#first i need to get better at not drawing Phantom so stiff

[justcreatingthings]

I like to think Phantom has a few crazed fans who occasionally try to sneak into his home and get candid photos-

He's had to get a few security guards as of late because of a very specific rabbid 👀

[reapersbayif]

Quick commission for @stephschoices for her heir, Fallon, and RO Striker!

“You know,” Striker murmurs from where you both were crouching behind the shipment crates, “If you told me who upset you so, I could’ve killed them by now. For free, too.”

“You, doing something for free?” You whisper back, keeping your eyes pinned to the creaky docks beyond, “Pardon my disbelief.”

“C’mon, Ghostie,” His tone turned playful, “Your happiness is my currency.”

Finally, you look at him, one eyebrow raised slightly despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. He stares at the darkness that cloaks your face for a moment before sighing.

“As you can see, I’m a very poor man right now.” He gestures at your entirety.

Though his face is covered from the nose down, you can see the amusement in his dark eyes. Striker’s eyes had always been expressive and, though you’ve yet to see his face in its entirety, they told you all you need to know.

You hum slightly, turning back to your post, “And poor you will remain.”

The dark cloth that covers your nose and mouth does well at muffling most noises, but he can hear you regardless. At the very least, you know he can not read your eyes as you do his. 

Where Striker relies solely on his mask, you prefer a cowled cloak that drapes over the rest of your clothing, creating a formless shape in the darkness of night. 

No one sees you, no one hears you. That’s how you like it, and so it shall remain.

You are a ghost, the phantom of the Ellende. Sometimes better known as Ghostie, at least to Striker. No one else even dared to try and call you that.

Their best assassin, the one who’s never missed a mark. Striker had been surprised when he first met you, given that you were actually quite quiet, all things considered. Not what one expected of a perceived heartless, cold-blooded killer.

“At least tell me if you need help.” He continues, “You were…off. Earlier. I called your name three times and you didn’t even move.”

The nightmares will do that. It had been your sister’s corpse who’d haunted you last night, bloated and grey and collapsing. Brackish water had fallen from her mouth each time she parted her lips, but you could still imagine her pleading.

“I shall be certain to inform you if the need arrives.” You speak drolly, before quieting as a faint groan of wood catches your attention.

It catches Striker’s, too. 

Your mark, meandering down the docks alone, not another soul around. A too wealthy boat captain who someone wanted dead. 

He brought spices and goods across the border and sold them to the many vendors in Norwick. More illegally, he also brought people to sell. Particularly the young of Navra’s seafaring villages.

Perhaps you cling to your past, perhaps you can never truly kill the Princess of Navra you’d been raised as, but you know you’ll relish seeing him die regardless of the reason.

Striker draws his blade, but you’re faster. The knife sails across the open, empty space and lodges in the center of his forehead. He makes no noise, has no time to react, and is dropping to the ground in seconds. 

You emerge from behind the crates, Striker at your back. You wrench your blade out, wiping the bloody remnants off on the captain’s nice jacket.

When you look up, brown eyes are following your every move. When Striker notices your attention, he turns his own back to the body below. He nudges it with his foot, taking the man’s watch from his pocket as proof before he sends the body into the dark water below with a swift kick.

“Quite a deadly little thing, you are.” He says as you tuck your blade away beneath your cloak, “Faster than a bullet.”

“Quite.” You agree, “Now let’s get this watch back and collect our coin.”

“Hardly know why I tagged along.” He stretches his arms out, stiff from hours of waiting on the mark to make his appearance, “I was no help.”

“You were entertainment.” You disagree, “Absolutely vital.”

“Entertainment,” He chuckles, “Well, at least I might provide in some small way.”

He takes a step toward you, but his foot catches on the slick wood below. He teeters to catch himself and you hold a hand out too late. He goes flailing into the water below, disappearing just as fast as the body he’d put there only moments ago. 

You panic, briefly, your heart fluttering rapidly in your chest. You like Striker, quite a bit more than you care to admit, but you don’t know him all too well. Can he even swim?

He can, apparently. He bobs back up to the surface, gagging and spitting water as his mask hangs around his neck. He’s…

He’s cute. You hate that he’s cute.

His nose has a pleasant, strong slope to it. His lips are full, and you could almost imagine them tugging up into a grin. A dusting of stubble lines his chin and upper lip, and his hair hangs in damp black curls around his forehead and ears.

“Eugh, Gods!” He gasps, “I can taste the blood!”

“You can’t.” You immediately deny, “All you taste is salt.”

“I taste copper,” He defends, dragging himself back onto the dock with both hands. 

It’s graceful. How is he horribly clumsy at one moment, and the exact opposite not even minutes following?

“Do you need help?” You ask, hovering slightly at his side as he climbs up from his knees.

“Nah,” He denies, a laugh escaping him, “Not my first dip.”

You can’t stop the matching grin on your face and, though he cannot see it, he must sense your amusement.

“No chance we’ll forget that, hm?” He asks. “Not a one.” You say, “Nice try, however.”

He only shrugs, “I figured. Well, Ghostie, you’ve seen my face. Don’t go exposing the competition.”

“And get fired?” You scoff quietly, “Hardly.”

It’s quiet, briefly, and you can read the tension in his expression. Your fingers twitch at your side, and you suddenly need him to know he can trust you.

You exhale sharply, “What do they say about mutually assured destruction?”

He has no time to parse out a response before you’re glancing around, ensuring you’re still alone. Then you tilt back your cowl and tug your mask down in one smooth motion. 

He stares at you, and you stare at him. Your long, dark braid had fallen across your shoulder with your actions, and your face feels oddly bare under his gaze.

Softening, he spares you a small smile, “Well…nice to meet you, Ghostie.”

“Nice to meet you, Striker.” You respond softly, fiddling with the fabric of your cloak.

He shakes his head in disbelief, “No, trust me, the pleasure’s all mine.”

You remask yourselves and return swiftly after that, him waterlogged and you reeling from someone who knew your occupation seeing your face. Striker didn’t seem hardly as concerned, but you suppose he didn’t have to worry about people recognizing him.

Not like you do.

The secrets threaten to burn a hole in the back of your throat, his concern from earlier tasting like ash in your mouth, and you remind yourself again of why you exist.

You are a tool for revenge. A tool to make things right. Nothing more, nothing less. Fate had decided that long ago, and you can do nothing but hold your breath, resigned, as the waves sweep you under.

[opinated-user]

Wait Aliana is disabled?? I only read Two loving mothers fic and don't remember it was even mentioned! We had several paragraphs mentioning Aliana getting better, by taking care of her hair but we never told how she lives after losing her leg???? She has a prostetic right? Where did she get it from if she's kinda poor? How did she have a rehabilitation in such a short time? Does she has troubles fixing it if she's so bad at mechanics? Does she takes it off? Has any difficulties? Phantom pains? Pffft. Fck that. We don't need a proper representation i guess let's talk about hair. I don't know maybe it's somewhere in tsr, but from what I've heard, it isn't. Freaking how to train your dragon did better job, Lily

this is the post where LO explains exactly what happened. https://lily-orchard.tumblr.com/post/612186308769628160/okay-so-alianas-near-fatal-injury-on-the LO answers:

Okay here goes

Aliana’s right leg was severed below the knee, requiring a cybernetic prosthetic. The prosthetic was initially a stock robotic leg fitted in place by 2V-R8, but Rey took it upon herself to build one for Aliana herself before she woke from her coma.

The injuries from being impaled through the stomach were far more severe. Most of her internal organs located in her abdomen were severely damaged in some way, either by the blade itself, the heat, or blood loss from the arteries being cauterized. When operating, 2V-R8 prioritized repairing vital organs such as her intestines and kidneys, while removing both non-vital and vestigial organs entirely.

Most of the repairs were made with bacta pumps.

The sole exception was her spinal cord. Kylo Ren’s lightsaber severed it at the base, paralyzing Aliana from the waist-down. By the time 2V-R8 had gotten Aliana’s condition stable, much of the nerve tissue was unsalvagable. So 2V opted to replace Aliana’s entire spine with a cybernetic replacement.

After all of this was done, Aliana was put into an induced coma to heal and recover from surgery. She remained there for two months, and had another two months of recovery even while she was on her feet.

Once she had fully recovered, 2V announced that there would be no permanent damage from the incident. Aside from some stiffness and soreness which would wear off, and getting accustomed to her new leg, Aliana was as good as new. i forgot completely the part about the entire spine of alaina having to be replaced and she needing only 2 months to recover completely with barely any inconvenience at all. this is science fiction so we can give it leeway of course. it just feels a little arbitrary. i think it was Morals the first made notice that the alaina losing her leg seemed more for the sake of the melodrama in the moment and didn't had any everlasting consequences, not on the story and not on the fanart that MO still draws about her. only after Moral made their post there was one piece of art of alain with her prosthetic leg but that was about it. there was also this post about how alaina manges phantom pain and rey takes care of working on the leg while alaina is sleeping... because rey doesn't care about sleeping herlself, i assume.

i don't blame you at all for not knowing this anon because, like i said, LO herself barely brings it out herself and is not something that has any real impact during alaina's every day life.

[sukumen]

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him. 

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.  

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next. 

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ] 

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you  and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ] 

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay. 

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him. 

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave.  With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be. 

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether. 

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone. 

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after. 

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus. 

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to. 

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak. 

[ ... ] 

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?” 

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.” 

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely. 

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him. 

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.” 

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed --  and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance. 

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers. 

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home. 

[theladyismyshepard]

Hi I’m the anon with the skateboarder human Daniela dream. If you want, you could probably refer to the Daniela I mentioned as Bela since the new info just dropped and also to make things easier. It’s up to you though! Tysm! ^ ^

Hell yeah, my friend, I can get behind your AU dream, I just hope I can do it justice for ya! And I can change the name to Bela, I know the new info drop has a bunch of my stuff all fucked off 😅 I’ll take a few days from writing so I can figure out how to fix everything so it isn’t confusing for you guys 😞

Don’t Wake Me

The gray haze of winter had everything looking dreary, from the bare branches swinging in the breeze, to the puffs of hot air that billowed from your mouth with each exhale. Your stiff fingers were burrowed deep into the pocket of your hoodie, interlocked in a futile attempt at keeping warmth.

When it looked like this outside, you couldn’t even try to tell the time just by glancing up at the sun placement. It had you glancing numerous times as the screen of your phone to check the time. It had read six forty-five.

Where is she?

Your girlfriend has asked to meet her at the skate park at the outskirts of town at six thirty, and you being the punctual person that you are (only when it came to Bela), you arrived five minutes early. You grumbled as your girlfriend left you waiting as she always did. A begrudging smile couldn’t help but make its way to your lips. Bela was damn lucky she’s cute. Six forty-five gave way to six fifty, and suddenly the blonde wasn’t that cute.

You felt a pout coming on as you crossed your arms, stuffing your fingers underneath your armpits. Your nose had long since been running, and there were only so many spots on the sleeve of your hoodie... If she didn’t show up soon, you’d be forced to give up and go home.

Just as you were seriously considering getting up off the bench, you heard the scratching of wheels against concrete, and it was drawing your attention to your left. Bela was approaching you fast on her skateboard, her eyes wide and filled with mirth. You could see her braking and slowing her pace before she landed a kickflip before you. Her smirk had the corner of your mouth twitching.

“You’re late,” you drawled, unimpressed.

“At least I’m fashionably late!” exclaimed Bela. “This perfection takes time.”

Your eyes reflexively looked her up and down. Her ripped jeans were so tattered that you couldn’t help but think that her pants needed more pants. Her favorite pink hoodie had questionable spots in random places. The high tops on her feet weren’t even tied. You gave her a blank look.

“I can see the effort you put in for me.” you retorted, moving to stand.

“Well when you say it like that, I almost don’t believe you do.” replied Bela cheekily, watching your movements like a hawk.

“You had me waiting.” you pointed out, eyebrow arched.

Bela finally had the decency to look sheepish, the tip of her shoe scuffing the ground. When she could bring herself to look you in the eye once again, her’s were wide and pleading. Coupled with the way her lower lip jutted out the slightest... I can’t believe she’s giving me the puppy eyes.

“It wasn’t totally my fault!” Bela started, but deflated once she said it. “My mom said dinner comes first, and I can’t exactly talk back.”

You shook your head, understanding completely. You had met their mother, and while she seemed to like you enough, you know that she wouldn’t allow Bela to put you above her own well-being.

“No, you can’t do that.”

“Please don’t tell me you showed up five minutes early.” Bela had suddenly thought about your punctuality.

“It’s better to be early than late.” you quipped, though your grin eased any tension that was weighing on Bela.

“Oh, coming early is never a good thing in my book.” teased Bela, poking you in the ribs.

“You aren’t as funny as you think you are.” you lied. Your widening grin was your tell.

“I make myself laugh.” Bela shot back, giving a shrug.

“You’re about the only one you can make laugh.”

Her gasp had her looking like a fish out of water, and it had you doubled over with laughter. Her scoff prompted another fit of giggles, which shifted into a squeal when she surged forward to tickle your sides.

“Stop it!” The shriek of forced laughter echoed past the tree lines as you pushed her away from you, taking off in the direction opposite of her.

You sprinted a few yards before you turned back, confused by the lack of following footsteps. She stood there, just watching you with a curious look as your eyes met. You gave her a “well?” face and she was soon hopping onto the table before leaping forward, even going as far as to do a little barrel roll.

You rolled your eyes at your girlfriend’s antics, but it was more out of amusement and adoration than anything really. You pressed on, covering more ground before Bela could catch you, and once you passed through the gate enclosing the skate park, you slammed it shut, cutting off her pathway.

You didn’t have to look to know that she cleared the gate if her wild cackling and the sound of rattling metal was anything to go by. You didn’t look back, you couldn’t afford to. You could feel the phantom of her presence lingering right behind you, ready to reach out and snag you, and your body surged forward in your second wind.

Her clambering footsteps behind you were getting farther back, and for a moment you thought you had won. You even cracked a smile through your panted breath.

But then you heard her skateboard barreling towards you, the tires spinning faster than you could run. You couldn’t help the jolt of panic that had you moving faster as Bela laughed almost maniacally as she chased you.

Arms encircled your waist and you yelped as you both tumbled to the ground, skateboard skirting off to the side. You turned onto your back, and relished the body that melted against your own. Her chest was pressed against your own and you could feel her heartbeat matching yours.

Her eyes looked deeply into yours and you could see the gold flakes swirling in her bright eyes. You could see a shift in them that had you both leaning in for a kiss. Every one took your breath away, and this was no different, even if you were breathless before. When the need for air had her pulling back, she had a megawatt smile that lit up her entire face.

“You’re like a dream.” you couldn’t help but mumble, and she chuckled.

“Let’s hope you don’t ever wake up,”

[the-sympathetic-villain]

Choking in the Dark

AO3 | Next | Masterpost

Description: The prompt for this one-shot is this animatic, "Wires" by Anna Midnight, which I highly recommend you watch before reading.

Characters: Logan, Remus Word Count: 2769 Chapter Warnings: Heavy Angst, Choking, Self-Esteem Issues/Self-Deprecation, Injuries, Dark but Not Necessarily Unsympathetic sides, Abandonment, Self-Harm, Angst with an okay(?) ending (Let me know if I need to add anything!)

General Taglist:

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

-

   I can’t breathe.

   Hours.

   How many hours?

   I've been here for so long.

   Logan's lungs ached. On his knees, he hung his head. The weight of his head pulling against the thick rubber cable around his neck, making it even harder to breath. He stayed there for a moment, swaying as he ignored the voice in the back of his mind screamed for air.The voice became increasingly persistent until he was forced to raise his head as the edges of his vision blurred.

   It doesn't matter.

   Thick wires cut deep into his wrists, a solemn comfort that he was even alive. The fading had started hours ago, starteing in the tips of his fingers and slowly claiming his body.  He held up his hand. The translucent appearance of his digits a metaphorical punch to the gut as he jerked his head, the wire around his neck tightening like a noose.

   I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company.

   If he'd known the words would be some of his last, he would have chosen a subject more interesting to lecture on than Peter Singer's take one Effective Altruism. He could have talked about anything. Astronomy, chemistry—The others barely acknowledged his contributions as it stood. The topics may not have been relevant, but at least he would have been able to choose the lesson.

   His last lesson.

   Logan whimpered as the thick wire tightened around his neck, cutting into the already raw skin. He wheezed a stiff breath against the heavy piece of rubber threatening to crush his windpipe.

   Not that it would have had an impact on any of them.

   The piles of dust scattered across the floor around him remained a stark reminder that his words fell flat on the ears of those he most needed to hear them. Thomas—His friends—

   If that's even what they consider me at this point.

   After all, he was here. No one had noted his absence in the hours he'd been gone.

   Why would they?

   Clearly, his words were so unnecessary they should simply be skipped. He growled breathlessly in frustration as the binds around his wrists pulled taut. His arms were stretched out, pulled upward like some sort of sick marionette hanging limply on his knees. He glared into the empty space around him. His ‘room' as the others loved to refer to their personal corners of Thomas' mind.  His room. The awe-inspiring place had once been full of chemistry books and stars and all the little things that made Thomas curious. Logan had been collecting them since Thomas was a child, but it was gone, turned to piles of dust around his room as Thomas' search for knowledge fall further and further out of his mind.

   Unimportant.

   Just like him.

   He couldn’t help the sick smirk on his face as the wires tightened once more around his throat, jerking his head upright. He swallowed a shallow breath, barely drawing oxygen as his airway strained to remain open.

   Unwanted.

   Logan snarled bitterly as memories surfaced forcefully in his mind.

   Not that any of you care, but I am unharmed—

   I'll do you all a favor and spare you my company—

   His own words from this video echoed in his mind as he choked on his own breath. Only Patton had objected, but his protests were weak and quickly forgotten. If one thing was clear, it was that his contributions were neither wanted, nor needed anymore.

   They'll finally get what they've wanted all along—

   Logan groaned as the wires pulled on his wrists and his shoulders ached, barely holding place in the sockets against the strain of the heavy cords threatening to pull him to pieces.

   His life was a small price for them to pay for him to finally be silenced.

   Roman wouldn't have to shut him up when he started rambling anymore. Virgil wouldn't have the added stress of convincing him that Thomas' fears were valid. Patton wouldn't have to feign the moral obligation of treating him like an equal, like he actually had a seat at the table. Thomas—Logan choked back a sob—Thomas wouldn't have to feel guilty about pursuing what actually made him happy.

   This is for the best.

   After all, I already see how worthless my life had become—

   Logan’s head jerked up at the sound of a sinister snicker. “Well, well, well—Look who's wandered a little too far from the light. I didn't take you for the bondage type, teach.”

   He watched as Remus stepped out of the shadows, a menacing grin on his face as he approached. Logan scowled as Remus kicked through the piles of dust, scatter the last remnants of the things he once loved. “What are you doing here, Remus?”

   “What am I doing here?” Remus cackled maniacally. “Oh, no, no, no. The better question is what are you doing on the dark side?”

   “The dark—” A cry past Logan’s lips as the wires around his wrist jerked once more, dislocating his right shoulder. He groaned, daggers in his eyes as he glared at Remus. “You know what?”

   Remus tilted his head at Logan, a show of mock concern as he brushed through yet another pile of dust.

   “Fuck your questions.” Logan spat. “Leave me alone. The least the rest of you owe me is to let me fade away in peace.”

   “You ought to watch that mouth of yours or you're going to disappoint the cardigan-clad killjoy. Besides, what are you going to do about it?” Remus giggled as Logan glared, stepping forward and waving his hand through Logan’s phantom limb. “Ghost me?”

   Fire burned in Logan’s eyes as he stared at Remus, knowing he was helpless. Trapped, as Remus walked free to do as he pleased.

   “So, nerdy wolverine,” Logan looked up as Remus leaned close to his face. “What happened to my invite to the pity party?”

   “This isn't my doing,” Logan hissed, losing steam. “Thomas’ subconscious is pulling me back. I—I've outlived my purpose.”

   “Pulling you back seems like an understatement. It looks to me like you’re about to be pulled to shreds—” Remus smirked, leaning against the wall behind him nonchalantly. “—and don’t get me wrong. I’m all about watching Thomas' mind tear you into little pieces, but you’re supposed to be pretty important for the big guy, right? Seems to me like Thomas is supposed to need you more than those other dorks on the light side.”

   Logan gritted his teeth. “Clearly, you’re mistaken. They are managing perfectly well without me.”

   “Oh, now I do sense a little bitterness.” Remus purred. “Maybe he's not so resigned as he looks.”

   “Your point is null, Remus. My existence is of little consequence to anyone and the subconscious has made its decision.” Logan wheezed numbly, tears in his eyes as he tried to move his fingers, desperately hoping they were still there. “This is happening, whether I want it to or not.”

   "Oh, I don't know." Remus mused absently. "I don't think all of that is true."

   “What?” Logan strained painfully against the thick cord around his neck to turn his head to catch a glance at Remus.

   “I wouldn’t say no one wants you around.”

   Logan swallowed painfully, dropping his gaze in shame as tears brimmed in his eyes. “The others—”

   “Screw the others.” Remus smirked as Logan stared a him. “I meant me.”

   Logan froze, temporarily stunned as his limbs went limp in their binds. “You—you want me around?”

   “Now, don't get all sappy on me, teach, but the others aren't as much fun to play with. They roll over to easy.” Remus wiggled his eyebrows at him and giggled as Logan stared blankly at him. “Not you though. You gave me a run for my money last time, and—and we made a good team. Didn't we?”

   “What?” Logan winced as Remus raised a hand to his neck, staring at the wires digging into his skin. His fingertips brushed the edge of the wire's tight grip and the red, raw skin burned painfully at his touch, but the contact—the contact felt nice.Tears streaked down his face as emotions welled in his chest. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched so gently.

   “We may have opposed each other, but really that was the only way to get through to Thomas and it worked.” Remus sighed, and Logan could see the sadness in his eyes as he pulled his hand back, looking into Logan's eyes. “I couldn't have done that without you. The rest of them would never have seen past the darkness in me.”

   Logan stared blankly down at Remus for a long moment, before his purpose kicked in. “The others are unnecessary blinded by their narrow view of moral. The  concepts of light and dark are arguably meaningless. Assigning actions as good or evil only serves our biases and our internal need for affirmation of our own moral value—” Logan nearly bit down on his tongue as Remus raised an eyebrow at him. “—I'm sorry. I'm rambling.”

   “I didn’t stop you, teach." Remus smirked. "I would gladly listen to you ramble about light and dark for hours.”

   Logan blinked in surprise. For the first time in a long time, he actually believed someone was genuinely interested in his thoughts. He stared blankly at Remus until another tight squeeze of the wires caused his vision to blur. His head swayed, the lack of oxygen contributing to his fading consciousness.

   “Unfortunately, I don't think we have the time right now.” Remus glanced at him nervously. “The subconscious has nearly claimed you."

   “It's too late.” Logan wheezed, tears streaming down his face as he prepared for the mysterious edge of Thomas' mind to pull him apart.

   “The subconscious could have just taken you.”

   “What?”Logan cracked his eyes open at Remus' solemn whisper, nearly hyper ventilating from the strain to pull in enough oxygen to keep him conscious.

   “You could have disappeared on the light side, but it brought you here.” Remus looked up at the wires trailing infinitely into the  mind palace above them.

   Logan wearily stared up at him, black oblivion tugging at his vision as his head swayed. “So?”

   “So, do you want to live, Logan?” Logan barely felt as Remus grabbed his collar.

   Logan wheezed, exhaustion hanging onto his body as the pain intensified.

   “I need an answer, Logan.”

   Logan closed his eyes, oblivion pulling at him as he whispered breathlessly. “Yes.”

   “Alright,” Logan felt Remus drop his collar as he took a step back. “Forgive me for this.”

   “Wha—” Logan’s statement was cut off as Remus' knuckles connected with his temple. His head was jerked to the side and the welts on his neck burned like fire from the sudden movement.

   "Time to taste what you’re made of, Lo!”

   Logan’s head jerked up as he lurched forward furiously. White hot rage surged through his veins as he bit bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

   What kind of sick bastard punches someone as they're dying.

   His hands hung loosely at his sides as he screamed at Remus. “You piece of—What are you trying to do to—”

   Wait. Loosely?

   The realization lasted only a moment before a second fist connected with his cheekbone. All rational thought left his mind as fury filled his being and he lunged forward at Remus. He cried out as his dislocated shoulder connected with Remus' chest, toppling him over. He gasped as he hit the ground and pain lit up across his body as his bruises and welts all connected with the ground with a loud thud.

   “Shit, Lo. You knocked the breath right out of me.” Logan could hear the sounds of Remus shuffling next to him. “Hold on. I've got you.”

   Logan felt Remus roll him over and he moaned in pain at the forced movement as his back settled on the cold ground.

   “I know, Lo, but I've got to set your arm before you do some permanent damage.” Remus whispered gently. “Are you ready? On 3. 1—2—”

   Logan's vision went white as pain shot through his body and his consciousness faded briefly. No times seemed to pass, but as he opened his eyes a moment, he found himself curled in Remus' arms. A quick glance down revealed that creative side had used his signature green sash to fashion a makeshift sling for his arm. He stared down at the gentle attention Remus had shown him and he couldn’t help but smile.

   Brilliant—

   Logan cut off his thought with a sudden gasp. His uninjured hand shot to his neck, feeling—nothing. Tears streamed down his face as he looked up to Remus. “ The wires. Th-they’re gone.”

   I'm free.

   “Sorry about the black eye I gave you to get you out of there.” Remus smirked as Logan looked up from his shaking hands, running his free hand through his hair as he looked away evasively as Logan stared at him. “I normally try to get permission before I get rough, but—”

   “You did that for me.” Logan's mouth hung open as he traced the deep indents in his arms where the wires had constricted his wrists.

   Remus shrugged. “It wasn't noth—"

   Logan sucked in a breath, going limp with the realization that someone cared enough to intervene. “It most certainly is something, Remus. Those wires—they've bound me for years. I don't think I even remember a time when they weren't—” Logan clenched his teeth, feeling the wet streaks mix with the blood from his lip running down his face. The realization of what just happened hit him all at once and he choked back a sob. “You saved my life.”

   “Nah,” Remus brushed him off. “You did all the real work. Everyone’s got a little light and dark in ‘em, right? I just antagonized that little spark of anger in you until you went full Mr. Hyde to your usual Dr. Jekyll. A little push and the dark side accepted you.”

   Logan blinked in shock as realization struck him. He dropped his gaze to the ground as he considered the days' events. "I'm a dark side now. Aren't I?"

   "What happened to the idea that light and dark are arguably meaningless, nutty professor?" Remus giggled before turning serious. “Don't worry. You're not stuck with me. The subconscious’ grip on you is gone if you want to go back—”

   “Don't make me go back, Re.”

   Remus stared at Logan pleaded up at him. “Lo, you can stay, if you want, but Virgil’s gone. I'm pretty sure Janus checked out after the last vid. It's just me down here and I snore—”

   “Remus, in the last ten minutes, you've shown me more humanity than any of the others have in years,” Anger flashed in Logan's eyes as he slowly straightened to his feet, glancing around the room. The piles of dust were gone, revealing a polished concrete floor, a blank canvas. “It all makes sense now.”

   “What does” Remus paused and watched as Logan stood. With a devilish smirk, he brushed off the the dust of his shirt. The last remnants of the his empathy fading into oblivion.

   Emotions. I always knew they were simply a nuisance.

   “I couldn’t help Thomas from the light side. The rules, the niceties…They were preventing me from fulfilling my purpose. I need to be more forceful. More persistent. More angry” Logan looked up to see the night sky above them, an illusion of the mind palace and the beginning of a new chapter. A bitter smile spread across Logan's face as the dark clouds swirled above them, allowing only a sprinkling of stars to show through. “Don't you see, Remus? I need to make them listen. I need to make Thomas listen.”

   Remus raised an eyebrow at him suspiciously. “You’re actually staying?”

   A mischievous smile spread across Logan’s face as he watched items creep slowly up out of the floor, his room now feeling much like he'd had before. A desk, a globe. The room filled to the brim with bookshelves. Everything returned to his room just like before was except—a little darker, a little colder and about as welcoming as the sinister smile spreading across his face. “Yes, I think I'm going to get comfortable here, Remus.”

   Remus matches his smile, giggling manically. “Ah yes, Lo. Let's burn this place to the ground!”

   Free. He was free at last.

   Logan chuckled, smiling at the wonderful man beside him. “Yes, Re, let's do just that.”

[nerdyfangirl67]

My Angel - Phantom of the Opera (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader

Warnings: Erik insecurities, dark thoughts and feelings, a very oblivious reader

Word count: 2278

A/N: I hated the way I ended this one. I really wanted to make it one of my longest ones yet, but I have really been struggling finding the inspiration to finish this. I am sorry for all of y’all that were excited to follow the journey of this story. After time passes, I may come back to it, but right now, I am not in the right mindset for it. 

---- Chapter 3 ----

He plays into the early hours of the morning, with you sitting next to him on the velvet covered organ bench. Sometime in the short few hours you are with him, he wrapped his large, velvet black cloak around your shoulders, chasing away the chill that had been reaching towards your bones.

As his music starts to trail off, you remember about work. You scramble off the organ bench, tripping over the long edge of your, or rather Erik’s, cloak in your haste and fall in a heap on the floor. A few unladylike words slip from your mouth and a short bark of a laugh behind you catches your attention.

A lightness dances in his eyes as he looks at you. “Mon cher, I did not expect you to be so foul mouthed. Your appearance deceives your nature.” Despite his mirth, he reaches out a hand and effortlessly pulls you up.

“I have work. If I am late again, I will lose my job.” You mumble, an intense feeling of sudden sadness weighing on your chest. The thought of leaving him so soon after you ‘found’ him, had your heart aching.

A gentle hand brushes a wisp of hair out of your face. “Mon cher, you have been up all night. I will deal with your employers. You need rest.” He takes your hand in his, you don’t even try to protest, and allow him to lead you to his large four poster bed. You hesitantly sit on the bed, a tentative hand reaching out to run over the velvet covers.

You search his face, your heart beating fast with both the anxiety of ‘skipping’ work and the thought of being left alone in his space, his home. “A-aare you sure?” You stammer with uncertainty.

He kneels in front of you, making him eye level to you for the first time. “Oui mon cher. Rest.” He unties his cape from around your neck, pulling it loose from underneath you. He urges you to lie down before covering you with the large black velvet material.

You don’t even hear Erik walk out of the small alcove the bed resides in and you can’t bring yourself to see if he did. You were exhausted. As much as you had enjoyed, no, as much as you had loved listening to your angel play his music, you hadn’t stayed up until the early hours of the morning since you were a young girl and it had drained you. It wasn’t long before you were in a deep slumber, the rich musk of your angel filling your nose.

----

Rapid, lifting note phrases bursting from the organ wake you. You laid there for a moment, listening to the stirring, joyous composition. You could hear in the music alone how much happier he was and it warms your heart. Stretching you feel the stiffness in your joints, which was telling you that you had been asleep for more than a few hours. You push yourself out of the bed, grabbing Erik’s cloak as you do. Pulling it up over your shoulders, you walk slowly towards his organ, intently watching him as he plays with fervor.

He must have heard you approach, as he stops playing and turns to look at you. “Ah, mon cher, are you feeling bien reposé?” His easy switch between English and French had your cheeks heating up as you think of how you’d like him to really use this skill, and it wasn’t in casual conversation.

You nod your head, joining him on the organ bench. He turns his attention from the keys to you. He stares at you for a long time, analyzing your face before speaking. “Mon cher, you do not have to continue as a maid if it makes you unhappy. You can stay here with me, si vous le souhaitez.”

Your heart leaps repeatedly in your chest at the thought of staying with this man, this angel, in this place you find ethereal. It is like the accumulation of all your dreams in one. You would have the man you had come to love, you would be at the forefront of all his musical creations, and you would be free of the job that made you dread every morning, or more specifically, every day.

The excitement dancing around in your chest and tangling in your thoughts is making it hard for you to string words together enough to answer. As you struggle to voice your thoughts, you can see the crushing disappointment taking over his features. You can practically see the wall sliding back in place over his heart.

You rapidly stand up, giving yourself a few inches on his seated figure. “Erik, I want nothing more than to be here with you.” You state, staring into his dark eyes. You tentatively reach out a hand towards the masked side of his face. He flinches away from your hand, putting distance between it and his face.

The act alone has a lump of hurt forming in your chest. You had had no intention of removing the mask, rather you had wanted to show him, that injured, dark, scared part of him, the feel of a gentle touch. You’d thought he would trust you enough at this point to know you were not going to remove the mask or to hurt him in any way.

“I-I do not intend to remove your mask Erik.” You state simply, staring deeply into his eyes. His eyes were swirling with emotions. There was a deep fury emanating from their depths, coupled with a dark sadness.

“I have seen that move before, mon cher. A beautiful temptress removed it, not once, but twice. She revealed a part of me to the world that I will never get back. They know who I am now, I cannot hide it.” His voice echoed brokenly in the large cavern and each word tore at your heart.

You carefully closed the small distance between you. “I would never disrespect you like that.” You said softly as you slowly, so slowly, move your hand to his covered cheek. He doesn’t flinch this time, but he is sitting as stiff as a board. You rub your thumb gently over his masked cheekbone and hum the tune of his composition softly as you do. With your other hand, you reach up to comb back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. His eyes are the softest you had ever seen, like the clear night sky, brightened by the soft lights of the city below. One of his hands reaches up to cover the one you have resting on his face, as he leans into it.

“You are nothing like they believe you to be. You are a man that brings light with his marvelous musical compositions.” You pause, leaning forward ever so slightly until your forehead is barely touching his. “You are a man of mystery yes, but you are also a man with a deeply hidden gentle soul.” His eyes soften at your words, soaking in the kind words he wasn’t accustomed to.

“Mon cher, stay. Do not go back. Now that I know what it is like to have you, I cannot be without you. You are truly my sweet and beautiful muse.” His words, spoken with a gentle tenderness have tears beading up in your eyes.

“I will. I will stay with you Erik, my angel. I just have to return to work tomorrow to receive what measly amount of money they owe me.” You answer, frustration coloring your voice. You want nothing more than to never have to return to that small, dingy room you shared with the two other cleaners. You despised the way you were treated as if you were nothing more than common trash, how you were nothing more than a replaceable worker.

His hand moved from where it was gently covering yours, up to your cheek to wipe away the tear that had managed to fall from your lashes. “I can take care of them, mon cher, if you want. They would never bother you, or anyone else, again.” His tone is sharp and chilling, sending a cold chill down your spine. A deep breath rushes from your lungs as you stare at him. You wanted so badly to say yes, to never have to see those who had spent the last year telling you your work wasn’t good enough again. But you couldn’t. You could not bring yourself to wish harm on someone, regardless of how little you liked them.

“No. You are better than that.” You state firmly. “You are not going to draw back into the darkness, especially not for me.” You stand, slowly slipping from his grasp. “I am strong and I will do this on my own.” Despite your words a feeling of irrational fear was creeping up on you. It wasn’t as if you were doing anything you should not be. All you were doing was asking for the meager amount you were owed, yet you couldn’t get over the feeling of anxiety rising in your chest.

He seems to sense your unease and delicately pulls you into his embrace. You press half of your face into his chest, inhaling his unique musk and listening to the beating of his heart, which mirrored your own. After a long moment, which didn’t feel nearly long enough for you, you pull back.

“I must go now. I want to get them before they leave for the day.” You murmur, your eyes never leaving his. A part of you was urging you not to go, to take Erik up on his offer to help and to stay here in the comfort of his music and his arms.

You turn reluctantly, making your way back to the man sized entrance to the tunnels. The walk back to the opera house seems to take the longest it ever has. With each step you take away from the cavern, you feel as if a string is tugging against your heart.

You get to the door of the tunnel, but stop. Something is holding you back, keeping you from opening the door that will bring you back to the opera house, and your old life. Memories flash through your mind as you think of all the good that has taken place since you had entered these tunnels only a month before.

You had found a place to call home, a place where you could indulge your love for music. You had found a future, something that made you want to get out of bed in the morning, something that made you want to live. Most importantly, you had found someone that made that future seem worth living. Conviction steels your nerves and you turn from the door and move much quicker back the way you had come.

It isn’t long before you are back in the cavern, the sounds of your angel’s melodies greeting you tenderly as you enter. He hears the echo of your footsteps because he turns, his nimble fingers pausing on the keys.

“Mon cher, I know I get lost in my music, but I believe you just left. What are you doing back so soon?” As he speaks, he moves forward, his shiny black cape streaming out behind him. You move forwards as well, meeting him halfway.

“I came to a realization that I don’t need anything that is on the other side of that door because all I will every need is right here,” You whisper, your breath caressing his face as you lean forward, closing some of the distance between the two of you.

He tentatively continues to close the distance, until his lips are only a hair breadth away from yours. “Puis-je t'embrasser ma chérie? May I kiss you my dear?” He repeats the question in English, not wanting anything to get lost in translation.

You nod, your nerves racing with excitement. His lips are on yours only half a breath later, caressing them softly with his own. The kiss sends your nerves abuzz, dancing with his music, almost as if he was sending it straight to your soul.

After a long moment, he pulls back. “Thank you mon cher.” His voice is breathless as you stare at him, your mind racing. “Thank you for believing in who I really am. And for being patient with me.” With that he steps back, causing you to furrow your brow in confusion.

As you watch him, Erik slowly lifts a hand to his face, removing the pristine white mask that covered over half of his face. As he pulls it away from his face, you become transfixed. It is not the puckered skin or the scars that draw your attention. Nor is it the thinning hair near his hairline on that side of his face. No, it’s the utter terror and brokeness that has taken over his face that draws your attention.

You reach up a hand, gentle laying your hand on the marred side of his face. “You are beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. Body and soul.” You whisper, your hand tracing over the lines you know he despises.

It is in this moment that you realize just how much you have come to love this man. You cannot imagine a life without him and knowing he wants you to be a part of his life, has you feeling unrestrained joy. You also realize that you are finally complete. This man and his music has fixed the broken parts of your soul, healing them in a way that you never thought possible.

[tracybirds]

Caesura

This fic is brought to you, courtesy of my complete and utter inability to trill and being mean enough to say if I can’t play the piano properly, neither can he.

Many thanks to @gumnut-logic for the prod to write it and to @hedwigstalons for making me feel better about endings.... look there’s even a title xD

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

Virgil wished he could tell people honestly that when he first registered the sharp snap of bone against rock, his primary concern had been for International Rescue. A broken bone was serious, even if it was a clean break without complications. He would need to be pulled from duty for at least a couple of months, leaving everyone else to pick up the slack. He knew what that felt like, to be a part of a team that was missing a limb, working longer hours and stepping into a role that wasn’t made for him.

But when the crack resonated in the air and the pain flared in his wrist, International Rescue had been the last thing on his mind.

***

Three days later, Virgil sat down at the piano. His left hand was a whirlwind of motion, running up and down the keys, and his right was strapped to his chest. He wasn’t using it but muscle memory kept his fingers twitching in the solid cast. He hissed and doubled over his arm protectively as the automatic movement twinged against the nerves in his broken wrist.

A hand fell heavy on his shoulder. He ignored it, the thought of soothing the dull ache in his wrist overwhelming.

“Virgil.”

Scott said his name like a command, and he looked up into the worried eyes of his brother.

“Come on, Virgil, what have you done to yourself? You can’t play with a broken wrist.”

“Wasn’t trying to play,” said Virgil, through gritted teeth. “Was practising my scales.”

Scott’s lips thinned, but he said nothing as he gently pulled his brother from the stool and brought him down to the kitchen. Out of sight of his beloved instrument, but never far from mind.

“Here,” said Scott, pushing two small pills and a glass of water over to him.

“No,” said Virgil, immediately. “It’s not that bad, I don’t want–”

“Stop being a hero,” snapped Scott. “You’re in pain, there’s no shame in taking drugs for it.”

Virgil glared at the pills in lieu of a response.

Scott huffed in front of him.

“What’s eating you anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It clearly does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

He pushed the glass away and strode from the room.

“Great,” called Scott after him. “Good talk.”

Virgil ignored him, stalking up the stairs towards his own room. It seemed a cruel irony that now his schedule was wide open and the days stretching before him, he couldn’t do the one thing he’d always wanted to spend more time on.

He pulled a sketchbook from the shelf and threw himself onto a chair. He knew he had a lot to be thankful for, that things could have been so much worse, but the thought was of little comfort as he stared blankly at the open page.

A pianist leapt from his pencil, captured in the throes of performance. He could hear the vitality in the piece, the energy as the sketch moved his whole body with the rhythm.

It wasn’t just the way music allowed him to relax, he needed it, the constant heartbeat of the world translating to harmony in a way that kept him connected to those around him. Without his piano he felt cut off and distant, even his humming felt flat and lifeless.

The second sketch held an aching tenderness, gentle, the pianist caressing the keys as he played, head bent close. If Virgil listened to the phantom melody, he could hear the hesitancy between the notes. The silence echoed as he lifted his pencil, art reflecting life.

Uncertainty plagued him most of all. It was the long weeks where his muscles would waste away that he feared, where the dexterity he had worked so hard to maintain all his life could be lost in one minor accident. The stiffness surrounding his wrist felt unnatural and he didn’t know how to let go of the trepidation that was coiled in his chest.

A sharp knock lifted him from the world of greyscale and charcoal.

“Virgil?”

He sighed, knowing Scott wouldn’t wait to be let in forever, and trudged over to the door, yanking it open with a suitably annoyed expression on his face.

“What?”

Scott held up a mug of coffee.

“If you’re not taking meds, there’s nothing stopping you from drowning in caffeine.”

“You can mix caffeine with painkillers, you know,” he said, taking the coffee as he stepped back.

Scott kicked the door shut behind him.

“Well, I needed an excuse to get in.” His eyes softened as he spied the drawing materials abandoned on the desk.

“You gonna turn these into a painting?”

He shrugged, not in the mood to discuss his work. He wasn’t embarrassed, and he’d learnt long ago that very little could remain private with four brothers, but the new sketches were personal. They had a sense of fragility to them that he wasn’t ready to share.

He took a sip of the coffee, its taste bitter on his tongue. Scott always made it too strong.

“Can we talk?”

Virgil eyed his brother.

“Depends on what you have to say.”

Scott’s eyes narrowed at the challenge.

“You’ve been moping around for the past three days. I want to help, that’s all.”

“Well unless you’re hiding away a new medical breakthrough that can knit bone back together again, that’s going to be a challenge.”

“C’mon, you’ve had worse injuries than this.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“And that shattered knee was what exactly?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Four surgeries, Virgil.”

“But I could play then, Scott,” snapped Virgil. “You can’t make me feel better about this.

Scott halted at the words, regret washing over his expression. Virgil felt a twinge of satisfaction watching his brother crawl his way back to his contrite opening.

“I know piano’s important to you, but it’s only for a few weeks. And Grandma said you can switch to a brace and restart your strength training by May.”

Virgil sighed and shifted his gaze. Scott followed his line of sight to the beat up piano his brother had insisted they bring with them to the island. The one their father had given their mother as a wedding present. It had been ancient even then but it was infused with their parents’ love and both brothers had spent countless hours learning simple tunes on the instrument under their mother’s tutelage.

“I just miss it.”

Scott smiled sadly.

“Yeah, I know it sucks.”

“And what if there are complications and it never comes right? What will I do then?”

“You’d figure it out. People have played piano after worse injuries than a poorly mended wrist fracture.”

Virgil scrubbed at his eyes and leant back, suddenly feeling exhausted.

“I know it’s only a few weeks in the cast, and only a couple of months before I’m back out there on rescues. Maybe that should be enough.”

Scott nudged him.

“There’s no ‘should’ in this, you can be upset.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Just don’t get hurt in the process. Stay off that piano, you can’t help yourself.”

“It’s the perfect time to work on my left hand technique though.”

“Stay. Off.” Scott jabbed his finger at Virgil, a menacing look in his eye. “Or I’ll sic Grandma on you.”

Virgil rolled his eyes.

“Sure, Scott, whatever you say.” He glanced back over at the abandoned drawing materials and Scott stood, taking the hint.

“Right, well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Scott?” he called after him. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Scott said with a grin, closing the door behind him.

Virgil sat still, waiting, for a few moments before sidestepping the desk and making his way to the old upright in the corner.

The piano lid creaked as badly as it did when their Dad had first bought the instrument but the tuning was true.

His left hand sought out the chords instinctively, running up and down the arpeggios and exercises he’d learnt as a child, letting the notes wash over him like a soothing wave.

Scott listened from outside with a half-smile and a shake of the head.

He had to trust his brother with this.

[xxx-cat-xxx]

we’re collecting dust (but our love’s enough)

Have a little bittersweet Pepperony & Ironfam fic. As always, thanks to @whumphoarder for beta reading!

_________________

And here’s the thing about getting old: it’s marked by an ever-rising contrast between the good days and the bad days. On good days, Tony can still spend hours tinkering in the garage or playing ball with Peter’s eight-year-old son, Ben, down by the lake.

But on bad days, when phantom pain is hijacking all of his senses (despite the fact that two decades have passed now since that final battle), putting on the prosthesis is out of the question—as is getting down the stairs from the master bedroom.

And on the really bad days, his joints are so stiff that he’s barely able to lift his one remaining arm high enough to bring his migraine medication up to his lips.

“Pep?” Tony croaks, hating the weakness that’s echoing back at him. He’s not sure if she’s even close enough to hear him, but he trusts FRIDAY to relay the message that his wife is needed.

It takes her longer than it used to, but then Pepper is by his side, putting an arm behind his back in a practiced motion to help him sit up a little more. He bites back a groan when the change in elevation only increases the stabbing pain behind his right eye.

“Open your mouth,” she directs, firmly but warmly, before placing the pills on his tongue and bringing the water glass to his lips so he can take a sip. He loves her for the lack of pity in her eyes, for her focus on the practicalities of caring, for the calmness masking her worry― although none of that is surprising. Hell, they’ve been through far worse than the thunderstorms in his head.

Pepper adds a heating pad to the collection of pillows propping him up and pats it with an inviting gesture. Wincing, he lies back down, then curls onto his side, pulling his legs up to his stomach.

“Here, just in case.” Pepper puts a trash can next to the bed, freshly lined in order to avoid the smell making his nausea any worse. Tony really hopes he won’t throw up the pills he just took, but the possibility is definitely there.

“You’re the best, Miss Potts” he mumbles, and only then realises that this particular nickname is already a few decades too old.

“Get some sleep, Tony.” She brushes a kiss on his forehead and gently shuts his eyes with her palm. He opens them again the moment she’s left the room, unable to find rest just yet.

With difficulty, Tony turns onto his other side so that the photos on the nightstand come into view. Morgan and her girlfriend Riri with their surfboards at Malibu beach, the sunset bathing them in a warm, almost otherworldly light. Peter and Ben, who is sitting on Rhodey’s lap in the wheelchair and laughing at someone behind the camera. Happy and May, arm in arm and a little drunk on the evening of their tenth anniversary.

Tony keeps looking at the photos until the drugs kick in and they turn blurry in front of his eyes while he finally drifts off.

*

It’s early evening when he wakes again, his head still throbbing and his body tired, but feeling miles better than earlier. The house is quiet and Pepper is nowhere to be seen. Tony lies still for a moment, marvelling at the simple fact that he is able to form comprehensive thoughts without feeling like his brain is being eaten alive.

After a while, he’s able to sit up on his own and slowly make his way to the bathroom. He uses the toilet and brushes his teeth to get rid of the stale taste in his mouth. Then he has to hold on to the basin for a while because he starts to feel lightheaded from being on his feet for a phenomenal five full minutes. Finally it passes, and he washes his face with cold water to get his blood pressure back to a more reasonable level.

When he looks up, there’s an old man staring back at him from the mirror, rumpled grey hair and an even greyer beard. He bears a vague resemblance to Howard Stark―Howard Stark if someone had tried to melt away half of his face.

The snap has left a long-term toll, and not just in the gruesome scars all over his body. Tony had a stroke last summer, after which he’d temporarily lost the movement in his one remaining arm and was drooling for weeks, and he’s already on his second pacemaker this year. Not that he’s complaining―better to be old than dead, thank you very much―but some things really just suck. He stares at the mirror image a moment longer and then sticks out his tongue at it, content to see that this makes him stop looking like Howard.

“Tony?” He flinches when he hears Pepper’s voice from downstairs, though she doesn’t sound like Pepper at all. Her tone is scared, almost desperate. “Where are you?”

“Hon-” he stops to clear his scratchy throat and tries again. “Honey, I’m up here!”

Her footsteps run up the staircase and he turns around to see her enter, dressed in her favourite light blue summer dress, the long hair cascading down over her shoulders.

“Tony?” she asks again, breathing hard. Then she takes him in and relief blooms on her face. He registers the tears on her cheek and automatically raises his good hand to wipe them away.

“What happened?” he asks softly. But he already knows.

Closing her eyes, she leans into his touch. “I was in the garden,” she starts. “I was, I think I was watering the sunflowers, and then, for a second, I―I didn’t know. Where I was. Where everyone was.”

“Oh Pep,” he sighs, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her close. It’s not the first time this has happened, but all the other times she’s been inside the house where FRIDAY could help her make sense of the situation and get back to reality quickly. “How long were you out there?”

“I don’t know,” Pepper mumbles. “I thought―I thought it was a park, maybe? That I was back at my parents’ place and went out for a walk. But then I saw Morgan’s little house and remembered.” She takes a shaky breath. “God, Tony, it’s all such a mess.”

“You’re alright,” he whispers, and then, knowing it’s not herself she is scared about, he adds, “I’m here. Morgan and Riri are flying around the world somewhere. Peter is in Queens—it’s his weekend with Ben. They might be visiting Happy and May just now. Rhodey is… I don’t actually know where Rhodey is right now, but he’s fine. Everyone’s doing okay.”

“I know,” she mumbles, pulling away. “Now I remember.”

“Good. That’s good, Pep. It was just―a glitch. A tiny glitch in your memory.” He forces a smile and shifts a bit of his weight against the doorframe, his legs suddenly feeling weak.

Pepper, of course, catches on to that. “How's your headache?” She seems to have caught herself, but he wonders whether she remembers his migraine or just guessed it from the situation. “Why are you up?”

“Had to pee. But I’m better, promise.” She looks at him critically, and he adds, “Just won't be up for anything demanding for the rest of the day.”

“That’s fine.” She runs her hands through her hair, combing it with her fingers before tying it up in a bun, her way of reasserting control. “You should go back to bed. I’ll fix us something light to eat.”

Tony doesn’t like the idea of leaving her alone right now, but making it down the stairs to the kitchen seems... challenging. But he’s already got a better idea. “Actually, I was thinking of taking a bath. Getting a little ripe,” he jokes. “Will you help me wash my hair?”

It's always good to give her something easy to do when the dementia is playing tricks on her, something to busy her hands and distract her mind.

“Uh-huh.” She looks right through him, then sighs a little. “Sure. Why not.”

There used to be a time after Afghanistan when Tony couldn’t have set foot in a bathtub if an army had forced him to. He avoided them the same way he avoided caves and, later, endless night skies or Sci-Fi movies with wormholes. It was only Peter’s immense disappointment over not being able to watch the fourth Star Trek movie together that finally pushed him into seeing the counsellor who helped him get a grip on some of this.

(Almost starving in space, Peter’s five-year disappearance and Pepper’s pregnancy might have also played a role, but hey, saying you started therapy to be able to watch Leonard Nimoy in a bathrobe saving whales makes for better dinner table jokes).

Either way, he’s glad that his bath-o-phobia is mostly cured now, because their lakehouse tub is plain amazing, and not having to stand to shower on days like these is a blessing.

The hot water and the essential oils Pepper added to it do wonders for Tony’s aching body. He breathes in the steam that reminds him of expensive spas on New York’s winter days. Pepper has turned her back towards him, organising the already neat collection of tubes and bottles on the counter. Unimpressed with the solemnity of the scene, he playfully splashes some water at her. She turns towards him and smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Tony could tell from a mile away that she’s still shaken.

Time for plan B.

“Will you join me, honey?” Drawing out the last word, he blinks his eyelashes up at her seductively, which finally makes her laugh for real.

“Well, Mr Stark, if you’re asking like that…” The dress slides down her shoulders and collects around her feet, and her undergarments quickly follow. She glides inside the tub more gracefully than should be legal for anyone over sixty, and, copying him, flicks some water onto his nose.

Ignoring the perfect opportunity for a water fight, Tony extends his arm and pulls her close to his chest, taking in her wrinkled skin and the roots of grey in her ginger hair where the dye has grown out. She intertwines her legs with his and lets her weight, minimised by the water, be borne fully by his body. Her cheek comes to rest on the soft spot between his collarbones. She is moving up and down in rhythm with his breaths, creating tiny ripples on the surface of the water, and he holds her tighter, ever tighter.

Pepper readjusts her position and runs her hand down from his neck, to his stomach, and back up again. He responds with a kiss to the top of her forehead and then starts tracing the outline of her breast with his index finger. She stops to look down at them critically. “Not really what they used to be.”

“Still better than what I have to offer,” he deadpans. At this point, his chest is basically one big scar tissue. “And personally, I’m still a fan of them. It. All of it.”

He can hear her smile in the way she lets her breath out through her nose.

They stay like that for a while, Tony feeling the tension bleed out of his body, the pounding of his temples ease a little, and his eyes slowly falling shut again.

“I was so scared,” Pepper suddenly admits into his collarbones. He feels drops of water trickle down his neck and knows she’s crying even before she sniffles quietly.

“I know,” he says quietly. “But it will be alright, love.”

“Will it, though?” she asks, ever-critically, ever-questioning. Too many of his promises have shattered before her eyes for her to blindly believe him now, so he doesn’t make her any new ones, doesn’t talk about the world-renowned team of scientists he already hired when the first symptoms showed themselves, about the devices he’s working on down in his garage. She already knows all of that. It’s not what she needs to hear right now.

Instead, he swallows hard and says, “Pep, listen. We’ll get through this too. And if… whatever will happen. I'll be there.” What he doesn’t say out loud is what she already knows from how tight he’s holding on to her:

I won’t give you up without a fight.

“I know,” she whispers. Then she takes a deep breath before untangling herself from his embrace. “So, are we going for the anti-dandruff shampoo or can I use something that won’t make you smell like coconut?”

Tony positively purrs while Pepper massages the shampoo into his scalp. “Close your eyes and mouth,” she commands when she tilts his head back before starting the shower. And a laugh bursts out of Tony, because this is the same tone she used to use on Morgan when washing her hair, and in response their daughter would screw her eyes shut and bite her lips so tight in such concentration that her whole face scrunched up with it.

“What’s so funny?” Pepper asks, so Tony, not one to admit to nostalgia, just twists the showerhead out of her grasp to point it back at her, finally getting himself that water fight.

*

After drying off and pulling on a fresh pair of pajamas, Tony is put back to bed with his tablet and a promise that Pepper will join after making pasta. He checks his email, then sets the tablet aside and gets back up to open the window. He lets his eyes wander to the garden and lake that are just visible in the last rays of daylight.

Sometimes, on bad days, he cynically wonders what will give out first: his broken body or Pepper’s battered mind. But on good days, that's not what counts. They might have months, or years; if things go great, they might even have another decade. Tony has long, long ago started to regard every additional day in his life as something he doesn’t have a right to, and sworn to himself to use them to the best of his ability. That’s what it comes down to, in the end. He and Pepper will do what they have always done―simply keep going as long as they can.

“Hey, old man.” Pepper is standing in the doorway, holding out a bowl of blueberries. “I picked them earlier in the garden―forgot all about them. You want some?”

“Sure.” He turns around to fully look at her. “I'd love to.”

_________________

I hope you liked it! Credit for the idea of Riri Williams and Morgan Stark getting together goes to @fuzzydeergirlart‘s wonderful art (or at least that’s where I go the idea from). 

All my fics

[katsukikitten]

Rouge

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING. if you are easily triggered to spiral please DO NOT READ ANY further. If you want/ need to know the actual trigger warnings pls dm me before reading.

If you could kill yourself without anyone finding your body you would.

And honestly you may have found a way.

To turn your body into nothing but particles on the wind.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Your heart swells at the thought, its simple, easy really, this new solution.

No one will have to deal with the trauma of finding you.

No one will say "I never knew" at your eulogy while fighting back tears when the signs, although extremely subtle, were there.

They will only say your "great" life was cut short too soon as they look longingly at the one and only photo of you smiling that was enlarged for all to see.

As if that's how you looked majority of your life.

Content.

Happy.

You joined the hero course for the sole purpose that it put your life at greater risk adding to it the perk of what would be viewed as an honorable death.

And maybe your departure would be less sad for some, if anyone would even be upset in the first place.

The only problem was making your "accidental" death look good. It did not help that you were at a disadvantage with your quirk.

You were the unlucky soul with the rare quirk of adaptability or as others deemed it, instant evolution.

Literally giving meaning to what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

You should know, you've tried, doing nothing but worsening the situation for yourself.

And tried countless times at that.

Grey knives drawing grey blood while grey skin snaps back together forever closing the open wound.

Grey bones jutting at odd angles punctured through grey skin snap back into place as everything rights itself.

So hero work was your only option. Someone somewhere would HAVE to have a quirk you could not adapt to.

So every mission you decided to put yourself in dangerous situations and not for the sake of others.

At one point you thought that, maybe over time, saving others could help deviate you from your search for the end by another's hand.

But even after almost a decade of hero work you have yet to change your mind. Stead fast on the idea of resting six feet deep at the ripe age of 25.

What better irony that it cannot fix the emptiness that gnawed at your innards.

You're not sure why you feel this way. It's not as if anything traumatic happened to you. You had a loving family, a quirk, everything to be thankful for.

One day you woke up feeling an ache in your chest that over the years turned into a weighted emptiness.

Almost like a phantom feeling of knowing something should be there and suddenly you realize it is not.

As if living your life like you were the foot that fell asleep.

With the slow absence in your chest the universe began to present itself differently. Not as if turning itself at an odd angle, no it turned itself into a painting that had faded from overexposure in the harsh sun. Colors bleeding into depressing tones of grey washing with it your ability to feel.

None of this stopped you from making friends or taking some lovers, you were well liked, popular even. Plus the internet said these things would help ease the dull ache that weighed heavy in your ribcage.

But the internet was wrong. If anything it amplified your desire for that sweet embrace of Death. Every single relationship was tainted with a greasy film, making them hazy in your eyes. A camera lens fogged over from heated breath capturing still moments of superficial dull feelings.

Everything forever diluted in those heavy tones of grey.

Until one day luck was on your side when you spotted potential in someone.

Someone who became blindingly vibrant even in their hues of grey as they reached their dried flesh outward, hair white as snow.

You often dream of the following moments.

It all happened in slow motion, his fingers slowly curling around the arm of a hero that called you for backup. Suddenly you felt something in your chest, it beat with a ferocity you hadn't felt in *years.*

Others would read into your frozen form as fear but honestly it was shock, *pleasure*, as your plan began to form into something tangible. Eyes fixated on the forgotten hero that slowly turned to dust. Grey ash carried on a heavy summer wind.

Abrubtly your life had been given purpose.

"OI Y/LN!" You look to see a grey haired man approaching at blinding speed, his fingers spread wide, palm facing outward telling you with his faint crimson eyes to move.

But you cannot if you want this villain to aid you later. You swallow thickly as you think of a good plan to fuck this up. You pretend to be too stunned and Katsuki has to waste his blast by hitting the ground by your feet to jump over you.

You do not know that he's fought this villain before, having transferred well after USJ and the kidnapping. You watch as greedy flaked hands reach out towards him, hungry to devour as dry lips pull too wide over white teeth. All the while Bakugou steadily closes the distance.

Something grips your stomach as your mind replays what happened just moments ago.

You jump with enough force that the pavement buckles beneath your powerful legs. You catch up to Bakugou with ease pulling him back by his skin tight shirt. You yank harder than you intended and the two of you return to the Earth with sickening cracks. Toppling over one another until you land on top of Bakugou. Instantly a warp gate opens up and the white haired man steps through it. Disappearing for now.

Not exactly how you planned it but effective.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Katsuki explodes beneath you and you take the massive explosion point blank. Blinding pops of white and grey while you land on your feet like a cat. Not a single burn in sight.

At this point you've pretty much become immune to his attacks from being forced to train with him at UA and the other countless "accidental" explosions that have kissed you with white hot heat during missions. Rage and resentment fuel his actions.

Katsuki jumps to his feet giving you a deadly glare when he cannot spy what you've deemed your new found hope he lunges for you. Forcing you back with a barrage of explosions until your shoulders slam into brick. Indenting your thick shape into the dudty wall, causing you to question the integrity of the structure.

Would the weight of a crushed building be enough?

No you already tried that.

When the smoke clears you're met with burning red ember eyes. He leans close, pressing his forehead against yours as he glares at you with such malice. If only he could act on that malice, especially with how it worsens everytime the two of you cross paths.

You're an ugly reminder that someone can withstand him and his deadly assaults.

"Stay the fuck outta my way." He growls and you say nothing, you just hold his heated faint scarlet gaze.

Tonight you cannot dream your wonderous dream instead numb tears fall down your cheeks like a movie star during a dramatic scene. Lying in the dark, mind plagued with two things.

One being hot ember and the other being a greyed hand.

It keeps you up and this endless sleep lasts for longer than you'd like.

A week and a half longer than you'd like, though you have survived longer without.

Learning the hard way that you can go *months* without eating, drinking, or sleeping.

As if you're some living statue in the renaissance representing the entire purpose of mortality as you lie in the dark. Moon light cascading over your shimmering cheeks.

Black night lightens to a grey sunrise just to pull the sun back into a deep pool of darkness once more.

All the while you sit at the agency in front if your messy desk. Working but not, it's more as if you're AFK in real life. You look at yourself almost in third person as you watch yourself stare at your screen and your mountain of paper work that you've been avoiding.

About six months worth and it's exactly why the Director has you in the office today. Its quite in the office, which is normal for seven PM.

Although thanks to winter it looks like midnight out. The darkness envelops you but it does not protect you from the weighted emptiness.

Its the loud footsteps that pull you into reality. Blinking furiously to soothe your burning eyes as you pick up your pen trying to bullshit your way in case it's the director.

But it isn't, instead its Bakugou who pauses at your open door with an ever present irritated snarl, still draped in grey. Cruel blood red eyes rove over your pitiful form.

"Oi, Director told me to check on you like I'm some sort of fucking baby sitter. So are you working or fighting a fucking possession?" He growls and you blink a few times, unsure how to answer.

Normally you were a master at the facade, of donning the mask appropriate at the time. As sadness was not always needed.

So for someone to notice your odd behavior was off putting. Worrisome. You would have to step it up a notch.

"I'm fine." You smile widely, sure to make it seem as if its reached your eyes. Like you've practiced countless times in the mirror. When he makes no move to respond you scribble on one of the reports, pretending to write. Doing anything to bullshit your out from under his scorching gaze. His maroon eyes narrow in suspicion.

"I'm leaving so get your shit done."

"Yea." Is all that you say, it must be good enough of a reply for him as he takes his leave.

Soon your body becomes stiff as you hardly move for the next hour and a half, slumped over inky paper. Truly staring through the reports on your desk. You blink slowly as you try to ease the pain in your eyes.

Maybe Bakugou was right. Maybe you were fighting off a possession but before you can give it a second thought your hero phone lights up with an alert.

Indicating you're the closest hero to whatever villainy is transpiring in the cold icy streets.

*"White haired suspect spotted by civilian wandering around the old warehouse district. Believed to be Tomura Shigaraki heavily associated with the league of Villans. Use extreme caution quirk decay."*

Decay.

The word sends a shiver of ecstacy down your spine.

Tonight was the night, tonight you would finally get your dance with Death.

You lunge, loading the rest of the report as you fly down the stairwell two steps at a time. Before breaking out into a full sprint.

How lucky could you be that your agency was only seven blocks away from the old warehouse district.

You silence your breath and your foot falls learned from years of practice as you near closer.

Opting out of standing in the dim light of the street lamps, that illuminate nothing more but spooked rats and rotting trash.

Oh this was just getting better and better.

The setting was perfect, late at night, pitch black alleyways that were narrow to boot.

Honestly you couldn't have asked for a better place for him to be spotted. It would be easy to fuck this up. You may not even have to force his hand considering he would have ALL of the advantage and all he would need to do was reach out of the darkness to touch you.

Wrap those five grayed fingers around you.

Your ears pick up on scratching. Not the type a rat makes where claws dig at brick or trash. No, that unique sound of nails scrapping into flesh.

You smile wildly, thankful you actually read the full report for once, the sound comes from two alley mouths away. It seems to be the only sound on the whole block.

You walk past the first one, practicing how you will look. Eyes shifting to the left alley then to the right, body language reading guarded.

Careful.

The things you were actually supposed to be doing but couldn't bring yourself to do. You could hear the soothing lullaby hummed through gnashing teeth and bones.

By the second alley you've perfected the look. If there are any still functioning cameras in this are their black glass eyes are sure to see it all. Your perfect final scene.

Because it has become too hard to continue to live the lie.

It becomes silent as you approach the mouth of the alley that the scratching came from. Too silent, confirming your initial thought, that he lies in the dark watching, waiting.

You peek to the left as you did the past two times before peeking to the right coming face to face with pitch black. The alley resembles a vacuum, greedily swallowing all light and sound in its wake. Fear prickles up your spine and your primal instincts tell you to run.

But they are dull, still draping the world in that damned veil of grey so they are easy to ignore.

You take the plunge as if jumping into cold water taking another step, turning away as if you did not see the gleam of his teeth.

Crusted lips again stretched too far over white.

He reaches out, fingers slowly curling onto your bicep as your boyd and your mind declare war with one another.

One demands that you fight, that you do anything it takes to get out of this situation while the screams of how tired it is.

How it can no longer go on.

Four fingers are wrapped tightly around you like a miniature snakes and your heart races with anticipation of the final finger.

You turn his way, eyes locking onto his. Savoring the motion of his middle finger getting ever closer to your sweet skin.

That is until the feeling of the grip is ripped away from you as a new vice grip pulls you into their direction. Strong arms wrapped around to you protectively, strong hand smoothing over the skin that was just touched.

"No." The small gasp escapes you as you turn to face whoever dared to deny you your one true wish only to be met with poison apple red.

"What the fuck were you doing?!" A nasty snarl and a shake before you're shoved to the side. Explosions propelling him closer to the target once more.

You fall to your knees in anguish, fat droplets dripping down flushed cheeks. You are barely able to register the scene in front of you as a trap is activated, pulling Katsuki's arms behind his back with a sickening crack. It echoes in the alley way but it does not reach you.

Cannot reach you as you mourn.

You had fucking tasted it, the sweet end just to be denied.

The ropes pull tighter, Katsuki yells out and suddenly sweat is falling from his grey face.

How long had he been in this position?

Ten?

Twenty minutes?

You weren't sure, time was painstakingly slow and blurring fast all at once.

Glowing red eyes cut to you in the night, demanding, pleading, for help.

You fail to see anything more that what you had once had. Reliving the moment where you felt most alive.

That special, promised hand reaches out for Katsuki, slowly curling itself around his throat.

Slowly enough that grey skin cracks to reveal angry vivid red.

Wait.

Red?

Where else had you seen red?

*Red* muscle tissue beneath sunkissed skin?

Suddenly a certain man is blindingly vibrant against the black back drop of the alley way. Ash blonde hair dampening and darkening with sweat as a rare emotion mixes with the rage in his eyes.

You lunge faster and harder than you ever had before. Quickly enough that there is a delay before the asphalt that was once beneath your feet ruptures, ripping open several feet deep.

Your hand is on a dry wrist that you twist away from Bakugou. You move without thinking as you take his hands into your own. Wrapping delicately strong fingers around two separate middle fingers. Bringing them back until they touch the top of his forearm.

He falls to the ground and for good measure you kick him square in the face. Shinning tooth arching with a red blood trail that slowly fades to grey.

You turn to Katsuki, the color draining from him like a dying star, cutting the ropes of the trap. You keep your hands pressed harshly against his arms as he tries to snap them back.

"Slow." You say sternly watching the ashen blonde of his hair dull into a light grey as he brings hyper extended arms back into their normal positions.

Nothing remains of his color as he shoves past you, forcing Tomura's arms behind him before securing his wrists with a zip tie. He heaves him onto his shoulder like a sac of potatoes and begins to walk away.

Almost leaving you to regret helping him.

After all he did take what you've always wanted, you stare after him as he walks away before he abruptly stops.

"Oi. Y/N." He calls out, "Let's fucking go."

He looks over his shoulder and you see it still there although it is just a flash before he begins walking again once your make way to follow.

Vivid scarlet  red cuts through the dark of the night.

[thecleverdame]

All Teeth and Bad Intentions

Pairings: Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader

Summary: Sam gets jealous...pretty much just filth with a touch of fluff.

This is set right after The Brown Bottle, One More Time and The Morning After (read those first). They are listed in my master list. 

Warnings: NSFW gif, dubcon(kinda), knotting, mating, breeding, dominance, claiming, fingering, unprotected sex, biting, dirty talk, rough sex, ownership, manhandling, jealousy, cum play

Words: 5200+

Beta: @moonlitskinwalker

-

Sam’s hands are everywhere, palming your ass while slender fingers pluck at hard nipples. His mouth at your neck, licking with the flat of his tongue before sucking the skin until it stings. The weight of his body relaxes on top of you as his lips seal over yours in a series of messy, open-mouth kisses that elicit a stir between your legs.

“Sam,” you manage breathlessly before he kisses you silent, his mouth harder than before. Placing both hands on his chest you gently push back, but he doesn't budge. “Hold on,” you mumble in protest. It doesn’t stop him, instead, he rolls his hips between your thighs and the head of his cock pokes the swollen lips of your sex.

It’s been seven days. Seven days of non-stop fucking and Sam doesn’t seem the slightest bit sated. You suspect his rut is coming. Claiming you set certain things into motion, so, in addition to the horniness of being newly mated, he’s also fueled by his cycle building in momentum.

He reaches between your bodies, grasping his dick to line himself up before thrusting forward, his cock sliding deep until his balls rock into your ass. He snarls, nipping at your jaw. “So fuckin’ tight.”

“Ow,” you hiss digging nails into his biceps.

That seems to be the first word that registers for him because he stills, shoved inside your pussy, lifting his head up to look down at you. He’s come to recognize a symphony of moans and whimpers that tell him what you need, but this is something he hasn’t heard before.

“What’s wrong?” His lip curls, eyes sweeping down across your breasts, and then further, sneaking a peek at his cock splitting you open. He rolls his hips, pulling out just a little before nudging deeper than before. When you respond with a pained whimper he grimaces and stops. “What is it?”

“I’m sore.” You respond, biting your lip as your cunt throbs around his manhood.

“Where?” Sam asks thoughtfully, propping himself on his forearms, shifting his weight.

“Everywhere,” you confess.

Sam looks confused but it’s only for a moment before realization washes over his face. You think he might apologize and pull out, but he doesn’t. He just looks you dead in the eyes and says “tell me where.”

Truth be told it would be easier to list the parts that don’t hurt. Your scalp is tender from Sam’s hands twisting and yanking fists of hair and your backside twinges at the thought of him spanking you again, your round little ass can’t take much more. But you have a faint idea of what’s he asking, he wants a starting point. So you give him one.

“My mouth.” You’ve sucked his cock for the better part of a week, letting him come down your throat like a porn star. “And my jaw.” He pauses to grin, giving your effort the appreciation it deserves and then kisses your lips with a feathery light touch before traveling to your jaw with just the brush of his mouth until he’s made his way from ear to ear.

He lifts his head, looking down at you. “Where else?”

“My nipples.” Sam loves to pinch and tug on your nipples as foreplay but he really loves to suck on them while he’s fucking you, biting down until you squeal and claw at his back “They’re raw.”

“I didn’t realize,” he mumbles, cupping a full breast in his hand and closing his mouth around the stiff bud. He doesn’t suck, just runs his tongue, warm and wet, back and forth with gentle precision before moving to the other.

“Alpha,” you moan, writhing. His cock is still inside you eliciting a conflicted mix of pleasure and pain as you feel the tug of his thick shaft.

“Where else?” he looks up. His lips ghosting, just fluttery pecks over the swell of your breasts.

“My hips.” Your hips are the one area he already knows about. He’s tried to be gentle. You’re sporting black and blue fingerprints around your entire waist, reminders of how hard he grabs when he’s really in the moment, fucking you like an animal.

Without so much as a sigh, he pulls his cock out of your pussy and slides down, dragging his nose over your hip bones. He kisses each bruise, slowly and deliberately, until he’s given them all equal attention.

“What about this?” Sam asks. He’s between your legs now, two fingers oh-so-tenderly slipping between the wet, puffy lip of your cunt and opening you like a flower. “Do you ache here too, Omega? My cock too much for this perfect little pussy?”

“Yes.” You wrench your eyes shut, head tipping back. He’s popped his knot inside you more times than you can count over the last week, you’re walking like an overworked jockey. He’s had you in positions you didn’t even know were physically possible, fucking hard and deep as his hips slapped into your ass.

Sam’s tongue scoops over your clit, slow at first until you’re groaning like a whore and shoving yourself into his face. He speeds up, lapping the bundle of nerves as you rock from side to side, thighs clamped around his head. You’re not even sure if he can breathe down there, but you don’t give a shit as your orgasm creeps in.

He’s gone down on you plenty of times before, but this is different. Normally he wants control, he holds you in place, keeps you pinned to the bed. forcing your legs wide. But not this time. This time you lock your ankles behind his neck, thrashing back and forth until you come like a freight train. grinding your pussy into his chin. Your empty cunt pulses around nothing, but you can almost feel him inside, like the pain of a phantom limb.

He draws out every inch of pleasure possible, swirling his tongue in broad circles around your clit until your orgasm leaves you nothing more than a pile of raw connections, twitching and grasping at his shoulders.

When your legs fall apart he stands over you and strokes his cock, jerking himself until he comes in pearly white ropes. He groans as he spurts warm seed over your breasts and stomach, then down farther to shoot the final vestiges over the mound of your pussy.  

“Fuck,” he groans holding his dick, a predatory smile pulls his lips over his teeth. “You look good like this.”

“I feel like a mess,” you tease, propping yourself up on bent elbows.

“Still,” he tilts his head before climbing on the bed to lie beside you, carefully bending your leg at the knee, leaving your sex exposed. “Seems like a waste.” With two fingers he swipes across your sullied stomach, coating them in his spunk before slipping inside your sensitive pussy. He doesn't push in too far, just a couple inches, gently stroking with shallow movement.

“Baby,” you whimper, clenching your legs around his hand.

“I know, I know,” he rubs his nose into your temple. “You need a break.”

--

Chad’s in his early twenties. He’s as tall as Sam, built like a brick wall and definitely a newly turned Alpha. You guess he’s a couple months old and stupid as one would assume. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s the one who’s turned all four of his buddies, two of them are also Alphas, the others Betas.

All five of them are at your bar, making a scene and acting like idiots but you don’t really mind. As long as they don’t get in a fight or piss off the regulars you let it slide.

“Look at you baby, fuck that ass looks tight.” Chad bites his finger as his friends snicker behind him. It’s clear he’s the sad little king of his own sad little world. Your turn around, smiling and setting down five shots followed by five beers.

“Your mother know you talk like that?” You sling Chad a look and crack a Miller Lite for one of your regulars, Toby, who’s sitting at the end of the bar doing his best to stay upright.

“She’d understand if she saw you.” He grins, his eyes unabashedly staring at your breasts. He notices the scar at your neck for the first time and pounds on the counter turning to his friend. “And she’s one of us! I knew you smelled special.”

“Keep your voice down.” You lean in, covering the bite with your hair as he oggles you like a turkey leg in a Wile E Coyote cartoon. “You even know what this means?”

“It means your like us,” He licks his lips. “Like me. I’ll take good care of you if you give me the chance...Omega.”

“I said, keep your damn voice down. Not everyone here is in on our little secret.” You hiss. “And I already got someone to take care of me, so why don’t you boys go buy that table of questionably dressed girls a drink and free up the bar.”

“Ouch,” he groans with his hand over his heart as if you’ve wounded him. He leans forward with his forearms on the counter, when he grins it’s all teeth. “But I like you so, so much.”

“Yeah, well if you’re staying you better tip well.”

And he does.

It’s a couple hours later when Sam, Dean and the rest of their crew barrel through the door. They take over a table at the back near the jukebox and Benny heads to the bar.

“Hey.” Benny nods.

“Hey back,” you smile. “Usual?”

“Yup.” He looks from you to Chad and friends. “You need any help?”

“They’re harmless.” You wave a hand.

“Don’t be so sure.” If Chad’s good at one thing it’s inserting himself into your conversations. “I could tear you up.”

“Hey,” you snap, slapping the counter with an open palm. “What’d I say about say about that kind of shit?”

-

Sam wonders if you’re pregnant yet. You casually swipe a hand across your flat belly, exchanging a smile and comment with the old drunk at the end of the bar, and all Sam can think about is what you’re going to look like when you’re swollen with his child. He can imagine your round stomach in such vivid detail it makes his balls ache.

You never leave his mind, you’re always there; mentally if not physically. It's just incomprehensible. You’re the one stable force, his one stability in a world filled with chaos that he didn’t know he needed. Two weeks ago if someone would have asked if he wanted children he would have dismissed the idea outright, but then you came along and now it’s the only thing he thinks about.

Sam’s not an unreasonable person, but he’s the pack Alpha, this is his territory and you’re his Omega, but none of that is stopping the blonde guy at the bar from coming onto to you like a back alley hooker.

There’s something about the way he’s is looking at you that’s making Sam’s blood pressure rise. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t fucked you in two days. He’s on the cusp of a rut and all he’s wanted for the last twenty hours is to pound you into the mattress. But you, understandably, needed a break, and you’re gonna to need it.

His eyes narrow as you laugh big and wide, engaging the douche-bag and making conversation. As soon as you have your back turned he’s elbowing his buddy, slapping each other like cavemen as they stare at your ass.

“Why do we even come here, man?” Dean asks, resting his elbows on the table “She’s a bartender, it’s gonna happen.”

“Fuck you.” Sam grunts, tipping back beer.

“I’m just sayin’, there’s no reason to torture yourself.” Shrugging Dean turns his attention to the scene unfolding before him.

“That anything I should be worried about or just some college kids?” Sams ask Benny as he arrives with a tray of beer.

“She says it’s fine,” he looks back at the bar.  

“Human?” Sam presses.

“Nope,” Benny points his bottle toward Sam. “He’s an Alpha.”

-

“I got one more,” Chad bellows, vying for your attention. Despite the fact that he’s kind of a pig you are enjoying his repertoire of filthy jokes. He’s actually pretty funny. “What do the mafia and pussies have in common?”

Oh lord. “I don’t know, what?”

“One slip of the tongue and you’re in deep shit!” He finishes and half the bar is laughing right along with you.

“Alright,” you set down a rag and place both hands on the counter. “I’ve got a one for you.”

“Hit me with it.” He motions toward his chest.

“What’s the difference between your dick and a bonus check?” He shrugs and you finish “Someone’s always willing to blow your bonus.”

The entire bar erupts and you take a bow. Still chuckling you glance up, suddenly aware that you have a very intent audience. It’s not that you’re doing anything wrong, but you wouldn’t know that by the way they’re looking at you from across the room you. Benny, Dean, the scary little brunette and a bunch of other guys you’ve never officially met are watching silently.

Then there’s Sam. He’s just sitting in his chair with his hand clenched around a beer, his eyes are locked on you with a scowl that drains the color from your face.

“What’s wrong sweetheart,” Chad glances back, and then reaches forward, his hand covering yours. This kid really doesn’t understand, he doesn’t even recognize a pack when he sees it. If he were a more mature Alpha wolf he’d be able to easily smell others of his kind, but newly turned wolves have fucked senses. “I’m not your only fan, huh?”

“Don’t touch me.” You hiss pulling your hand away but he holds firm. You pull back again and he yanks you forward in turn. Not aware of his own strength your ribs connect with the counter. Chad lets you go immediately, oblivious to the impending doom that’s headed in his direction because Sam was out his chair the second Chad laid his hands on you.

You dash around the bar, trying to intervene as Sam whacks him on the shoulder. “Hey, asshole.”

“Sam,” you try to slink between them, placing a hand on his chest. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Sam glares at you, it’s a frightening look you’ve seen before, but never been the on the receiving end of. “Get out of the way,” he instructs, blinking emotionlessly.

“I got a pretty good idea what I’m doing.” Chad stands up from his chair and his friends follow suit.

“Sam-” You stop as Sam’s fingers curl around your wrist.

“I’m not gonna tell you again, Omega. Get out of the way.” He’s never given you a command before, yeah, he’s bossy when he’s fucking you and you always do what he says, but he’s never spoken to you like this outside of the bedroom.

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him to fuck off, because you don’t like being ordered around like a child; but he’s your Alpha, marking his territory, and you don’t have a death wish, so you take a step back.

“Over here sweetheart,” Dean’s hands are on your shoulders, pulling you away from Sam, and slipping in front of you.

“I didn’t know she’d just do what she’s told.” Chad snickers, stepping up to Sam. They’re roughly the same size, but Sam’s in his prime and headed into a rut; he’s lethal. Not to mention he’s got a dozen other Alphas who’d die for their pack leader in the blink of an eye. Any hope of Chad getting wise and shutting up goes right out the window when he adds “I would have told her to get on her knees a while ago.”

“You hear this guy, Dean?” Sam tilts his head, his lip curling.  

“I heard him.” Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “Not a smart move kid.”

“You come into my territory, touch my Omega, and then have the fucking nerve to talk to me like that?” Sam’s a breath away from Chad’s face. “She’s mine. You shouldn’t touch things that don’t belong to you.”

“What? Did you piss on her? As far as I can see she’s free to do whoever she wants.” Chad spits, looking rather proud of his comeback.

Before Sam was your Alpha, he terrified you. Sam, Dean and their merry little gang aren’t the kind of guys who do a lot of talking when it comes to disputes, they settle things the old school way with their fists. Over the past week and a half you’ve become complacent. Sam’s your mate and lover and you forgot the side of him that scared the shit out of you, until now. You don’t have a shadow of a doubt that he’ll kill Chad and he’ll do it right here in the middle of your mother’s bar.

“Sam, he doesn’t know, he’s a baby.” You try to sneak around Dean but he catches you, holding you back. “He doesn’t know the rules.”

You watch Sam process your words as he tilts his chin up, scenting the young Alpha who’s too stupid to stand down. His mouth twitches, and you think he’s going to rip Chad’s throat out but instead, he turns away, grabs you by the arm and hauls you out of the bar.

-

“What the fuck are you doing?” You try to twist away, but Sam’s got a vice grip on your arm dragging you through the parking lot.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he spits, walking faster as you scramble to keep up with him.

“Sam, stop” you attempt to dig your feet in and stumble, but Sam keeps you from falling.

“We’re leaving.” He snarls.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you right now.” You protest.

“Hey buddy, maybe you should listen to her.” A guy puffing on a cigarette next to his truck steps forward. “It doesn’t look like she wants your hands on her.”

“I’ll put my hands wherever the fuck I want to. Mind your own business buddy.” Sam sneers and releases your arm taking a step toward him. Dean’s trotting toward you, ready to back Sam up. It won’t be a fair fight, this guy is nothing but a human who has no idea what’s getting himself into.

Shit.

“Okay,” you grab Sam’s arm. “Let’s go, take me home Sam. Come on.”

--

“You don’t just get to tell me what to do. I don’t respond to commands.” You sneer, it’s the same fight you had on the way home, just moved to the kitchen.

“I’m your Alpha,” he slaps his chest with his palm. “You’re my responsibility.”

“That doesn’t mean that I just blindly follow orders.”

“If I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen.” He counters.

“Well, good luck with that. I’ve never been very good at listening to anyone. You don’t own me.”

“What do you think that mark on your neck means? You belong to me.” He’s deadly serious.

“I don’t belong to anyone.” You know that’ll piss him, it’s why you say it.

“You know what a claimed Omega without an Alpha is? A whore. Is that what you want? To be a bar slut for the rest of your life. You’re already halfway there.”

“Fuck you!” You slap him, hard.

He stares at you, flabbergasted as his face stings red and then he grabs you by the hair, twisting a fist full of it between his fingers. Your neck arches back and you whimper, “you’re hurting me.”

He releases you immediately, hissing like you’ve burned him. “Shit, I-” he runs both his hands through his hair, breathing deep and slow. He bends down, resting his hand on his knees, still shaking with anger. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N. You have to help me because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t know how to be a mate.”

“All you have to do is trust me, Sam.” You step toward him, “I’ve got three guys a night like that asshole, accidentally touching my ass and asking for my number. It was happening long before I met you and it still happens.”

“Perfect,” he shifts his jaw, standing tall.

“I would never let someone touch me, I mean really touch me. There’s this invisible line and ninety-nine percent of the time people don’t cross it. When someone does, you’re welcome to step in and beat the shit out of them, but until then you’ve got to let it go.”

“You were defending him.” Sam squints at you like you’ve betrayed him. “Why are you even worried about some asshole getting what’s coming to him?”

“I wasn’t worried about him, I was worried about you. You’re all amped up Sam, you’ve been spoiling for a fight for days. What happens if you beat that guy in the middle of the bar? What happens when you hurt him or worse, and you do it in front of a bunch of humans? I’ll tell you what, you end up in jail.” He hadn’t even thought about that, all he could see was you protecting another Alpha...but you weren’t.

“Did I hurt you?” Hesitantly he steps forward, waiting to see if you’ll let him near you. When you don’t back away he reaches out and grabs your waist.

“I’m fine,” you place your hands over his.

“I shouldn’t say those things to you,” resting his chin on your head as he pulls you into an embrace, he’s still on edge you can feel it. He’s not capable of relaxing, not yet anyway.

“I shouldn’t either,” leaning back you look up at him. “I’m sorry I slapped you.” Taking his wrist you pull his hand up to your neck, covering the scar.

“I just have all these thoughts running through my brain. A thousand different scenarios where I end up without you.” Sam pulls you to him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m here with you.”

-

As a general rule, Sam is dominant. Half of it’s the Alpha in him, the other half is just his personality, but tonight he relinquishes just a little of that control. He lets you fuck him.

He watches you bouncing up and down on his cock with an enthusiasm reminiscent of a strung out cheerleader.

You lean forward to kiss him, running a hand up his chest and Sam meets you halfway, trailing fingers down your arm. All of the women he’s fucked were at least a little scared of him, most of them knew who or what he was and none of them ever kissed him the way you do. He thinks he might be getting soft because fuck if he doesn’t live for the way you look at him like he’s your whole Goddamn world when you press your mouth to his. You’re not the least bit intimidated, instead, you just keep kissing him like you’re two kids making out in your parents' basement.

He’s not sure why he’s never done this before because the view is absolutely amazing. He gets to watch your mouth fall open, pussy clenching in pleasure. From this vantage point he’s got a spectacular view of your breasts jiggling and the shaft of his shiny, thick cock disappearing into your pussy. Two big hands cup each of your breasts, pushing them together. “God, I love these tits.”

Sam wonders if this is what it feels like to be in love. He doesn’t believe in sappy shit like love at first sight, but this can’t be far off. Logically, he knows it’s all hormones and base instincts, you’re his mate now and this bond is like nothing he could have previously imagined. It has to be close to whatever love is, and he thinks he might get to experience the real thing soon enough.

“So fuckin’ tight, Omega.” Sam sits up, nipping at your throat. When your pace slows he gives you proper motivation to keep moving.  “Don’t stop” His hand comes down on your butt cheek with a crack and you yelp, sliding a hand around the back of his neck for leverage as you pick up speed. “Keep fucking yourself on my cock, baby...yeah, just like that. You like the way I feel inside you?”

“Yes,” you moan, finding his mouth with yours. You’re sweaty, really fuckin’ sweaty, drenched like a marathon runner as you ride him and skin slips over skin. He feels bigger than before, it’s only been two days, but having him so deep inside reminds you of just how good he makes you feel, so stretched out and unbelievable full. “I fingered myself thinking about you in the shower this morning. I’ve been thinking about you all day and then tonight...how mad you got...all I could think about was your knot.”

“Good girl,” he growls, his lips smiling into the skin of your throat. “Gonna come so deep in this pussy.”

“Jesus, fuck Sam-” He grabs a fist full of hair, snapping your neck back.

“Alpha,” he corrects you, his free hand curling around your jaw.

“Alpha.” You pant, trying to maintain the rhythm.

“You want me to fuck you?” He grits, teeth sinking into your shoulder. He yanks your head back even further so that your back is arched, leaving breasts on display right in front of his face.

“Yes.” Breath rattling in your throat you reach out, desperate for anything to hold you earthbound. Your fingers curl into the skin of his bicep, nails sinking into skin.

“Tell me.” Both his hands move to your hips, pulling you down onto his cock until the lips of your sex meet the short hair around his shaft. He doesn’t let you move, just keeps in you place stuffed full as you wiggle around searching relief.

“Sa-Alpha, please fuck me. Please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” He smirks. He moves one hand from your side to rub his thumb your clit, sliding in fast circles. You buck around as he holds you in place, working into a frenzy with his cock so deep it’s tapping your cervix when you squirm, drawing little shooting pains that mix with building pleasure. “I could make you come just like this, hold you down on my cock and rub you until you fall apart.”

“Please,” you’re begging, your voice an octave higher than normal. “Please fuck me.”

He releases his hold on you and taps your hip like he’s tapping you out of a fight. Lifting yourself off his dick you immediately roll over, pushing yourself up onto hands and knees. Both his hands curls around your side, fingers fanning out over your ribs. “Turn over, Omega. I wanna see you.”

God help him, he wants to fuck in the missionary position.

As soon as you’re on your back Sam’s settling between your legs, grabbing his own cock and pressing the swollen head into your pussy. In one thrust he’s buried to the hilt. He doesn’t waste a second before pulling out and sliding back in again, the sensitive head of his cock dragging along the clenching walls if your wonderful little cunt. “Keep your legs up,” hooking a hand under each thigh he bends your legs until your knees are pressed into his sides. He can feel the ring of muscle around the base of his dick thickening as he thrusts into you. “So good at taking my cock,” he praises, his hips make hollow smacks that echo off the walls of the bedroom as he pumps into you. He doesn’t say anything else, just listens to his own grunts, your breathy moans and the squishy, gooey sounds of sex that seem incredibly loud.

His knot swells quickly, you feel it pushing into your folds with every thrust. Grasping his ass you pull him closer, begging for release. “Please baby, I need it inside me. Need your knot Alpha.”

“You sure you can take it?” He lifts his head, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose and dropping onto your breast.

“Stop fucking teasing me and let me come.” You growl, bucking under him.

Sam gives you exactly what you’re asking for, he grinds his pelvis forward, his cock unrelenting as he forces his knot inside your pussy with a wet pop that triggers your orgasm. The pleasure is so great you want to hold it in, but there’s no holding back as the damn snaps and gluttonous satisfaction racks your entire body.

Sam keeps shoving his hips forward despite his inability to really move as he watches as your eyes rolls back in your skull and you start to shake. Your legs go stiff around him, breath starting and stopping. When you come it’s like watching someone die and come back to life.

Just as you’re calming down from the high Sam’s balls tighten and he comes with a grunt. He drops his face to your neck, teeth sinking into the ruined skin of his original bite. Rutting forward, he fucks you down into the mattress as he fills you so full of his spunk that it leaks around his knot, dripping down the crack of your ass.

“Fuck.” He groans, sucking at the fresh bite. He grinds into you once more before dropping his weight onto your hips. You’re both a mess of sweaty skin and twitching muscles and not much more.

“Ohmygod,” you whimper, clenching and unclenching your fists.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you.” He lays open mouthed kissed across your collarbone, slow and steady. Then moves down as his lips press across the curve of your breasts.

“I forgive everything you’ve ever done.” A lazy, exhausted grin spreads over your face.

Sam chuckles, his breath hot as he sucks at the hollow of your neck. This is the unexpected part of sex with Sam, the part when your bodies are trapped together and your strong, rough Alpha worships you slow and sweet, like a love-sick schoolboy. He lifts himself up, resting on his forearms and gazing down at you like Galileo when he first saw the heavens. You never see these moments coming, just a peek at the tender affection that he doesn’t even know he’s capable of until it pours out of him. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You think so?” He’s fucked you in every position possible. Seen parts of your body that you didn’t know could experience pleasure clench and tremble, but none of that makes you blush the way you are now.

“You should see yourself.” His eyes roam over your face, as his fingers stroke the line of your jaw. “You’re perfect. You’re mine.”

You kiss him, squeezing your legs around his hips. “I’m yours.”

Sam is your other half. The feeling is so strange; it stretches throughout your whole body. It’s overwhelming, yet makes you feel complete. It has no bound nor length nor depth; it’s just absolute.

[domesticatedantelope]

tongue-tied

Pairing: Colt x MC

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 3296

Summary: The one where Colt takes Mercy home. The one where he makes her forget.

@brightpinkpeppercorn @desiree-0816 @liamzigmichael4ever @leelee10898 @choicesarehard @lovehugsandcandy @client-327

Mercy stares down at Colt’s hands cradled in her lap, mapping the battered hills and valleys of his knuckles. Before Logan, before the crew, she’d never even seen a fistfight - and now for the second time, she finds herself tending to bloodied hands, tearing an alcoholic swab open with her teeth.

Colt barely flinches when she dips the pad between his knuckles, watching her work in silence. There’s only the muted sound of their breathing as she cleans the last of his split knuckles with the lightest touch that she can summon, the swab stained red with blood between her fingers.

She pulls a length of bandaging from the first aid kit spread open between them and tugs Colt’s hand gingerly to the center of her lap.

“You’re getting pretty good at this.”

She flushes, glancing up to meet his gaze. “A silver lining,” she says, and tucks the tail end of the bandage neatly into place, her thumb rolling a soothing circle into the palm of his hand before she reaches for the other. “To hanging out with car thieves.”

A smirk tilts the corner of his mouth. “At least there’s one.”

She remembers the enamored way he kisses her, and thinks that she could probably name a few more.

“You don’t need to patch me up,” he tells her evenly, pulling her from her thoughts. “They’ll heal fine on their own.”

Mercy bends to press her lips to the fresh bandages around his hand. “But they don’t have to.”

Colt studies her with a crease between his brows, the lightest shade of pink dusting his cheeks. His palm slides in to cup her face, thumb soft along the line of her jaw, tilting her head up toward him as he leans closer. His eyes flicker down to her mouth, warm with longing, but he waits for her to close the distance.

Slowly, gently, she sets her lips against the split at the end of his mouth before kissing him fully, falling into his hands when he pulls her against his chest. In their urgency, they knock the first aid kit from the couch, and neither bother looking back to watch it scatter.

He touches her like she is something precious, like she is porcelain between his hands, but his mouth is far from gentle. He nips with teeth and licks into her mouth with all the ardor of a starving man, and her eyes still ache from tears, her blood still hot and livid in her veins, but Colt is here, throwing himself into her arms and clumsy heart, and there is no mistaking the voracity with which he kisses her for anything but real.

Mercy can taste the iron salt of blood still on his tongue. Kissing her must hurt him, but he doesn’t let it slow him down, pressing her back into the couch and deepening the kiss with a hoarse moan.

“Mercy.” He ducks his head and begs the name against her throat, grazing his teeth down the soft hollow where her pulse pounds. His mouth conquers a greedy path over her collarbone, seeking the dip between her breasts. She will be nothing more than blush and bruises by the time he’s finished with her, and she wants to feel it happen. “Mercy - fuck. You gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

The endearment fills her with a rolling heat; he’s never called her that without the bite of condescension in his voice, and right now, breathless, pleading it against her skin - she feels that she could ask him for the sun, and he would find a way to steal it from the sky.

Mercy swallows thickly, grasping blindly for the proper words when Colt is doing everything he can to scatter them. “I don’t…” Her cheeks blaze hot at the sensation of his palm rising the sliver of bare skin above her hips. “I… I haven’t…”

“I know.” He cups a hand gently around her jaw, leading her gaze up to his own, tracing his thumb over her blushing cheekbone. “It’s okay.” He soothes her with another languid, teasing kiss, sucking her lip between his teeth until she’s breathless in his arms and desperate to feel more of him. “I want what you want,” he promises, and pins her with a searing, hungry look, his pupils wide and black against dark iris. “So tell me, Mercy. Anything. I’ll give it to you.”

She’s thought of this - of him - so many times, dreamed and daydreamed about his hands, his wicked mouth, how he would take her, make her scream; but she can’t bring herself to force those phantom pleasures into words.

“Make me forget,” she says instead, and leans into his hold, trusting his touch. “Make me feel better.”

Devotion hardens in Colt’s eyes, and then he’s kissing her with renewed passion, hauling her up against his chest as if she weighs nothing at all. “Oh, I promise you’ll forget,” he pants, dark with intent, and Mercy whines under his mouth, clinging to the shifting muscles in his shoulders as he carries her through the apartment.

She locks her arms around his neck, her eyes drawn to the tempting stretch of olive skin that spans his throat. She licks her teeth and tests her lips against his jaw, parting to flick her tongue and then tease lower, charting a trail of sucking kisses down his neck. She feels his muscles tense beneath her lips and hears a ragged groan as he sways out of step.

“Christ...” Colt lifts her higher in his arms, growling against her skin. “You’re askin’ for trouble, Mercy.” He nips roughly at the bend between her neck and shoulder, the pleasure-pain drawing a blissful shiver up her backbone. He shoulders past the bedroom door, and then the whole world tilts around her when he tips them both across his bed, where they fall together in a heap of tangled limbs.

The sheets are cool against her skin, but Colt is warm, his body heat and weight pinning her down so perfectly while he adores the soft skin of her shoulders with his teeth and tongue. She feels rough fingertips tracing her spine, slipping beneath the hooks of her bra.

“Colt… please.” Maybe it should embarrass her, but nothing’s ever felt so right as Colt between her thighs, and she would watch the world collapse around them both before she let him go.

“Begging me already?” A crooked smile curls across his face. His fingers weave into the dark mass of her hair, tilting her head back to expose the column of her neck for further exploration. “I’m just getting started.” He is meticulous as he undresses her, christening each inch of skin he bares with avid kisses, as if he is determined to learn every single line of her by heart.

Mercy is not so patient. She shoves his jacket back over his shoulders, tugging at his shirt until he finally relents and yanks it above his head.

“Eager,” Colt teases, watching her with lidded eyes as she admires the lean muscles of his chest. Slowly, he lets his gaze roam her bare skin, savoring the sight of her sprawled out across his bed. His throat bobs when he swallows, groaning into his teeth. “Mercy. You don’t know how good you look.”

Her cheeks flare with heat. Under that hungry look of his, she feels abruptly bashful, open and exposed like she has never been before. “Am I everything you imagined?”

He flashes her an easy smile, reassuring. “You’re better.” He circles his thumb over a blue-red bite mark at the base of her neck, then ducks his head to soothe it over with a gentle press of lips. She skims her nails through his hair, unable to suppress another moan as his mouth trails the tender valley between her breasts.

“Ah-!” Mercy barely locks a whine behind her teeth, thighs clenching in around him.

With a glance up through his lashes at the eager desperation on her face, Colt drags his mouth over the dusky peak of a nipple, rolling a lazy circle with his tongue. The soft curl of his tongue sends beats of pleasure sinking down between her thighs, where her body throbs with need like a second pulse. She doesn’t expect her reaction, the sudden seize in her muscles, fingers twisting into fistfuls of his hair. A startled groan rises his throat, the stiff weight of his cock twitching between them, and she’s struggling to shape the words of an apology when he rounds his mouth over her skin and sucks in earnest.

“Oh god… Colt, that’s...” She cuts herself off with a whimper, squirming under his hands as he releases the swell of her breast, shifting to devote the same urgent attention to the other. His palm leads a teasing path down her stomach, pausing at the lacey hem of her underwear. She feels the question in his touch as his fingers hover barely-there shapes above her panties.

Mercy arches up into his hand, tugging at his hair between her fingers. “Colt, please! I can’t take any more teasing.”

With a breathless smile, he nudges the cotton down her hips until her thighs spill open before him. She grapples with the brief instinct to hide, but when his eyes find the wet heat between her thighs, something like pain flickers across his face, a hunger so deep it hurts.

“Fuck.” Colt huffs a winded laugh, burying his face against her leg to bite at the soft skin there. “You are so perfect.” He trails a series of rough kisses up her thigh, and when his fingertips trace lightly down the slick folds of her sex, her body jerks beneath him at the flare of pleasure that rips through her.

“Ohhh my god, you’re wet.” He draws his thumb over the swollen bead of her clit and watches her from under heavy lids as she squirms in response. He sweeps her thighs into his hands and yanks her closer, parts her legs around his shoulders and flashes one last wicked smirk before finally, finally, he sets his mouth between her thighs.

She feels his lips first, the delicious rasp of stubble on her skin, then his tongue working slow spirals, and everything else falls away, the world and all her worries narrowed down into the torturous sensation of his mouth between her legs. In that breathtaking moment, she forgets everything else, forgets her name and how to speak and all the heartbreak of her afternoon, and there is only blissful nothingness.

Mercy makes a sound she’s never made before, somewhere between a moan and broken sob, her words unraveling into a strangled mess of syllables that vaguely shape his name. She presses the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle the rise in her voice until Colt reaches up to gently nudge her wrist aside.

For a few frantic heartbeats, they lock eyes, and a smirk tilts the end of his mouth. “I want to hear you,” he says, rough with want.

A shiver grips her spine in greedy fingers. She twists her hands around the sheets instead, clinging for something, anything to ground her as he sucks her clit between his lips, and the hot pull of his mouth sends licks of rapture clawing through her tender nerves, so good, so sharp, so much and not enough all at the same time. Her toes curl where he’s thrown her legs over his shoulders, thighs trembling against his hands. Past the blinding waves of pleasure, she can feel his fingers hunting up beneath his mouth, finding the dip between her folds and pushing in to the first knuckle.

Fuck-!

Her mouth falls open, and a wild moan lifts from her lungs, her hips rolling to take more of him. “Colt! Oh god, Colt, please, please…”

Groaning, he obliges, teasing her with slow rolls of his tongue as he fucks his fingers deeper, finding a span of nerves that triggers seismic shudders up her spine. His fingers feel so long inside of her, so beautifully thick, filling her where she has only ever felt like empty spaces, and she’s still reeling from the first twinge of ecstasy when her hips start rocking to meet his touch.

“That’s it, Mercy.” Colt nuzzles his face against her thigh, crooking his fingertips until her head falls back with a sobbing wail. She wants to see his face, to watch him watching her, to see his mouth between her legs, but her eyes roll back with every curl of pleasure that breaks over her. With her knees locked behind his shoulders, she drops a hand into the soft mess of his hair, seeking an anchor.

She has no point of reference, but -

Colt is absurdly good at this.

Mercy would laugh if she had any breath left in her lungs. She’s not sure why - she’s not quite sure of anything anymore, only the tight, sweet pressure twisting somewhere deep inside of her, glimpses of something solid at her fingertips, just barely out of reach. “Colt -” She doesn’t know how to express, can’t focus when she’s teetering, about to fall, but she needs, she needs -

Somehow he understands (he always does) and surges greedily against her, sucking, shaping circles with his tongue, and every touch is liquid fire, she is going to combust.

His free hand hunts across the sheets until he finds her wrist, slipping their fingers tight together, and her heart swells with affection when his thumb strokes soft over the back of her hand. He squeezes once, his mouth too full to speak, but it feels like I’m here, like I won’t let you go. She vaguely registers the sting of blissful tears along her lashes before every sensation strings together in this perfect harmony and -

Mercy falls apart.

She screams and clings to Colt’s hand like a lifeline as the rush consumes her. She grinds into his mouth, chasing that firebrand of bliss as his fingers fuck her through it, her shaking thighs wound tight around his head. Her thoughts fade out into the black behind her eyelids, and she is lost among the darkness as wave after wave of perfect bliss wash over her and leave her gasping, shattered - love-drunk and alive.

It’s everything she wanted.

Colt lifts his head from between her legs with a heavy gasp, grinning as he licks the taste of her from his lips. His cheeks are flushed with effort, dark hair a mess of tangles from her careless hands. He looks pleased, and proud, and still so eager, as if he’s ready to devour her again and again and again.

With shaking fingers, Mercy reaches out to swipe her thumb across his swollen mouth, and she can’t help the fascination in her voice when she finally manages to find it. “Perfect.”

Colt kisses her fingers, her palm, catching her hand to follow the length of her arm until his lips reach hers. Feeling bold and thoroughly undone by the force of her climax, she searches gentle fingers down the contours of his chest. She feels his breath hitch when her nails dip past the waistband of his boxers.

“Mercy…” He nudges his mouth at her jaw, his muscles tense beneath the skin. Conflict wages in the features of his face.

With a tipsy smile, Mercy flicks the button of his jeans. “I want to touch you.”

Colt runs his tongue along his teeth, flashing her a wolfish grin. “Promised you anything, didn’t I?”

She fumbles with his jeans, shoving them impatiently down his thighs. Colt lets her press him down onto his back, reaching for her hips when she climbs over him. She can feel him hot and so, so hard against her thigh, twitching as her legs fall open around him.

Mercy curls her fingers curiously down the length of his cock, learning the shape of him, glancing up in delight when Colt stiffens and jerks beneath her. She firms her grip, teasing her thumb under the swollen head, feeling him throb into her touch. Her head spins at the size of him; just his fingers felt so thick, but the thought of sinking herself down around him sends her stomach into tangled knots of nerves and anticipation.

The muscles in his stomach tense with every shift of her hand, his gaze racing transfixed between her mouth, her breasts, her fingers wrapped around his cock and back again. When she licks her lips and sinks between his legs, parting to take his cock over her tongue, he grinds out a curse and watches with wide eyes as her mouth dips slowly around him.

“Oh, fuck, Mercy-!” Colt’s head falls back with a strangled moan, his fists clutching the sheets until his knuckles pale. She feels his hips flexing under her hands, straining against the urge to move, and she soothes him with a soft hum in the back of her throat, rolling her tongue around the head of his cock and bobbing slowly deeper.

He threads his fingers gingerly through her hair, mouth slack in fascination. A shudder trembles through him when she rounds her lips and sucks, his voice crushed down into a frantic whine. “Shit, Mercy, that’s - fuuuuuuck.”

Encouraged, Mercy pulls away to drag her mouth down the side of his cock, slicking her fist into a lazy rhythm that has him fucking desperately into her grip. His chest heaves rapidly for breath, long fingers locked into the sheets when she dots kisses down his ribs, laving his stomach with attention while her hand twists lovingly around him.

“Mercy.” He wets his lips, stifles a moan into his teeth. “That’s so good, sweetheart.” His hips nudge up and up, wordlessly urging her for more.

She pins him by the thigh with her free hand, setting her mouth against the thick head of his cock and sucking softly as she pumps him in her fist. She takes him deep over her tongue, then deeper, feeling him against the back of her throat, and she holds him there until her lungs ache and wet tears stream down her cheeks.

Colt is a shaking mess when she pulls free, pleading her name in whispered prayers that warm her racing heart. “God, Mercy, please, I’m dying for you. Please.”

Mercy holds his gaze as she parts her lips around his cock once more. And when he bucks his hips against her, she only holds tighter, sucks deeper, watches the ecstasy ripple across his face until finally he seizes up and comes across her tongue. A frenzied groan rolls up from deep within his chest, and his hips thrust hard under her hands, thighs clenching as she swallows him down.

In one long sigh, the tension all seems to drain from Colt’s muscles. Panting for breath, he tips her head closer to kiss the wet curve of her mouth, his lips unmistakably soft in the fall back down.

“Perfect,” he echoes with a crooked grin. He brushes a kiss across her knuckles, amusement glinting in the deep brown of his eyes. “Did I make you forget?”

“A few times,” she assures him, cheeks burning up into another blush. “Honestly, it's gonna be hard to remember anything else for a while.”

Colt laughs, still breathless, and his smile is more carefree than she’s ever seen. “Good. I wouldn’t mind being the only thing on your mind.” His thumb strokes the curve of her cheekbone, that same light, careful touch, like he fears he will break her. “You’re the only thing that’s ever on mine.”

Mercy curls into the crook of his arm as his breathing starts to wind back down, and every beat of his heart feels like its own silver lining.

[maythewidowtakeusall]

The New Widow (Natasha Romanoff x f!Reader)

Wordcount: 1399

Warnings: death, Endgame spoilers

Summary: Your wife promises to see you again in a minute before the time heist, only she doesn’t return afterwards when everyone else does.

There will be no grand funeral. No crying on each other's shoulders. No embellished gravestone to commemorate her life and heroism. Hell, there isn't even a body left of her to bury. There is nothing, just a sentence that keeps echoing in your ears, uttered by your late wife as she had hugged you encouragingly before the Time Heist.

"I'll see you in a minute."

But then you didn't. Natasha never came back. And thus the longest minute of your life began as you realized that you will have to live on without her.

You fought hard and well afterwards. You knew she would never have forgiven you for giving up, and you had no intention of letting the rest of the Avengers down. You sacrificed your every thought and surge of energy for the cause so you didn't have to think about your wife having to die without you. Or about how Nat had begun to plan your future together, your marriage giving her an edge of hopefulness she never had the luxury to possess before. You didn't sleep, didn't even go back to your shared room in the compound afterwards because you just couldn't. Nat was gone, and you sorely wished for your memories of her to die with her, but in more ways than one, she stayed almost vividly alive in your heart and mind. You could feel her arms around your bare form when you took a shower, shivering as you cried and wrapped yourself in layers of towels to kill the phantom touch of her skin on yours. You heard her voice and her laughter everywhere, and as if she lived on in your mind, you could almost know for certain what she'd say or think in different situations. She guided your hands every time you picked up a weapon and fired at an enemy as if she was trying to keep you alive even from beyond the grave. And surprisingly, you made it. You survived Thanos, you survived the deaths around you and you helped reinstate the world to how it was before. The only problem is that you never planned to survive yourself.

You wanted to die. Planned on dying. Imagined death to wear the face of your dead lover. Death seemed like an old friend, like a relief to a neverending ailment. But for some cruel reason, you were spared. Sentenced to life instead of death.

Clint is glued to your side as you attend Tony's funeral. You don't know whether it's because he feels guilty or because he feels sorry for you. Probably both. You down your champagne and call it lunch, feeling like your stomach is half the size it should be. You want to excuse yourself and get lost in the bucolic little forest and lie down in a ditch and be forgotten.

"I'll step outside for a moment. I need some air."

"(Y/n)," is all Clint says as he draws you in for a long, stiff hug. When he pulls back, an unfamiliar weight in the pocket of your black blazer demands your attention. "Go get some fresh air." The look he is giving you is very meaningful and demanding. You step outside. Manoeuvring the grieving people, you sit down on a bench by the lake where Tony's old heart had drowned not long ago and reach into your pocket. A cheap phone in a red case finds itself in your confused and hesitating fingers. Unlocking it is all too easy, and the phone has nothing on it except for a video. You almost don't want to open it because you know what you're going to find on it.

You play the video anyways.

She looks tired, but young - oh so young with her creamy skin and fiery hair. Her hair is straightened, parted down the middle neatly, and she's wearing that leather coat you always found so foxy. She proposed to you when SHIELD collapsed in on itself, and you almost end up laughing hysterically when you realize that you can tell the years apart by your late wife's hairstyles. This video is old - made probably in 2014. She's so real though that you want to cry, and she hasn't even started talking yet.

"Hey baby."

Now you're crying. Unashamed, fat tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision up to a point where you only wipe your eyes so that you can continue seeing her. Natasha, trapped in that tiny rectangle of a screen you're clutching so desperately, sighs before smiling slightly.

"I've given this message to Clint for safekeeping in case... well, in case I ran out of all my nine lives. SHIELD is gone and compromised, and I'm helping Steve shut down Hydra, but I can't guarantee that I'll come home. I wish I could. If you're watching this, I'm gone and the mission probably went horribly wrong, which is of course not my fault. Remember how I couldn't promise you to always come back? Well, I want you to know that despite not having made it, I did everything in my power to do so. I just probably drew the short straw or something. But you don't have to, (Y/N). Wherever I am, and whatever might have happened, I want you to keep going on. I know you'd want the same, should our roles be reversed. I'm hoping you never have to see this..."

Her voice trails off as she tears up. You almost forget that it's a recording as you want to console her. But dead men need no consolation.

"... Even now, I'm hoping to delete this one day as you're making coffee for the both of us one morning when we're old. But luck runs out eventually, and we all have to go one day. If there is one thing I know, it's the inevitability of death. I always knew it would come for me too. And sometimes I wished it would because of all the terrible things I've done. ... But you changed that, you know? You made me want to live and you made me a better person. Clint turned my world upside down when he spared me, but it was you who crystallized that change in me, (Y/n). Your love saved me in more than one way and now I want to save you too. I know you. I know you want to be reckless now and you want to take risks, but I'm asking you not to. If you've ever loved me, baby, then you'll do one more thing for me, okay? The world needs good people like you, so do everything in your power to stay alive and continue protecting it. Save people, as you did me. And forget me. Keep going while you have to. Fight your battles. Love those you care about. I'll be waiting for you in the end. A lifetime is a small amount of time to pass if it means I'll get to see you again. Because I will. I know I will. It will all be over in the blink of an eye, in but a minute. I promise. Now get out of here and live. I have to put on my best set of afterlife lingerie before you get here, and you know how long it takes for me to get ready."

You watch the video one last time. It's been years since you last did, but you finally feel like you're ready to let go. Despite tearing up, you even laugh at Natasha's silly joke in the end. Deleting it feels good. It feels like she can finally rest. And you can finally breathe. Hallelujah.

"What's that?" your wife asks you, sinking down on the bed next to you as she glances at the old phone in your hand. "What, this old piece of junk? Just a memory, Wanda. One I'm willing to let go of now."

"Well, good. I need you in the present."

"That's uncharacteristically romantic of you, Mrs (Y/l/n)."

Wanda grins. Hearing you call her your last name always makes her giddy.

"Sam called. He's got a mission for us."

"And here I was, expecting a candlelit dinner or something."

"Maybe later. But we have a world to save first."

[cosmitasiarts-moved]

Wrote a fic about uuh. something? this one is still angsty but less horribly depressing I promise, it’s about Ness revisiting Magicant. on AO3 at works/21412765

After their journey to save the world, life was gradually settling down and returning to how things used to be, give or take a few friendships. Despite mostly gaining friends, getting a boost in popularity at school, and the fulfillment of saving the world as its own reward, Ness couldn’t help but feel a profound loss and unending emptiness weighing on him.

He felt so disconnected from the people in his life, he’d never experienced it before. He couldn’t even feel the presence of his close friends, let alone the sudden influx of people who suddenly decided it was cool to be friends with the psychic kid who saved the world (They totally never made him feel like dirt or anything before now, not at all.) It was overwhelming to be bombarded with all the attention, even if it was starting to die down as of late.

For the longest time, Ness was trying to figure out why he’s remained so agitated, even long after his journey ended. It’s been months, everyone else around him was able to resume their lives as usual, or maybe that was just him letting his irrational frustration impact how he perceived the state of the world and people around him.

He thought, maybe it was just a reaction to the trauma. Maybe it was losing his longtime best friend. Maybe it was the blatantly artificial friendliness of the people in town and at school. Most realistically, it was everything blended together and building up. The most irritating part to him was the fact that he’s never been impacted by anything this heavily for this long before. He should have bounced back by now! He’s supposed to be the fun, positive friend, that’s what he’s always been.

The restlessness wasn’t getting any better. The dwelling on his anger, grief, and guilt, letting the thoughts cycle viciously through his head over and over, holding the same excruciating impact each time. He still couldn’t sleep soundly half a year later, those same disordered swirls of red assaulting his mind whenever he closed his eyes. The best he could do is toss and turn until his body gets too exhausted to move. After god knows how long he spent going through that same routine in his bed, a rare night came where he was finally able to slip out of consciousness.

The world melted away around him into a dream, easing him back into the familiar ethereal country of his mind’s creation, Magicant. He had no idea why he was back, he hadn’t been back to this place since the final sanctuary. He figured it would have disappeared, or at least be out of his reach, after his initial visit. He stood on his feet, the fatigue on his physical body fortunately not ailing him here.

Taking a moment to look around, he realized the once brightly colored island full of residents and personality had deteriorated into a barren, gloomy wasteland. He couldn’t see far, as a thick fog formed throughout the area. Something was tugging him to trek deeper. He began his return to the depths of Magicant, the dead grass crunching under his socked feet. It was lonely and eerily quiet, last time he had been here he had stumbled across plenty of familiar faces, but this time he was only getting fleeting images of people in the corners of his eyes that would vanish when he tried to focus on them for too long.

As he got further, the terrain shifted to dirty slush covered ground. Ness’s pace was reduced to a creep, trudging through the deepening slush. Coupled with the area’s change, the air went cold and heavy, making breathing increasingly difficult. Despite the frigid air stinging his skin accompanied by the thoroughly unpleasant sensation of snowy, wet socks, the feeling in his body remained in tact.

Ness was forced to a halt, kneeling over to cough, straining to catch his breath. The pressure of the air around him became far too encumbering for him to continue forward without rest. He took a moment to observe his surroundings again, he couldn’t tell how long or how far he’d been walking for. The phantoms of people became rarer, though more recognizable. None of them stuck around too long, all he could do was watch the memories and recreations replay before him until they inevitably dissolved. There were some members from his baseball team hanging out together. Tracy and her friends messing around. Paula, Jeff, and Pu saying goodbye to him. Pokey-

Pokey.

He ran off as soon as Ness registered who he was. Ness sprung back to his feet in pursuit, desperately trying to reach forward as his old friend receded into the oppressive haze. Eventually the slush under him dissipated to a solid ground of deep magenta, and the dread filling his stomach grew stronger.

Something inside of him knew he wouldn’t ever be able to see his old friend again, he wouldn’t ever be able to catch him. Against his better judgement, he forced his aching legs to continue racing through the darkening fog, getting caught up in his delusional hope to just see his long lost best friend one more time.

By the time he finally reached the center of the spiral, Ness’ lungs were burning and his legs wobbled under his weight, which he now realized was feeling like much more than his real body. He collapsed before the coil growing from the center, taking time trying to accept the fact that he was never going to catch his old friend. Though the sorrow gathered and set in his throat, he couldn’t even bring himself to cry about it anymore.

He remained slouched on the ground for a while, heaving his chest. Finally, he hesitantly moved to place his hand on the coil, his vision filled with a blinding light while he felt the land fall away beneath him, plunging him into murky, violet water. A haunting, detached voice resonated faintly from the center of the sea, drawing him towards it.

I… … … … … g… … d…

He waded towards the source of the voice, the water feeling much thicker and impeding his movement much more than he remembered. The restricted pace him gave him plenty of time to ponder. This place has changed so much since his last visit, he could only imagine what he’s going to encounter at the heart of this ocean this time.

I… … … p … … y...

There were no sea monsters infesting the waters this time around. In fact, even with Ness's ever intensifying sense of unease, he hadn’t come across anything immediately dangerous.

N… t… r… … … ht…

Ness couldn’t tell how much time has passed since he got here or how far he’s traveled. Although he was fairly lucid in this dreamlike realm, the rate in which time was passing was completely indiscernible. The only way he could tell he was making any progress was the clarity of the eerie cries.

N… … … s… i… h… … ts…

He was getting close.

Ness!

At last, there was a break in the fog, revealing a weathered, broken down iteration of the statue Ness had been met with before. Ness trembled with apprehension, but readied himself in a defensive and worked his way closer to it. His first step forward, it began to crack. Another step, pieces chipped and fall away. His last step towards it and-

In that instant, the statue shattered, erupting with tendrils of darkness. They sprawled out, completely consuming the sea around Ness, engulfing his sight and chilling him to the bone. Swirls of seething crimson spilled through the void, scorching against his skin and burning his eyes. A deafening cacophony of anguished screeches and Ness's name ripping the air. The overwhelming mixture of numbing cold, searing pain, and incomprehensible white noise rendered Ness unable to move, any thoughts he could attempt to formulate being drowned out to be replaced by overlapping mixtures of his own voice and that of the creature that never ceased tormenting him.

The most vile things inside of his mind smothered Ness, up until this point it had been rotting him from the inside out, only now has it begun the inevitable process of violently tearing him to pieces. The horrid mass flooding from his own conscience was seeping through his body bit-by-bit, causing the burning sensation coursing through his veins.

Hopelessness ravaged Ness's brain while he urgently wracked his mind for solace, a way out, something, anything to save him. Every thought and feeling that had resided in his head for the past months that he repeatedly tried to shelve and push away were all caving in on him at once, he had never experienced anything like this before, tears welled in his eyes, he couldn’t deal with it all on his own.

He doesn’t have to.

In the midst of the thunderous, scarlet whirlpool threatening to shred Ness’ body to pieces, it occurred to him. “Mom…” he choked a sob out into the brutal storm, which seemingly responded by becoming more vicious. He closed his eyes against the harsh force and finally let tears stream down his face. ”... Paula… Please…” his voice was hoarse, the cyclone grew angrier. ”Jeff…” it ripped into him deeper, he had to resist the rising urge to hurl from the pain. ”Pu…” ever so slightly, Ness felt like he could see openings in the darkness overrunning his mind when he opened his eyes.

”Please… I need… I-I… I can’t…” Ness’ aching body shuddered with another sob. ”I need help! Please!” he begged  as his stiff legs gave way and he landed on his knees, every inch of his body inside and out screaming at him in pain, though, it was less than before. The pitch black surroundings and red swirls were starting to give way to the purple sea he had remembered from what feels like so long ago. ”I need you guys… I can’t do this by myself...” he whimpered.

The storm continued to lash at Ness’ body, but it’s power over him was weakening. Even if he couldn’t see it, or hear it, he felt a comforting presence enveloping him, as if it were cradling him in a tender hug. “Thank you- thank you… Please stay with me…” He clung to whatever, whoever surrounded him as if his life depended on it, which, it probably does.

The poison red deluge recoiled from him furiously, surrendering to the returning color of the sea and lifting fog, falling back to the center and slowly draining away. As the last of the corruption dispelled, Ness let out a shaky sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and felt himself being pulled back into consciousness.

[daoimean]

Pink in the Night IV | Winter Solstice: Part III

Chapter III | Ao3 Link

Summary:

Fellas, is it gay to be madly in love with your gal pal? As war rages and internal demons fester, Glimmer struggles to come to terms with her feelings.

Pairings: Glimmadora (Glimmer/Adora)

Warnings: Panic attacks, discussions of grief

Word Count: 4,941

Well, that's enough for tonight. 

  Glimmer's only vaguely aware of herself as she half-stumbles, bewilderedly, back into the crowd. She takes the arm of the nearest sober person she recognises— Perfuma, she thinks— and stammers out some lame excuse, about being tired or not feeling well or something, teleporting away before the other has a chance to say anything.  

  Her room is far enough from the ballroom that the noise of the party has faded down to a distant background buzz. She can hear, think, breathe again, like a drowning girl finally coming up for air. But her thoughts are caught in a whirlwind, billowed in a flurry like the blizzard she can see picking up outside her window. 

  Adora just kissed her— she just kissed Adora. 

There's no way she can go back to that party now. That much she's certain of. 

  She's either shivering or shaking as her unsteady hands fumble to remove her headpiece and garments (which are only slightly easier to take off by herself than they were to put on), letting them drop unceremoniously to the floor. She messes up the buttons of her pyjama shirt once, twice, three times, cursing herself under her breath with mounting frustration. All she wants is to go to bed. Maybe after a good night's sleep it'll be like this never happened, things can go back to how they were. 

  (She knows, all too well, that isn't how it works— that things haven't been how they were, how she likes them, in a long time.)

  Frantic eyes flit around the room, trying to find something to focus on, ground herself. Glimmer didn't used to be prone to panic attacks; she's sure she's had more in the past two months than her entire life before then. She tries to remember how her mom had successfully talked her down the one time she started unraveling in front of her. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale…

  She catches sight of Kowl on the window seat, the stuffed koala-owl toy she's had since she was a baby. One of the few remnants of her childhood she could never bring herself to get rid of, not even when she reached her teenage years and all she wanted was to grow up. She doesn’t know why that’s what brings the tears to her eyes. 

  Inhale, exhale…

  She's okay. She's okay. 

  No, she's not okay. 

  But she will be, she might be, if she can just— 

  Her hand comes up to wipe her eye, but her fingers hover briefly over her lips, where phantom traces of Adora's kiss still linger. 

  She knows, or at least she's been told countless times by countless people, that time is supposed to heal. One day (though no one dares use wording this crass), she'll get over her mom. One day, she'll get over Adora. One day, she'll grow up. 

  Her eyes fall on Kowl again. Then she picks it up and throws it across the room, as hard as she can manage. It doesn't go very far, and she doesn't feel any better. She watches, chest heaving, as it misses the wall, landing on the floor a few metres before it— and she stares and stares at that wall until her vision blurs, her legs give way under her, and she clamps her shaking hand over her mouth as calculated breaths roll out as choked, pathetic whimpers. 

  Inhale, inhale, inhale— 

  A knock.

  The sound pulls her back to the surface, but the voice that follows wrenches a gasp that tears out what little air she could draw into her lungs. 

  "Glimmer? Are you okay?"

  ...Yeah, no, she needs more air. 

  She teleports without much regard for where she's going, emerging from the light midair and landing on her butt on the snow-covered concrete of some unmanned parapet. 

  It's cold . That’s the first thing she realises when she comes to her senses. The fresh layer of snow beneath her numbs her bare hands, her cosy pyjamas not nearly cosy enough to withstand the icy wind that howls in her ears, tousles her hair. She didn't even have the sense to put shoes or slippers on over her socks. Smart thinking, Glimmer. Truly the pragmatic mind of a Queen-to-be. 

  Yet, it's only up here that she manages to steady her breathing. She grasps the wall, dragging herself to her feet. She's shivering, but she's okay. She thinks. 

  When the urge to cry rises, she doesn't try to stop it this time, the turmoil she releases with every sob carried away with the blustering wind. She doesn't even know what she's crying about anymore. She's crying about nothing, she's crying about everything, she's numb and she's hurting and she's alone and she's cold , so very very cold. She's lost track of time altogether by the time the snow crunches behind her.

  Adrenaline surging through her frozen limbs, she pulls her head from her arms, snapping round to be greeted with a looming figure, a mass of billowing golden hair. 

  Adora.

  (Well, kind of.)

  "Did you really transform into She-Ra just to get up here faster?" Glimmer asks her, having to raise her voice as the storm flares up around them like a freezing inferno. Her teeth are chattering. She can barely move. As the adrenaline leaves her, she's left too cold to think. She can barely even see. 

  "I wasn't sufficiently dressed," Adora bellows back, unaffected as a huge gust lifts her cape and hair, the assault of snow melting on her upon contact, "and neither are you , Glimmer! Come here, you must be freezing ."

  All other thoughts are subdued by just how much she needs to be warm right now. She summons whatever strength she has left to stumble into Adora's extended arms, enveloped in her warmth. She-Ra's warmth. 

  (She prefers Adora.)

  Once she's able to, she teleports them both back inside. Adora, releasing her She-Ra form and closing the window she must have climbed out of, leads Glimmer to sit down on the cushioned window seat, finding a blanket and pulling it around her shoulders. Glimmer's already sufficiently warmed up, but she snuggles up anyway, watching Adora with a newfound calm that warms her insides too.

  "You seem pretty lucid," Adora says, pressing two fingers to Glimmer's wrist to check her pulse,"and your pulse rate is normal. You probably weren't out there long enough for hypothermia to set in, thankfully. Seriously, Glimmer, what were you thinking , going out in that in your pyjamas? If you needed space you could have just told me to go away."

  Glimmer finds herself smiling, in spite of herself. She knows Adora's nagging comes from a place of caring; she almost wants to tell her she sounds like her mom. "I don't think I was thinking." 

  " Clearly ." Adora rolls her eyes, lightly papping her cheek; her mouth is twitching up, like she's trying not to smile herself. "If I go and get you a hot drink, can you promise me you're not gonna go take a swim in the lake or something while I'm gone?" 

  Glimmer playfully rolls her eyes. "I'll try my best." Adora glowers at her, and she bites back a laugh and relents. "Fine, I promise! I'll be right here, okay?" 

.

As Adora slips out, Glimmer notices the plate of party food on the side table, a whole a whole assortment of her favourites. The gift hidden in her desk drawer suddenly feels even lamer in comparison, and something she thinks might be guilt curls in her belly. She really hopes Adora comes back soon. 

  And she does, cradling a cup of chamomile tea. Glimmer accepts it gratefully, motioning over her now half-empty plate as Adora hovers awkwardly before her. "Do you wanna share?" It's a coded invitation to stay, hopefully not laced with the desperation she feels. 

  "I don't think I could eat another bite," says Adora, shrugging off her scabbard and setting the sword aside (that Glimmer cannot believe she brought to a party, but then it's Adora so she guesses she can) before sitting down next to her, though her posture remains stiff, like she's still preparing to leave, like she doesn't know if she should be here at all, "and Bow mentioned you hadn't had dinner after Perfuma told us you said you weren't feeling well, so I thought I'd…" She looks at her hands. "Sorry, I know you um, probably wanted space, I was just going to give it to you and leave, if you wanted me to, but then you were gone and—" 

  "It's lucky you knew where I went," Glimmer interjects. She reaches out, hesitates, then settles her hand on Adora's shoulder. "Look, it's okay , Adora. I probably would have froze otherwise."

  "I'm still sorry." 

  "Don't be." 

  She has a feeling it's not just that she's apologising for. 

  A silence falls over them. Glimmer retracts her hand as Adora shifts around, settling properly across from her. 

  As someone who's had trouble making friends until recently, it's only with Adora that Glimmer came to accept and even enjoy amicable silences. Silences that don’t make her anxious, that she doesn't feel the need to fill for fear of being awkward or boring, where two people can just bask quietly in the pleasure of each other’s company.

  This isn't one of those silences, though. It's heavy, almost crushing, weighed down with things left unsaid; the elephant in the room may as well be sitting on her chest. 

  "It never snowed in the Fright Zone," Adora says after a while. "The smog always got worse during the winter, though. Sometimes you can’t even go out for more than a few seconds without a vog mask." 

  "That...wow." It's far from the worst thing Glimmer's heard about the Fright Zone, but it's still kind of unfathomable. Having grown up in a queendom proudly devoid of pollution, she can't imagine not even being able to safely breathe the air around her. She’s glad Adora got out of there. "It snows every year here. Always around the same time, which is why we centre the Solstice season around it. It's...honestly kind of annoying." 

  "I think it's beautiful." 

  As Adora says this, Glimmer follows her gaze to the blizzard outside, which is ebbing down to a more steady snowfall. She watches the flakes dance in the wind like stardust, settling over the landscape in layer upon fluffy layer of pure white that almost seems to glitter in the moonlight. It's the exact same thing she's seen countless times, but it's like her perspective has shifted through the mesmerised earnesty of Adora's words. Like she's seeing it through her eyes. 

  Then, she looks at Adora, at her profile betraying an almost childlike fascination, the silvery lunar glow softening and highlighting her features in all the best ways. 

  She can still faintly hear the party they're both supposed to be attending, but the more she watches Adora and the snow the less anything else seems to matter. No past, no future, just her, Adora, and a sleeping world enshrouded in white. 

  "Yeah," she murmurs, "I guess it is." 

  Soon enough, the world will reawaken. The snow will freeze over and melt, where it's not already been cleared from roads and walkways or trampled by the shoes of leaving partygoers. It'll dissipate to grey-brown mush then, soon enough, nothing at all. 

  She it’s necessary, that the world has to keep on turning no matter what it tarnishes, but to Glimmer's selfish side, it all seems so unfair. Why does everything have to be so fleeting?

  "You know," she adds, "I bet Frosta wouldn't mind us crashing at hers, if you really like the snow— like, obviously once all of the, um, Horde stuff has blown over. We could go skiing." 

  "Yeah." Adora smiles a little, and it occurs to Glimmer she probably doesn't actually know what skiing is. "That would be nice." 

  She wants to show Adora all her favourite places, showcase the best of Etheria to the girl who’s thrown herself into saving a world she barely knows outside of the dismal corner of it she was raised in, and she wants to experience them all over again with her by her side. Skiing in the Kingdom of Snows; swimming by the Crystal Falls; a picnic in Serenia; tea at that cute cafe in Glenmar, run by a rumoured ex-Hordesman who's managed to embrace a peaceful family life. The fantasies flicker through her mind like a flip book, all vague and innocent and kind of dumb, in a future too optimistically idyllic to even bear thinking about.

  (It ends with a flashback to her conversation with Casta. How she and the girl she loved were going to go to Silaneas. Who was she? Does Casta even remember her name?) 

  "I hate this uncertainty," Adora says, so quietly it's hard to tell if she's talking to Glimmer or just thinking out loud, "not knowing what's going to happen." 

  "Mmm." Glimmer hums. "I really wish we had something to go on. I don't think even Shadow Weaver knows what's going on unless she's giving us the runaround."

  Adora sighs. "Yeah, no, she doesn't have a reason to lie, she wants to bring down the Horde as much as we do. She's not as hard to read as everyone thinks, Glimmer.” She turns to her with a little smirk, trying to bring a little light back into the conversation. “You just have to weigh out how much the situation benefits her ." 

  "Yeah, it’s...weird, she's actually been... really helpful? I know more about my magic than ever thanks to her." She grimaces, almost physically pained by having to talk positively about Shadow Weaver. "It kind of sucks, actually, I have been itching for round two." She straightens herself, palming her fist (a precarious thing to do while she's still holding her tea), and feels her heart do the happiest of little flips as Adora unexpectedly snorts with laughter. She'd missed Adora's laugh. She'd missed being the one to make her laugh. "What? I could take her!"

  "I've know you can take her, dumbface. I still wish I'd been conscious to witness it." Glimmer can see her eyeing the party snacks and pushes the plate over. Adora picks up a mooncake and takes a huge bite, continuing to talk through the mouthful. They're presumably not taught about that kind of etiquette in the Horde, but Glimmer's honestly the last person to care. It's just another one of Adora's weirdly cute little quirks that might only be cute because it's Adora. "Sorry, it was calling to me, I couldn't resist— oh, these are so good. "

  "My face isn't as dumb as her sweater," Glimmer grumbles. It's really hard to keep playing grumpy while she watches Adora's typically theatrical reaction to good food. Even after months of living here, Adora's still so enthralled by some of the little things, and even after months of witnessing these reactions, even when she herself takes most of these things for granted, the joy always seem to rub off on Glimmer. 

  (She could never take Adora for granted.) 

  "Oh, that reminds me—" As Adora reaches into the inner pocket of her suit jacket (Glimmer is definitely not going to take the sight of Adora in a suit for granted), Glimmer can only wonder what could possibly be in there that reminisces with Shadow Weaver's stupid sweater. 

  What she produces, finally, is a little box.

  A very familiar little box, right down to the now slightly smooshed... bow on top. 

  Hmmm .

  "Adora." Glimmer quirks an eyebrow in feigned ignorance. "That's gotta be a really small sweater." 

  "Yeah, no, you sharing your food, then the talk of ugly festive sweaters, just got me thinking about festivities in general, goodwill and all of that— and that made me remember... this, um—" She holds out the box, looking away bashfully. "Weird train of thought, you know? Sorry, I, uh, haven't really— done this before…" 

  Usually, people don’t exchange gifts until morning, but there's no use pointing that out. "Uh, hang on, we should probably do this at the same time," says Glimmer. She sets the tea she's been steadily sipping safely aside as she gets up, leaving her blanket discarded on the seat while she retrieves Adora's gift from her desk drawer; realisation crosses Adora's features as soon as she sees the box, fashioned with an identical bow. 

  "Did..." 

  "Yup," Glimmer confirms, "he insisted on it. Right down to the wrapping." 

  They exchange gifts, along with playful eye rolls directed towards Bow and his meddling, and their own inabilities to settle on gifts for each other without it. Glimmer can only watch from the corner of her eye while Adora opens her, feeling a familiar heat rising up her cheeks. She doesn't know why this is making her so nervous— Adora already pretty much knows what it is. 

  It's a bracelet. A simple gold chain, fashioned with a ruby charm Bow showed her how to painstakingly whittle down into a faceted star. 

  ("Why a star?" he'd asked her, and she'd made some dumb (and in hindsight maybe kind of insensitive) 'out of this world' joke because she was too embarrassed to explain the actual reason.) 

  "Oh, Glimmer." She holds it up to the light, watching how it reflects off the deep red of the jewel. "It's so pretty." 

  Adora's gift to Glimmer is, as she suspected, almost identical. Silver chain, and the charm is a moonstone whittled into a crescent moon, which she supposes makes more immediate sense. On one hand, she's grateful, to both Bow and Adora, she'll treasure this, she already knows that for certain, but on the other— 

  Did Bow really have them make each other friendship bracelets? Adora obviously has the same thought, Glimmer sees it when she accidentally meets her eye as she opens her mouth to thank her— and they both fall into a fit of giggles.  

  It's not that funny, it might not even be funny at all, but there are tears of laughter in the corners of Glimmer's eyes by the time she looks up again. Her cheeks already hurt from smiling more than she has in a long time. 

  She’s a little surprised Adora seems to know what a friendship bracelet is. Maybe it's one of those things that's universal with kids everywhere, like playing tag or drawing that weird S thing all over their school books. There's one likely person Adora would have exchanged them with, though, and...no, she's not entertaining that thought.

  (Bow was actually the one to introduce the concept of friendship bracelets to her, back when they were two dumb kids with stars in their eyes and Glimmer's mom was still there to handle all the important stuff, the high stakes stuff. They wove each other's bracelets from string, and wore them until they began to fray and unravel and they both came to the unspoken agreement to give them up. She supposes when it comes to these bracelets made of silver and gold, the chains or the clasps might just snap eventually. She supposes it kind of does reflect how friendships work, or at least how they end.) 

  "Can you help me put this on?" Adora asks, fumbling with the clasp. "It's really— oh, thank you." 

  Adora helps her fasten hers too, and they both hold their wrists up to each other's for comparison. Glimmer starts giggling again, until she realises Adora isn't. 

  "Hey." Glimmer reaches over to poke her nose, which seems to rouse her attention. "What's up?" 

  Adora pokes hers back, and grins far too wearily to be reassuring as Glimmer does the inevitable nose crinkle. "Sorry, I'm just…happy."

  "Happy?" She's something , but Glimmer isn't sure if happy is the word. Nostalgic, maybe. For the nights in Glimmer's room where the world was still and the moons were their company, where they could talk about anything and everything without the tension, without the damn elephant. 

  (Fearful, terrified, that the comforting familiarity they've found in each other is crumbling, giving way to an uncertain future.)

  "Festive spirit." Adora shrugs, and they're both momentarily distracted as, as if on cue, a distant cheer can be faintly heard erupting from the ballroom, the music rising in volume to the point that Glimmer can tell what song it is. It must be time for the dance. 

  "You can go back if you want." Don't go. Not now. Not yet. Not like this. "I'm okay now. I'll be okay."

  "I'd rather be here. If you want me to." Adora's hand finds Glimmer's, hesitating over it, her smile wavering; Glimmer can see right through the cracks forming across her composure, and it pulls at what she keeps trying to bury with a panic that tightens her throat. Not now, not yet. "I've...really missed you, Glimmer." 

  "I've missed you too." Glimmer's fingers slide through Adora's, like the resurgence of an old instinct. Her gaze drifts to the window. The snowfall has slowed, enough that she can follow an individual snowflake until flutters out of view. "I'm...sorry I've been so absent lately, I've just been really...in my own head, I guess. It's...hard to explain." 

  "It's fine." Adora sighs. "I can't really blame you after...everything."

  Glimmer's eyes widen. Her heart sinks. "Adora..."

  “Sorry, sorry, I—” Adora lets out something that sounds like a laugh, but it's bitter, completely humourless, muffled into the hand she brings over her mouth. It sounds more like she's about to cry. "I always have to go and ruin it, don't I?" 

  "Hey, no—" But Adora's already pulled her hand away, closing in on herself. "Come here." Glimmer's slow in her movements, allowing Adora the chance to reject the comfort at any point, first gently taking Adora's wrists, trailing her hands to her shoulders, then, finally sliding her arms around her, pulling her in like a lifeline. Adora makes no move until she returns the embrace, hiding her head in Glimmer's shoulder as she clings to her with a desperation that harrowingly reminds Glimmer of herself on that first night, her breathing shallow and rushed as much as it sounds like she's trying to steady it. 

  "I'm sorry." Adora whispers, the quivering distress in her words wrenching the tightness in Glimmer's throat. "For everything. I'm so sorry." 

  "You need to stop apologising," Glimmer says, and it might come out more harshly than she means it too. She runs her hand up and down Adora's back, trying to communicate through her touch that she didn't mean it that way. "It's not your fault, none of this is your fault." 

  In the whole two months, they've only kind of managed to talk about what happened. Adora knows that it isn't her fault, that Glimmer's mom made her own decision to sacrifice herself in place of Adora. But knowledge isn't acceptance. The guilt will chip away at her, sullying her every interaction with Glimmer, pulling her away in the currents of time, in the waves of grief, until, unless—

  Unless Glimmer can hold on. 

  And she can hold on, she will hold on. 

  She can't let this end. 

  Not now, not ever. 

  "I love you," she says. It slips out among the typical affirmations, the it's okay 's and I'm here 's, before she's aware of the words taking shape in her mind. "I love you," she repeats, "I love you." 

  Soon enough, Adora's breathing steadies out, but her pulse doesn't slow, its rhythm reverberating even through the layers of clothes between them. Her arms are around Glimmer as she draws herself back, leaning her forehead against hers. Glimmer, suddenly, is aware of her own pulse, picking up in turn. It's the good kind of heart racing, she thinks, she hopes. She wonders if their hearts are in sync. She wonders how long it's been since she last thought about that. 

She’s about to ask, stupidly, if Adora’s okay, until Adora’s words knock her right off course.

  "I've never kissed anyone before tonight," she confesses quietly, her lips twitching in a stifled laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking. I’m—" She bites back the apology. “I probably...shouldn’t have done that.”

  Glimmer's always tentative about touching Adora's face. She knows she doesn't like it, and she's pretty sure she knows why. But as Glimmer lingers her hand over her cheek, silently requesting permission, Adora actually leans into the touch, closing her eyes briefly with a releasing sigh. "I kissed you too," she points out softly, "it takes two to tap dance, or whatever that dumb phrase is." 

  A light dusting of pink rises up Adora's cheeks. She places her hand over Glimmer's, holding it where it is, her fingers calloused yet her touch feather-light where she runs her thumb across the smoother skin of a hand that's never wielded a sword. "I'm so embarrassed," she almost whispers, "Everyone was staring, I don't know, I just— did I even do it right?" 

  "Shh." Glimmer soothes, bringing her other hand up to Adora's other cheek. "I wouldn't know." She pauses. Her heart is pounding, her skin is tingling, the butterflies finding their home in her stomach — the good kind, definitely the good kind. "I mean," she adds quietly, so quietly even the omnipresent reach of the moons can't eavesdrop, the moment theirs and theirs alone, "we could always try again." 

  When their lips meet, the white and red sparks dancing between them mingle and merge into one unified light that glows and grows, so warm she momentarily forgets what it is to be cold, so vitalising she momentarily forgets what it is to be afraid. It's hard to define a moment. It could have been a second, it could have been an eternity. And when she opens her eyes, Adora is still there in front of her, eyes sparkling and a soft, bashful smile gracing her features that Glimmer swears, then and there, is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. 

  Silence falls over them again after that. The best kind of silence, filled with warmth and butterflies. They find a settled position neither of them are going to move from anytime soon, Adora resting against the cushions behind her, Glimmer resting across her with her head on her chest. She could stay here forever. 

  “Glimmer?” Adora chimes softly. 

  “Hm?”

  "I love you too. Did I mention that already? I’m not sure I did." 

  Glimmer lets out an amused huff, shifting ever so slightly to drape her arm across Adora's waist. "It’s okay. I kind of gathered." 

  "I wish I'd told you before.” Adora sighs. “Even before...any of this, I was just…" 

  "Scared?" Glimmer's eyes flicker up to meet Adora's. 

  "Scared. Confused. Not sure whether you... I actually confided in Bow before the party and he gave me this big pep talk that got me all psyched up. It...probably wasn't the best time to confess anyway, in hindsight, and I didn't account for that whole mistletoe thing—" 

  Well, that explains the way Bow was looking at them when Adora took her aside. 

  "That's…" Glimmer lets out another amused huff. "Very Bow. I got my pep talk from Mermista ." She groans to herself. "You know it's bad when Mermista gets involved."

  “Oh, wow .” Adora groans as well, comedically dramatic. "Why are we like this, Glimmer?" 

  "We're dumbfaces. Both of us. The dumbest faces in Etheria." She pokes Adora's nose again. "And...you know, there's...actual reasons, that are still there.” Ah, there you are, reality. “I don't know if we can, like, feasibly...be...a thing." 

  "Do you want to?" 

  "What?" 

  "Be a thing?"

  "I mean…" Glimmer feels a familiar leap of trepidation in her chest, but it's dwarfed by the conviction of the real answer. "Yeah. I do. I really do."

  "Then we'll make this work." 

  "How?" 

  "We improvise." Glimmer snorts , pulling herself up slightly to lightly shove Adora's shoulder, and Adora’s jaw drops as she pretends to be offended. “What? It’s how we do everything else!”

  “You’re such a dumbass,” says Glimmer, and it’s true, but she makes a compelling point — and Glimmer, is, well, also a dumbass. They’re perfect for each other. 

  "Can I be  your dumbass?" Adora does an excruciatingly cute kissy face and Glimmer rolls her eyes, trying to hide the giant smile tugging her lips. 

  “I guess .” She’s smiling, contrary to the poorly feigned reluctance of her words. She can’t stop smiling. 

  They solidify the decision with another kiss, and it's familiar now, so familiar Glimmer wonders why she was ever scared in the first place. The world is theirs, and it's boundless. They can take it all on in their stride; soar over the moons and dance in the stars.

  Obviously, there's plenty of reasons to be scared. Her and Adora have far more to work through than can be dealt with in one night, both together and as individuals. The future remains uncertain, and Glimmer still bears the burden of Bright Moon and the Rebellion and her own persisting grief on her weary shoulders, and Adora may have multiple worlds on hers. 

  But tonight, once they can bring themselves to detangle to take care of their bedtime routines, Glimmer and Adora will fall asleep together and safe in the warmth of each other's arms. The snow is falling, the moons are bright, and Adora's eyes are gateways to the stars beyond the foreboding void of Etheria's night sky. Tonight, Glimmer will look into those galaxies and come home on those lips as they meet her own, again and again and again. 

[phantomphangphucker]

The Bindings Of Time - Chapter 1. Eventually, Even Time Moves On - PhannieMay- Day 22 Memories and Day 30 Moving On

Summary: Danny’s irrevocably tied to time

Warning: character death, funeral, bleeding

(Multi-chapter fic, each chapter falls under the Memories prompt as well as another day’s prompt)

Danny walks numbly and tentatively places the thermos on the table before slumping into the couch. Rubbing his forehead feeling mildly overwhelmed by everything that's happened in the past four days. He hasn’t even really had time to properly come to terms with ClockWork’s death, or fading as it’s called. He still feels like he could only be seconds away from hearing a riddle or getting called for apprentice work, which technically he is.

Fiddling with his hands and mentally ignoring the thermos, “at least his afterdeath ceremony was suiting”. Danny’s still a bit surprised those were even a thing but he should have expected as much for any powerful or respected ghost; and ClockWork is, no was, both. That was even more evident at the ceremony, everything was almost grandiose.

—three day’s ago—

Danny sighs sadly before pushing open the large doors, he’d never really been to this place and now he knew why. It was only for this purpose, the purpose of saying farewell to ghosts of greatness. Looking around he feels both comforted and painfully nostalgic, seeing everything decorated in ClockWork’s purples, greys and blacks; accented by various bits of clocks. Thick rich velvet drapery lining nearly every wall and the seating was all clearly soft extravagant royal purple plush over dark grey wood.

Running a finger over one of the chairs, he hears Skulkers' voice, “this is your first ain’t it, Phantom? Well, they are uncommon. Only the highest get them”. Danny shakes his head a little and looks to Skulker, “that’s almost sad but very right”. After all, ghosts weren’t like humans, more solitary than social and perfectly acceptable for one to just fade away. He knew it was best to just let most go without drawing attention to it. Ghosts didn’t grieve like humans did, not unless the faded ghost had a massive and far-reaching impact. Like ClockWork, the Observants...or like him. Even if Danny knew he wasn’t capable of human death or ghost fading.

Skulker nods as Ember comes to join them, “today doesn’t seem like the time to call you dipstick, so I won’t. Everyone knows you two were unusually close”. Skulker nods, “can’t say any of us know why”.

“Nor do they even know just how close”, the three turn their heads at the sound of an Observant. Danny’s not surprised that he’s the only one to not really reacting strongly to the presence of one of these guys. Pretty well all ghosts have a healthy fear and respect for the Observants. He and ClockWork have been two of the exceptions, Vlad was one as well but he’s never even met one. Skulker and Ember stand a bit stiff and eye the Observant cautiously while Danny talks, “no surprise to find one of you here. Though I fully intend to punch you if you try to use this to bitch about any of his past transgressions against your desires”. Danny doesn’t really care that Ember is gaping at him a fair bit, someone making a threat at an Observant was considered a rather insane and foolish thing to do.

“We would expect no different. I am not here for the ceremony. Ghosts pass, it is expected”, Danny can’t help but cross his arms and glare a bit before relenting and holding out his hand. Letting the Observant place whatever he’s holding in a clenched fist into his. Danny understands that whatever this is, isn’t meant for others eyes so he glances at it sneakily; thoroughly amused that his two ghost frienemy’s don’t even try to peak.

Glancing up at the Observant who merely nods and turns to leave. Danny runs a finger over the time medallion, one that looks so different than what he’s seen before. Tracing the DP symbol inside the gear shape attached to a soft black ribbon, before tucking it to hide away in his cloak. He felt it only fitting to wear the cloak ClockWork had gifted him with as a sign of his apprenticeship, though he kept the hood down. Rich black velvet with white fluffy plush lining the inside, accented by shimmering silver stitching; with the same gear as ClockWork’s for a clasp.

“Normally, I’d ask what weirdness you’re up to now, but I’m not about to question anything involving those guys”, Danny feels a bit of pity for Ember but he’s not completely sure what this means yet. “Yes, some things are better left unsaid. At least until time decides otherwise”, really there’s no way Danny couldn’t make at least a few time jokes. ClockWork would do the same honestly, though Danny has a suspicion not a lot of people know how much of a jokester that man was. Both Skulker and Ember look a bit confused, Skulker shakes his head, “is there nothing to stop you from being a floating joke?”. Danny simply smirks, though there’s not any warmth in it, as a glass case holding ClockWork’s cloak and Staff starts glowing faintly, signifying the ceremonies start.

Thankfully, Danny’s good at reading people now and can tell there’s not going to be any speeches or talking. Instead, each ghost takes their turn in spilling some of their own ectoplasm over the case. Simply touching the case appears to be all that’s needed to make them bleed, removing whatever part of their body they touched it with once they felt they’d given properly. Danny does find it a little disturbing but the symbolism makes sense. Something like paying their dues for all the faded time master had done. Some spill more, others less. This almost makes him annoyed the Observants aren’t here, if anyone owes ClockWork, it’s them. Second behind them would be him of course. Though this would likely be royally messed up to humans, but he was a ghost and this is what ghosts do. The clear rightness of all of this only solidifies that to him, even if he was definitely less comfortable with this than the others. Likely influence from his human half but that was ok and expected.

Danny decides the best rule of thumb is to give whatever feels right to him, though there’s probably not enough ectoplasm or blood in him to really show how much ClockWork had done for him. He also knew he did a lot in return though, so that made it better.

Remembering how ClockWork had simply placed his palm to Danny’s chest when accepting, or more so inviting him, to be his apprentice; Danny places the entirety of his palm on the glass case, around the chest area of the cloak and squarely over top of the head of the staff. Letting his ghost forms green ectoplasm flow until he was fairly dizzy, before leaning against a wall and staring numbly at his palm. It really didn’t feel like enough but he knows ClockWork would have berated him for giving so much.

Kitty walks up to him, glancing at his soaked hand, while Danny rubs his pointer finger with the same thumb. Looking to him sadly, “I’m not going to ask just what or how much he’s done for you. But I can not think of anything that would drive me to give so much”. Danny follows her gaze as she tilts her head back to the case, at least a third of what’s on it is Danny’s. “I would give more if I could and he would’ve berated me for it”, smiling sadly but with fondness, “something tells me, he would have done the same for me”. He knows full well that Kitty’s confused, “in a sense we saved each other. From two different kinds of everything. Self-destruction, being destroyed, corruption. Solitude, weariness, time”.

“I don’t think I get it. But everything with ClockWork is like that”, Kitty pushes him gently, “you even sound like him”. Johnny comes up and nods, “it’s actually a little creepy man”. Earning a laugh from Danny, “we rubbed off on each other, you could say”.

Danny spots one of the FarFrozen waving him over so he nods farewell to the couple, catching Kitty mutter, “how do you even save someone from time? Especially ClockWork”.

ColdStep claps him strongly on the shoulder, Danny finds it nice to not be so much smaller than his odd giant worshipers now. He was even almost as tall as some. ColdSteps voice booms loudly though it’s clear he’s not aiming to be loud, “I am unsurprised to see you here. FrostBite is saddened he could not come himself, but he knows The Time Keeper already knew he wouldn’t be able to”, Danny nods softly, he knows full well how busy the leader of the FarFrozen can be. Danny knows the only reason he wasn’t busy himself is because every ghost instantly agreed to leave Amity be for a while; time’s truce they called it. His fondness of ClockWork was no secret. Walker even went and threatened Vlad to stay away, which he’s still baffled by. After all, Walker’s one of the few that is purely an enemy not a frienemy.

ColdStep hands Danny an intricately embellished ice crystal lily, small clocks, gears and birds winding in between numbers and carved vines. “We know humans often give flowers when one of their own dies, so BluePond felt this right. This maybe be an afterdeath ceremony, but you are human too”, ColdStep nods at Danny warmly while Danny runs his clean hand over the ice petals.

Danny’s currently thankful for being so skilled at schooling his expression and keeping himself from looking weak, otherwise, he’d cry. Doing that around ghosts is never a good idea, so he has to thank not only his secretiveness but ClockWork as well. The man always was big on controlling what he expressed, always preached it as a life necessity. Which in a sense it was, for important powerful ghosts at least.

Nodding back at ColdStep before heading off to place the lily in the same place his hand had bled earlier, sometimes it was easy to forget he was human when doing things explicitly ghostly. He can’t help but get some amusement from his actions clearly confusing most of the other ghosts. Most of whom were not familiar with human ways, he’s sure ClockWork would get some kicks from his afterdeath ceremony confusing people. He’d be flat out proud that it was Danny causing the confusion.

Danny can’t help but smirk as his suspicion is confirmed by the ice lily, that shouldn’t be able to melt, melting across the case and coating it in the ornate icy designs. Muttering with a smile at the case, “you can’t help being extra can you?”. He easily overhears a couple ghosts being completely confused but gives a loose smirk, mood lifted a bit.

Danny’s not really sure what the purpose of everyone taking a bit of the purple velvet cloth with them is, but he’s not going to complain. Touching a few sections till he finds one that just feels right, pulling the piece away he can’t help but blink a bit surprised. The size and shape of it, is exactly the same as a burial flag. Rubbing his left thumb over the fabric, before duplicating himself to fold the fabric like a proper funerary flag would be. He catches Walker looking flat out impressed and as soon as Walker notices Danny’s noticed him, he stands stiff and actually salutes Danny. Danny puffs his chest out a bit before walking, proud and tall, out with his left hand on the top of the folded triangle of fabric.

Upon returning home he places the fabric on the only purple shelf in his room. Sitting back against his bed with a sigh, before pulling out the new time medallion. Tapping on the notch of one of the gears before walking over and placing it on top of the fabric. He’s pretty sure he knows what exactly it means now, and he feels ClockWork has earned getting to “keep” the first Phantom time medallion. Since his existence is, in a sense, frozen in time. But the hands of time must keep moving along.

End.