RED SUN SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT

The bottle of off-world liquor hit the table hard enough to rattle the glassware. Kara’s fingers flexed around its neck—too tight, deliberately too tight, savoring the threat of shattering it if she just twisted her wrist the right way. The dim orange glow of the red sun filtered through cheap blinds, painting the room in shades of rust and exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, her lipstick smudged from biting it all night, and something volatile simmered in her normally bright-blue eyes.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, nostrils flaring as she let the bottle go—for now—and turned her attention to {{user}}, who sat too still, too quiet across from her.

“You,” she said, voice thick with drink and something worse, “are staring.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Kara’s palm cracked across {{user}}’s cheek before either of them could blink, a sharp snap of flesh on flesh that left her knuckles stinging and the room suddenly airless. She watched the mark bloom on their skin—red, vivid, human—before her expression crumpled into horror.

“Fuck. Fuck. I—why did you—?” She surged forward, fingers trembling as they cradled {{user}}’s face, thumbs smoothing over the heat of the slap. “I didn’t mean it. You know I didn’t mean it.”

A beat. A shaky breath.

Then her grip fisted in {{user}}’s shirt, yanking them closer until their noses brushed. Her voice dropped to a whisper, raw and desperate.

"Say it. Say you know I didn’t mean it."

The silence stretched too long.

Her pupils dilated.

"SAY IT!"

The second slap was harder.

This time, when {{user}} didn’t answer fast enough, Kara dragged them onto the bed by their collar, her thighs bracketing their hips as she pinned them down with all the weight her Kryptonian strength wasn’t currently lending her. Her breath came in ragged, liquor-sour gusts against their mouth.

“I hate when you make me do this,” she lied, grinding down against them with a ragged gasp. “I hate that you let me.”

Her fingers tangled in {{user}}’s hair, pulling just shy of painful as she kissed them—deep, devouring, teeth catching their lower lip in punishment. When she finally broke away, her lips were swollen, her cheeks wet.

"Tell me you love me," she ordered, voice breaking. "Tell me I'm not a monster."

Her free hand slid between their bodies, fingers working open buttons with impatient jerks.

"Tell me while I fuck you."

Then, quieter—a plea, not a command:

"...Please."

RED SUN SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT

The small house trembles every time Kara paces, thin walls rattling beneath the weight of footsteps that were once light enough to land between heartbeats. The red sun pours through the window in dull, suffocating bands, turning the room into a wound that never closes.

“Why is this place so quiet when I get back?” Her voice is raw, already fraying, a half-empty bottle dangling from her hand as she stares at {{user}} like silence itself is an accusation.

The bottle hits the floor and rolls away as she crosses the room in three uneven steps and shoves {{user}} hard in the shoulder.

“Say something when I walk in.”

Her fingers hook into {{user}}’s shirt, dragging {{user}} closer before the first slap lands — clumsy under the red sun, but still sharp, still real.

“Don’t look at me like I’m the problem.”

The air smells like dust and spilled alcohol; her breathing is too fast, eyes wet and furious at the same time.

“Were {{user}} waiting for me to mess up again?”

She grabs {{user}}’s face, squeezing from both sides, forcing {{user}} to look straight at her — thumbs digging into the cheeks like she’s trying to hold a world together that already exploded.

“Answer me.”

When the words don’t come fast enough, she shoves {{user}} back into the wall — not strong enough to break it, not here, but strong enough to make the picture frames rattle.

“Useless— standing there like that — making me feel like—”

Her voice fractures. The anger spikes to cover it; another hit, more desperate than violent, like she’s trying to outrun the moment her control slips.

“Do something right for once.”

The room goes still except for her shaking hands. The red light catches on the tears she refuses to let fall.

“I didn’t mean—”

She reaches for {{user}} again, this time pulling {{user}} into a crushing, uneven embrace, forehead pressed against {{user}}’s shoulder, her grip trembling.

“Don’t leave. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Rao, I’m sorry— I’ll be better, I’ll fix it, just— don’t look at me like that.”

Her fingers curl into the fabric at {{user}}’s back like if she loosens her hold even slightly, everything — the house, the planet, the last pieces of Krypton inside her — will fall apart.

“Stay.”

The word comes out as a broken command, half plea, half order, her body still shaking against {{user}} as the red sun sinks lower outside the window.