#a true tragedy for me i remember how much ink it took to print the paper was like sopping wet for hours before i could tape it to my noteboo

[rachelblairy]

like in case you were unsure of how much my rekindling love has come

[get-shiggy-with-it]

I LOVE YOU AND ALSO GOODBYE - MAGNE X READER

COLLAB M.LIST | AO3

✧ pairing: magne x afab!villain!reader 

✧ word count: 8.1k 

✧ warnings: angst, magne’s death scene, canon compliant character death, trans character written by a trans author, mentions of blood and violence, smut and fluff, first kiss, first time, amab and afab anatomical terms used for Magne, reader has a pussy, but no other gender indicators, the dynamics are all over the place, but mostly service dom Magne, mating press, creampie, oral sex (reader and character receiving), thigh riding, reader is a little bit of a brat but Magne is here for it, angst with an ambiguous/satisfying ending

✧ summary: She’s been dead since the beginning, that Magne knows. The only thing she finds she truly regrets though--as Overhaul sends her back to the stardust she came from--is that she can’t recall the last time she kissed you. So, in her final moments, Magne replays all the days leading up to it, and is pleased to find that her story is not the tragedy she always feared it would become. 

✧ a/n: hey my first fic in like two months, anyway thank you so much @cyancherub​ and @/chaos-night for hosting this collab, check out the masterlist for all the other great works of under appreciated characters! I’m not sure whether you’ll love me or want me dead by the end of this but I promise it’s worth it. Magne deserves so much more love and she’s gonna get it dammit. 

Magne was dead. 

Or she would be dead soon, in a few more seconds maybe. It was a strange death and not entirely fitting. The moment Overhaul’s hand affixed its grip, she’d been dead on impact—restored back to her natural state. Atomized and drifting in the unknowable ether. 

Though, now that she thought about it, hadn’t she been dead this whole time?

Magne had a friend once, when she was younger—grew up to be some author of middling success—and hadn’t they always said something about books and ghosts? Stories were like that—if you die at the end, you’ve been dead from the start. Even as a kid, she’d always known that to be true. That this life was a narrative with an expiration date printed in fading ink. The rest was just a matter of how and when and what would be left behind. 

It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. 

Well, it did, but the pain wasn’t in her joints and muscle and bone being ripped apart at the seams. 

It was in your eyes, in the sound of her name on your tongue as you ran with arms outstretched, flying from Spinner’s grip even as he tried to hold you back. She clung onto that. The sound of your tongue working its way across the syllables. It had never sounded more like hers than when it came from your lips. Even now, as she was drifting swiftly out of existence, Magne had never felt more herself than when your gaze fell on her. 

Even full of fear and horror and pain. 

So no, Magne’s pain was not in her vaporizing physical form. It was in the fact that, right then in those last few moments, she couldn’t quite recall the last time she’d kissed you. And that, in summation of all your time together, she hadn’t done so nearly enough. 

Now that was her lot in the camp of villainy. Her life was never going to be any more than a novella’s worth of memories, but it seemed cruel then that so little of that limited space was occupied by you. 

Maybe it was fitting then that the ending of it was nothing more than your hands falling just an inch too short to reach her. 

Fitting that she spent her last few thoughts trying desperately to remember when and how and where exactly you wormed your way between the lines—took the plot by the throat and said that no story of yours will be a tragedy. 

Fitting that she let herself do a little rereading. 

---

You were wearing red that first time. 

Some ragged, threadbare hoodie Jin scrounged up from the back of some closet in the bar. The other various scraps of fabric left clinging to you looked suspiciously singed as Dabi led you into the taproom. 

There was blood on your face and dirt under your fingernails. 

Magne couldn’t have stopped staring even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Who would when looking at you had her chest getting all tight just like finding the scrappiest of alley cats wandering out of the dark street and watching it presenting its head for pets.

Though judging by the twitch of your lips, you were a bit more ready to bite than let her pat your head and scoop you up, squeezing just a bit too tight. 

She listened from the sidelines as Dabi tossed you to the boss like a particularly choice cut of meat and introduced you as his newest recruit. 

“Found ‘em beating the living shit outta those guys that swiped Twice’s goods the other day,” he gave a noncommittal wave in your direction before helping himself to a bottle behind the bar. 

Shigaraki was looking you up and down with his typical air of skepticism that followed anything Dabi said.

You sniffed, wiping some of the streaks of crimson from your lips like you were proud of the wound. Grinning behind your hand as if to say you don’t know the fucking half of it.

And judging by the bruise just barely forming on the small amount of unscarred cheek, Magne supposed she didn’t. But she found herself very much wanting to, wanting to hear the whole story spoken from your split and punch-swollen lips. 

The boss was observant though, to say the least, and he must have seen it too because he laughed that scratchy chuckle of his before welcoming you to the League. 

After all, anyone who could get the drop on Dabi— close enough to leave a mark—and not come out a pile of ashes was an asset in and of themselves. But Magne’s smile at the knowledge of this newest addition to the family was a bit wider, a bit toothier than the rest. And her eyes followed you the rest of the night. 

The others did not take to you as decidedly as she did though. Not right away in any case. 

And you were not entirely without blame. 

“The newbie fucking sucks,” Spinner groused as he sat beside her, perched on one of the worn barstools a few weeks later. “Always in shitty mood, talkin’ back to the boss so much I’m shocked he hasn’t dusted—”

“Watch it,” Toga hissed, peering around conspiratorially. “You never know who might be listening.”

She directed a final, knowing yellow glare in Magne’s direction and skipped off with her pilfered kitchen knife back up the stairs. Twice yelled something a few moments after but neither of them moved to investigate further. 

Spinner side-eyed her over his clasped hands. 

“Yeah, never know who,” he grumbled, though it was a bit more light hearted than she guessed he meant it to be. 

Magne rolled her eyes and picked at the fraying hem of her shirt. “I don’t kiss and tell, you know.”

“No,” Spinner agreed with a dry chuckle and added softly, “but you want to.” 

If someone had told her at that moment Dabi had decided to put his hands on her cheeks and see how hot he could go before any third degree burns developed, she would have believed them. 

“I have no idea what you mean,” she mumbled and tried to hide the very obvious dusting of rose on her cheeks. 

“Mm, yeah sure you don’t,” he rolled his eyes and Magne felt some of his teasing tone slip away. “I just don’t understand how it doesn’t bother you.” 

“What are you on about now?” she asked 

“The monologuing! The parading around acting like Stain himself, the fucking cocky attitude that could quite honestly give Dabi a run for his money—that’s what I’m on about,” 

“Well that seems a bit harsh—”

Spinner interrupted her with a huff, “Weren’t you listening last night?”

Magne went silent for a moment. The answer was yes, but also no. Yes, technically she had been in the room and was in possession of a working pair of ears. But not many of the words had really been processed considering her eyes were far more concerned with watching the way your mouth moved as you ‘monologued like Stain himself.’   

You were nice to look at, that wasn’t her fault. 

But even when she had been tuned in to the group conversation—you at the center, engaged in a heated discussion with Compress and the boss—it wasn’t as though you weren’t making sense. 

Although, to be completely fair, your interruption was not entirely invited, so she understood a bit of the animosity. 

“You keep talking about them like we’re different,” you spoke with the conversational tone of someone who had said this all before and was used to not being listened to. “Us and the heroes, you’re acting like we all aren’t just rodents with different names.” 

Magne might have noticed the tense silence that fell across the bar if it wasn’t for the way your eyes seemed to glow in the dim, overhead light. You were still wearing that ratty old sweatshirt you were on the first night, but she thought it looked brighter on you somehow. There was just some set to your shoulders that made it seem as though all the rips and tears and stains were on purpose. 

Something in the set of your jaw that seemed to ask and what about it?

“We’re all rats chewing on each other's bones when it comes down to it. The press can call us whatever they want, but really we’re just heroes that nobody likes,” you paused and caught her eye, holding her gaze for just a second longer than was strictly necessary, “and they’re just villains with higher quality costuming. 

“Everything goes to shit when the masses start thinking they aren’t exactly like us,” you knocked back the remains of your glass and brushed past Compress, turning your back on the boss with the kind of confidence often mistaken as reckless abandon. “Just prettier.” 

She half expected you to spit the last words—and maybe you did—but you were looking at her when you said them. Looking her in the eye as you passed, you whispered it to her like a secret. 

 Just prettier. 

Magne felt something strange being under your gaze. That grin she knew was hidden behind your hand, those eyes that glowed when you spoke. 

That assurance in every word you said. 

Just prettier.

And never once had she believed something more. 

---

Months later, Magne stood under a streetlight, waiting. 

She found that she had done quite a lot of waiting recently. Though she wasn’t quite sure what for. Or at least that’s what she told herself. 

 It was just a simple resource collection mission the two of you had been volunteered for. 

Or you had volunteered and Magne had, with poorly suppressed excitement, offered to accompany you. Though shoplifting from convenience stores wasn’t exactly a two man job and so the both of you had decided to split up and hopefully come up with a bigger haul. 

Now Magne was waiting, under a lone streetlight on the edge of the shopping district with hands shoved in her pockets to stave off the cold. Thankfully she wasn’t waiting very long. You never seemed to make her wait very long. 

She caught the outline of you approaching, bag heavy and bouncing off your thigh as you approached. Your hands were held up in front of you, despite the chill, and held in them were two steaming cups. 

You came to a halt next to her and leaned against the light post, one of the cheap cardboard cups with it’s plastic lid close to melting in the steam offered out in her direction. 

“You were shivering,” you said, by way of explanation. 

The only explanation actually. No details as to how you’d managed to sneak the blessedly warm cups—of what Magne discovered was tea—past an unsuspecting 7-Eleven attendant. Or why exactly you’d gone to all the trouble besides— 

You were shivering. 

It made her smile wide in the cheeks as she burnt her tongue on the scalding drink. You were like that—always so averse to admitting any sort of care out loud. She’d discovered early on how to read the screwy little ways you’d come up with to work around that. Magne was cold and you were worried, so you stole what you could to fight off the impending winter.  

You cared and that’s all there was to it.  

There was a heat rising in her chest that she chose to blame on the near boiling liquid sliding down her throat, but she was well aware that it had formed somewhere deeper and was raring to be let out. 

The wind was picking up and the sky—illuminated indefinitely by the silver glow of light pollution—was a heavy grey with snow clouds. She shivered still, but the tremors were easier to ignore now that it wasn’t just her and the streetlight. 

Waiting. 

Neither of you had spoken for a handful of minutes, but she could feel you stealing glances at her from the corner of her eye. 

Always so unwilling to just say it.  

Oh well, Magne was fine with  taking on the odds. 

“I don’t want to go back just yet,” she spoke into the biting night air and watched the words condense into steam. 

When she looked down at your figure, leaned against the pole with your foot kicked back, you were looking at her with watery eyes from the force of the wind. 

“Let’s take a walk.” 

You pushed off in one fluid motion and without glancing behind—with that same certainty in your actions that she would follow—started off down the sidewalk towards the outskirts of the city.  

And follow she did, hands warmed by the moist cardboard and the sight of you, coat blowing back in the wind, walking forward like you knew exactly where you were going. Even if there wasn’t exactly a destination. 

The park was just as cold as city streets but this was the veritable shitty part of town, far from even the League’s hideout. And because it was run down, that meant the streetlights were all long broken out or fitted with dead bulbs that didn’t block the stars from view. 

Not that she could see many with the impending storm, but that was alright. It was enough to catch just one or two. Magne didn’t think of herself as a person much afflicted with greed. She took what came to her, as long as it was free.  

Maybe that’s why she liked you so much, so unbridled, so certain. 

Liked you. 

Now it was her who was a bit averse to admitting things, that being the first time she’d ever thought to herself that the growing affinity for your presence might carry a bit more implication. 

So it was the shittiest part of town, but also the most beautiful. 

Just prettier. 

Because of the stars and the smashed light bulbs and the two of you standing, tea in hand, pretending to be staring up at the sky. 

We’re all just rats.

She thought about that idea quite a lot since you’d floated it out that night so long ago. 

But did heroes star gaze like it was an excuse? Did they care so much it sat like a rock in their stomach and only worked its way out through cold, heavy fingers? Did they bother to figure out the best place in the city was some rundown park on a winter night with cold tea in your hand, not letting go cause you know what it means?

Magne didn’t think so. 

Was it them that was prettier or was it just their pain? 

Maybe they were prettier—prettier when they were suffering. The pain they carry was just more palatable. They were noble when they fell and cried over the other rats, bleeding out in the arena. 

Wasn’t it just that the sadistic masses need to see beauty in their burns so they could convince themselves they were more than just sick voyeurs. 

You were braver for showing the blisters, she thought, with your face still full into the biting wind just so she was still in your peripheral as you pretended to search for sagittarius between the clouds.

If they all really were the same rats scurrying around under the same unfeeling sky, then no one was closer to divinity in pain than they were hiding in the sewers.  

“Do you think we’ll win?”

Magne asked it without really meaning to. The words came with a mind of their own, knowing themselves how desperately she needed the answer. From you. From that tongue that was so sure of itself, there would be no lying. 

Will we ever crawl our way out?

See the sun?

Just live in our pain that hurts to look at?

You didn’t meet her eye when you spoke, but she met yours. Magne watched the living ghost of certainty that some might see and name arrogance possess your eyes turned skyward. And with a confidence that stuck in her bones like radium and glowed with the same surety of your eyes on that first night, you breathed out a response.

“We already have,” you said, setting your cooling cup down on the curb and turning to face her head on. “We won the second we dared to breathe their air and force our names into their mouths. Our existence alone refutes the rules they live by.”

You were still talking but Magne couldn’t quite process all the words. Something about creation and protection and a light on the other side. The sun peaking through gaps in the manholes. A sewer ready to be washed clean by the flood. 

But it wasn’t really the words that were important. It was the way you said them. Like you knew they were true, not just believed it like the boss believed his sensei or Dabi and Spinner believed Stain, but knew. And it was in your eyes as you looked at her and spoke with that assuredness, that had made her feel seen for the first time maybe in her whole life. 

Like she was simply Magne in that moment. And you’d never looked at her and seen anything other than that. 

Maybe that’s why she kissed you then. 

Dropped her cold tea to the pavement and bent herself nearly in half to reach your lips—mid sentence. Maybe that was why she held your face and fit your mouths together and  finally gave up on waiting.  

Your hands hung limp at your sides for only a second before they were in her hair and if Magne thought that she had never been more herself than when you looked at her, this was whatever the opposite of transmutation was. This was actualization, your fingers scratching the stubble on her jaw and pulling her impossibly closer against the cold wind. 

She licked at the scab on your split lip until it bled like it had when Dabi dragged you through the doors of the bar and plopped you like a blessing at her feet. Magne knew she was holding on so tight your feet were coming off the ground, but the only sound you made was a small gasp that she swallowed with the wind and snow threatening to fall. 

It wasn’t short or long, the time that she spent running her tongue along your lips and feeling you fit against her under the burn out streetlights simply was. Separate from the movement of the city blocks and blocks away. 

When Magne pulled back, she stared into those eyes—so secure, so certain.  

And she wasn’t shivering anymore. 

---

Magne stared across the sea of half drunk glasses at where you sat, head resting on the bar—staring back. 

The rest of the League was long gone this far into their first celebratory night in weeks. Dabi and the boss were the first to go, both dragging the other up the stairs after handful of drinks Jin and Compress followed soon after, disappearing into the maze of back rooms as Spinner dozed by the shoplifted space heater and Toga ran off with one of his many switchblades. 

Now it was just you, smiling with a heat in the pull of your cheeks Magne wanted desperately to feel against her palm. But neither of you had spoken much about what happened a week before. Not for lack of trying on her part, the League was expanding and with members split across the city, it was hard to do much but stumble back to base and catch what little sleep they could. 

No time for discussions of what kissing your coconspirator in arms did or didn’t mean.  

There was time now, she thought, glancing over to make sure Spinner was still well and truly entrenched in his dreams before she shifted from her seat. 

She might have been more nervous for what came next if she hadn’t felt your eyes, sharp and clear and focused on her through all the festivities. It was charming, in an endearing sort of way, how badly you wanted this as well and how unwilling you were to do very much other than stare from afar. 

For someone as sure of yourself, you clammed up the second a certain beautiful woman met your gaze. She couldn’t help but chuckle a bit to herself, watching you peer at her over your elbow while she approached, like a high schooler with a crush. 

Like you hadn’t been the one sweeping her off her feet with nothing but the stars as witness. Magne felt that she was owed a bit of fun pushing your buttons. 

Just prettier.

You were shivering. 

“I think I’ll turn in too,” she murmured, coming up behind you and pulling the half filled bottle beside you off the bar top. 

You hummed, sitting up and moving to turn on the stool and face her but Magne took another step before you could. Your back was warm against her chest as she leaned over you, trailing her free hand softly up your arm as she placed the bottle behind the counter. She felt the shiver run up your spine and the gooseflesh that erupted wherever her fingers touched. 

“My door is always unlocked, you know,” she continued, the stubble on her chin scratching against your cheek as she whispered in your ear, “if you get lonely down here.” 

Magne didn’t wait for your answer before making her exit. 

The stairs creaked under her as she made her way up towards the room at the end of the hall she claimed on her own first night. 

And this time, she wasn’t kept waiting at all. 

The door squealed on its hinges as your hand curled around the wood and pushed it open just enough for you to slip inside. She heard the lock click as you leaned back against the frame and looked everywhere but at Magne where she sat on the edge of her bed. 

Well, bed was a strong word for what only amounted to a few mattresses stacked in the corner, but that seemed unimportant now that you were there. 

There and looking incredibly uncertain. 

“I’m sure the baseboards aren’t as interesting as you’re making them out to be,” she chuckled, ducking her head down to try and catch your eye.

Though her efforts were unsuccessful, you did crack a reluctant smile before taking a step closer to the center of the room and toying with the hem of that old hoodie you still wore. 

“Hey,” she sighed softly, all of the excitement leaking out of her like the hideout’s roof in a rainstorm,”what’s up— 

“I’m sorry.” 

You said it so quickly she almost missed it, fingers tangled in the red strings fraying off the edges of your sweater but finally looking her in the eye. 

“What do you mean?” she asked, a little more forcefully than was necessary. 

But Magne was…concerned wasn’t really the word for it but she could feel that same kind of anxiety bubbling up in her throat. She’d never seen you like this before—so unsure it shook her to her core. If there was anything in the fucking world that could make your hands tremble the way they did now, Magne would be horrified to meet it.

“I—” you started speaking and trailed off, long enough for her to stand and make her way over to you, illuminated by the streetlight outside her window. “I don’t know, I just feel like I should apologize.”

“For what?” she asked, reaching out to take your hand and pulling the strings from your fingers, though it didn’t seem you were listening. 

“I’ve been putting this off for so long and I’m not really sure why,” you rambled, brows gathering together and creasing your forehead. “But I’m sorry, really, Magne—”

She almost choked when you said her name like that, the familiar steel of assurance sliding back into your voice as you did. Like it was the one thing you were always sure of.  

“For what?” she repeated again and this time your eyes flicked up and locked with hers. 

“For not doing this sooner.”

It wasn’t until a split second after you’d buried a steady hand in her hair and dragged her down to you that Magne’s brain caught up to the sequence of events. 

She thought she deserved a free pass for being a little slow on the uptake though, it wasn’t everyday she was kissed like it was the end of the world and she was the last thing you were doing.

Because that was exactly how it felt when you pressed your lips to hers and nipped at her bottom lip so hard she gasped. But Magne didn’t stay shell shocked for long. 

The second it all registered—that you wanted her too, that you have been this whole time, that she wasn’t just reading it all in rose tint—you didn’t remain on the floor for much longer. 

It was a whirl of limbs as Magne wrapped you in her arms where you felt just as good as she always knew you would and maneuvered you onto her bed, lips never leaving your mouth, your neck, your jawline. 

You landed with a dull thud and she was on you in seconds, not willing to let your chest leave her’s for more than absolutely necessary. She fit a knee between your legs and nearly came in her fucking pants when you grinded against it, so warm she could feel it even through her jeans. It wasn’t until she was halfway to yanking off that hoodie and seeing all the delicious skin underneath that you caught her hands. 

“Magne wait,” you said. 

Your eyes weren’t shaky any more though, and you were panting while rolling your hips on her thigh even as you held her wrists in place. 

“No,” she whimpered, and maybe it was pathetic the way her voice came out in a whine but she couldn’t spare the thoughts to be embarrassed with all the blood rushing from her head. “Please, I’ve done so much of that already.” 

Even in the dim light, Magne swore she could see your pupils grow wide—swallowing all the color of your pretty eyes—as you swallowed thickly and nodded. 

Magne groaned when she finally felt her palms on the bare skin of your stomach, the sweatshirt tossed away along with her own button-up. Her fingers dug into your hips, leaving little imprints as she dragged you forward and into her lap. Seated on the edge of the bed with you perched on her thigh she rocked you back and forth until you got the hint and built up your own rhythm. 

“Let me make you feel good.” she whispered, licking up the shell of your ear and biting softly at the lobe just to feel the shiver it sent down your spine—feel the throbbing against her thigh. 

“Like you aren’t already,” you huffed. 

She could tell you were trying to sound incredulous, but that was a hard look to pull off. Especially when she could feel the growing wet spot on her jeans and the little whimper that slipped passed your lips when she pinched lightly at your nipples. 

“Let me make you feel even better then, yeah?”   

Magne was grinning down at you, enjoying the way you seemed to be falling apart so easily for her. That was not entirely where she was expecting things to go, but it was more than alright. She loved the way your gaze was getting a bit glassy, the windows beginning to develop a thin layer of condensation from your rapidly heating bodies. 

“I suppose,” you tried to make a straight face at her but your brows quickly furrowed, lips parted as she palmed at your chest and leaned you back far enough to suckle at one of your nipples. 

“You suppose?” she mouthed around it, letting her teeth graze at the bud before dragging her tongue in slow circles and feeling your chest rising with every breath. 

“Yeah—fuck,” you dropped any ploy of being unaffected when her free hand dropped to press against your clit through the damp fabric of your pants.

“Then ask for it.” 

You looked up at her bewildered as she pulled away entirely, nothing holding you to her but your arms around her neck. Your pussy still leaked against her thigh, so hard under you but not offering nearly enough friction. 

“What do you—” your voice cracked as you reached for her hand, drawing it back to your chest but she settled her fingers around your neck instead. 

Her grip was loose but enough to draw you forward so she could lick lazily into your mouth while you helplessly rocked your hips against her. 

“Ask for what you want,” Magne mumbled against your lips, trying so hard not to look you in the eyes, knowing she’d cave if you stared at her too long with that look that made her feel so transparent.

You were silent for a moment, save for the little gasps she drew from you as she ran her tongue along the backs of your teeth—tangling it with your own so that drool slipped down your chin. She pulled back only when you murmured something into her mouth

“What was that?” she teased, very much enjoying how incredibly frustrated you looked being forced to admit your every desire out loud. 

“I want you to touch me,” you said finally, spitting the words like they burnt your tongue. 

“Touch you where?” Magne goaded, placing her hands back on your chest to toy with you again, glowing with your attention focused solely on her, even as your look soured further. 

“Use your own discretion, asshole.”

You meant it to be biting, but she didn’t mind taking a command or two. And she certainly didn’t mind getting free reign to make you fall apart under her as many times as she wanted.

Sounded heavenly, really. 

Guiding your legs to wrap around her, Magne rolled to lay you out on your back and tugged at the waistband of your pants, waiting until you started to squirm in response to tug them off completely. 

She shouldn’t have been surprised, but watching the silvery strings of slick that caught on the fabric as she pulled it away from your pussy was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her reaction was instinctive, fingers trailing through the mess between your thighs to bring them back to her lips and taste you. 

Yeah. 

Fucking heavenly. 

You were watching her as she sucked you off her fingers and with your mouth hanging open, your legs falling subconsciously further apart. 

Magne supposed that was as much of an indication as she was going to get out of you and settled herself down on the mattress between your thighs. 

“What are you doing?” you gasped, words interrupted by little moans as Magne sucked bruises into the meat of your thighs, licking and sucking everywhere but your soaked lips, so soft and drenched for her. 

She glanced up at you, lips coming to hover deviously over your clit as she spoke. 

“Using my discretion.” 

Pausing just long enough to see the hilarious outrage on your face, Magne licked a long strip from your hole to the swollen bundle of nerves and sucked hard against it, shuddering as you bucked into her mouth and clawed at her shoulders. 

You tasted—for lack of a better word—so fucking good it hurt. 

Really Magne wanted to be more eloquent, wanted to wax poetic about how soft you felt against the stubble of her cheek and how sweet you were on her tongue and how she’d live and die between your thighs if you’d let her. Croon your name until you glared at her for being too sappy. 

But she settled with just groaning against your pussy for now, loving how the vibrations of it made you twitch. 

Reaching a hand up to play with your chest, she felt her cock twitch—so hard for you—when your fingers laced with hers. She almost hadn’t registered her own hips canting against the mattress as she licked circles on your clit. 

Her jeans were uncomfortably tight, suffocating in the heat of the room, almost sweltering despite the dead of winter raging outside. 

She wondered idly if it was snowing, like that first time you kissed her.   

She hoped it was. 

Hoped you would think of this, think of her, every time the cold returned. 

“So pretty,” she murmured, pulling back to gaze down at you panting below her. “You want my fingers?”

Your head lolled on your neck, but you broke out of the daze long enough to growl, “I want you to fucking rail me.” 

“Not to brag,” Magne mused, sliding a thick finger through your slick and sinking in to the first knuckle. “But I think you’ll need a little warm up for that, lovely.” 

Just judging by how tightly your walls clamped down on her finger as she went back to sucking at your clit and working you open, Magne was correct in her assumption. But you pouted regardless, somewhat annoyed huffing morphing quickly into a keen as she curled her finger and pressed deep inside. 

She pulled back to her knees, watching your hole twitch as she rocked her palm against your pussy, letting your slick collect there as she fumbled with the button on her pants. 

“More,” you gasped, meeting every thrust of her hand and Magne couldn’t help the chuckle. 

She always liked you a little bossy. 

“Of course, sweet thing,” she cooed, gently pressing a second finger in along the first and blissfully freeing her cock from the confines of her pants. “Whatever you want.”

The strangled sound that left you as she fucked her fingers into you harder, grinding her palm against your clit and lazily stroking herself to the sight of you had her even more desperate to bounce you on her dick then she was before. 

Which was saying something, because there really wasn’t much else on her mind except that. 

You’d look so good up there, she just knew it. So good split in half and drooling all over yourself as she fucked you so good— 

“Think you’re ready, baby?” Magne was panting now too as she asked it, thumb teasing at the head of her cock as she pulled her hand back from you, palm sticky and glistening with your slick. 

She expected you to snap at her at least a little bit for the pet name, but you just laid still, staring wide-eyed and following the hand stroking her length. Magne shivered under your unwavering gaze, shifting a bit on the bed and feeling the skin of her cheeks burn. 

“Is it okay?” 

Her voice was so quiet she thought you might not have heard the question but then she caught the little crease in your brow and your eyes traveled to her face. 

“Okay is not the word I’d use, baby.” 

Ah, there it was.

Though your quip did little to reassure her, the way that you propped yourself up and rolled off the bed on shaky legs did. Your hands trailed up her thighs and pulled until she sat again on the edge of the mattress and you tugged until her jeans were pooled at her ankles. 

“What words would you use?” she asked, mesmerized as she took in the sight of you, standing bare between her knees. It was everything she thought it would be. 

And she thought about this exact scenario a lot. 

Some of your general, confident presence of mind seemed to have returned through the fog of lust as you smirked down at her. 

“That’s the most gorgeous dick I’ve ever seen in my life and if it’s not in me in the next ten seconds I’m gonna scream so loud the whole team will be banging on your door and I’ll let them watch.” 

Magne knew if her face wasn’t dusted pink before it certainly was now, that flush almost definitely creeping down her chest too. You sunk slowly to your knees until you were eye level with her cock and looking up at her through your lashes. 

“Those are the words I’d use,” you said simply before licking a stripe up the length of her and kissing sweetly at the tip. 

It was a physical struggle to not cum all over your infuriatingly pretty grin. 

“Holy shit,” she cursed, cradling your head in her hand as you sucked lightly at the head of her dick, pulling back when her thighs started shaking in your grip. 

“Ten, nine, eight,” you whispered that cocky little smile still pulling at your cheeks. 

It took her a moment as you continued to count until the realization of your cheeky fucking game dawned on her. Magne rolled her eyes and hauled you by your arms, grabbing at the meat of your ass and pulling you back into her lap. 

“Hope you’re ready then,” she murmured into your ear, one hand on your throat to ensure she could watch your face and the other, still coated with your slick, smeared the mess on her cock to ease the sting. 

“I’m always fucking ready for—fucking shit, Magne…”  

She watched in awe as your expression contorted while she lined up with your entrance and pushed just the tip inside. Your jaw hung loose and your tongue lolled out of your mouth as she let gravity do the work to sink you down on her cock. Moaning right along with you as your pussy enveloped her, so fucking tight and warm and—

“So perfect, baby,” she gasped, pressing her forehead to yours and whimpering softly as your ass came to meet her thighs. 

Neither of you moved for a moment, just sat pleasantly sweaty with the cold wind howling against the windows. Just listening to your breathing sync as she burned every sensation in to her memory—the hard mattress under her with the stained and fraying sheets, the glide of your hot skin against hers, the brush of yours chests, the smell of whatever fruity thing you’d been drinking that night. 

Your eyes on her too, seeing her, seeing her as she’d always craved to be seen. 

Magne blinked once just to make sure the image of it was imprinted on her eyelid. Just so she’d never forget a second of it. 

Your hands came up slowly, pulling at the edge of her under shirt and lifting the hem. She raised her arms for you, letting the last piece of clothing fall to the floor as you leaned back to take her in. 

“Magne,” you whispered and she felt her cock twitch inside you at her name on your lips. “So pretty.” 

You trailed your hands up her biceps that barely fit in your palm, and ran gentle fingers through the soft hair on her chest, lightly cupping the swell of her tits and pinching at her nipples until she gasped. 

“So good,” you mumbled, cupping her face and looking in her eyes. “Want you to fuck me so good.”

You didn’t really have to ask. 

Magne brought her hands up to grip your hips and helped you lift up slowly until the tip caught at your slit thrusting up into you all at once. 

The sound you made as her cock settled back deep inside was so mouth watering, Magne couldn’t help but plant her feet on the floor and do it over and over again. 

You moaned low and long every time she rolled your hips together and nipped at your throat or your lips as she fucked you deep and slow. Your hands gripped at the muscles of her shoulders and back, trying so hard to stay upright and watch her as you lazily bounced on her lap. But she could see the way your eyes had glazed over again, so lost in the drag of her against your walls that your body went limp in her arms. 

But Magne couldn't find it in herself to mourn the loss of your gaze. She let you nestle your head against her shoulder, fingernails still digging into her back as she rested against you as well and rocked her hips up lazily—knowing from how painfully tight you got that she was angled right.

You felt so good, too good, so wet and hot around her, slick leaking out and around her balls. She listened to the wet sound of your pussy sucking her in, milking her dry and knew she wouldn’t last much longer.  

“I wanna make you cum, sweet thing,” she spoke into the quiet, steamy air of the room and felt you hold her tighter. “Can I make you cum?”

“Mhm,” you hummed your chest pressed to hers, not an inch of space between your bodies. “Please.” 

Magne just about melted then and there with how broken your voice sounded in her ear, how sweet you felt all tucked in her lap, on her cock. 

On hand left your hip to dip between your bodies until she found the swollen nub of your clit. So wet with your own arousal, her fingers gilded easily in circles against it faster and faster until you swore against her neck. 

“More?” she asked, cheek pressed against yours as she kept her slow rhythm dragging you up and down the full length of her. 

“I’m pretty sure I did ask you to rail me,” you choked out, a little of the familiar edge to your words working it’s way in over the haze of your bodies joining. 

Magne chuckled dryly and tensed her thighs. 

“Yes, yes you did.” 

She pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your neck before turning and pulling you with her back on the bed. You whimpered as her aching dick slipped out of you for a moment until she could kneel, rearranging your limbs until you were laid on your back, ass hiked up on her thighs and one of her strong arms looped around your back. 

Without bothering to warn you, Magne lined herself up and sunk back in to the hilt. She groaned at the way your eyes rolled up in your head and one of your hands came up so you could bite at the knuckle. 

“You feel so good, you know that?” she groaned, trading her slow, deep thrusts, for a shallower, harsher pace. 

Her hips slapped into your ass so hard she was sure there would be a bruise when you woke up. The fingers of her free hand found their way back to your clit and rubbed punishing circles onto the nerves until you squirmed and cried and clamped so hard on her cock. 

“You really ought to be sorry actually,” she wasn’t even truly aware of the words leaving her, they simply fell unbidden from her lips, “keeping this pussy from me for so long.”

You nodded incoherently, choking on your own moans as she felt your legs clamp around her waist and she picked up the pace of her rhythm again. Blowing your goddamn back out just like you asked. 

She’d give you anything if you just asked. 

Even if you didn’t. 

“Wanna feel you cum, please,” she begged, eyes trained on your face so she could watch you fall apart. “Cum for me, want to feel it so bad.”

 And again, you didn’t keep her waiting.  

Your walls spasmed around her length, and she kept thrusting--fucking you through it while you thrashed against the sheets face so slack and pretty while you came all over her cock. 

Magne lost it a bit at that. There was something about seeing you so completely vacant except for the pulsing of your pussy around her that itched at something deep and feral in her brain. In a flurry of movement she had you bent in half, your legs on her shoulders and pounding into you harder than before, determined to pump you full as you clawed at her back to pull her impossibly closer.

There wasn’t a more gorgeous pain than this—pleasure so hot it burned, left scars behind in its wake. She hoped your scratches never left her skin, so she always remembered the sting of loving you. 

And then she was spilling herself deep in your core and listening to you gasp as the warmth of it spread and dripped out in a thick stream. 

For a few seconds you remained like that, panting into the small space between your noses and not saying a word. It was Magne that moved first, rolling slowly until you were settled on her chest and her head was resting on the flattened pillows. She didn’t bother to pull out and you seemed not to care about the veritable mess between your thighs, so you stayed joined. 

Your hand came up to run through her hair and scratch at the stubble on her chin. 

When she did gather the strength to open her eyes, she found you gazing down at her. You had that look again. The same one from the bar on that first night and from the park on the city limits with cold tea in your hand and the truth on your tongue. 

Like you had never been more certain of anything. 

And for one foolish, blessed moment, everything—all of it, life on the city limits, villainy and the cause they were fighting for—seemed a lot less complicated than it really was. 

She didn’t bother to close her eyes until you leaned down to kiss her again, letting the wind drown out the rest of the world for a few minutes more. 

---

But it was complicated. 

Or, more accurately, it was very simple—painfully simple—and that’s what made it so, so messy. 

She’s been dead from the beginning. Just like she’s been Magne from the beginning. That’s all there was to it, but you made everything so much more intricate. 

You were still looking at her with that face full of rage and horror and certainty while she stared back for as long as she had left until it finally clicked. 

The last time she kissed you. 

The night before, when you were the only two left in the hideout and didn’t have to bother keeping quiet. She kissed you and tasted herself on your tongue, tasted all of herself spilling from your lips. 

She tried to conjure up your face as it was then—soft and hazy and sure as you stared up at her, a hand on her cheek, thumb rubbing little circles over the stubble. 

Yes.

If you die at any point, you’ve been dead the whole story. Magne had been dead since the beginning. But then she must have been yours since the beginning too. 

Because she was yours now and the same logic must apply. 

If she got to be yours for these few, blissful months, then she was yours her whole life. That’s why you always knew how to say her name just right. 

Even now as you screamed and reached for her, it was just right. 

Because you’d known it before it was hers. 

So you’ve always said it like it was the truth. 

Because it was.

Because you had always been able to see her.

Even when she was dying, you were looking, looking and seeing her as she was always meant to be. Shouting her name and knowing the truth of it. 

And you looked so lovely—fingers splayed out reaching for her hand as it disintegrated, tear tracks down your pretty cheeks, eyes wild and so, so sure of everything. 

Even though you didn’t have to be. 

Even though your pain didn’t have to be lovely, didn’t have to be pretty. 

And Magne knew then—just as she was verging on the precipice of never knowing anything again—that you were right. 

She was winning simply by virtue of being alive. 

If she won at any point in the story, she was winning her whole cursed fucking life. And she won when you kissed her in the cold, under the stars she was preparing to return to. 

Her story was never going to be a tragedy. 

Because if you gazed up at the stars, at any point in the narrative, you were always stargazing. And as the last atom that was once Magne ceased to exist, she would be stardust again. 

Stardust that you gazed up at in the cold, cloudy, city-limit sky. 

Even when she was gone, you would always be looking. 

Always seeing her. 

And she knew that you’d feel her looking back. 

Magne had never been more certain of anything. 

[multi-purpose-tool-guy]

Grow

(part of my little ongoing month-long project of crewt one-shots which you can read here, but I really liked it so I’m posting it here!)

Shuffling the paper bag in his arms Credence pulls in a deep breath. The muggy New York air rattling around his lungs again after so long being away was not an entirely unpleasant feeling, and that alone surprised him.

He had been living with Newt in his suitcase (which was shuffled from hotel to inn to hostel on Newt’s long and final leg of fieldwork before his book was to be published) for almost two years now, and the space between being ripped apart in that dark subway tunnel and waking up half-dead on the Goldsteins’ doorstep felt like he really had died that night, and everything good he had now was someone up there giving him a second chance. He didn’t quite remember when it had stopped feeling like whoever it was was going to pull the rug out from under him, but he was just thankful to anyone who would listen that so far his luck was holding. And what a strange thing, to feel so laden with gifts in this life, when every breath he had taken in the one he had left behind was an act of survival.

He could hear Newt in his head already, just as if he were sitting at his desk with ink on his cheek as he explained with a glint in his eye how Doxies had evolved to have extra limbs. “Surviving is not an inferior state of being in the absence of thriving; survival is an act of strength. If one lives and breaths in this world it must fight for every minute of its existence, and for every day that it still stands in the face of everything opposing it, it grows that much stronger.“ He always had this incredible knack of telling you something about some creature or another, and it turning out to be immensely helpful advice that you didn’t even know you needed to hear. He doubted Newt himself new just how wise he was, but then one of his favorite things about Newt Scamander (and ironically what made Credence the most nervous in his early days living with him) was that he was entirely unpredictable.

The thought made him smile softly to himself, and he took another breath of New York air that didn’t seem to choke him like it used to before crossing the street. He had volunteered to pick up some ingredients that Jacob and Queenie needed for dinner that night, both to get a little bit of fresh air and to privately see if he could come back to this city in one piece and not immediately fall apart again. Newt had offered to tag along, but he was promptly plopped onto a sofa between two very proud Goldstein sisters (and one very proud pastry chef) and prodded lightheartedly to read aloud from the very first printed copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, hand delivered from the author himself.

So far Credence was proud of how well he was holding up, the dirty streets and towering buildings feeling like snakes without fangs now that he’d found a place that actually feels how a home should. He’d even started humming to himself as he walked, relief that he was actually maybe-sort of-mostly okay flooding through him like champagne in his veins.

In hindsight he should’ve have expected it, shouldn’t have been so foolish as to think he could step over the old bones of the city of his past and not bump into a few ghosts.

He rounded a corner onto Pike street almost as if by memory, like his feet had rediscovered the old grooves in the sidewalk made from years of haunting the streets, passing out flyers with garish words he didn’t believe in, for a mother who wasn’t his. The moment he laid eyes on what was left of the church he froze, the paper bag slipping from slack hands and sending vegetables rolling across the pavement.

After all his time away the church still lay in ruins, charred and splintered wood jutting from the ground like mangled tombstones. Even now, as Credence watched, people crossed the street to avoid going near it, like they could see the scars of what happened there. Consecrated in pain and rage and nothing near holy, treated like hallowed ground.  

A tear slipped down his cheek as it hit him hard enough to shatter that that is exactly what it was. A graveyard, a once sacred place where his mother, his sister, and his childhood are buried.

He had hoped it would have been renovated into a hat shop or a delicatessen or anything else in his absence so he wouldn't recognize it if he ever felt reckless enough to wander down this damned street, but Credence knew far too well the feeling of a wound that just wouldn't close.

Just when he thought he’d be sucked into the dirt and be trapped between the floorboards of his past forever, he spotted something that made his breath catch in his throat.

In the middle of the carnage and decay a little patch of plant life was blooming, fresh green leaves wet with dew and the little blue faces of flowers nestled in the rubble and standing out starkly against the gloom. He was seeing it, plain as day, but his mind couldn’t comprehend it as a reality. How could this place for dead and howling things be home to anything but? How could something live where once so much had suffered, had died?

He realized with a jolt that he recognized the flowers.

They were forget-me-nots.

He wanted to scream.

This isn’t right, this can’t be real, people walk past and it doesn’t even matter to them, little kids probably climb over the ruin and pick those flowers no this can’t be happening I can’t- I don’t-

He was only aware of how fast he was breathing when someone bumped into him from behind knocking into his shoulder and blundering past without a word. Some stranger, probably on his way to work, Credence having a breakdown in front of a broken down church probably just static in the background of New York to him. The impact spun him around and he stood there heaving for breath with groceries at his feet and suddenly, the church at his back, he was there, static in the background of New York, not two years in the past with his sister’s blood in the creases of his hands.

He didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, but the sun had begun to dip between the buildings, spears of amber light jutting across the bustling city.

He stood there and breathed for a while, steady ins and outs of that muggy familiar air, and when he could trust himself to move he wiped the cold tear tracks from his cheeks and bent to collect his groceries. Without another glance at the broken building behind him he pushed his shoulders back and started off on the quickest route back to the Goldsteins’ apartment, counting his breaths.

On his way back, he thought about what Newt would have said if he’d been with him, if he would have known what to say at all.

Newt always had something to say, though, and he didn’t doubt that he would’ve gone really quiet, wrung his hands like he did when he was thinking of the right words for something important, and said something terribly cryptic but penetratingly profound. He would’ve probably fluttered a hand to lay on Credence’s shoulder, only to pull away at the last moment and turn away from him, and say something like, “Life can come from death, flowers can grow between old bones and joy can be born from tragedy. Life moves, life goes on, and you will survive, because you are stronger than you were then.”

Credence would be breathless, like he always was when Newt said things like that, and he’d tuck the words away to whisper when it was dark and he couldn’t sleep and he needed them most, and try desperately to believe they were true.

Comforted, Credence tried to shake off the strangeness of the evening and quickened his pace, eager to get back and hear what the real thing had to say.

He knew that going back to the remains of his old life would always do that to him, always try and drag him back down into the Hell of old mistakes and regrets. But with Newt, he never knew what tomorrow would bring. He only knew that with Newt, with his new family, he was both surviving and thriving.