#and so he pushes on and confronts the siren while no one else on the team | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

acediian · 2 years

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─𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲, 𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐲 [ℹ.]

Pairing: Stephen Strange x OC, (eventually) Sinister Strange x OC

Synopsis: Alma, a newly appointed S.W.O.R.D. director, finds herself working alongside Stephen Strange to confront an inter-dimensional threat two months after he abruptly ended their long-term relationship and broke her heart. A young girl needing their help forces Alma to confront her lingering feelings for Stephen while they search for answers. [Loosely follows the plot of DSMOM.]

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: violence, gun use, swearing, unrequited love but also mutual pining, general peril??? Since this fic will eventually feature some smut, I’ll go ahead and say this now: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 18+ ONLY

A/N: I saw DSMOM one freakin time and fell so hard for Sinister Strange that I’m writing a multi-part fanfic just to shamelessly ship a self-insert OC with him (and 616 Stephen ofc). I truly hope you enjoy this chapter, even though we haven’t gotten to the best bits yet. I love some good setup in my fics! c:

* Please do not copy or repost my work anywhere else! *

Silence. That was what a corner office with a view of the New York City skyline got you. Well, not dead silence. There was still the soft, rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall. The distant sounds of car horns on the street. The clacking of fingertips on a keyboard. For most agents, the quiet, meditative atmosphere of a glass office and the accompanying promotion to regional director of S.W.O.R.D. for the Northeast would be a dream come true. It was the culmination of a career spent running memos to research and development, investigating inter-dimensional anomalies, and occasionally responding to the odd extraterrestrial threat.

A pair of brown eyes glanced up from the computer screen to the bronze plaque hanging on the wall to her left.

The United States Government recognizes Alma Elizabeth Simmons for her bravery and dedicated service during the Battle of New York on May 4, 2012.

This was the only one she had hung of the numerous other medals and plaques that she had earned in her more than fifteen years as an agent. Boots on the ground was all she had known for so long that the transition to ass in an office chair had been a tough pill to swallow.

Still, she had to admit… “Director Simmons” did have a nice ring to it.

It was like an answer to her prayers when the sudden blaring of sirens pierced the silence of her office. Alma nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden interruption, but the satisfaction of putting her computer to sleep pushed aside her momentary shock. It took her two quick strides to make it to the glass door and swing it open, letting in the beautiful cacophony of a facility leaping into action.

“Finch, talk to me,” Alma shouted to her assistant through a rush of agents passing by. “What’s going on?”

“Inter-dimensional visitor, ma’am,” Finch replied, pressing a datapad into her hands that already displayed what little information they had on the incident. He struggled to keep up with her pace as they followed the others to the atrium. “SoHo. Unknown origin. But it’s, uh… big and it’s angry.”

Alma sighed. “Great. Alright, I’m gonna want Squadron 3 on this. Armored vehicles only. And get me one with a laser turret on top.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

Her team was suited up and speeding through the city streets less than five minutes later, their convoy of vehicles weaving in and out of traffic as sirens blared and unsuspecting civilians gawked from the sidewalks. Alma could feel her heart pounding excitedly in her chest. It was her first chance since her promotion to be at the front of the action. No more hiding behind a desk while the agents got to have all the fun.

“What’s our ETA?” she asked, catching the driver’s gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Two minutes, ma’am. Traffic allowing.”

“Director?” came a voice from behind her.

“Yes, Murphy?”

“Looks like Stephen Strange is already on the scene, ma’am.”

The back of the vehicle filled with an air of excitement. Hushed but enthusiastic whispers passed between the passengers. These were experienced agents, but the chance to watch an Avenger at work was always thrilling. Alma, however, couldn’t share in their delight. It was bound to happen sooner or later - seeing him again - especially given the work that they both did. All the grief and heartbreak that she had spent the last two months trying to process, to suppress, to overcome, consumed her in an instant. It was a ravenous beast and she, its vulnerable prey.

Perhaps she should have sat this one out, after all.

“Agents–” Alma finally managed to croak out, breathless, before she summoned her composure. “Agents. When we arrive, I want Team Alpha to begin setting up a perimeter and escorting civilians out of the area. We’re going in weapons hot. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they all said in unison.

“Team Bravo, on me. Engage with the intent to neutralize. And watch each other’s–”

The vehicle squealed to a stop just short of the next intersection, narrowly avoiding the enormous, tentacled creature that was lumbering down the street with a city bus in its grips.

“There’s our bogey! Go!”

Their convoy of armored vehicles sprung into action. Agents poured out of the vans and onto the road as instructed. “Moreno! Rouse! Bring the Cannon and rendezvous with us. You four – with me!”

For her first incident as director, Alma didn’t think she was doing too badly so far. But the real test of her leadership skills was currently rounding the next street corner. She took off sprinting with the other four agents in tow, dodging abandoned cars and fallen street lamps in pursuit of the creature. A familiar red blur whizzed through the intersection, causing the lump in Alma’s through to grow even larger. The sooner this was over, the better.

As the squad turned onto the next street, they were met with their first full view of the creature in all its many-tentacled splendor. They immediately began firing on the monstrosity, which responded to the sting of their bullets with a high-pitched screech. A mass of tentacles came hurtling toward them, grabbing two of the agents and tossing them aside as if they weighed nothing. Alma prepared herself for the inevitable when something else wrapped around her shoulders and swiftly pulled her out of the creature’s reach. Once she skittered to a stop, she swiveled around to see who had saved her only to see Stephen’s Cloak of Levitation hovering behind her.

“Oh,” Alma breathed with a smile. “Hey, you.”

The Cloak drew in closer, wrapping a bit of its cloth around her in a sort of hug.

“Yeah, I’ve missed you, too,” she chuckled. “Thanks for the assist.”

Alma thought the Cloak nodded to her before it flew off, presumably back to its master. The creature, in the meantime, had become distracted by something else, which gave her a window of opportunity to check on the agents who had been thrown. They were fine, if not a little shaken up, and they would definitely have a few bruises later on. But it was her responsibility to make sure that wouldn’t happen to them again.

Pressing on her earpiece, she barked, “Where is my Cannon?” to the two agents who she had tasked with bringing the weapon.

“Coming up on you now, ma’am,” a breathless voice replied.

S.W.O.R.D.’s R&D department had been cooking up prototype weapons for occasions just like these but hadn’t had many opportunities to test them in the field. Alma saw two outcomes: either the Cannon was going to work and kill the creature or it would explode in her hands and kill her in a blaze of glory.

The agents promptly arrived with the weapon, a laser cannon that must have weighed more than fifty pounds and had a smooth, silver exterior that pulsed with a pale blue glow. Alma could feel the thing humming with energy beneath her fingertips. With the press of a button, the Cannon whined to life as it began to charge up its laser pulse. The bar on the top blinked rhythmically - one light for every minute it needed to charge. R&D said the process would take three minutes. Hopefully, that would be enough time.

Throwing the Cannon’s strap over her shoulder, Alma resumed her pursuit of the creature with her agents on her heels. “Keep it engaged until I’m ready to fire!” She had to shout over the screams of panicked civilians and the distant sirens that were steadily growing louder.

The team had to dodge a flying sedan before they could resume shooting at the creature, which hardly seemed interested in them this time. It was after something else. No, someone? There was little time to discern who or what its target was. An Eldritch Whip suddenly wrapped around one of the creature’s tentacles, but it broke free and grabbed the spell’s caster, hurtling him into a van on the opposite curb.

Alma wanted to run to him but her legs wouldn’t budge. She could only stand there, gawking, as Stephen Strange shook off the blow and rose to his feet. It was merely a coincidence that he looked in her direction. But as soon as their gazes locked, the world around them fell away. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. Not the creature, not the people running past them, not even the ground beneath her feet. All Alma could hear was her hammering pulse and all she could see was him.

It was clear by the way Stephen’s shoulders dropped that he could discern the hurt on her face. There was a yearning in her eyes, too, that was unmistakable. Finally, he broke eye contact with her to look down. He was thinking. He always drummed his fingers against his leg like that when he was thinking. But the second he looked up again, one of the creature’s tentacles wrapped around him and squeezed. Neither one had seen it coming, lost as they were in the sight of one another.

“No!” Alma bellowed as the creature lifted Stephen into the air. He struggled, but his arms were pinned to his sides. No spells. No way to save himself.

The third light on the Cannon was blinking, now. Less than a minute until it was ready to fire.

“Ugh, come on, fucking thing!” Alma gritted through her teeth, giving the weapon a little shake as though that would help it finish its charge more quickly. Surely it was a coincidence that the light stopped blinking just then and the end of the weapon’s barrel lit up with a sickeningly bright glow. Her brow lifted in surprise. “Huh. Okay, then.”

Alma struggled to brace the Cannon against her hip so she could aim the barrel at the creature, which still had a tight grip on Stephen and didn’t seem inclined to let him go. It was trying to escape the barrage of gunfire by clambering up a skyscraper, sending boulder-sized pieces of limestone tumbling to the earth.

Why did they always have to climb the buildings like the city was some kind of playground?

The Cannon beeped as Alma followed the creature up the building’s facade, signaling that it had the thing squarely in its crosshairs. She hesitated for only a second and hoped against all hope that the weapon wouldn’t backfire before pulling the trigger. To her relief, a glorious beam of light left the Cannon’s barrel with a roar, illuminating everything in a fifty-foot radius as it came into contact with the creature’s flesh.

The being had only a second to let out an ear-shattering screech. The beam’s energy quickly traveled through its body, searing every vein, muscle, and limb. In an instant, the creature disintegrated into ash. Stephen, finally released from its clutches, let out a yell as he began his eight-story fall. Not a moment later, the Cloak of Levitation seamlessly caught him in mid-air and gently lowered him back to the road before disappearing into the sky once again.

The momentary confidence and satisfaction that came from defeating the creature evaporated as Stephen jogged over to Alma. An awkward pause followed while the two struggled to find what to say to one another. Stephen opened and closed his mouth several times, even drew in a quick breath before stopping himself. Clearing his throat, he gestured emphatically at the Cannon that Alma was gripping so tightly that the tips of her fingers had turned white.

“That’s a… fun weapon you’ve got there,” Stephen finally managed.

Alma could only raise her eyebrows in response. His first words to her in two months and those were the ones he chose? Well, since he wanted to be quippy with her, the least she could do was respond in kind.

“Oh, you like it? It’s a prototype.” She slapped its metallic exterior. “You can… kill so many giant tentacled freaks with this bad boy.”

Alma winced at her bungled attempt at humor. He was so much better at it than her. It was one of her favorite things about him - the way he had always been able to make her laugh.

“You agents and your toys,” Stephen remarked with a lopsided grin.

They stood there silently for another moment, Alma shuffling her feet and Stephen fiddling with his hands. But he finally beat her to the punch, speaking just as her lips parted to say something herself.

“Your hair is different.” Stephen mimicked the shape of her short, black bob with his hands. “It looks nice.”

“Thanks.” A smile passed fleetingly across her lips before her expression turned serious. “Are you okay, Stephen?”

Stephen nodded, flashing a smile so warm that Alma knew she must have turned pink. “I’m okay.”

Someone cleared their voice behind her. “Director Simmons?”

Stephen raised his eyebrows, shocked, impressed, and proud all in equal measure. “Director.”

Alma ignored him and turned to her agent. “Yes, Moreno?”

“Emergency services are on scene, ma’am. Some civilians wounded, no casualties.”

“And one hell of a lot of property damage,” she commented, finally taking a second to look around at the trail of destruction that the creature had left in its wake. “Can’t wait for the paperwork on this one.” She sighed. “Thanks, Moreno. Can you bring this back to the truck and coordinate with first responders while I debrief with,” her eyes flitted to Stephen for less than a second, “Doctor Strange?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Moreno said, taking the Cannon with him as he left the two of them alone again.

“Debrief, huh?” Stephen teased. “Is that what you’re calling it?” But this wasn’t exactly an excuse she had cooked up to talk to him more, even if it was what the little voice in the back of her head was begging for her to do.

Alma played it cool, brushing off his question with a sincere: “Well, we just had a visit from a cyclops cthulhu monster from another dimension, Stephen. It’s kind of my job to interview the parties involved about what the hell just happened.”

“Speaking of parties involved…” he began, his head turning to where the Cloak of Levitation had returned carrying a young girl like it was a magic carpet.

The girl started turning on her heel to run when she caught sight of Alma and an excited look of recognition lit up her face. Instead, she came barreling into Alma and threw her arms around her in a tight embrace.

“Alma, holy crap! You killed it! You saved me!”

Alma exchanged a confused look with Stephen, who shrugged and shook his head to say that he didn’t know this kid either.

“You’re… welcome,” Alma stammered. “Sorry, do we know each other?”

“Oh, well–” The girl sheepishly withdrew from their hug. “Yeah. And no. Kind of.”

A million questions bounced around Alma’s head, so she settled on the most basic one to start. “Who are you?”

“Yeah, I was gonna ask that same question,” Stephen chimed in. “More importantly, what did that creature want with you, kid?”

“And where are your parents?” Alma’s brow furrowed in concern. “Do you need us to call them for you?”

The girl’s head whipped from Alma to Stephen and back again amid their barrage of questions.

“We’re not gonna hurt you, okay?” Alma assured her. “We’re just trying to understand what’s going on.”

“Look, giant teen-eating monsters aside, I have something important that’s bothering me.” Stephen took a step closer to the kid. “Why were you in my dream last night?”

The girl shook her head. “That wasn’t a dream. It was another part of the Multiverse.”

Alma and Stephen exchanged a look. S.W.O.R.D. had spent a little time researching other dimensions - other universes - but their knowledge about the Multiverse was still sorely lacking. Some of her colleagues didn’t even believe that such a thing could really exist. The chance to interview this girl could prove invaluable to their work and to mitigating future threats.

“Do you guys have pizza in this universe?” the girl suddenly asked.

What a way to change the subject, Alma thought. Leave it to a kid to ask for pizza right after evading death by octopus monster.

“Yeah, we have pizza.”

---

The girl sat across the table from Alma and Stephen, devouring slice after slice of pizza as though her meal was being timed. Alma’s fingers absent-mindedly drummed against the screen of her datapad as she sat watching the kid with a curious gaze. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen, maybe sixteen. She was shrouded in mystery, and yet no one in the restaurant would have suspected that she was any different than your average teenager just by looking at her.

“Slow down, kid. You’re gonna get a stomach ache.” Stephen spoke with a level of care in his voice that Alma found sweet.

“She said she was hungry, Stephen.”

“Yeah,” the girl agreed with Alma between bites. “And besides, I’m from another universe. You don’t know if my stomach even works the same as yours.”

“I don’t even know if you’re really from another universe like you keep saying you are.” Stephen tilted his head. “I’m still waiting to be enlightened.”

“Is your Stephen always this grumpy?” the kid turned her attention to Alma, who chuckled in response.

“He has his moments.”

The girl’s eyebrows raised. “Guess this is one of them.”

“Alright,” Stephen interrupted their conversation, causing the two ladies to exchange a little grin. “You know, I left a very nice wedding to save a smart-ass kid from being eaten by an octopus. Now, tell me–”

Alma’s head snapped to him. Christine’s wedding. They had planned on going together, initially. “Oh, you ended up going?”

“Did you guys get married?!” the girl interjected excitedly.

“No. We’re not married,” Alma replied.

“No, we didn’t,” Stephen said in unison with her. “And yes, I did go.”

“Wait, you’re not married?” The girl sounded stunned, confused even. “You were married in every other universe I’ve been to.”

An uncomfortable look passed between Stephen and Alma that the kid definitely noticed.

“No, we’re–” Stephen cleared his throat. “–not together any more.”

The girl dropped the slice of pizza she was working on in shock. “What?”

Stephen’s words cut through Alma’s heart, reopening the wounds she’d spent the last two months trying to heal. She’d made it through, mostly by pouring herself into her work. It was probably what had earned her the promotion to director. Things in her life were starting to feel normal again after so much change, so this verbal reminder of what once was and what could have been… oh, it hurt to hear.

“But–” the girl continued, her disappointment clear. “You’re always together. You’re, like… soulmates.”

“Tell that to Stephen,” Alma said under her breath, low enough that she didn’t think either of them heard. But the way he turned to look at her told her otherwise. Instead of meeting his gaze, she focused her attention on her datapad.

“Sorry.” The kid looked a bit guilty for stirring up sore feelings between them. “So, uh… you wanted me to explain what’s going on.”

“Yes.” Stephen leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table. “Why was that thing trying to eat you?

“It wasn’t trying to eat me; it was trying to kidnap me and take me to this… demon who wanted to steal my power.”

“Power. What power?”

The kid took a deep breath. “I can travel the Multiverse.”

“What?” Stephen blurted out.

Alma, who had been typing on her datapad, finally looked up. Her eyes reflected an equal amount of awe and concern. “How?”

“I don’t know. I can’t control it. It only happens when I’m really, really afraid. The last universe I was in–” She looked at Stephen “–the other you was trying to help me. But the demon caught up with us.”

A sudden realization flashed across his features. “The fight from my dream.”

“I already told you,” the girl urged. “That wasn’t a dream. I can prove it…!”

Stephen suddenly rose to his feet, sending his chair scraping backwards across the tile floor. “Alright, pizza time’s over.”

“Wh– Stephen, I’m not done here.” Alma gestured to her datapad in annoyance.

Stephen leaned down to whisper to her, coming close enough that she could feel his breath on her temple. The sensation sent a chill down her spine. “I have to take her to Kamar-Taj. Wong has to know about this. If this ‘demon’ is after her, it won’t stop just because we killed its minion.”

When Alma tilted her head toward him, she briefly lost herself in his startlingly blue eyes. Blinking, she considered his idea. “You think he’ll have answers?”

“Maybe. I hope so. If not, then I guess I’ll have to see who else might know what to do.”

“Such as?”

“Wanda Maximoff?”

Alma set her datapad down and turned fully to face him. “Stephen, no. Do you know what she did in Westview?

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “mass kidnapping by way of sitcoms.”

“I was there.” She needed him to know how serious she was. “I saw it all. I don’t think that she can be trusted.”

“Alma. I have to try. Or the entire Multiverse could be at risk.”

"Damnit.” He was right. Rolling her eyes, she relented with a heavy sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Don’t I always?” He lingered for a moment before standing upright again and swooshing around the table. “Alright, kid. Come on.”

“Wait–” Alma stood up as the girl began to follow Stephen, meeting the two of them near the door. “I don’t think we ever caught your name.”

“Oh… right.” The girl must have forgotten that they didn’t already know her like the other versions of them supposedly did. “I’m America. America Chavez.”

Alma smiled warmly. “America. It’s nice to meet you. Go with Stephen, now. He and the other sorcerers will keep you safe.”

“I hope so.” There was an air of doubt in America’s voice.

Before Stephen could reach for the door handle, Alma grabbed his forearm to stop him. When he looked down, she withdrew her hand as quickly as she would have if she had touched an open flame.

“Anything else you learn from her - anything at all - you better keep me in the loop,” she said softly, but firmly.

“Aye aye, madame director.” Stephen winked.

“I mean it.” Alma sighed and slipped one of her freshly-printed business cards into his hand. “Call my office.”

He took one look at the card and tried to hand it back to her. “I already have your number.”

“Stephen.”

Please don’t call my cell, her heart cried. She couldn’t bear to see the little red hearts next to his name on the call screen.

“Alright,” he breathed as he slipped the card into his pocket for safe keeping. “I’ll be in touch.” He nodded to America, who gave Alma another quick hug.

“Sorry, force of habit,” she chuckled before following Stephen out of the restaurant.

Alma sighed as though she had been holding her breath for the last hour and slumped into one of the chairs at their table. Her hand reached for the last slice of pizza. She’d earned it.

#doctor strange #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #multiverse of madness #dsmom #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange x oc #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfic #marvel

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sierracolorstheworldofwords · 4 years

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I have an imagine request if that okay… I saw this video trend on Tik Tok and I was curious about what it would be like with the Iplier Egos…. So the Egos reaction to their significant other calling them by their first name instead of their usual term of endearment. Babe, baby, honey, sweetie, darling, etc… Please and thank you!

An: I’m alive! ALIVE! Anyway, this took a while because of mental health things, and with everything going on in the world! But I’m really happy u sent this request, and I hope you sent more! Pls? qwq anyway! Also I hope whoever requests this likes it! Enjoy! :3 Dark: Dark would just be like -_-? Then he’d look up from his newspaper and go, “Yes, (Y/n)?” Then he’d get grumpy because he loves your pet names! He loves you saying his name in that beautiful voice of yours, but still! He wants to be called darling, it’s so cute when you do it, and it always makes him smile, even though he doesn’t like to admit it.

Wilford: Wilford would look at you with wide eyes, and then immediately get on his knees, “Pumpkin? Did I do somethin? You usually call me your cute gum drop! Ya haven’t called me that all day! You only use my name when I’m in trouble! Did Wilfy do somethin wrong?” he grabs your hand and gives you the sweetest puppy eyes, “I didn’t get out Mr. Shooty today, I swear!”

The Googles: Prime: Would be sus. You usually greet him with pet names. He, being well… fucking google, googles it. He asks the internet why you aren’t calling him his pet names. When he finds out it could be because you’re mad, he goes to you and asks what’s wrong. “You’re the only human I like, and I want to know if I made you angry.” When you admit it was a little prank, you actually see him pout, and blush, “I actually missed your nicknames, don’t do that again, or I’ll be sad.” Oliver: He picks up on it immediately. “Honey– am I in trouble? I didn’t do anything, wrong, did I? Have I been putting too much pressure on the nicknames?” Then you tell him it’s a tik tok trend. “A-ah..” he then pouts, and wraps himself around you, “Well! (Y/N!) I don’t mind you saying my name, it sounds so wonderful coming from your lips~” he winks at you as you turn a bright red. Oxnard: He pretends it doesn’t affect him. He just looks towards you and asks, “What?” “Oh nothing.” On the inside he’s wondering where your sweet pet names went, and it’s only when you two are going to bed that he confronts you about it, pouting as he clings to you. “You haven’t called me sweet heart or love all day!” He’s overheating now, “And I don’t like it. I love your pet names, please keep calling me them..” You can’t help bit smirk a little, and tease him, cooing over him and smothering him in affection. Which, even though he doesn’t say it, he loves. Omega: Gets pouty, not angry, just pouty. He wants you to call him darling, and sweet heart, and other nick names! Why’d you call his name? Everyone else uses that name! You use your special little nicknames, and he likes how only you can use them! So he just ignores you until you call him sweet heart.

Bing: He gets anxious at first, before grinning like a fool. “You saw that tik tok video, didn’t you?” You give him a sheepish smile, “Yeah..” He chuckles, laughing, “You almost got me dude! Nice try babe!” He then ends up wrapping his arms around you and snuggling you, playfully scolding you for trying to prank the prankster!

Eric: He thinks he’s in trouble. “D-did I-I d-do some-something w-wrong?” he whimpers, looking at you with wide eyes, his heart pounding– oh god, is this when you finally dump him? Seeing him so scared, you quickly climb into his lap, and shake your head, telling him about the video you saw on tik tok, and apologize for scaring him. You cuddle, kiss, and snuggle him for the rest of the day, calling him all the sweet adorable pet names he deserves.

Illinois: He smirks, “Why, I love the way my name sounds when you say it~” he purrs, “Can you please say it more? You make it sound like a song from heaven, which makes sense, cause ya are an angel.” He then winks at your flustered face, chuckling at how cute you look when blushing. Yancy: “Youse okay– wait, am I in trouble? That’s what my ma would always do when I was in trouble! Did I do somethin to upset youse? I only beat up that guy cause he insulted ya!” You look at him in shock, “Wait, what– you’re not in trouble? And what guy?” He laughs, “N-no one! I didn’t say anythin about a guy, sweet heart, youse must be crazy bella!” He laughs even more, “I-I didn’t do anythin! I swear!” You look skeptical as hell, but don’t push the issue any further.

Magnum: He tilts his head, before perking up, “Yes sweet heart? The siren who stole me heart? The love of me life? Is there somethin you need me to do, or did ya just need to call me over for some cuddles? Ye know what, lemme go cuddle you, cause now I’m in a cuddlin mood!” You’re too flustered to even respond to if you need help, because him calling you the love of his life melted you into a shy puddle. He ends up cuddling you and calling you more cute nicknames, loving how he can tease you. Bim: He is all about pet names. He loves pet names. He loves knowing that there’s a name just for him. So, when you call him Bim, he can’t help but pout. Since he’s so used to being called darling, and pouts. “Oh everyone calls me Bim! Since I am Bim Trimmer, and while I do love my name, since, well, you know, I am Bim Trimmer, I like it when you call me your darling much better, because only you get the privilege to call me that!”

Silver: “How do you know my secret identity?!” You dead pan, “We’re literally dating!” “Oh! Right! I mean– what are you talking about random civilian?!” You purse your lips, crossing your arms, and he chuckles nervously. “You never know where there might be spies! I’m just saying!” You turn away in a huff, and he immediately asks for your forgiveness, saying that evil is everywhere, and he has to protect you!

Host: He just looks at you, before saying, “Host knows that this is about tik tok. And he wants to say, that you tried, but also, he wants you to know that while it was a very good try, he still loves you.” You pout, and he just chuckles. “Host loves how cute you are, my darling. I can indulge you, this once.” You sigh, “It’s too late! The opportunity is already gone!” He chuckles at your antics, before going to cuddle you, laughing at how pouty you are.

Dr. Iplier: He acts similarly to Dark, taking a sip of his coffee before going. “(Y/n).” You look at him in surprise, not expecting that. “Bing showed me the tik tok video.” he grins, “It was cute.” Then he goes back to drinking his coffee and reading his book, chuckling, before saying, “Maybe next time.” Yan: (I saved my boi for last leave me alone! >^< I love himb..) He just perks up, his heart fluttering– you called his name? You called his name! He smiles, swooning, leaning his cheek on his hand, “Yes senpai? Is there anything you need, my love? Or did you just want me to notice you? Because I already have! Let me show you!” Then he realizes– the tik tok! Bing showed him that tik tok! But he decides that he wants to hold you more than play along with the tik tok, so he wraps himself around you like an octopus and showers you in love.

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falling-pages · 3 years

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Sun and Moon: Tamakyo

If I had to suffer, then so do all of you.

Kyoya refuses to die without Tamaki by his side.

“I supposed as in life, we would cross this threshold together, and perhaps meet again on the other side.”

"It's time to go, Kyoya."

“Perhaps we shall be reincarnated as the sun and moon.”

Kyoya Ootori x Tamaki Suoh

Genre: Happy ending angst, established relationship

Warnings: Double character death, car crash

Silence was the most unnatural part of death, but it wasn’t unwelcome.

It throbbed like bass between his ears, slipping him an unholy cocktail of drowsiness and pain. The world was muted, smothered by the white light seeping into his vision. He wondered if he had gone blind and deaf, but that wouldn’t explain the numbness in his body.

Kyoya knew he was alive, at least in some sense. He felt the vibrations in his fingertips, drumming into his thigh from his leather seat, so he knew there was a world around him. But he drifted, felt his spirit lean back and float in the pool. His fingers skimmed the water. Some current toyed with him, curled one finger around his body and enticed him forward, away from shore, into the warm water stretching beyond infinity. He couldn’t see it, but he sensed it, felt the peace and rest and silence beckoning for him, just out of his grasp, the palm of his hand.

His soul chuckled. Peace and rest was not something he was acquainted with in life. And ever since Tamaki came into his life, he hadn’t known silence.

Tamaki.

As warm as the water felt, as gentle as the hand was that cradled him, as chillingly enticing was the voice that called him forward, he couldn’t go alone. The silence was wrong without him. Kyoya couldn’t sense another soul out on the water, so he sat up, sputtering in the mist, pushing away the hand that grabbed him.

Tamaki?

The silence ended like the snap of a whip, and the air filled Kyoya’s lungs to the point where he felt he’d suffocate with too much. Suddenly sober, the morphine drip ripped away. He gasped as hard as his fragile lungs could and opened his eyes.

The white subliminal space was gone, replaced with the present he had so peacefully been taken away from.

He saw the blood first. How it dripped from Tamaki’s nose, gushed from his mouth. His head smashed forward on the dashboard, neck billowed by the white airbag. It, too, was stained with him, a flowery design etched into the cloth, like a painting, the most grotesque, accidental painting.

The sight should have shocked him. To be yanked from the edge of peace and confronted with the harbinger should have made his soul cry out. But it may have been the smoke, or the pain so strong it diluted everything else, or even just dangling on the edge of eternal collapse that just...allowed him to see. Like his soul was half-way out the door, tugging him by the hand and yet allowing him one last look.

One last look to say goodbye.

Is this how it ends? Two lovers in a crushed car, dangling over the precipice of life and death? After all they had been through, was this to be their destiny?

Tamaki was alive. As Kyoya’s ears began to ring, his lover poked out a tiny smile. Though his eyes were bruised shut, he inhaled through his mouth, lips upturned like he had just woken up from a delicious dream. Kyoya wondered if he were in the liminal white space, too, and if he had returned to life just to find him again.

It all started with a smile, and now it ended with one.

Kyoya had always considered life to be a straight line. Different for everyone, sure, but in a way, still the same. You had to have a plan to be successful, and too many options could destroy a monument of plans. Everyone in their order, everything in its place. It was the Ootori way, his way.

Until Tamaki blasted through those plans like dynamite. That smile was a more deadly weapon than any man could create.

It had annoyed him in life, but he had learned to adore it. Now, it comforted him in death.

Tamaki’s head was twisted towards him, exactly how he laid in bed. Whenever he hadn’t wrapped them in body heat and blankets, Tamaki liked to lay on his side and look at him, eventually falling asleep like that. It made for quite the vantage point for Kyoya. Able to see his back rise with every breath, eyebrows furrow so cutely, lips slightly parted to allow air and drool--yes, the King drooled--to escape. It didn’t help Kyoya sleep, but it did help him relax. It gave him peace.

He looked the same here. Despite the blood, despite the smoke and haze, Kyoya imagined them back in their bed. He moved to kiss that beautiful brow, pull the blanket up further around them. Tamaki couldn’t sleep cold, else he’d have nightmares and whine and cling--

But as he reached, a cutting pain wove around his wrist, and he jerked away from the jagged edge of machinery in his path. The hiss of some gas or heat squeezed his ear. He tried to move away, but the pressure on his neck was too great. The force of the crash had thrust him forward; something had pinned his left elbow, while the seatbelt cut against his throat, choking him of the little air he had left. Weight settled against the back of his neck, tilting his face up until his delicate Adam’s Apple jutted into the steering wheel.

There was no coming back from this.

Miraculously, his glasses remained on, though one lens had shattered. Kyoya felt the shards on his cheek but couldn’t brush them away. He felt the blood drip on his hand, but everything else below his neck was numb, likely paralyzed. Waiting for the pressure against his spinal column to squeeze the rest of his nerves to asphyxiation, to snap and choke the life out of him.

He sunk his head into the steering wheel, awaiting the inevitable. He had no regrets about leaving the white space to find Tamaki, but now he was ready to go back. Ready to rest, be at peace, out of pain.

Once his breaths grew shallow, he mustered his last kindling of strength to gaze one last time at his beloved. Tamaki still hadn’t opened his eyes, but that dopey grin still stretched across his mouth. He reached out for Kyoya’s hand and caught it, intertwining their fingers. Intimate moments splayed through their minds, where they had clutched hands and cried, laughed, kissed, loved. And Kyoya didn’t know who to thank for allowing him this last mercy, but he thanked them anyways.

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

When they appeared in the white space, they were still holding hands.

The light was just as blinding as before, and everything was the same. Just a vast expanse of nothingness, a blank page, no definitive land or water, but they felt it, all the same. They knew if they took one more step, the current would pull them into whatever came next.

Tamaki squeezed Kyoya’s hand. Or, rather, his soul did. When Kyoya looked down, he saw no body, nor the blond he traversed Death to retrieve. But he felt his spirit, and as long as they were together, he didn’t care what happened.

The first thing he heard was Tamaki’s laugh. It pierced through death’s cotton and filled his ears and lungs with mirth, and when Kyoya breathed in, all he could feel was light, bright and happy and airy, so pure and beautiful he wondered how he had once survived on oxygen alone. The unadulterated essence of his soul, spouting from the one standing beside him.

“Kyoya, you mean to tell me that you left this?” Tamaki’s soul cried, tugging him to the shoreline.

Kyoya tripped suddenly, but Tamaki’s grip kept him stable as they rushed. He wanted to tell his beloved to wait, that they had all the time in the world and then some, and once they enter that sea, there’s no going back, but he knew even in death he was unlikely to listen.

He considered Tamaki’s question, then shook his head and allowed himself to be pulled forward. “What is there to leave?”

“Such beauty! Such radiance!” Tamaki resumed, his soul twirling around. “I saw your spirit leave, and then it came back...you left this for me?”

They reached the edge of the water. Though it all remained a vast expanse of white, Kyoya felt the warmth lapping at his toes. He jerked Tamaki’s hand back. Unsure of what was going to happen when they stepped in, he wanted to hold on to his last shreds of mortality, to keep Tamaki’s spirit close before eternity separated them.

“I know how you hate going places alone,” he said. “I supposed as in life, we would cross this threshold together, and perhaps meet again on the other side.”

Tamaki’s soul burned brighter, if that were even possible. Though he could not see him, he felt real, as palpable as the earth. He asked, “Tamaki, what does my soul look like to you?”

“Hmm.” The spirit dulled in thought. “I can’t really see you, but I feel you near. You feel...cool. Like shelter. Like a raincloud, or the moon. You are a Shadow King, my love, softer now than you were in life.”

Kyoya swallowed, hearing the curiosity in the next question. “What do I look like?” Tamaki’s soul asked.

“You are a ball of light,” he said. The spirit flamed. “You are warm beside me. You light my way. You have always been the light to my path, and I would be lost without you.”

Like a supernova, Tamaki became blinding, enough to hurt the eyes, a sign of the times, but Kyoya absorbed it, breathed in every bit of his lover’s happiness.

“Come,” Tamaki said, tugging Kyoya’s hand. They entered the water, and Kyoya heard the siren song once more. “Perhaps we shall be reincarnated as the sun and moon.”

They waded further into the white space. Once they hit waist-depth, Kyoya stopped again. He breathed it in, the last memory of his life, all he had done, all he had loved. Did he do enough? Had he succumbed to the pressure of his family? Had he matched the love Tamaki so selflessly poured into him?

His world was ending, and all he had accomplished didn’t matter. It couldn’t save him from pain, from the seatbelt cutting his arms and Death’s kiss against his neck. All his wealth scattered to the wind, his reputation buried with him, every business deal as worthless as the dirt beneath his feet. Was he enough? Had he done enough?

Tamaki’s soul squeezed his hand. “It’s time to go, Kyoya.”

Yes. It was enough.

Kofi

#ouran high school host club #tamaki suoh #kyoya ootori #tamaki x kyoya #tamakyo #kyotama #kyoya x tamaki #ohshc

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velociwrangler · 2 years

Text

happy mermay

My soul and mental health is a bit sucked dry at the moment but I want to work on stuff for Yun-Jin/Ji-Woon during MerMay

as I guess a bit of a teaser, a while back I wrote this for the indomitable scripsi as a birthday gift. It’s not strict ‘canon’ for the AllKill Mermaid AU, but it should suggest some of the mood/direction I aim to take the fic in.

content is spicy, erotic horror overtones, modern mermaid/siren AU. Might not make sense if you haven’t read the AU, I have a hard time gauging. I hope you enjoy.

"You can't frighten me," she says coldly. He makes a sound that is so deeply inhuman it's shocking to hear when he’s out of water, a ribcage-rattling thrum that makes her eardrums ache.

She starts dreaming again, those dark dreams where she's a mile down in dark water, choking and sinking. She wakes up weighed down, tasting salt and copper and her own terror in her mouth. Ever since that morning, it's hard to tell herself they're just dreams.

It gets harder every time she walks into the makeshift lab to find the techs have him up already and are running checks before letting him loose for the day. Every morning after one of her dreams, he's watching the door before she comes in, and he stares at her with unblinking, predatory patience. It doesn't matter how long she takes - carefully, deliberately - circling the floor, talking briefly to security, being shown a clipboard of the morning's vitals by a baffled tech. Gleaming yellow eyes track her without batting an eyelash, never breaking line of sight, never flinching.

It takes one night, when the dark water she thrashes in is disturbed by the muscular slide of scales along her bare legs and she feels something move up around her, twining like a boa constrictor, and she screams and screams and wakes up coughing up water and spasmodically kicking herself straight off the bed.

That day she confronts him in the elevator. The latest goon with earpiece and nondescript dark suit was held back by a lab tech. She has roughly two minutes before outside security meets them. Yun-Jin turns on him and steps into his personal space. Her makeup is flawless, no sign of the shadows under her eyes showing, but he smiles at her with gleaming sharp-toothed entertainment anyway: open delight, like a little boy pulling wings off flies. He reaches up to her face and she grabs his wrist and digs her nails in.

"What game are you trying to play?" Yun-Jin whispers harshly.

His lips part, but there's nothing taken aback about his expression. Instead it leaps with hungry light the same way it does when she challenges him on a new song and sings him a sample. The same way it does when she tells him briskly that the lab security might very well shoot him if he keeps pushing his luck.

She can't tell if it's bloodthirsty, contemptuous or something else entirely. She knows that it makes her recklessly step forward. He cedes the space gracefully, pink tongue curling behind sharp white teeth in a broadening razor-edged smile, and she realizes she's all but pinned him against the side of the elevator.

"You can't frighten me," she says coldly. His head dips to her and the smile grows colder. He makes a sound that is so deeply inhuman it's shocking to hear when he’s out of water, a ribcage-rattling thrum that makes her eardrums ache. Her eyes go wide, a chink in her armor she hadn't meant to show, and when she goes to step back and drag her composure back together he grabs a fistful of her silk shirt and drags her back again. She collides with his chest and bares her teeth in a snarl worthy of his shark teeth.

"Let go of me," she hisses.

The deep note shifts, vibrates through both of their chests. She feels the tremors roll down through her legs, sees the glow of his eyes almost taking up her whole vision. The full body shiver tightens her nipples and makes her press her thighs together, and she doesn't know if she wants to shove a thumb in his eye or arch up and bite his lower lip, drawing it into the hot suction of her mouth -

The elevator dings. She rips loose, wheeling to face the lobby. No one's looking, thankfully - it's an in-between dawn hour and there's a potted plant masking part of the doorway. Nothing she has time for will make her look perfectly composed. She retrieves her sunglasses and pushes them onto her face, tugs her shirt out a little more from her skirt until it rumples at her waist like a fashion choice.

"I'm not afraid of you," she says without looking at him, flicking stray hair out of her face and putting out a hand to block the elevator doors so she can finish. "And if you try to make life difficult for me, I can leave you to the tender mercies of Mr. Bak and his crew. They can find someone else or just dissect you, I don't care."

He chirrups like a fucking orca, sickly-sweet. "Liar," he says, and then adds, his Korean still subtly clipped in the wrong places but voice smooth and deep and warm, "and it wouldn't help you. I can find you anywhere."

She has no answer to that. She just strides into the lobby and leaves him behind, the rest of the security detail glancing between them with narrowed eyes but saying nothing as they flank him and allow her to put space between his soft laughter and her pounding pulse.

That night she dreams of a tail winding around her legs and then between them - forcing them apart - she dreams that a sharp-toothed mouth kisses her belly and sinks hot little bites into her hips and thighs - she dreams that she clutches his hair and it twines around her fingers and traps them like the tendrils of a sea anemone -

Yun-Jin dreams that deep under the black water he pushes a coiling tongue longer than any human's could be inside of her - that he rubs its textured base against her clit, and that when she comes, writhing and crying out, the ocean glides in and out of her lungs as smoothly as if she was born to breathe it.

#yun jin lee #ji woon hak x yun jin lee #ji woon hak #dead by daylight #dbd fic #fic tag #trickjin #is that the ship tag?

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mianavs · 4 years

Text

disclosing the truth

part 4 of Cathexis

a/n: a big reveal and another dangerous encounter with our favorite magician. plenty of Illumi to come in the next part

tw: smut

wc: 3k+

Cathexis

A night of fitful sleep awaited you after stripping off your dress, shoes, and makeup. Illumi visited your dreams that night, the way he usually did, except the dream was different. Your dreams of Illumi usually consisted of him walking beside you but, other times, he imprisoned you in the basement of his family’s estate on Kukuroo Mountain. This time was different in that you were in your current bed, immobile, and staring at him as he approached you. Illumi stoically reached out and brushed a lock of hair from your face while you stared utterly petrified. His hand traveled south until you felt a sharp pain behind your neck that blurred your vision and all you could make out was a cruel smile on Illumi’s beautiful face.

It was your last day at Heaven’s Arena. A call from your mother had come in that morning and you were summoned for a reunion back home. Immediately following her call, Hisoka called and asked to meet with you claiming it was important. While the little stunt he’d pulled the day before with his bloodlust had shaken you up, your impulsiveness overpowered your judgement and you agreed to meet him over lunch.

On the way to the café, your senses heightened and an overwhelming desire to not meet Hisoka overcame you. You pushed past your discomfort and approached the table where the magician sat. His smile was unusually genuine when you sat down but you matched it to the best of your ability despite the warning sirens going off in your head. Hisoka began making small talk but you were quick to cut him off; something that seemed to amuse him.

“I don’t have time, Hisoka, so if you could please cut to the chase and tell me what’s so important.” His brow quirked as he studied you until a text message flashed on your phone that captured his attention as well as yours. It was from your mother.

[Casual dinner at home. No need to wear the dress]

“Ah…you’re meeting with your family.” It wasn’t a question but you replied anyway hoping it would get him talking.

“Do you know who your family acquired the debt from?” His question caught you off guard but you didn’t like his insinuating tone and you grew irritated in a matter of seconds.

“No…I don’t.” Your body tensed uncomfortably at the grin that spread on his face. You didn’t like where the conversation was going but you couldn’t afford to lose Hisoka as a contact.

“…and wouldn’t you like to know?”

You sprang from your chair and a single word repeated in your mind as Hisoka’s grin turned sinister the longer you remained on your feet.

Leave

You disobeyed the voice in your head and sat back down. Hisoka could just be pulling a fast one on you but you still wanted to know—needed to know—what he said regardless if it was true or not. “Tell me what you know, Hisoka.”

“Have you ever felt as if you were being watched, Y/N?”

“Yes,” You answered wanting nothing more than to know what Hisoka knew and if it meant tearing down your act then so be it. “I know I’m being watched and I know who’s watching me.”

Surprise and something darker flashed on his face but it went as fast at it came and his face contorted to its usual smug expression. “But you don’t know why, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be here wasting my time with you if I did,” you answered bluntly. “But what do Illumi’s stalking tendencies have to do with my family’s debt?”

“Well Illumi told me the most interesting story yesterday. It was about a transaction that took place eighteen years ago between a family of assassins and a family of hunters. A betrothal between the hunter’s infant daughter and the assassin family’s eldest son instead of money for the debt owed to the assassins.”

The air thickened around you. You wanted to call him a liar and storm out of the establishment but you remained glued to your seat and processed everything he’d said. You opened your mouth to protest but the words died on your tongue. Denial and anger settled into your core and, in momentary weakness, your nen seeped out and enveloped you in wind gusts. It whipped your hair across your face and caused the table and its contents to shake. A scream from one of the patrons broke your fit of fury and your air settled then dissipated.

Hisoka frowned while you took a deep breath to relax and thought over the situation. It made no sense for Hisoka to lie about something like this. You thought about your parents and the parting advice they’d give you every time you parted ways:

“Always avoid assassins. They’re dangerous people.”

Did they want to avoid getting into more debt? If they debt was settled with a future engagement between you and Illumi, why work as hard as they did and make you follow in their footsteps as well? You got lost in your thoughts mulling over every interaction with your parents to recall some sort of hint of a betrothal with the Zoldycks. Nothing came to mind and you were more confused than ever until a possibility came to mind. Were your parents accumulating money to pay off the debt and liberate you?

“Looks like you’ve put two and two together,” Hisoka pointed out. You were about to leave but a startling thought crossed your mind that made you stop in your tracks.

“Does he know...we’re gathering the money to—”

“No, he doesn’t know.” Hisoka interrupted and the words left unsaid both startled and reassured you.

I didn’t tell him

You didn’t ponder too much on Hisoka’s motivations for not revealing your family’s possible scheme to Illumi simply because you didn’t have the head space for it at that moment. Uncovering Hisoka’s motivations would be a project for another time because you were certain that your paths would cross once again. While you were still shocked and upset by his revelation, you thanked Hisoka before leaving the café and heading home. You hoped your intuition was right and your parents were gathering money for that reason. If that wasn’t the case, however, you would need to prepare yourself for a life on the run because you doubted the Zoldycks would cross their arms and do nothing. They would do surely do what they did best; track you down and kill you.

Where the boisterous winds of your hometown had once filled you with joy, you headed straight to your ancestral home anxious about the conversation to come. There was nothing more important than uncovering the truth and with that in mind you bolted past the servants and grounds people stopping only when you were outside of your father’s study. With your heart thumping wildly in your chest, you knocked on the door twice and waited until your mother’s calm voice rang through the door.

“Come in, Y/N.”

Seeing your parents again after almost two years made your heart swell but the turmoil you were currently in stopped you from running into your mother’s arms. Instead you stood at the door with tears welling up in your eyes that cascaded down your face when a strangled cry voiced your distress.

“Is it true? Did you agree to marry me off to the Zoldycks?!”

They were too composed for your liking as if they’d expected you to find out about it on your own—like everything else in your life. However, this time you didn’t want to be on your own and wanted a normal life without an assassin betrothed and hunter parents you rarely saw.

“We promise you it will never come to that. We’ll pay off that debt even if we have to risk our lives.” Your father’s normally modulated voice was thick with emotion and it managed to expel your worst fears.

Your mother’s arms enveloped you and your father immediately joined her until they both held you in their arms each taking turns explaining everything to you. The debt your grandfather had accumulated from Zeno Zoldyck. The time the three of you were summoned to the Zoldyck mansion one day after your first birthday and your father was first made aware of said debt. With the three of your lives on the line, Zeno and Silva gave your father an ultimatum that he took while secretly vowing to dedicate the rest of his life to paying off the debt and saving you from a life as a Zoldyck wife.

Over the next three days, you and your parents counted the money you’d made since your last reunion and found out you were only a couple billion Jenny short of the original debt. You’d been relieved at first until your parents disclosed another aspect of your betrothal you hadn’t been aware of—the deadline of your engagement was your twentieth birthday. With your future at stake, you left home determined to take on as many jobs as you could and make enough money to cover the debt and any interest the Zoldycks would surely demand.

Your untarnished reputation among the jackpot community aided you in your efforts for employment and you were booked for three months straight. There was nothing more important than making money so you ended up ignoring Hisoka’s calls and texts. Illumi only checked up on you once, much less than before, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was due to your encounter in Heaven’s Arena. Whatever the case, he hadn’t confronted you which meant Hisoka was still keeping your family’s secret—that was until you received a text message from him after you’d finished a job.

[Getting tired of chasing you. Meet me in Swardani or I might have something to tell Illumi ♥]

Not knowing how Illumi felt about the betrothal made you anxious. He could either be your ally in ending the betrothal or your enemy and tell his family about your plan. In the end, you couldn’t risk it and set off to Hisoka’s hotel in Swardani.

You got to the lavish hotel late that evening and wondered if your parents still owned their condo in the city to avoid spending money on a motel room. On the way up to Hisoka’s room, a plethora of scenarios played out in your head about what Hisoka would want but the one that stood out the most was him seeking a payment of some sort for helping you. It was the most logical but his mercurial character made it difficult to predict what he would demand.

The door swung open before you could even knock with his honeyed voice inviting you in. You steeled yourself before stepping inside his suite and letting the door close behind you. Hisoka greeted you with damp hair and a towel wrapped around his waist. He led you to the sitting room where he took a seat and motioned you to so the same. As you followed him, you tried to look anywhere but his chiseled torso but your inexperience with men had you curiously staring at his chest, abdomen, and broad shoulders. The smugness on his face broke your trance and you focused on the matter at hand.

“What do you want, Hisoka?”

“I wanted to see my new favorite toy. I missed you, Y/N.” His spoke plain calling you what you were to him and you might have slapped him for it had you not been working against time. “I don’t have time for this. If there’s nothing else, I’m leaving.”

You stood up and walked away but Hisoka’s hand gripped your wrist and pulled you back. Ready to lash out at him, you stopped when you noticed his playful grin was gone and his mouth was set in a hard line. The voice in your head that warned you of danger begged you to leave but Hisoka’s bruising grip wouldn’t let up no matter how hard you tugged.

“Not so fast. You owe me, Y/N. You didn’t think I told you about Illumi expecting nothing in return, did you?” The singsong-y voice that contrasted his threatening words alarmed you and multiple scenarios played out in your mind on how to leave Hisoka’s presence without suffering too much damage.

“I have no money.�� You bit back and he chuckled, pulling you forward until you crashed against his hard form. Assaulted by the sweetness of his smell and the smoothness of his skin, you were defenseless against Hisoka’s mouth laying claim to your neck.

“There are other forms of payment, Y/N, and I just so happen to be a flexible creditor.” He purred against your ear. A wave of heat spurged from your core and spread to your torso and limbs.

“N-no!” Ripping yourself from the confines of his body, you staggered back a couple of steps. “You can’t— ”

“Ah, saving yourself for Illumi?” He laughed and it triggered your wrath.

You attacked first using Ko to focus your nen to your hand. Hisoka easily avoided your fist but it was the powerful winds of your nen technique that cut his skin. You avoided the blow Hisoka aimed at you and dashed to the door to leave, only to be dragged back by an invisible force that wrapped around your torse and your bruised wrist. You stopped breathing when, with the help of Gyo, you saw the pink stretchy material that connected you to its owner.

“I knew you’d be a fun toy to keep around. Now, let’s have fun.”

He gripped your head and attacked your lips in a bruising kiss. When you refused to respond no matter how much he sucked on your bottom lip, Hisoka bit down harshly and you gasped. His tongue delved into your warm mouth and a moaned escaped him that sent goosebumps all over your skin. Hisoka wasted no time in laying claim to your entire mouth, humming in pleasure when he lapped against your tongue and you let out a helpless moan. His kiss fogged your mind and all your thoughts focused on the warmth of Hisoka’s heavy tongue and the bubbling pleasure in your core. Before you knew it you were kissing him back, mimicking his tongue’s movement’s with your clumsy one but his responding moans encourage you to go further. Despite your bounded state, you pressed yourself against Hisoka with the primal need to feel his warmth overtaking your body and mind. Without warning, he pulled away from the kiss and the two of you were panting when his Bungee Gum disappeared and you were released.

“I won’t force you,” he offered, the seriousness of his tone catching you off guard. Your legs moved of their own accord and you found yourself walking toward the door with the voice in your head telling you to leave quickly. The ache in your core was still there, however, and the apex between your legs twitched angrily needing release. You had never done this with anyone but Hisoka’s touch left you hungry for more, so you whipped around and rushed to him, crashing your lips against his unexpecting ones.

Teeth clashed against teeth as you tried to match his fervor. Under normal circumstances, you would have been mortified from your inexperience but all reason was thrown out the window and you focused was on the budding heat from your sex and Hisoka’s tongue languidly trailing down your neck. He ran his hands down underneath your thighs and hoisted you up while you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his pink tresses. He groaned in approval when you tugged on his hair and he took you to his bed where he set you down.

The two of you stripped out of your clothes in seconds and tossed them aside before falling back onto the bed and finding each other’s lips once again. Hisoka pulled away after drawing blood from your bottom lip and settled in between your legs before sucking on a hardened nipple while flicking and pinching the other with his fingers. You shook like a leaf from his ministrations on your breasts and whined when he released your swollen nipple with a pop. Amused by your frustrated whines he traveled down your stomach leaving a trail of wet kisses and bite marks. You hoisted yourself up your elbows to see where Hisoka was going only to fall back on the bed when he flattened his tongue and lapped there.

“AH!”

“Mmm!”

Jolts of pleasure shot up your body. You arched your back and trembled as Hisoka licked, bit, and teased your bundle of nerves. The pleasure that had been building since you stepped into Hisoka’s suite finally erupted with one last bite on your clit and the release you’d been chasing washed over you and left you trembling from the aftereffects.

The daze you were in left you vulnerable for Hisoka to have his way with you and you only snapped out of it when he buried his large cock in your tight warmth.

“AH! H-hurts—it hurts!”

Tears dotted your eyes from the painful stretch but Hisoka paid them no mind. He bottomed out until his heavy balls slapped your skin while you gripped the sheets and cried. You searched for any semblance of compassion in Hisoka’s amber eyes but they were clouded in lust as he bore holes into your own—he was lost in his pleasure and yours was no concern of his.

When the pain did subside, you wrapped your shaky legs around his waist to bring some much-needed friction to your clit. While Hisoka selfishly chased his release, you worked on yours by greedily grinding your hips against his. The friction coupled with Hisoka’s slow deep thrusts had your cunt creaming and every time he pulled out, a sheen of white covered his thick cock that he admired before slamming it back inside.

Hisoka was an insatiable lover and you quickly lost count how many times the two of you came that night. Each time his warm release coated your walls and trickled out of you when he pulled out, the sight of you, a trembling and moaning mess, caused his cock to grow hard again and he’d plunge it back inside you.

When he finally had his fill of you, Hisoka collapsed on the bed next to you humming in satisfaction. You lied next to him until your body relaxed and breathing evened out. Sticky cum covered your aching legs and you wanted nothing more than to clean it off and leave. Gritting your teeth, you slowly shifted your legs towards the edge of the bed until they dangled off and touched the ground.

You hissed as your body screamed in pain from the unwanted movement, but you were determined to leave that night—at least until Hisoka’s arm shot out and pulled you back down on the bed.

“Ah! What are—”

“Just stay. It’s late and your body is sore.” He murmured before turning around and closing his eyes.

The voice in your head vehemently opposed Hisoka’s proposal but he had a point, your body was in no shape to move let alone walk the long way to your parent’s condo or a motel. You sighed in defeat and burrowed yourself in the sheets, your back to Hisoka, before eventually succumbing to sleep.

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years

Text

The Next One’s on You 5/5

A/N: This is it my loves, the end of our tale. Thank you so much for supporting my small idea and coming back each time to read more. I have loved reading every single comment and it means the world to me that you loved this story as much as I have. Thank you.

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + for language, violence - assault, attempted murder. Mention of abortion.

Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @maxlordsgf

My Masterlist

Chapter 5: Decaf Coffee

You jump at the sound of knuckles rasping sharply on the back door. No one would be knocking at the back door if they were customers. Which left you with only a few choices; your family, Giselle, or…. You slowly rise. Feet chilled against the tiled floor, as you walk closer to the door. The knocking gets more insistent as you get closer. Hand shaking you reach toward the handle and flick the lock, pulling the door open slowly. Heart pounding so hard you worry it’s going to jump out of your chest.

The alley is dark and…empty. Your heart sinks and you can faintly hear footsteps walking back toward the street. A muffled curse from far away and you clear your throat and let out a hoarse “hello?” The footsteps stop and then come pounding back on the pavement toward you. Louder and louder until a figure appears in the dark and stands in the shadows watching you. “Who are you?” you ask exhaustedly.

He steps into the light and your breath catches in your throat before your heart turns cold. “What the fuck do you want?” you hiss, lips turning down, and defenses rising.

“I come with a message for you,” Tom steps out of the shadow, “Mrs. Lord sent me this for you,” he hands out a check and you step further into the shop moving to slam the door.

“Why would that devil woman want to give me money?!”

His hand shoots out to grab the door as you move to close it and he wedges a foot to keep it ajar. “Just fucking listen to me you bitch,” he grunts as you try to shut the door. But it’s to not avail he shoves the door open and stands their panting.

“What else?! What else could she possibly want with me? She took the love of my life away, ruined our wedding, and slandered my name in front of hundreds of people!” you shout angry tears pooling in your eyes. “If she thinks she can pay me off and I will go away quietly, she is fucking crazier than I thought she is!”

“She’s wants you to get an abortion! She paid all of those people to lie for her, this shouldn’t really come as a shock. You're just the last loose end she needs tied up. Can’t have you walking around with a kid that looks just like her son.”

The blood rushes from your face and you feel cold. The audacity of this woman is unreal. You quietly reach for the outstretch check and the air from the door wafts inside chilling you to the bone. You rip it in half then again and again until the pieces fall like confetti onto the ground. You look Tom in the eyes and sigh, “You can tell her I said to fuck off.”

You’re so exhausted from today and you turn from the door. Tom doesn’t leave but instead walks into the room, you can feel him behind you as you lean down and reach for your shoes. You turn around suddenly when you hear a loud grunt and Tom falls to the floor hard, Maxwell is beating the shit out of him. His knuckles turning bloody as he lands blow after blow on Tom’s face. “Maxwell!” you scream stepping closer and in the corner of your eye you see the gun on the floor.

Fuck. Tom was going to… You grab the gun and point it towards Tom as Maxwell goes feral. “Maxwell,” you gasp as Tom loses consciousness, but he doesn’t stop, landing blow after blow. You drop to your knees next to him and place a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “Maxwell, baby, you got him.” He stills under your touch breathing heavy, a sheen of sweat upon his brow. His eyes wild, one of them blackened as he turns to you.

It’s like the whole day was some awful nightmare as he runs his hands and eyes all over your body, checking for any injury. “Are you ok?” he pants pulling you into his chest.

His arms feel like the home you were so sure to have lost today and you nod. You’re tears sinking into the lapels of his jacket. “What the?” a voice asks behind you and you turn in his arms to see your father standing there looking down on the scene.

“He was going to kill her,” Maxwell’s arms tighten around you, “I heard everything…he confessed to all of it. My mother paid this fucker to kill her. He was...he was…” Maxwell tightened his grip around you to the point of discomfort, but you didn’t dare let him go.

“Watch her, I’m going to go call the police,” your father took off towards the desk in the back corner and his voice muffled as he pressed the phone between his cheek and shoulder and spoke quickly into the receiver.

“I’m sorry,” you heard Maxwell cry against your neck, “I’m so fucking sorry. I let all those people…I let her get in my head and when she brought up the baby…I…I’m so sorry.” His tears soaked the fabric of your dress as he sobbed into your neck.

You pulled away and held his cheeks, brushing away his tears, “I can’t forgive you right now,” your voice cracked on the end, “but we will talk about this. You don’t get to just walk away from me and get away with it.” He nods through blurry eyes, taking in your features.

“I can do that….I know…I know I hurt you and I don’t expect you to forgive me right away, but I have to know, do you still love me?” The CEO behind the infomercials, the money, the press is standing before you as nothing more than a man. His insecurities shining through and blinding you. You tremble in his arms.

“You’re an idiot…” he hangs his head, “Of course I still love you. It will take a lot more than your psycho mother to take me away from you.”

His head snaps up, he surges forward and kisses you deeply holding your cheeks like they're made of precious glass. Breaking away as the sounds of sirens blare out around you, he puts his forehead against your own, “I love you, so much. I promise no one will ever take me away from you again.”

The police come barreling through the door and arrest Tom. The EMT takes you out to the ambulance and checks over your blood pressure, heart rate, and for any signs of shock. Your father stays with you while the officer takes down Maxwell’s statement, another officer taking down yours. When they leave you an EMT wraps Maxwell’s hands up and tells him to follow up with his physician.

“Did he tell you what happened?” your father asks holding you against his chest, a warm arm around you. You shake your head no and he sighs, “Well I won’t reveal too much but…I did get a good punch in on the son of a bitch.” You gasp and look up at him.

“You punched him in the face?” He smiles and nods.

“You bet your ass I did and I would do it again in a heartbeat, he hurt my little girl. No one hurts my little girl, that Tom’s a lucky bastard that I didn’t get to him first or else they would be loading him into a body bag and not an ambulance.”

You look at your father with wide eyes and go to ask, but Maxwell comes over interrupting the moment. “They said we are free to go, they need us to come down to the station in the next few days and write out our statements.”

“Sounds like a plan,” your dad turns to you, “Do you want to come back to the hotel with your mother and I?”

You look over and Maxwell who is watching you with apprehension, shaking your head no. “No, I want to go home with Maxwell. We need to talk, I don’t want to go to sleep with everything that happened today hanging over us.”

“Ok honey,” he pulls you close for another hug before glaring at Maxwell, “take care of my daughter,” he warns and Maxwell nods reaching for your hand.

You let him take it as you both watch your dad walk off. “Let’s go home,” he pulls you toward the black town car idling on the sidewalk. Opening the door himself and sliding in beside you. Jeeves looks at you and smiles before pulling away from the curb and heading home. The press are at the gates and luckily the windows are tinted and you can get safe into the house.

No one greets you when you get to the house and you feel relieved. Maxwell leads you both to the kitchen and you sit at the table in the corner. The table that held so many memories for you both and he puts on a pot of coffee. Silent as he moves around the kitchen and pulls out a plate wrapped with sandwiches. He brings both over to the table and you push the coffee away reaching for the sandwich and taking a tentative bite.

“It’s decaf,” he pushes the cup toward you again, “I remember reading once caffeine isn’t good for pregnant women.” Enveloping his own cup with his hands and lowering his gaze to the table.

You reach for the cup and feel it warm you up as you watch him. He’s putting himself through hell. His head bent down and shoulders sagged, he has the look of a man defeated, and that is not the Maxwell Lord you know. “Maxwell,” you sigh reaching for his hand, “what happened after I left?”

He clasps both hands around yours and strokes patterns over the skin. “After you...left,” he swallows, “everything fell apart. People who were silent before stepped forward saying my mother had tried to bribe them and that they told her no. I confronted her and she cracked admitting nothing aloud but everything in her eyes. When I went to leave to follow you, your father decked me in the face and told me I had better fix everything. He told me that a blind man could see how much you loved me. We left together and Jeeves refused to tell us where he took you.”

“Why?”

“When I ordered him too, he snapped at me and asked if I hadn’t already done enough. Wouldn’t even tell your father. You have more people that support and love you then you think.”

He gets very quiet and looks down again, “I failed you, baby.”

He gets up and paces around the kitchen and you watch him, letting him sort out his emotions. He moves toward the fridge and pulls out a paper cup like one from the coffee shop, bringing it over to the table and placing it in front of you.

“What’s this?” you move to grab it and open it seeing a creamy white liquid, smelling sickly sweet. “Is this...is this a latte?”

He nods, “I bought it after I left the church and I carried it around for hours while I searched for you. I...I know you can’t forgive me right now because the way I treated you today was...fucked up. But, maybe we can start over. Do you remember how we met?”

Tears swell in your eyes and your voice cracks, “You were a complete asshole...and I threw a latte in your face.” He gives you a watery chuckle.

“Well I have been a complete and total moron again, and I think I deserve a lot more than a latte thrown in my face but…”

You take the cup in your hand and open it, getting up and walking over to the sink and pouring it down the drain. Turning to him, “I forgive you. I love you. And if you ever pull some shit like that again, we are gone.” He walks over to you and drops to his knees before you. Reaching forward and tracing his hands over your barely visible bump raising your shirt, and placing his lips on your bare skin.

“I will never let anyone ever hurt you again, especially me.” He looks up into your eyes and you fall to your knees before him getting swept into his arms.

“You promise?” your voice trembles.

“I promise.”

Would you be interested in me continuing this series?

I think they need a redo wedding, maybe some pregnancy fluff, baby stuff?

Let me know and thanks for reading.

#maxwell lord #Maxwell Lord x reader #female reader #Pedro Pascal #Wonder Woman #Wonder Woman 1984 #ww84 #The next ones on you series #Autumn Writes

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jaredstrout · 3 years

Text

broken from the start

“Run...it´s her!”

the men and women scattered in wild panic. Planetina stared at the crowd, so full of fear and disgust...all directed at her. Since her meltdown at the coalmine word of her deed had spread. A few were enthusiastic about her action...most sounded like Morty, or worse.

Only to think of him made Planetina feel a sharp pain in her chest and her eyes closed as she pushed back the dampness that had formed. In the meantime people quickly left, leaving her alone in the street. She had been used to have people cheer for her, look at her in awe, just like Morty had on their first encounter. She had not seen this change coming and while she could still not udnerstand why they cared so much for some murderers, who lived off picking on the flesh and bone of the world under their feet...she could see that Morty had understood something she had not. And her confidance in her righteousness and purity of her path had started to waver.

She only saw this one path, had only one goal to live for now...even Morty had been, to some degree, been an extension of her goal to save the world. Without him though...she felt empty. Saving the world was still important...yet it felt like a role she played, without feeling it anymore. The hero had turned into an actor and she hated her role more and more these days...but what else was there for her? What place in this dying world did she have?

“I´m broken” she whispered into the empty street.

“So am I” answered a familiar voice behind her, that send a jolt of emotions through Planetina. She turned around and there he was...Morty. He didn´t look good. Dark rings udner his eyes and the sparkle she had admired so much in his gaze was gone. It hurt to see him, even more so in this state. Guilt, anger, sadness and confusion flickered through her. Why was he here. She wanted to ask a question, but found herself unable to make a sound, facing him after weeks? Months? She had lost any idea how long it had been...how long since she had felt happy for the last time, or even since she had felt like herself.

“I...I´m sorry.” Morty said. The deep green eyes of Planetina widened as the young man in front of her looked at her with a sadness, that made her own feel small. “I...I mean it was wrong...but I´m not one to judge you.” he made a step towards her, then dropped a bag from his shoulder and hesitated. She wanted to step forwards, wrap her arms around him and tell him everything was okay, but they both knew nothing was, nothing never would be again.

So she remained silent, while Morty swallowed, looked away from her in something, that looked like shame. “I too...I too have blood on my hands.”

Shocked silence followed. Her mouth opened and closed again. “What?” she managed to say finally...not a great first word for him, but she could not believe what he had said. Morty looked at her again, those big, soft hazel eyes beamed agony. “You know my grandpa Rick? He...he threw the can that I put in the recycle bin.” Of course she remembered, the can had brought them together, what a bittersweet memory it had become. But what had he to do with this? “It is a long story, but we travel a lot...outside of Earth I mean...even outside of this universe, so to say.” now Planetina could only stare at him in disbelief. And then...she started to understand. He had always been different, she had felt it before she even arrived to fight Diesel Weasel. Was it that? “I don´t say I understand...but I do believe you.” she admitted then and a faint smile showed on the young man´s face. “Good...because I ended on a planet, where they purge...like the movie...oh Jeez you probably didn´t see that.” Planetina frowned. She had heard of it and indeed, she didn´t like what she had heard. “I think I know what you mean...so they killed each other there?” she asked and Morty nodded. “Yes and tried to kill us as well and I...I killed them in return.”

Planetina nodded. “I see, so you...” she started but he shook his head. “I was killing people who tried to kill me, yes. And then I went overboard and kept killing those who didn´t...I...I was under the effects of a drug that induced aggression. But it were still my hands that slaughtered them...I...I know how it feels.” he said. Planetina was somehow uncertain how to react. She had seen Morty as that innocent young man, eyes full of dreams and heart of hope. This darkness was scaring her and yet he was talking to her...talking about understanding her, or not? Hope made her step a bit closer to Morty, she almost reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, but she didn´t dare. Things still stood between them.

He sighed. “So I could not sleep for a long time and then I remembered something you had said, about them not allowing you to watch the news.”

She grimaced. “Because they were concerned I´d go crazy.” Plenatina spread her arms in a gesture towards the empty street. Sirens could be heard, probably someone had decided to let the police handle the ravaging beast, she thought with a sour taste in her throat. Morty shook his head. “It was so you only knew about disaster when they got paid to send you out.”

While she was shocked the young man turned his head as the police came closer. The cars came into sight. “Let us talk somehwere else...I´ll drive.” he said casually and before she knew what happened, Morty had grabbed her hand and the bag he had dropped earlier and led the still shocked and a bit impressed Planetina to the nearby car thing, that he had been in during her confrontation with Diesel Weasel.

“I can just fly...I could take you with me, if you want” she offered, but Morty just gave her a soft smile. “Today I will carry you” he said as he opened her the door and gestured her towards the seat. With an eyebrow risen Planetina decided to get in, even if she wondered how he was gonna confront the police, that was now getting closer and probably had their guns ready. She was not afraid of bullets, but Morty...he could easily get hit by a bullet meant for her...and that was an image she didn´t want to see, not even after the painful breakup.

And then he surprised her as the thing lifted off the ground. “Morty...how?” she started. “It´s my grandpa´s...don´t worry. He won´t miss it...he´s blackout drunk and even if he notices something, he will assume he went on a trip and forgot about it...he does that often these days.” Morty said, the last part almost a whisper.

Now she did lay a hand on his shoulder and and was rewarded with a sad smile from Morty. It was not much, but in her situation this smile was like a sunrise after a long, cold night.

#rick and morty #planetina #Headcanon #morty #part 1?#shall I try to go on?

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therenlover · 4 years

Text

It’s Always Been You (Part Three of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: After a month of adapting to his new universe, Peter Maximoff can confidently say that he likes his new life more than his old one. Sure, he misses home sometimes, but he’s been far too busy flirting with his new roommate to spend time crying over the things he’s lost. Everything is smooth sailing until a strange journal in his roommate’s study leaves him with more questions than he knows what to do with. Now he’s on a mission to discover who he’s really living with before she has the chance to turn against him.

Tags: Angst, Secrets, Exposition, Pre-Relationship, Predestination/Soulmates, Post-Wandavision

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language, Brief Mentions of Torture/Past Trauma, Minor Character Death

Word Count: 8600~

This has been crossposted as a two-chapter fic on my AO3 under the same name

------

A/N: For this fic series, the events of Endgame take place in Late September/Early October, so Wandavision takes place in late October. Also, Thor is about 3500 and Loki is about 3000. This has no bearing on their appearance or stories, it’s just older than they are in MCU cannon.

Peter couldn’t tell when exactly the mirage started falling apart.

It hadn’t come down all at once but instead dissolved in slow waves that culminated into a disastrous reveal when the pieces stopped fitting together. Part of him wished he could go back to living the lie when every day was filled with the sweet rose-tint of ignorance. Unfortunately, there was no way back to the way things were before, only a long road forward.

Not everything had been bad. In fact, most of the first month was quite the contrary.

After his disastrous run-in with the Sorcerer Supreme, a man he now knew as Stephen Strange, Y/N had taken him on a tour of the city, pointing out all of the places he should avoid at all costs. The list wasn’t particularly long, but once he knew where to stay away from he felt fully comfortable to roam the city at his own leisure. That opened up a whole new window of opportunities for Peter to have fun.

The city itself wasn’t as scummy as it had been when Peter was living there at X-Mansion. He still vividly remembered the last time he and Jubilee had taken a trip into the city, watching the prostitutes roaming around Times Square as they passed through on the way to some deli Kurt had recommended to her. Now, everything felt slightly safer and much more staged for tourists. Besides that, though, much to Peter’s surprise, there were very few changes. Of course, there were the massive new skyscrapers run by what he had gathered to be either the rich good guys or the rich bad guys (he hadn’t quite been able to figure out which when Y/N had explained it to him) but if he just pretended they weren’t there, this new New York could pass for his old New York pretty easily.

Strangely, Peter found he enjoyed living in this universe’s New York more than he’d enjoyed living back at the X-Mansion. He had freedom now. Freedom to roam the city with no curfew, freedom to get food from the kitchen at all hours of the day, freedom to spend as much time as he wanted lazing around the house playing Space Invaders in his room… life in the brownstone was paradise. Every moment was crafted to meet his exact needs. Flawless. Picture perfect in every way... Too perfect.

If Peter was forced to pinpoint where things started to go wrong, it would be the first time he noticed how Y/N’s whole universe seemed to bend at his whims.

He hated to say that Y/N was the epicenter of the problem. In fact, she was what, in all honesty, gave Peter the most happiness in his day-to-day life. Sure it was nice to spend time alone in his room binging twinkies to keep his blood sugar up, but that seemed pathetic when he compared it to Y/N knocking softly on his door and offering a plate of whatever delicious meal she had come up with at the time. Some days she would lure him out of whatever project he had taken on to show him new movies he had missed in the time jump between universes. On other days, when Peter was feeling cooped up in the house, she would take him to Central Park for cheap hotdogs so they could spend the afternoon watching the seals (which had been Peter’s guilty pleasure as a local ever since he moved into X-Mansion). No matter what, Y/N offered Peter exactly what he didn’t know he needed at every turn looking damn good as she did it.

Now that was a whole different bag of worms that Peter didn’t like to look into too deeply. Y/N was just… stunning. Everything about her seemed to call to him, a perfect siren’s song luring him closer every time he saw her. She never failed to make Peter laugh. She also took time out of her day to help him learn new things, like how DVDs worked, with all the empathy in the world. Even though she was beautiful to look at and wonderful in every way, Peter found himself attracted to the smallest things about her more than anything else. Her smile, her cooking, the way she danced to her record player when she thought he wasn’t around.

Peter had trouble putting the feeling into words. He could only imagine it was the first stages of love.

The real kicker was that she liked him! Liked him in a way he had never been liked before. It was as if, in her eyes, he could do no wrong. She laughed at his jokes and pulled him closer when he gravitated to her side and came home with little gifts she found during the day that he always found he loved. Peter’s flaws weren’t chided but instead embraced. He always felt cared for at her side.

There were some imperfect things about Y/N, though.

They weren’t large, not at first, but as time passed the small fissures in her facade grew into gaping cracks. They served as the stems from which all of his current problems grew. The biggest original fissure was just how jumpy she was.

99% of the time Y/N was cool and confident. Peter thought she wouldn’t be out of place working as a lawyer or politician. That should have been the first flag in and of itself, but that didn’t matter. What did matter is that the other 1% of the time, which seemed to be triggered randomly by things Peter said or did, she was like a deer in headlights. She would freeze, panic, and only return to normalcy several minutes after Peter either dropped the subject or clarified whatever he said. Once Peter caught on to how strange that was, other odd things about Y/N began to show through in day-to-day life.

Things like knowing facts about Peter that she shouldn’t know.

The first time she brought him home his favorite candy he assumed she had just guessed correctly, but then she brought him a VHS of his favorite movie. And bought his favorite foods when she went out shopping that Peter was sure she hadn’t bought before. And took him to a fancy Manhattan leather store to buy a very obviously custom-made silver leather jacket that she just so happened to see in the window.

He would always thank her profusely, just glad to get things he enjoyed, and remark on how odd it was for her to know him so well after such a small about of time. Y/N would just smile and chalk it up to intuition. Intuition could only count for so much.

Y/N did other, smaller strange things as well, but Peter couldn’t say he noticed them much until after he confronted her. He simply assumed she only ate at certain restaurants because she was a picky eater, and avoided cars because she wanted to save the environment. She could have just been an average person who just so happened to use gilded silverware and have a spectacular, museum-quality collection of odd, assorted antiques sitting around her perfectly-furnished, historical brownstone that she was able to comfortably live in while working a relatively low paying job…

Peter had never been known for his smarts, but looking back, even he was disappointed that he hadn’t seen the signs sooner. Love is blind and it also blinds. His eyes only opened when he found the journal.

The illusion fell apart on a Wednesday afternoon.

It was cool, with the crisp late-autumn breeze leaving a slight chill present throughout the day. The sky had turned grey, not from rain yet, just from the general gloom of the season. Peter didn’t mind. He was looking forward to the first big thunderstorm in his new home.

Y/N had left for work in the morning with a spring in her step and a smile on her lips. On her way out the door, they had flirted a little more than usual, and as a result, Peter had been thinking about her for the rest of the day. He was too busy thinking about the way she had ruffled his hair while she passed him on the couch to do anything of value with his time but much too bored to stand still. His compromise? Snooping.

There was a little study on the first floor that served as a workspace and library for the household. It wasn’t off limit’s by any means, but it was the last place left that Peter hadn’t explored since moving in (besides Y/N’s room, of course). Something, whether it was boredom or suspicion pushed Peter to go inside and explore. He promised himself it would only be for a minute.

Once he stepped inside, his plans changed.

The moment he walked past the door’s threshold it was like a wave of warmth had washed over him. Every bit of the autumn chill that had made its way into the old bones of the rest of the house was seemingly absent from the library. Peter quirked up an eyebrow. Slowly, he stepped back out of the room.

Instantly the chill was present again.

He stepped forward. Warm.

Backward. Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

Warm.

Cold.

To an onlooker he would have seemed crazed, speeding in and out of the doorway with his powers trying to find a logical explanation for the phenomenon. To Peter, though, it was like he had finally cracked the code. This was proof… okay, so a room being warm didn’t prove anything, Peter didn’t even know what it would be proof of, but something about it satisfied the constant anxiety that had been pooling in his stomach in the weeks since he had moved in. From that moment on he was fixated on finding out what was so special about the library and what it had to do with him.

Once he had steeled his emotions, he finally re-entered the room for the final time, letting himself acclimate to the comforting heat that seemed to radiate from everywhere inside while taking a look around.

At first glance, it was just a nicely decorated office. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined 3 of the 4 walls, with the remaining wall opposite the door left free to make room for a small, mahogany roll top desk that sat proudly in the center of the room on the matching wood flooring. There was some decoration on the far wall, though. Above the desk, spanning the entire length of the wall were 5 large portraits of men. They seemed to loom over the room, their eyes boring holes into whoever entered, but something about them seemed more melancholy than threatening.

“Creepy,” Peter whispered to himself as he took another step into the room, gazing up at the paintings, "really fucking creepy,"

The first portrait seemed to be the oldest of the group by far, with the paint piled on thick as if the artist had to correct themselves multiple times over while they worked. It featured a Greek or Roman soldier, dressed in shining gold armor while they bared a wolflike girn and held up a jug of wine towards the painter. It wasn’t period accurate- Peter was pretty sure a typical canvas wouldn't have held up since the greek days, and that realism didn’t really exist in paintings back then -but there was a life in the soldier’s eye that made him wonder what circumstances had inspired the subject to pose as he did.

The next three portraits, in comparison, were a bit bland. They were all pretty formal and seemed to have been done around the same time. All three frames held their own well-dressed dandy with small differences separating them. The first man had a little Gomez Addams pencil mustache, the next wore a military uniform and a sly smile, and the last was dressed in an ill-fitting suit while looking about 5 minutes from death. There could have been more differences, but Peter brushed over them quickly in favor of the final painting.

Portrait number five was, very obviously, the newest of the collection, featuring a modern man, probably 18 or 19, posing goofily on a chair Peter recognized as Y/N’s preferred sitting chair in the living room. Surprisingly, that wasn’t what caught his eye. Peter found himself gaping at the man’s face.

It was almost like looking through a funhouse mirror. Peter saw echoes of himself in the subject; the silver-blonde hair, the cheeky smirk on his face, the skid marks on the bottom of his worn sneakers. Hell, if it weren’t for the light five o’clock shadow dusting the man’s jaw Peter probably would have mistaken it for himself.

Something about the painting was both hypnotizing and sickening. Its pull was so strong that Peter only noticed he was getting closer when he knocked into the desk, sending a pile of papers falling to his feet. As he gathered them he could feel the eyes of the men above him on his back, urging him to look closer, dragging him into their strange gravitational field. Peter probably would have been more worried about the paintings before he saw the papers, though.

There, written in Y/N’s handwriting with brilliant red ink on the first page of a small, leather-bound journal, was one word: Magneto.

Peter’s heart stopped.

Nobody, especially in a whole other universe, should know about his father except him. It was a secret he was sure he hadn’t mentioned even when the FBI had interrogated him. Hell, Raven had taken the secret to her grave even despite her complicated relationship with Erik.

A deep pit of rage began to burn in Peter’s stomach. Who was Y/N? How the hell did she find out who Magneto even was? Worst of all, why didn’t she mention it to him?

Without even thinking about what he was doing Peter opened the journal to the next page and began reading. He was going to find out what Y/N was hiding if it was the last thing he ever did.

October 4th, 2023,

I returned from purgatory today. “The Snap” has been reversed and Thanos has been defeated, thankfully with little cost. If that was death, I hope I never have to face it again. Tony is still weak, as am I, but both of us will live to see another day thanks to my gifts. I hope Howard knows I fulfilled my promise and protected his son.

While I was in the in-between, the grey place between worlds, I saw Magneto again. He seemed strangely at peace with himself. Hopefully, this means there will be no trouble with him in the future.

Once we hold a proper funeral for the lost the real work begins. Tonight, though, I am glad to be alive.

His father’s name appeared, but the rest of the entry was confusing. Peter kept reading.

October 7th, 2023,

We held the funeral today. I still despise Thor with everything within myself, but he and I held a small memorial for his brother once Clint had been properly buried and eulogized. He offered a poor apology for the hostile takeover of my home, but I accepted nonetheless. It’s what Loki would have wanted. Besides, his bastard father is already dead and his home has been destroyed, so Asgard’s power over Alfheim is nonexistent. Perhaps now that things here have calmed down I’ll visit my mother and father again...

I tried talking to Wanda but she refuses to speak to me. She doesn’t understand that even though I foresaw Vision’s passing, I couldn’t stop it. The same goes for her brother. If I were her, I would hate me too. I’ll try calling her again later this week once she can properly mourn. Until then, all I can do is wait.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

He had to reach out and steady himself on the desk to keep from wobbling when he was reminded of his time in the Hex. His memories of the time were misty, clouded around the edges as he was puppeteered through a charade, but the pain, both mental and physical, was still sharp even a month later. If he pretended it had never happened life was easy but when he accepted the week or so he spent in Westview it took his mind to a dark place. Unfortunately, there was now no way to both ignore his time in Westview and pull the wool out from in front of his eyes.

He trudged forward, stomach in knots, praying that Y/N hadn’t been involved.

October 9th, 2023,

Steve almost destroyed our timeline this morning.

He had originally been assigned to return the stones to their respective places in the past, but thankfully I saw his bullshit plan before he was able to put it into action. It took both Sam and James to restrain him, but Natasha returned the stones and was able to come back to the present before he could escape. He’s still mourning Peggy and has decided to hang up the shield for the moment while he figures himself out, but James is there for him as he has always been. I am jealous in the best of ways.

Wanda still hasn’t taken any of my calls, but Stark insisted I shouldn’t worry.

I will return home today for the first time since I was revived. It scares me. My visions always get clearer when I’m there. I’m afraid that somewhere in the past five years something terrible could have happened that I never even knew about. I suppose the only way of knowing is to wait and see. Hopefully, I will be able to shelf my powers for a couple of decades soon. Seeing and preventing the future is tiring.

October 22nd, 2023,

Pietro visited me in a dream today.

He was dead, bleeding through his clothes as I held him and wept, and yet he was there sitting next to me too. I apologized like I always do. This time, though, he forgave me.

I don’t fully understand what the dream was supposed to signify but he rested his head on my shoulder just like old times and told me he knew. I asked what he was talking about and he said he knew he was going to die when he did, and that it wasn’t my fault.

I turned to ask him why he was telling me that and he was gone. I held his body until I woke up.

Nothing is clear to me yet, but something has changed. There’s been a shift in the energy of the world. Maybe Pietro was trying to warn me… or maybe things are finally falling into place. I can only wait.

October 25th, 2023,

Wanda has a whole town hostage.

She’s wielding chaos magic.

Pietro was an omen

This is all my fault.

Peter clutched his chest as he fought for air. His head was spinning

Y/N could see the future. When taking that and whatever light-based magic she used at the museum into consideration, Peter had no clue what she was capable of. Hell, she might have even more power hiding up her sleeve.

Worse than that, she knew his real name. She had never called him Pietro, not once, and yet she wrote about him like she knew him. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was writing about this universe’s Pietro, but he shut it down quickly. She would have told him if she knew something about his counterpart. Right? Right? He pocketed the idea. Y/N could be capable of anything.

Underestimating her could prove deadly.

There was one last journal entry, boldly written in the same red as the others but scrawled much messier as if it had been done in a hurry. Peter had to force himself to focus on the words as he shook from a healthy mix of fear and rage.

November 1st, 2023,

Jimmy called me today. Peter is here.

Well, not here yet, but he’s here. He called to ask if I could take in a superpowered individual who he had in witness protection. The moment the words reached me I could see them walking in, Jimmy and Peter. My Peter. I accepted, of course. Only 5 hours left to go until they arrive. Surprisingly, journaling is doing little to calm my nerves.

I shouldn’t be this afraid. I know the outcome. I’ve been preparing to meet him for almost 3000 years now. Still, I can’t help but think the next 5 hours will be the longest of my whole existence.

His room is already set up, as it has been for a long time, but I should dust before he gets here so it doesn’t look like I was waiting for him. If I know anything, I know that Peter cannot know about what I am or what he means to me. This burden shall be mine to bear alone.

Is it selfish to hope that he never goes home? Even if it is, I deserve to be a little bit selfish.

Four and a half hours left. Just a little more time until he’s home and safe. I’ll be counting every second.

The journal fell from Peter’s hands with a dull thud.

At that moment, the front door opened.

“Hey, Peter! I’m home, and I brought dinner,” Y/N’s voice was bright as she stepped past the threshold, “where are you?”

“The study,” he called back, “we need to talk,”

Peter could almost hear Y/N’s breath hitching in the other room. Then, silence. All of the warmth that had flowed so abundantly from every nook and cranny of the study moments before seemed to drain away, leaving the room lifeless and cold. All the while the eyes of the painted men watched on like sentinels above the world of man.

A minute passed, maybe two, but soon enough Y/N had appeared in the doorway, eyes cast down to the floor where the journal had fallen from Peter’s grasp. She smiled sadly. “I’m guessing you found my journal,”

He didn’t give her the indulgence of a verbal reply.

“How much did you read?” She whispered, walking past Peter and sitting down on the small, rolling office chair that rested in front of the desk.

“All of it,” he muttered back.

Peter had never been one for confrontation. It was in the nature of his power to want to run from things, and run from them fast. He ran from his bullies, he ran from his father, he ran from his universe… this time, though, there was nowhere to run to.

Strangely, he found that even if there were, he wouldn’t want to run from this.

Y/N slowly wrapped her arms around herself, gripping the soft knit of her sweater sleeves. “I assume you have questions… I’ll answer whatever you want me to. Once you know the truth, we can decide where to go from there,”

Peter couldn’t help himself from blurting out his first thought.

“What the hell are you?”

A small laugh escaped from her lips. It was an awkward thing, loud and crass against the quiet words that had been exchanged moments before.

“What am I,” Y/N chuckled. Slowly, she lowered her head into her hands. “Peter, I’ve been asking myself the same question for a long, long time,” She scrubbed at her eyes with her fingers. It was like she was trying to forget something terrible that she’d seen, her hands desperately finding purchase against her eyelids as she laughed at nothing.

Peter gulped. “Are you…. are you not human?”

Y/N gave him a scathing look that told him his question was a stupid one.

“Well, if you’re not human, where did you come from? Are you an alien?”

Humorless laughter continued to ring out against the cold walls.

“Are you going to let me answer your original question first, or are you going to keep speculating?” She sighed, lifting her gaze to meet him. Exhaustion danced across her face, like all of the life had been drained from her in the short time she had spent speaking to him after she got home.

He stopped himself from questioning her further for the moment in favor of deciphering the sad look in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to believe that he had been mesmerized enough by her beauty to ignore all of the suspicious things she did. In all honesty, he still was.

“I wasn’t born,” Y/N started, hugging herself tighter, “but I didn’t spontaneously appear one day either. I was created. My mother and father are… well, to put it plainly, fae royalty. They were the first fairies, high elves who had evolved to become conduits for life energy, but they were lonely. They wanted a child of their own, an heir who would be powerful enough to protect the realm from invaders, so they found the largest source of energy available: the embodiment of the sun, Lugh.”

Her leg began to bounce, her foot tapping ceaselessly against the wooden floorboards. Peter didn’t quite notice, though, too enraptured in her story to notice much of anything else.

“They combined their life forces with Lugh’s light and created a child with capabilities beyond anything the nine realms had seen up until that point. It stored massive amounts of magical energy within its soul and accomplished all of the typical fae magical feats with no problem, but it was also connected to all the life around it. Elves who met the heiress said that they felt calm in its presence, and felt compelled to give her whatever she desired when they looked into her eyes. They named the child Puck. That child was me,”

“So you’re a fairy?” Peter asked.

“Fairy, fae, elf, freak of nature…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness as she closed her eyes, “I’ve never quite fit into any of the labels I was supposed to,”

“But why do you look so…”

“Human?” Y/N’s voice quivered, “Yeah, after living here so long keeping my human face on is second nature,”

Peter couldn’t tell if he should be terrified, enraged, or intrigued.

As gently as he could manage, he padded over to Y/N on her chair and cupped her small, soft cheek in his hand. She leaned into the touch without a second thought, squeezing her eyes shut and letting a few tears fall from her eyes. His voice was soft as he perched down at her level.

“Show me?”

Y/N gave him a short nod before pulling her face away. Both of them winced minutely at the loss of contact. Slowly, though, the glamour around Y/N’s face melted away. Once it was gone, she was finally herself.

Her ears were pointed, sloping in a soft horizontal line through the strands of her hair. Her eyes were different, too. The pupil was larger, more doll-like, but not by very much. The largest difference was, admittedly, the scars.

Y/N was mostly covered, bundled up in her sweater to fight against the cold, but her hands were littered with scars of all shapes and sizes. Most were old, pale divots in her flesh, but there were a few new ones too, trailing pink and red in angry lines across the meat of her calloused palms. The scars didn’t seem to stop at her hands. Specifically, the largest and most wicked of all the scars was a thick gash that ran all the way down from the top of her cheekbone to the base of her neck. The skin looked as if it had been eviscerated, torn completely through, but somehow it had healed up relatively well.

When Peter met Y/N’s gaze, her face was full of shame.

“Isn’t it atrocious?” she muttered, revealing little, sharp incisors hidden beneath her full upper lip, “You can’t blame me for wanting to hide this from you, Peter, not after seeing me like this. This isn’t the kind of face someone wants to wake up next to in the morning,”

Peter had a hard time finding the right thing to say in response.

He was still angry, and rightfully so. Y/N had been keeping the truth about what she was away from him and still had many more secrets up her sleeve about how they were connected. If he wanted to get the truth out of her he couldn’t get away with going soft so early in the game.

That being said, he still felt for her. His heart ached as she hid the scar on her cheek with her hand. She had been so kind, so outgoing, but now she was a shrinking violet doing her best to disappear from his view.

Peter’s gut said to push forward, but his heart urged him to take her face in his hands and kiss her until the pain went away. In the end, he followed his gut.

“I don’t care about what you look like,” he said, standing up and moving to lean on the doorframe, “I care about answers,”

“Of course you do,” With a heaving breath, Y/N’s face morphed back into its human form, “everybody always does,”

Suddenly, a book flew off the shelf to Peter’s right and landed directly in Y/N’s outstretched hand. “How-” he gaped.

“A retrieval spell,” she muttered, “Now where was I…”

She searched through the pages for a moment before landing on an illustration and turning it out towards Peter. It looked ancient, hand done with some sort of brown ink and captioned in a language he couldn’t begin to understand. The illustration itself was easier to decipher. It featured a child in a crown holding up a sword in front of what looked to be an army.

“Because I was created instead of born I was able to skip all the messy parts of childhood, but that meant I had to skip all the fun ones. From the day I was born my parents had me trained to take the throne. I learned combat, diplomacy, etiquette… my parents weren’t equipped for fighting against the Asgardians who always seemed to be eyeing our land, but they were determined to make sure I was. I was a machine of rote motions until I saw you for the first time,”

Peter froze. “Me?”

Y/N cracked a smile. “Who else? I was less than 100 years old then, still a child at heart, and one night when I fell asleep I dreamed of a silver-haired man who looked nothing like any of the elves I knew in a strange room filled with mysterious artifacts. It was like seeing the world through brand new eyes. My gift was so magical back then, so new, a source of joy. I kept seeing you wherever I went, flashes of your life behind my eyes during the day and full prophetic dreams at night… things didn’t stay that pleasant for long, though,”

Her eyes began to well up with tears.

Peter considered reaching out to comfort her, but his confusion held him back. She blinked the tears away before she continued.

“I started seeing terrible things happening to you. I saw experiments, broken limbs… even death. They wouldn’t stop. No matter how much I tried to turn them off they just wouldn’t stop,” her voice trembled and her shoulders shook as she spoke. “That’s when my parents sent me away. They claimed I couldn’t let the citizens see their future leader as someone weak, so I was taken into isolation until I learned how to control what I saw. It took me almost 350 years of silent study and meditation but I was able to master my foresight. I didn’t just see you anymore, I could see anyone’s future if I put my mind to it, and I could control when I had my visions. They only let me out to fight in the war against the Asgardians, who had taken the chance to attack,”

“So you’re telling me that thousands of years before I was even born you just… saw me in the future?” Peter’s voice wavered. Y/N shrugged and turned the book back towards herself, searching through the pages once again.

“Yes and no. It’s hard to explain,”

“Well try!” his voice came out in a sudden shout. Y/N flinched. “I just want to know what the hell is going on here! Because, the way I’m seeing it right now, I got kidnapped out of my home because someone decided I was predestined to play house with an elf instead of staying with my friends and family,”

He regretted his tone the second he stopped shouting.

Y/N, despite her reaction, seemed almost unphased. In fact, she seemed to be shaking less than she had been before.

“Y/N… I’m sorry-”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, “don’t apologize. Not to me. This whole mess is my fault,”

Peter went to open his mouth again, to find something to say, but found himself speechless. He was speechless a lot around Y/N. She turned the book around again.

This time the illustration seemed to be of a woman on a throne. There was red ink on the page too, not just brownish-black like the last one. It was splattered across the woman and at her feet.

“I fought Asgardians for 50 years on the front lines, killing a great many of them in the process. Even Thor, their golden boy with his stupid magical hammer, was no match for me. I saw every move they made before they ever made it, so once I diminished enough of their troops they pulled out of Alfheim and returned home with their tails between their legs. When I returned home I was revered as a great hero and it was like I had never failed my parents in the first place. Their precious progeny was home victorious and prepared to reap the rewards. My teenage rebellion kicked in, though, so instead of taking back my place in the palace I demanded my parents let me go to earth as my reward for winning them their war.”

“Is that how you got your scars?” Peter asked.

Y/N sighed, closing the book and returning it to the shelf with a wave of her hand. “Yes.” Slowly, she raised her hand and touched her cheek where her scar would have been. “Some came later, but the worst of them are from the final battle. I only let my concentration slip for a second, but that was enough time for Thor to summon lightning with that damned hammer of his and get a good hit in,”

“I’m gonna be honest, your whole backstory sounds pretty shitty,”

She barked out another laugh as Peter allowed himself to smile. “If you think that was shitty, the next 2,500 years of history won’t be pleasant to listen to,”

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you,” Peter said, but it was an empty threat. Sure, the rage he had initially felt was still there, but what had been at a boil when Y/N came home was now just a low simmer.

She offered him a soft smile back. “I wouldn’t dare. Now, that’s enough about my past. If there’s anything else you want to ask, now's the time,”

Peter busied himself with cracking his knuckles. “I still don’t really get what’s so special about me to you. Like, yeah you saw some bad stuff happen to me when you were a kid, but it’s been a really long time since then. What makes me so special?”

The smile fell from Y/N’s face.

“That’s… well that’s a good question, Peter,” She wrung her hands, standing to take a step towards him, “I don’t think I’ll be able to say it… can I show you instead?”

He quirked his head to the side. “What?”

“Can I show you?” Y/N gently tapped her forehead, “with my power?”

A soft ‘ah’ escaped Peter’s lips before he stepped forward, bridging the gap between them. “Do what you need to do,” He didn’t say he trusted her, but he didn’t need to. It went without saying.

She reached out a hand and touched Peter’s forehead without another word. Then, the wave hit him.

Seeing Y/N’s mind was like the first time he had ever run at full speed, an endless barrage of emotions and images blurring as he rushed towards a focal point. It felt like an eternity before the motion stopped, but once it did he found himself looking out at a rolling sea with the weight of an arm around his shoulders. In a trance, he turned his head to look at whoever was there.

“I suppose this is it for us, my dearest Lady Puck?” The man asked, running his free hand through his long black hair. His tone was light yet thoughtful. Peter easily recognized him from the first portrait on the wall.

Without any effort, a response poured from Peter’s… no, Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, Loki. My new name is Y/N,”

“Ah, yes. Remind me again why you’re renouncing your godliness and going to live among the common rabble?” The man’s words were suddenly mocking, “Oh right, you have to assimilate to prepare for your darling Peter,”

“Don’t say it like that,” The Y/N of the past pulled her knees to her chest.

Loki nodded. “Forgive me. I’m just taking this a little harder than I should be. Who would have thought that I would fall in love with my mortal enemy?” He paused, “Will our paths cross again,”

Y/N shook her head no. “You will return to Asgard and remain there for as long as I can see. I think this is where we diverge,”

Peter watched from his position of backseat driver as Loki leaned close to Y/N. “Well, all good things must come to a close at some point,” He stroked her scar, smiling softly, “but don’t think that I’ll let you go to just anyone. I know this Peter is just a puny mortal, so expect me to come back and find you once he appears. Consider me your own personal Mjolnir! I will determine if he’s worthy of your heart,”

Giggles escaped from Y/N’s lips. “Loki! Don’t you dare,”

“You couldn’t stop me if you tried, darling,” He growled back, before capturing Y/N’s lips in a kiss. When he pulled away, he smiled his sharp-toothed grin. “Fly free, Lady Puck. I’ll see you again,”

A deep, foreign ache in Peter’s heart told him that he never did. Then, Loki was gone, blurred into the flood of memories and feelings in Y/N’s mind. The second time was easier than the first, but he still felt an acute nausea as he was thrown into another memory. This time he seemed to be much closer to the present.

Y/N was sketching something on a canvas, penciling in soft, rounded lines as the man with the pencil mustache lounged on a nearby chair, tie crooked.

“So tell me about this Peter,” he asked, taking a long puff from a cigar.

“Well, everyone, where I’m from, says he must be my soulmate. He’s witty, and fast, and has this phenomenal shock of silver hair,”

Peter, despite what he’d just seen in Y/N’s memories, was still shocked at her words. Soulmates?

“But you’ve never met him, so how do you know?” He asked, “Look, sweet cheeks, I’m not one to judge, but how do you know he’s even real?”

Y/N scowled, letting her pencil slip and adding an unwanted line to her sketch. “Howard, have I ever been wrong before?”

“Well no, but-”

“Exactly,” Y/N abandoned the sketch in favor of walking over and sitting at the foot of Howard’s chair. “Besides, even if he isn’t real, I know enough about him that he might as well be,”

“Whatever you say, sweet thing,” He chuckled, offering her his cigar. She accepted it thankfully.

“Anyways, it’s like I can feel him getting closer and closer,” Peter could just feel Y/N’s grin as she spoke, cheeks flushed, “I just can’t wait to finally meet him.”

“I’m guessing that means you’ll have to give up helping me with my little projects,”

Y/N took a long puff, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. “Not exactly. We still have time left, Howard. Besides, I don’t do much to help, I can’t even touch any of your materials,”

Howard snorted. “I still can’t believe you’re allergic to silver and iron of all things. I didn’t even know that was possible,”

“You’re just mad it means you have to buy me expensive jewelry instead of the cheap shit you’ve bought for other women,”

“You know me too well,”

They both laughed and Y/N handed Howard back his cigar.

In the blink of an eye, Peter was transported again. It was almost like riding a bike after a long time, where the deeper he delved the more comfortable he felt. This time, instead of nausea, there was a strange warmth in his chest.

Y/N stood at the edge of a crowded dance hall as the men from the 3rd and 4th portrait approached, drinks in hand. Peter was beginning to see a pattern.

“A sidecar for the pretty lady,” the bigger of the men joked while leading the group to a small table.

Y/N accepted the glass gladly, taking a long drink. “Thank you, James”

The small one sat across from her and took a long drink of his beer.

“You too, Steve,” she amended, earning a smile.

“Now doll,” James leaned in close, his forearms braced against the table, “Steve and I wanted to thank you for the little favor you did us last week. Didn’t we, Steve?”

Steve nodded quickly. “You really are a knockout gal’ Y/N. You didn’t have to, but you did, and we couldn’t be more grateful,”

Y/N shrugged. “It was nothing. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,”

“We never doubted that-”

James jumped in. “We just wanted you to know we were thinking about you, and Steve brought up that it would be nice to return the favor. I was thinking maybe we could help find you a beau, anybody you want, and by anybody, we mean anybody, not limited to conventional partners”

Y/N’s face began to flush as she started laughing, offering each of the men one of her hands. “James, Steve, I love you both to death and I would never want to make you feel like I felt anything else, but no. No way,”

The two men joined her in her laughter, but Steve stopped a little quicker than the other two did, looking down at his hands. “We just noticed that you don’t get out much. You’re beautiful Y/N, really beautiful, and it’s not fair that you have to be alone,”

“Oh, Steve” She gave his hand a squeeze, “you’re incredibly sweet, but my heart already belongs to someone. He…” Y/N’s voice trailed off, the ambient noise in the bar suddenly deafening. Peter could hear his own name, whispered gently from the depths of her mind.

James gave her a look of pity. “Oh, doll… did you lose him overseas? Is that why?”

Y/N was shocked but quickly covered for herself. “Yes, how did you know?”

“You’ve just got that faraway widow’s look in your eye,” James responded.

“Sorry for your loss,” Steve added quickly.

Y/N looked down and noticed her glass was empty. She stood suddenly. “It’s alright boys, it’s alright. Now, which of you is gonna do me the honor of joining me for the next song?”

Peter was pulled from the memory gently the moment James shot her a wolflike grin, drifting through the collage of colors and feelings for a moment before he heard his name, whispered from within the darkness.

There was a strong pull towards the light, dragging him out of Y/N’s mind, but something was calling for him to go deeper, delve further to find… well, he didn’t know yet. In a split-second decision, he threw himself towards the voice only to find himself strapped to some kind of chair, screaming.

No, Y/N was screaming. It was an atrocious, wet sound, and Peter could taste the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He felt no pain physically, but he could feel the memory of pain, the phantom sensation of torturous, searing agony burning through her veins. Her screaming cut off suddenly, and Peter was once again pulled from the memory and into another.

“Prinţesă?” A man asked, and Peter looked up to find his doppelganger from the final portrait looking down at Y/N. He looked worse for wear, with dirt and dust coating his face and hair. Around them, the sounds of shooting and crumbling buildings rang out in the streets. Y/N was gripping his sleeve like a lifeline. “What are you doing?”

“Please, Pietro, don’t go,” fat tears ran down Y/N’s cheeks and Peter felt a pit of dread drop into his stomach. “You can’t go,”

“I will be right back for you,” Pietro reassured her, “and then once Ultron is defeated we will return to Stark’s compound with Wanda. Things will be good from now on. No more Hydra, no more sneaking around, just you and me and the whole world waiting to be explored,”

Y/N gripped his sleeve tighter. “You don’t understand! You can’t go. I can’t lose you like this. Not now. Not after I've only just found you after all this time!"

Pietro laughed softly. With a grimey hand, he wiped the wetness from Y/N’s face. “Draga mea, you do not have to worry about me. I am faster than those stupid machines.” Suddenly, a child’s wails filled the air. Pietro looked around, searching for the source, but Y/N didn’t budge, almost as if she expected it. “You need to let me go, I need to go help that child,”

Y/N shook her head no. “We need to go, Pietro, we need to get out of here. I can fly us off before it hits and then we can run and never look back. Please, come with me Pietro, before it’s too late,”

He yanked his arm away from Y/N’s grip, puzzled. “And leave these innocents to die?”

She nodded furiously, sobbing silently as she held herself. “Are their lives really so important that you’d throw yours away?”

Pietro backed away from Y/N slowly, disgust spreading on his face. “Yes,” he spat, “and I thought you agreed,” Then, he paused, “We will talk about this later. I am disappointed in you Y/N,” ...and then he was gone before she even had the chance to say goodbye.

The gunshots that followed were the loudest of all.

Then, Y/N was running through the streets, searching frantically for any sign of Pietro. When she found him, he was already getting cold.

"PIETRO!"

Her wail was deafening as she fell to the ground, scooping his body into her arms and hugging it to her chest.

“I can fix you, don’t worry Pietro,” she babbled, spit running from her mouth as she tried to push life energy from herself into him, “Don’t leave me alone now, not after all this time. I can’t lose you like this. Just hold on a little bit longer,”

No matter how much energy she poured into Pietro’s body, it just drained right back out. That didn’t stop her from trying, though. Somewhere in the distance, Peter could hear someone wailing his name, but he held onto the memory, gazing down at his dead doppelganger’s empty eyes.

Y/N’s babbling didn’t stop, even as the ground beneath her began falling down. She ran her fingers through Pietro’s messy hair and held him closer to her chest.

“It’s okay Pietro, you’re safe now. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Le ni meleth, Pietro. Everything will be okay now. I’ll be with you soon, nin melda. Wait for me. I am so sorry,” As an impact destroyed the street around them, Y/N pressed a soft kiss to Pietro’s forehead, and Peter was thrown forcibly from her mind.

“Peter!” Y/N wailed, hands shaking as she pressed a scarred palm to his forehead and pushed his sweat-soaked hair away. “Peter you have to wake up now, you have to wake up!”

He shot up, heaving in a breath that soothed his burning lungs. It was a shock to be back in his own body. Slowly, Peter realized he wasn’t standing anymore. Instead, his head had been resting on Y/N’s lap while he splayed out on the cold wood floor.

As he reacclimated to his body, Y/N wrapped her arms around herself and sobbed.

Once he had enough air in his lungs, Peter only had one question; “What the hell just happened?”

Y/N cried louder, rocking back and forth. “You died! I messed up and you died! It’s all my fault, all of this is all my fault,”

Peter pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Y/N,” he said firmly, “You need to calm down and tell me what just happened,”

She shook her head no, clawing at her hair as she dribbled onto the floor.

In a moment of weakness, which was probably warranted, Peter broke. “Y/N!” he shouted, “Get it together! What. Happened.”

Y/N stilled, eyes dead. “I was trying to pull you out of my memories,” she mumbled, still trembling, “but for some reason, I couldn’t get you to let go. I kept trying and trying but it wouldn’t work. Then you just… collapsed and your heart stopped. I was trying to heal you, but I had to keep the connection between us going while I did so you wouldn’t get lost in my memories and- and-” her words devolved into quiet sobs as Peter slouched against the wall, lifting his hand and finding that his cheeks were wet too.

He wanted to comfort her. To tell her it was okay, that he was okay. To make sure she knew he wasn’t angry anymore, that he understood… that he loved her too. Somehow, though, he couldn’t find the words. All he could do was stare forward and cry as the vision of Pietro’s dead body danced behind his eyelids.

When Y/N finally quieted, she stood silently. “What did you see,” she whispered.

“Pietro,” Peter wheezed back.

Y/N nodded, wiping her face.

“I’m so sorry, Peter. You were never supposed to see that.” She walked towards the door, opening it up and pausing in the doorway. “Jimmy’s number is next to the rotary phone in the den and my bank card will be on the side table in the mudroom. I… goodbye, Peter. I’ll let myself out,"

Peter turned, reaching a hand out to try to stop her from leaving, but she was already gone, so he just let himself go limp, crying for a man he never met but knew better than he ever wanted to.

-----

Elvish/Sindarin Translation:

Le Ni Meleth: I love you

Nin Melda: My dearest

a/n: Thank you so much for reading!!! The word count really got away from me, but at least now all of the exposition is out of the way! Expect the next part to be out either today or tomorrow.

Please don’t post my work to other sites, thanks! <3

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #quicksilver #fanfic #x-men fanfiction #ralph bohner

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harlowsbae · 4 years

Text

Trainwreck (d.m.)

Summary: Where Draco is in love with a muggle and becomes worried after he doesn’t hear from her for days.

Requested: No

Triggers: injury, angst, accident

Laying in the silence Waiting for the sirens Signs, any signs I'm alive still

Draco knew loving her was wrong, Christ loving her was so wrong. More times than not he found himself wondering if he should continue or break it off, the thought of what his father would do if he found out his beloved pureblood son was in love with a filthy mudblood.

Draco’s throat stung at the thought of the word. He hadn’t used it in months ever since meeting you in London over the summer. Even that bloody Granger had noticed.

As much as Draco wanted to leave you he couldn’t. Your touch was like ice to the fire burning in his heart, your lips freezing time and the blush on your cheeks whenever Draco whispered sweet nothings in your ear calmed Draco more than any potion could. He had fallen in love with you in such a short time.

Draco smiled fondly as he remembered the day he knew you had his heart forever. He had planned a picnic for you the day before he was set to leave for his fifth year at Hogwarts. You had both sat in a field of lavender enjoying the meal that Draco’s house elves had packed for the both of you. You watched in awe as Draco conjured up a flower crown.

“For you, my queen,” he whispered placing it on top of your curls.

You blushed and giggled, “Why thank you, my kind knight.” Draco had smiled and captured your lips with his quickly, pouring as much love and passion as he could into it knowing it would be the last one he could give you for a while.

He could never leave you. He would do whatever he had to do to protect you, but leaving you wasn’t an option. Knowing he would likely be shunned by his family and lose his inheritance once his parents found out Draco was still determined to spend the rest of his life with you.

But he began to question if you had wanted that with him. The first few weeks of term Draco and you communicated through letters, his owl getting exhausted with the constant back and forth multiple times a week until Draco was forced to use a school owl after his pecked him when he showed up to the owlery with another letter.

That was two weeks ago and Draco still hadn’t heard from you. His anxiety was starting to get the best of him as he began to sleep less and less thinking of every worst case scenario possible.

Finally at the end of the third week Draco could no longer stand it. He had to get in touch with you, he had to see you.

That’s why after his last class of the day Draco found himself standing in front of Dumbledore’s office. The door swung open before he could even knock and he entered tentatively. It was no secret his father wanted Dumbledore sacked and Draco was nervous that Dumbledore would refuse to help him because of this.

“Ahh Mr. Malfoy, I figured I would be seeing you soon,” Dumbledore said as Draco came into view.

“Professor Dumbledore, sir, I was wondering if I might be able to ask you something?”

“Of course Draco, but I assume this has something to do with a particular muggle, am I correct?” Dumbledore inquired.

Draco’s mouth hung open stunned. “H-how did you know?”

Dumbledore chuckled, “I’m more observant than you think Mr. Malfoy. But I regret to inform you that the reason you have not heard from Ms. Y/L/N is that she was in a terrible car accident a few weeks ago, awful muggle contraptions cars are. I apologize for not informing you sooner, however, I was unaware her recovery would be so delayed.”

Draco felt his heart drop and his eyes sting as he fought to hold his tears back. His fists began to clench as he tried hard to hold his anger back, furious at Dumbledore for not telling him sooner and letting him spend weeks worrying about you and if you even wanted him anymore.

“I need to see her immediately, what hospital is she at and how do I get there?” Draco demanded.

“I understand Draco, and I would be more than happy to make the arrangements, however, I will need to inform your parents why you will be absent from Hogwarts for the time being.”

Draco hesitated, unsure if he was sure he wanted to let his parents know about you yet. But the thought of you laying broken in a hospital bed without him pushed that thought away instantly. “I don’t care, tell them whatever you like just take me to her immediately.”

Dumbledore nodded and held his arm out to Draco. Draco grabbed and felt his insides twist as they apparated, landing outside of London Bridge Hospital.

“She’s in room 413.” Dumbledore told him before apparating with a loud crack.

Draco immediately ran into the hospital ignoring the receptionists demand that he sign in. He finally found your room and paused outside of it, staring at the number and trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

Draco didn’t know what to expect and this scared him. He shook his head and turned the handle of the door, opening it slowly and taking a deep breath before stepping in. His heart immediately cracked at the sight of you and the tears he had fought to hold back earlier were released as his body broke into sobs.

You were lying in a hospital bed, the doctors had put you into an induced coma to help your body with the healing process. Your left arm was in a cast and your face was badly swollen, stitches going across your forehead from a gash you had received when you struck the windshield. Your arms had multiple cuts across them and your hair was mangled having not been brushed in three weeks.

Draco ran to your bedside, taking your hand in his and kissing it over and over again, too scared to do anything else for fear of hurting.

“My beautiful girl, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I didn’t know love believe me, I didn’t know.” He choked out, unsure if you could hear him but hoping you could. He was never going to forgive himself for not being there for you sooner. He vowed to stay with you until you woke up, not caring how many classes or assignments he missed.

Draco stayed true to his word and only left your side over the course of the week to shower and eat. Professor Snape had been kind enough to deliver some textbooks and coursework so Draco wouldn’t get too far behind. Even Draco’s parents had showed up. Narcissa had comforted Draco, happy that her son had met someone regardless of blood status. Lucius, however, tried to convince Draco to return to Hogwarts and forget about you.

“She’s a muggle Draco, we pride ourselves on being pureblood. We don’t even copulate with mudbloods let alone a bloody muggle,” he had hissed.

Draco’s hand itched to pull his wand out but he refrained from doing so. “Disown me, take away everything I don’t care, but don’t you ever insult her again father.” Draco sneered. Lucius left quickly, Narcissa lingered for a little before following her husband.

Draco had sighed once they were gone, he hadn’t expected his father to approve but he was glad the impending confrontation was over with. He picked up the brush beside your bed and began to brush your hair. It had been difficult to get all the knots out the first time he did it but he had managed without hurting you. He had also painted your nails for you, a light purple to remind him of the day he fell in love with you in the lavender field.

It was another two weeks before you finally woke up. Draco was right by your side and you smiled at the beautiful boy as you both began to cry.

“Oh my beautiful girl, I missed you so much. I was so worried when I heard what happened, I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner but I promise I haven’t left your side once I found out.” He whispered.

You brought a hand up to his cheek to wipe away a stray tear, you smiled noticing that Draco had painted your nails for you.

“It’s alright love, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.”

“Can I kiss?” He asked.

“Please,” you begged.

He leaned forward and kissed you softly still scared you might break, but you were quick to tangle your hands in his hair and press his lips to yours harder.

You both pulled back breathing heavy. “Careful love you’re still in a hospital bed,” Draco chuckled.

“Yeah well just wait till I’m not in this bloody bed anymore,” You smirked back at him.

“I’m going to hold you to that Y/N, but for now let’s focus on getting you healed alright?”

You sighed nodding your in agreement, wanting nothing more than to continue your makeout session with your boyfriend but knowing he was right.

You felt Draco grab your chin softly and turn you to look at him. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you again love alright? I love you so much and I’m always going to protect you.”

Your heart felt ready to burst at his confession, it was the first time Draco had told you he loved you. “I love you too Draco, so much.” you whispered as Draco’s lips met your again. Your body still ached but you didn’t care. Your knight in shining armor was here.

You can say what you like 'cause see, I would die for you I, I'm down on my knees and I need you to be my God Be my help, be a savior who can

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tamakiamajikistentacles · 4 years

Text

broken. {Dabi}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted- between holidays, work, and this being a generally not great time of year for me there hasn’t been much room for writing. As you can see though, recent manga events totally inspired me for one last story in 2020 for ya!

He liked going out once the sun had set. Daylight hadn’t been his friend for a long time, and whatever lurked in the shadows grew disinterested as the glow of his cigarette illuminated his staples when he passed, aware of who they were seeing but uninclined to make a report.

How could they really? By day they walked the streets freely, unassuming, but beneath the moon they found sick pleasures in ways that would make any hero grimace. As dangerous as they were it couldn’t compare to the likes of him—the deranged and recognizable with only a quick glance that sent chills down the spines of millions.

He slept during the day and rose at dusk to begin sowing chaos. After all, the freaks come out at night.

The long since burned out butt of his cigarette dropped from between his lips as he approached one of the seedier bars in the slums of town. Whatever its name is or was had been lost to time and inattention to the sign hanging askew over the door but damn, they had the strongest liquor in the city and a reputation for looking the other way when criminals passed through the door. Hazy smoke stung at his eyes and throat as he entered but he’d been used to that for nearly three decades and really, what was another lungful when they were burned to hell as it was?

The blonde bartender gave him a curt nod from across the room, already reaching for the amber bottle he knew Dabi favored. Around the room were other patrons that gave an assessing glance in his direction before turning back to their drinks. All but one turned his way.

In the darkest corner of the bar sat a woman with her back to the room. He couldn’t see her face, just the contrast of her revealing shirt against the skin of her chest, but he was interested. The mysterious chick vibe always did do him in.

“What’s a cute little thing like you doing here alone?” he asked as he approached her table.

“Cute?” she scoffed, dark-lined eye rolling in clear annoyance. “You really think that?”

In what seemed like a well-practiced move she tossed her hair over her left shoulder and pulled the already low collar of her shirt down further to expose more of her chest and shoulder. Smooth skin bled into a gradient of marled blotches of red and purple burn scars, the severity of which he’d only ever seen in the mirror.

“You wanna rethink that ‘cute’ comment?” she challenged without so much as a glance at his slightly parted lips.

“Yeah,” he breathed out with a nod. “Think I wanna change it to gorgeous.”

“Look, if you wanna know how I got ‘em just ask so I can tell you to… fuck off… already…” her voice trailed off after she looked up, haughty attitude dropping as she took in the darkened skin on his face and chest. She marveled at the handsome features still so clearly defined beneath the burns and the glint of his staples in the fluorescent lights.

Seeing interest cloud over her eyes as she trailed them over his face and down his body, he seated himself in the chair across from her and folded his hands around his glass on the table.

The rough rhythm of his hips against hers scraped her back against the gnarled wood of her bedroom door and drove the staples in his lower stomach into hers but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when it felt so good. As thin as he was he was able to lift her thighs around his waist and hold her with one hand while the other pressed against her throat.

“Fuck, please,” she panted, head spinning but wanting more.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he teased, “you already got two and I haven’t even had one yet. Not exactly fair, is it?”

“Dabi!” she groaned.

He huffed out a laugh as he buried his face in her shoulder, licking at the bead of sweat that trailed from her hairline. He was close so she really wouldn’t need to wait long considering the pleasure pooling in his lower stomach was building with each smack of skin on skin.

His hand left her throat to wrap around her other thigh so he could quickly readjust his grip. Pulling her back from the door, he bounced her against him as he carried her the short distance to her bed. He sat back against the wall and guided her hips against him, smirking at her eagerness as she started riding him desperately.

She gasped when one of his hands drifted between her legs and another type of warmth spread through her. “Fuck!”

“That’s what we’re here for,” he scoffed, his other hand coming up to grip her throat once again.

A few more rotations of her hips had him surging forward to sink his teeth into her scarred shoulder as his hand between her legs drew tight circles on her clit, both of them breathing hard as they met their ends.

She slumped forward, breathing heavily as he held her steady against him while they caught their breath and heartbeats slowed. When he finally felt the calm sweep over him he guided her down to lay beside him before reaching to her night table for the pack of cigarettes he’d spotted. Placing one between his lips, he ignited a small blue flame at his fingertip to light it.

“Is that how you got your burns?” she asked in a whisper, eyes half-lidded.

He stared straight ahead, cheeks hollowing even further as he took a drag. Without looking he took it in two fingers and passed it towards her through a cloud of smoke. She grabbed it and placed it between her own lips.

“Mine are from a hero,” she said after blowing out her own puff.

His eyebrows raised and he looked down at where she laid, interest alight in his turquoise eyes.

“I used to work in this high-rise building in the western district, did normal office type shit you know? Sent faxes and filed documents everyone thought I was too fuckin’ stupid to understand because I grew up poor and quirkless,” she started. “Some low-level villains attacked a few blocks away and when the heroes came the fight was small enough that we didn’t get evacuated. We couldn’t even see anything, all we heard were sirens and for that district its background noise anyway. But then Endeavor showed up.”

Dabi stiffened as she handed the cigarette back though she didn’t seem to notice as she continued.

“He blew the fight out of proportion to make a bigger show of capturing the villains I’m sure, but when he did it lead them towards our building. Three quarters of the floors were engulfed within ten minutes.”

“Lemme guess, your floor was lucky enough to be one of ‘em?”

She hummed. “Yeah, lucky enough to land me some wicked burns and a high as fuck medical bill.”

“What? The Hero Commission didn’t cover it?”

“Nope. None of it. Despite being told not to evacuate because we were farther from the initial attack and then being caught in the crossfire that we literally had no choice in, we were told that only loss of life would be covered by their insurance payout.”

“Zero casualties?”

“How’d you know?” she drawled, reaching for the cigarette once again. “Never fucking mind that I have limited mobility with my left arm that literally impacts my day to day life or how I can’t go anywhere without being stared at like a sideshow act or that the company I worked for dissolved their branch in the district. All because of some asshole looking for glory from a fight he didn’t need to be in.”

He chuckled as he watched her finish off the cigarette and stub out the last few embers in the ashtray on her opposite night table. This chick was something else.

“How’d you feel if I told you I got my burns from Endeavor too?” he asked.

Now it was her turn for her eyebrows to rise with intrigue. “I’d ask how, when, and why the fuck you didn’t melt his face off.”

“I was just a kid,” he shrugged.

“Endeavor—”

“—wanted to make sure his son could surpass All Might. Didn’t go according to plan, at least not with me.”

Her eyes widened.

“Pushed a bit too hard on a kid who could produce flames so much hotter than his. Surprised it took so long if I’m honest, but it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill him.”

She sat up, slowly bringing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, eyes twinkling with wonder. “You’re really going to kill him?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do, baby,” he said with a smirk. “What—you wanna watch?”

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out. “He needs to burn. Just like we did.”

A blue flame ignited and danced in his palm. She could feel the heat on her face but it didn’t scare her like most would assume. The fire wasn’t at fault for her pain, the false hero who wielded it had been.

She looked between the flames and his handsomely stapled face.

“How can I help? I want to be a part of taking down Endeavor.”

He closed his hand and the fire disappeared in a wisp of smoke. Reaching over, he fisted the hair at the nape of her neck and brought her closer.

“I’ll let you help sweetheart,” he laughed, “but the best thing you can do right now to help me is to put that pretty mouth to work. You’re still at three while I’ve only got one.”

“THE PAST NEVER DIES!”

The corners of her lips curled upwards in a smirk as the broadcast overtook the large billboard in downtown Tokyo, projecting the voice of a now white-haired Dabi. He steamed from his quirk being overused but also from the outpouring of emotion he was finally able to confront his family with.

“Oh Dabi,” she sighed fondly.

Vengeance years in the making was unfolding in front of the entire country in real time and she was privileged enough to know it had been coming. She knew the plan and she knew the backup plans and she was essential to the very last resort plan too. Her own revenge was being carried out though not by her own hand. At least not directly.

She looked down to the slightly rounded bump beneath her sweater, caressing it gently.

“If he doesn’t kill him, I’ll make sure you do for him,” she murmured with a smile.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Good heavens, its been a while since I’ve done smut so that was an experience lmao. Anyway, Dabi is such a fun character for me to write and I love exploring different emotions for him!

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remmushound · 3 years

Text

Curse of the Clans part 32! @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz

Content warning! Blood, bold!

Donatello turned around and found that he was being watched. Watched by two sets of eyes, staring at him from the very edge of the forest. The foxes had returned, still holding his bag and standing on their hind legs so they could match his height. Now, seeing them in the light of day, their proportions seemed so off that it was unsettling. Their legs and torsos looked like they had been stretched like putty while their heads were small like a normal fox, eyes cartoonishly wide in comparison.

“Hey…” Donatello breathed. He didn't know why he was talking to them, but at this point in his isolation, it was better than talking to a volley ball with a face.

The foxes tilted their heads at his voice.

“Do you understand me?”

The foxes closed their eyes and nodded.

“Good. Then leave me alone.” Donatello turned his back to them and, after a moment to take a breath, entered the building.

It was warm inside; at least in comparison to the chill of the exposed woods. Some light filtered in through cracks and wind whistled through those same flaws, but it wasn’t much to disturb the still warmth. There wasn’t any furniture except for some old mats and forlorn, fractured pots. Donatello welcomed the gentle darkness within and he could almost imagine that it was his home. That he was breathing in the smell of New York instead of the sharp smell of pine and decay. He closed his eyes a moment to savor the feeling, but opened them again at the sounds of snow crunching.

Turning, he saw the foxes were closer now, and just as curious. He found himself unable to care much. He didn't have anything else that they could take, and some part of him told him that they wouldn’t attack. He just wanted to get warm. He grabbed a hold of the first vine he saw, using his strength to pull it from the wall, and then shifting to use the sickle end of his bow to sever the vine so that he could remove it completely.

The moment the vine separated from the wall, the foxes went crazy. Their yips and shouts and hollers were a minor annoyance and offered nothing but frustration to Donatello. Still holding the vine, he spun around quickly to confront them.

“Oh I’m sorry! Did that vine have sentimental value?”

Now the foxes were in the doorway, silenced immediately by Donatello looking at them. That was the same pattern they followed for the next hour it took Donatello to clean up. Any time he’d remove a vine or peel moss from the wall or seal a crack, they started to sound off. They would only stop when Donatello looked at them, and they wouldn’t start again until the next time Donatello fixed or removed something. Slowly, Donatello came to realize it wasn’t entirely malicious.

“There.” Donatello said when the last vine was removed, sitting down on the soft wood to rest. “I could’ve done a lot better if I had my tech bo…”

Donatello screamed when he felt a sudden paw on his knee. He struggled away when he saw the fox right beside him, crawling to the wall to get away from its sudden presence. It was on all fours again, and gave a curious yip before pursuing Donatello to his hiding spot where he was now cowering under his arms. The fox raised a paw to touch the bo staff on Donatello’s shell.

“O-oh.” Donatello realized the intention and cleared his throat. “That’s not my tech bo. That’s just a normal, dumb regular mystic bo. I think.”

The foxes seemed to share Donatello’s sadness as he mentioned his broken staff, and both advanced to press their noses to his forehead before he could stop them. As clear as the day it had happened, Donatello saw his tech bo shatter and break. He gasped and pulled away from the cold noses, his mouth unbelievably dry. The foxes pulled away as well, shaking their heads sadly.

“D... did you…?”

Donatello couldn’t finish his question, but the glints in the foxes eyes were both answer enough. They looked from Donatello back to his bo staff. Donatello looked up at it as well, and after a moment of consideration pulled it out of its holster and held its power in his hands.

“It’s a mystic weapon, right?” Donatello asked softly. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it’s power could be…”

The foxes stood up and left. Donatello stared at their tails as they walked away, then shook his head and turned back to his bo staff.

“Figures.”

A yip brought his attention back up and he saw the foxes hadn’t gone far. They were sitting at the doorway behind the bag of supplies that they had stolen from him. Donatello said nothing. He only watched as they pushed their noses into the bag and shoved it closer to Donatello. The softshell stood up and came over at a slow gait. He reached a hesitant hand toward the bag and, when the foxes showed no ill will to him, he grabbed the bag and ran back to the opposite side of the monastery. Only then did he feel comfortable enough to open it.

The first thing he pulled out was a bottle of water, half frozen but he didn't care. He hadn’t drank in so long that he had already gulped down half of the bottle before he was able to get a hold of himself and replace the rest back into the bag. Who knew how long he would be here for? Bishop said two weeks right? Or was it three weeks… or four? Donatello’s mind was too fuzzy to know. He pulled out an MRE, forced to use the rest of his water to activate it so he could get something substantial in his stomach. It tasted like sand with the consistency of a swollen sandwich, but he didn't care. Food was food.

Halfway through his meal, Donatello noticed something else in the bag and picked it up. Unfurling it revealed a map. A map with only one trail and two destinations marked; the place that Donatello was currently staying and the place he needed to go— back to the campsite. This wasn’t right. There hadn’t been a map in there before, Donatello was sure of it, he would have seen it! But it was there now. Could he had just missed it? And how lucky was it that it showed him just the right path he had to take to get back to his mission? Donatello zipped his bag back up and swung it over his shoulder, devouring the rest of the MRI and discarding the trash. What did he care about littering at a time like this, anyway?

Donatello stepped out into the open, scrunching up his beak and raising a hand to block out the daylight. Snow always made everything so much brighter. He made a mental reminder to change out his contacts when he got back to his tent. When the brightness subsided, Donatello’s eyes once more found the duo of fox statues and he fell to curious thought as to who the temple belonged to…

***

The foxes followed Donatello all the way back to the campsite. The map was true and trustworthy, so Donatello tucked it back into his pack for safe keeping. His tent was still upright and undisturbed from where he left it, so he quickly moved to place the bag and his staff inside. When he backed out of the tent, the foxes had ventured into the dead lands of the campsite, farther than they had the night before. Their hackles were raised, their ears flat and lips pulled back in snarls as they growled at the opening of the cave that Donatello had dubbed the ‘Stay Away from Cave’ cave. They looked almost like savage dogs or terrified cats, barking their anger at something unseen.

“What’s gotten into you?” Donatello almost scoffed

“I’ve gotten into them.”

The voice came from inside Donatello’s head and it made him shiver, and not in a good way. His body felt violated! There was never meant to be more than one voice in his head ever, and that voice was meant to be his and his alone. It was as if the entity tied a lead around Donatello’s brain and heart, going tight and forcing him to either live with the suffocating sensation of a noose around his neck or venture closer with the promise of a slackened line. Donatello followed the promise that pulled him along, even as the foxes yelled their dismay. The temptation was too much, like a sailor drawn to the sirens that would crash his ship.

Donatello felt the beat of breath and tickle of whiskers touch his hand as something long and wooden was jammed in his palm. Donatello tightened his grip around the blessed weapon as the sounds of the panicked foxes seemed almost a distant memory. The presence pulled him along to the cave’s entrance. The noose on his neck shifted to his hand, forcing it to touch the purple barrier that separated him from whatever was inside. He felt the power radiating, warming him all over but centering mostly at the dome of his head. So much power in such a small blockade. Ancient power that grabbed at him and sucked him into obedience like it had done with generations before.

Then there was a great, stinging pressure around his ankle that made him cry out. When he looked down, he found a disgusting, pink thing constricting his ankle, barbs digging into his flesh and staining the surrounding snow with the blood milked from the wound's trauma.

Donatello sucked in a deep breath and found his feet still firmly planted several feet away from the entrance, his ankle still intact. The foxes still at his side.

“I…” Donatello didn't know what to do or what to say. Leonardo would usually make a joke, or Michelangelo would make some heartwarming, yet dumb comment, or Raphael would make a brave declaration. All Donatello could think to do was say, “I don’t wanna talk right now.”

“Aw…” The voice and the strangling suffocation it brought with it remained just as sharp, even with the mocking sadness, “I am soooo sad! Why not?”

The foxes guided Donatello away from the barrier by nipping at his feet and forcing him to take shelter in his tent. That did nothing to keep him safe from the voice. It was in his head; he couldn’t get away from it! Still, the foxes forced him to lay down and they formed a protective circle around him. Through the rest of that day and into the night, the voice was all he heard.

“Come play with me!” It would say, “I’m lonely!” Or, “I promise I don’t bite!” Or, “It’s been a while since I’ve had a new friend!”

Silence for a short time. Becoming harder to breath. The foxes were a warming presence, but no matter how often they licked him, they couldn’t lick away the dreadful need to breathe. Donatello found himself clawing at his neck on more than one occasion, leaving it dark and bruised. The foxes stopped him every time, but his mind would always go back to trying to clear his throat of nothing. There was quiet for a long time now, the silence ringing. Maybe the voice too had grown tired? Maybe Donatello could finally get some rest…

CRASH!

It sounded like a gunshot had gone on outside, making Donatello sit straight up from his slumber. The sleep was immediately lost from his body as adrenaline swallowed him. The foxes tried to keep Donatello inside the tent by grabbing a hold of his clothes with their teeth, but Donatello shook them off of him and practically fell out of the tent and into the snow of the storming night. A new blanket of white was laying, falling in massive flakes all around him, but there was no disturbance. Nothing except for the evil, victorious laugh of the Creature in the Cave.

#fox friends!

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