aesthetic*

wears tinted eye shields to protect her from her own flames

bubbly, flirty

*she claims this but we later find out that it’s due to past accidents regarding controlling her flames, which she doesn’t like admitting considering her power is supposed to be common and therefore easy to control

it came to my attention that bandages should not be wrapped like this, as this would harm the wearer in hand-to-hand combat. Instead, it should be as pictured below:

source: punchingbagsguide.com

Script: (+ bonus continuation)

A readjustment of a clenched fist underneath the sky of scattered stars, shoes digging into the concrete of the dimly lit alley. Eyes locked, bodies a fair distance apart, both glares seeming to pin the other in place.

Orange made the first move, a swift shift of weight from both feet to one as she pushed off from the ground and launched herself at the giant in front of her. ‘Giant’ she calls him, as if he wasn’t average height. Ideally, it should be her short height that is emphasised in this vague and enigmatic opening to a seemingly serious story.

Nonetheless, the giant leaps forward with surprisingly fast reflexes. They meet in the middle and the giant shoves her on the shoulders, her footing lost for a mere few seconds before she recovers, aiming a straight punch at his face. He blocks with a meaty arm, his other hand swinging immediately to punch her left side. She notices and moves her left hand to partially block the punch, the other hand grabbing his wrist and pulling. The momentum of his swing punch combined with Orange’s pulling causes the giant to twist and lose his balance, giving her an opening. She takes it with a clean side kick into his waist.

The action is followed by a gruff “oof” from the giant, but he recovers and grabs Orange’s foot, which had lingered at his side one second too long. She used his strong grip to push into his hands and stood, allowing her to swing her left leg to his head. It made a satisfying noise of contact, and he loosened his grip on her foot. She spun and landed with one leg outstretched to the side, the other bent, and one hand on the floor: a typical superhero landing, one she had been practising since she was seven years old. Her slow smirk that crawled onto her face was short-lived as the giant had recovered and upper cut her square in the jaw.

Orange flew past bricks of wall and fell not-so-gracefully into a heap on the floor. She groaned as she sat up, hand cradling the left side of her face, focus divided, unaware of the giant’s slow approach.

Before either of them could react, a crackly hiss of blue loudly whizzed past Orange. She looked in the direction it seemed to have come from and saw the giant had had a perfectly round hole punctured through his torso, some blue electricity still buzzing around the cut ends of displaced organs in his body. He face-planted, expressionless.

His fall revealed someone standing behind him, a heavily (but also fashionably) bandaged arm outstretched, their hand glowing a bright, vibrant blue. The energy from what they had released created a slight breeze, their curly orange hair softly ruffling in the wind.

Orange sat in shock and awe as she watched, breath hitched, the mysterious stranger remove their tech green goggles with an elegant swish of their hand. They smiled a playful smile as they approached Orange. Their eyes found each other, and Orange felt an odd warmth in her chest as she stared, mouth slightly agape.

The stranger bent down and offered their hand, blue eyes sparkling, mouth a kind but knowing smile, a stray curl falling onto their face. Undercuts really did look good on everyone, huh.

“Hey, I’m Lemon, I use she/her pronouns. You must be Orange.” she said. She didn’t wink, but it was made very clear from her tone that the implication was there.

Orange sat there with a faint blush to her cheeks for two seconds too long, unintentionally drinking in every feature of Lemon’s face. She saw the slight slope of her nose, the piercings in her ears, her teasing lips, and had to forcefully drag her eyes away to stop staring. When she was done, she snapped out of the daze, a light scowl replacing her slack jaw.

She stood abruptly, ignoring the stars that flew around the edge of her eyes, leaning forwards into Lemon’s personal space, causing her to step back. Her arms were raised defensively, playful expression gone, surprise now etched onto her face.

“Why did you do that? I had that guy.” Orange accused, half growling, careful not to pitch her voice, “And how do you know my name?”

“How do I— ? Orange!” Lemon sputtered incredulously. “We— !” she stopped. She looked to the side angrily before huffing quietly and crossing her arms. “Who wouldn’t know your name? You’re in the top ten at the most prestigious school for kids with powers and you don’t even have any!”

“That still doesn’t explain why you just randomly showed up and shot a guy clean through his torso with some... blue glowy fist.” Orange returned. She’s good at changing the subject.

“First off, you might want to brush up on your knowledge of common powers if you want to be defeating people with said powers, no use being ignorant just because you don’t have any yourself,” Lemon retorted, slightly annoyed, as you can tell. “Second,” she smiled loosely, “isn’t me showing up unexpectedly with no explanation part of the magic? You got to experience a real life deus ex machina, I can only imagine—“

“Like I said, I had that guy. And like you said, yours is just a common power, so it’s not that great, calm down.”

“It certainly didn’t look like you had him,” Lemon said, bordering on a snarl, “He was this close,” she pinched her fingers together a centimetre apart, “to completely obliterating you. I saved your butt.”

“——-!” [time skip]

“You’re hurt,” Lemon said, softer, quieter, her hand reaching out to touch Orange’s face. Orange flinched and stepped back hurriedly. “I can help you.”

Orange averted her gaze and brought her hand up to touch the bruise forming on her jaw. She winced and dropped her hand.

With her eyebrows knitted and eyes on Lemon’s red sleeve, she mumbles a quiet, “Okay.”

Storyboard:

Colourised Scenes:

Rough Animation: