#raw silhouete

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Mesmerized.

Pairing: Yandere!Lyney x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 0.8k.

TW: Hypnosis, Unhealthy Relationships, General Lose of Autonomy, Implied Kidnapping, Implied Stalking, and Obsessive Behavior.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

“You’re getting crueler, brother.”

Lynette watched you stir at the sound of her voice, nearly identical to that of your dearly beloved, but you slackened as soon as you realized it was only his sister, melting back into place against Lyney’s side. Your expression was one of vacant bliss; all glassy eyes and careless smiles, worry only visible in the dark circles laced under your eyes, the pained creases folded into either corner of your mouth. A poor imitation, altogether. You looked more like yourself when you were angry.

Lyney hummed, resting his head on your shoulder. As if trained to, you cooed softly and raised a hand, carding your fingers through his hair as he spoke, self-satisfaction heavy in his voice. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Is it cruel to want to spend time with one’s dearly cherished?”

“Father said not to let the public see them until—”

“—until we’ve fallen in love,” Lyney finished. It was a clipped summary, to say the least. In reality, Lord Arlecchino’s order had played more closely to the tune of ‘until you’ve collared your pet properly’, but admittedly, Lynette might’ve missed something. She and Freminet had been listening from the other side of a steel door, and Lyney hadn’t been eager to discuss their conversation after her lecture ended. “And I’m sure, if you bothered to ask, you’d already know that we’re quite in love. Aren’t we, beautiful?”

“Quite in love,” you parroted. There was something strange about your inflection, as if you were trying to speak in a language you hadn’t yet mastered, but Lynette chose not to dwell on it.

“And I’d hardly call this the public,” Lyney went on, when Lynette made it clear that she had yet to be impressed. He made a quick, sweeping gesture to the rest of the backstage area – as if the technicians and stage-hands rushing between lighting rigs and half-assembled props were no more real than the silhouetted figures painted onto the set dressing they were hauling into place. “Think of it as… a trial run, to see how much we’ve improved. If everything goes well tonight, perhaps we’ll be able to attend Father’s next banquet together, too. I’ve been dying to introduce them to the rest of our family – preferably without all the screaming and biting, this time.”

That, Lynette could admit, would probably be for the best. She still had a bruise in the shape of your teeth on her left wrist from the day she’d met you, but Lyney still claimed it’d been one of your better first impressions.

“I’ve always wanted to see one of your shows.” You were cupping Lyney’s face, now, using your thumb to draw tender circles into his cheek. “I’ve always loved the opera. You’re playing the male lead, right?”

Lynette pursed her lips, her eyes widening slightly as she turned her attention pointedly towards her brother. He looked away. “I’m still working out the kinks. By this time next week, it should all be right as rain.”

Reluctantly, Lynette let her attention shift back to you. Your sleeves were long, dense with lace and tulle, but a patch of reddened, raw skin where the shackle had been wrapped around your wrist was just barely visible underneath the frivolous material. There was a slight tremble in your stiff shoulders, and when she looked closely, she could see that you were swaying; your legs weak from disuse, barely able to hold your own weight. Her brother, on the other hand – she could remember the last time she’d seen him smiling so widely. He been in a state of pure, untethered euphoria since the moment you were dragged, kicking and swearing, into one of the Fatui’s lesser-used underground holding facilities, and she rarely saw him without a glint in his eye and a light flush painted over her cheeks. It was almost upsetting, to see a face so much like her own so distorted. If she hadn’t been so used to his sudden flurries of passion, she might’ve been disturbed.

“It can’t last.” Lyney straightened, but she didn’t give him a chance to cut in. “The—the trance, I mean. You’re a magician, not a hypnotist. It’s going to wear off, eventually.”

“I’ve always hated stage magic,” you muttered, dreamily. “I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I hate feeling like I’m the only person who doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“It doesn’t need to last forever, just long enough.” This time, it was Lyney who caught your chin in his hand, pulling you just close enough for a quick, shallow kiss. Lynette looked away before she could be forced to endure yet another unabashed show of affection, but she could still hear him far too clearly when he spoke seconds later, his voice now nearly distant as your own.

“Until we both manage to forget how we could ever live apart.”

[redroomreflections]

Hotel California | Track 4: Neon Nights

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha Romanoff, frontwoman of the punk rock band Velvet Rebellion, falls hard for a woman she believes is too good for her. Their intense relationship unfolds in the chaotic world of rock 'n' roll, where they struggle to balance fame, personal demons, and their undeniable passion for each other.

W/c: 7.3k

Chapter 4/12

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Note: A long one for the long wait.

18+ Minors DNI (mature)

Themes: love, fame, sex, drugs

The venue buzzes with restless energy, the kind that has your skin prickling with anticipation. You fan yourself, trying to ignore the oppressive heat that clings to you like a second skin. Velvet Rebellion is gathering on stage, their figures silhouetted against the dim lights, and you can feel the crowd's excitement rising like a wave ready to crash.

You’ve made it just in time, the opening notes of the set are just about to drop. Standing backstage, off to the side, you watch with your hands clasped in front of you, a mix of excitement and nerves thrumming through your veins. The air is thick with the stench of sweat, spilled beer, and the heavy musk of someone’s cologne, all blending into a cocktail of smells that screams of a night about to explode.

Fans are packed tight against the stage, pushing and shoving to get just a little closer, to catch a glimpse of Natasha as she steps forward, the center of everyone’s attention. The anticipation is almost tangible, a buzzing hum that thrums through the floor, through your bones, as the band readies themselves to unleash whatever magic they’ve been holding back.

The song is unfamiliar to you, something new and unexpected. It’s interesting—soft and almost sweet, a stark contrast to the hard-edged image Velvet Rebellion usually projects. Natasha’s voice carries the melody with a strength that surprises you, the lilt in her tone adding a warmth that you hadn’t anticipated. It’s the kind of song that tugs at something deep inside, relatable in a way that catches you off guard. The crowd seems to know it well, their voices blending with hers as they sing along, each word echoing through the venue like a shared secret.

For the first time, you truly saw Natasha in her element. Harley’s birthday party was just a glimpse, a mere taste of what she’s capable of, but tonight? Tonight, she’s completely in her zone, commanding the stage with an effortless confidence that’s magnetic. The way she connects with the crowd, the way she pours herself into every note, it’s something you couldn’t have fully grasped until now.

Standing near the side, just out of the direct line of the performance, you almost feel at a disadvantage. You were close enough to see everything, but somehow it felt like you were missing out on the full experience like there’s a barrier between you and the raw, unfiltered energy that Natasha is giving off. The crowd is swept up in it, carried along by the music in a way that makes you ache to be right in the thick of it. But even from your vantage point, you can’t help but be drawn in, captivated by the sheer power of what’s unfolding before you.

“She’s great right?” A woman’s voice next to you interrupted your thoughts. She had to stand close enough to your ear so that you hear her over the music. 

You turned and offered her a small smile. You hadn't noticed her standing beside you, but now that she's there, it's easy to see that she was quite beautiful. You returned your attention to the stage, the band transitioning smoothly into a different song, this one heavy on the electric guitar, Natasha's voice a sharp contrast as she sang, the notes piercing the air.

Suddenly, as if she could sense your presence, Natasha looked over and you made eye contact. She hadn't known you were here until now. She offered you a dazzling wink and smile.

Your cheeks heated and you glanced away, trying to focus on anything else, the song, the stage, the people around you. But it's hard.

Natasha was a sight to behold. You felt like a crushing schoolgirl as you listened through their set. It's interesting the star power that they have. It's impressive really. They're the headliner, and yet they command the room, leaving a lasting impression on everyone they played for.

And then it's over. The final song was over and you're left feeling breathless and excited.

The final chords reverberate through the venue, and the roar of the crowd is deafening. Velvet Rebellion had just delivered a performance that left everyone in the room breathless, yourself included. You could feel the adrenaline still thrumming in the air, but your attention was locked on Natasha as she stepped off the stage.

Natasha looked around for a moment as if trying to orient herself after the intensity of the performance. Her eyes landed on you, and for a split second, she hesitated. The two of you are still in that early, delicate stage—unsure of what this is, what it could be. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze like she was trying to figure out how to greet you in a way that felt right.

But then, without thinking too much about it, you step forward, closing the distance between you. You offered her a warm smile and opened your arms, inviting her in. Natasha’s expression softened, relief washing over her as she slipped into the embrace. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you could feel the heat radiating off her skin, still warm from the lights and the energy of the stage.

“Hey,” She murmured, her voice slightly hoarse from the performance. There’s a note of vulnerability in her tone, something you hadn’t expected but find yourself appreciating.

“Hey,” You replied softly, your cheek brushing against her shoulder as you held her a little tighter. The moment feels right, like a quiet pause in the chaos that surrounds you both. Damn, she smelled good.

But the moment is fleeting. Before you could savor it any longer, the spell was broken by the sound of someone calling Natasha's name. She released you reluctantly and you stepped back, a little embarrassed at how quickly the embrace ended.

"Hey, Natasha, come over here for a group picture," Someone directed and Natasha looked to you for reassurance that you were fine with it.

"Go ahead, I'll be here," You told her. Natasha gave you a quick, grateful smile, before going off with the group of guys who had called for her. Velvet Rebellion stood proudly in a picture with the band called NewQuest. 

"It's always like that after a performance. They get their photo ops, sign a few things, and then we leave." The woman says.

You nodded.

"Yeah, it's a process. You're the one that sent Natasha those cupcakes, right?" She questioned. 

You glanced over at her and took a moment to see her. She had a confident demeanor and a friendly smile, and you realized with a start that you recognized her. “Yeah, that’s me. How did you know?”

She grinned, clearly pleased to have made the connection. “I’m Sharon Carter. I’m Steve’s girlfriend. I heard about the cupcakes from Steve, and Natasha’s been raving about them all day.”

You blinked in surprise, a smile spreading across your face. “Nice to meet you, Sharon. I didn’t realize you were Steve’s girlfriend.”

Sharon’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “It’s a bit of a small world, isn’t it? Nice to meet you too. They loved the cupcakes.” 

“Well, I’m glad they enjoyed them,” You said, feeling a bit more at ease now that you were talking to someone familiar with Natasha’s world.

Sharon nodded. “Definitely. And it’s nice to see Natasha so happy. She’s had a rough time lately, and it’s clear she’s found something special with you.”

Your cheeks flushed slightly, but you tried to play it cool. “We’re still figuring things out, but it’s been…good so far.”

Sharon gave you an encouraging smile. “Well, keep it up. Natasha deserves someone who makes her smile like that.”

You watched as Natasha wrapped up her photo session and started making her way back toward you. Sharon gave you a friendly nod before slipping away to attend to her duties.

When Natasha finally rejoined you, her face lit up with a genuine smile. “Thanks for sticking around.” 

You smiled back, unable to resist her infectious happiness.

She gestured toward the backstage area.

"There's a bar set up. Can I get you a drink?"

"I'd love that," You replied.

As you followed her further backstage, you felt a thrill of excitement, anticipating the chance to get to know her a little better.

Natasha led the way through the backstage area, her presence commanding, as she gripped your hand in hers.

The area was filled with the buzz of the crowd, but it seemed as though the two of you were in a world of your own, the energy vibrating around you. Natasha passed a beer to you while keeping one for herself.

"I hope the show wasn't too crazy for you," She cracks open her beer.

"Not at all, it was great," You assured her. "You're incredible, Natasha. I'm glad you invited me."

She looked pleased at the compliment. "I'm glad you could make it. Look, after a show, the band usually hangs out in their dressing room and takes some time to unwind. Are you down for that?

"Yeah, absolutely," You said, already feeling more comfortable around her than you had expected.

She took a sip of her beer.

"Awesome. It's just down the hall."

She led the way again, guiding you past the bustling crew and performers. The dressing room was quieter, the air smelled like the scent of perfume and hairspray. It was a world away from the chaos of the concert, and you felt yourself relax a little as you took a seat on one of the couches.

"Y/n, lovely to see you again," Tony greeted you. From the slur of his voice, you could tell he was a little tipsy.

"Oh, hi Tony," You responded, a little surprised at his sudden appearance.

Tony looked between you and Natasha and gave a mischievous grin. "I'll leave the two of you alone."

Natasha rolled her eyes and shot him a warning glare, but he just laughed and waved her off, heading over to the other side of the room.

Natasha looked at you with an apologetic smile.

"So, friends and family, I officially have a new board game for us to play," Bucky announced as he stepped into the room. There were a few groans from the other occupants.

You settled into the couch, feeling more at ease as Natasha joined you, her presence warm and reassuring. The chaos of the concert felt like a distant memory here, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and relaxation. Natasha’s closeness was comforting, and you found yourself enjoying the casual vibe of the evening.

As Bucky set up the board game, the room was filled with a relaxed, happy energy. The game, clearly something the band had played before, quickly became the center of attention. Natasha slipped her arm around your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, and you could feel her warmth against you. Her touch was light and casual, but it made your heart skip a beat.

“Don’t think you’re getting off easy,” Bucky teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re all in this together.”

You laughed, catching Natasha’s playful gaze. “I’m ready. What’s the game?”

“It’s called ‘Guess the Song,’” Bucky explained, setting out a set of cards. “You hum a tune, and the rest of us try to guess it. The winner gets bragging rights and the first pick of snacks.”

Tony, now seated with a drink in hand, raised his glass. “Oh, that’s bitch baby games. Up the stakes.” Bucky simply ignored his request. No one could afford to play for whatever Tony believed were higher stakes. 

The game began in earnest, with each member taking their turn to hum out tunes. The room was filled with laughter and friendly banter, the game bringing everyone closer. Natasha’s laughter was infectious, and you found yourself getting caught up in the excitement.

When it was Natasha’s turn, she was surprisingly good at it. Her hums were spot-on, and her playful competitiveness made her even more endearing. As the game progressed, Natasha’s hand found its way to yours, resting casually on your leg. The contact was light but intimate, sending a pleasant shiver through you.

“You’re really good at this,” You said, leaning in to talk to her over the noise of the game. “Is this a regular thing for you guys?”

Natasha smiled. “We’ve had a lot of practice. Plus, it’s a good way to blow off steam after a show. Keeps us close, you know?”

You nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand against yours. “I can see that. It’s nice to be part of it.”

The game continued, and as the night wore on, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Natasha. Her energy was magnetic, and her touch lingered just enough to make you feel special. 

As the game wrapped up, with Bucky declared the winner and Tony already claiming the snacks, Natasha leaned in closer to you. “Thanks for hanging out with us tonight,” she said softly, her breath warm against your ear. “It means a lot to me.”

You looked at her, feeling a deep connection. “I had a great time. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Do you have to be home?” She asked looking at her watch. "It's pretty late.”

 "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." You teased. "No, I don't have to be home. Though, if you wanted to come over, you're more than welcome to." The late hour felt like a perfect excuse to keep the night going, and you were more than willing to welcome the chance. The idea of inviting Natasha over was a bold move for you, something you rarely did. You usually kept your private space just that—private. But with Natasha, something felt different. You’d always had a soft spot for people who were unapologetically themselves, and Natasha’s confidence and charm had drawn you in from the start.

Natasha’s smile grew wider as she seemed to process your offer. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice carrying a note of genuine interest. “I’d really like that.” Natasha stood and patiently waited as you gathered your things. "I'm heading out. I will talk soon."

"Bye," Wanda waved a hand. "Y/n, don't forget to message me about the jewelry you mentioned."

You nodded and smiled in response. Seems you've made a friend in Natasha's best friend. As you exited the dressing room, you could hear a whoop of whistles and cheering from the rest of the band that you knew was mostly aimed at Natasha.

"Don't pay attention to them," Natasha rolled her eyes. You walked forward with her hand on the small of your back. "Did you drive?"

"No, not this time," You shook your head. "What about you?"

"I did," Natasha replied, holding up the keys she had pulled from her back pocket. "I only had a beer and a half. I promise I'm sober."

You grinned, feeling more at ease. "Good. I was about to offer you my bed if you needed a ride."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Oh really?"

"Mmmhmm," You murmured as she led you out the door and toward the parking lot. "But only if you promised to behave."

She chuckled, her laughter light and easy. "Well, the night is still young," she teased, even though she had earlier hinted at the hour.

Natasha guided you to her car, a sleek black Porsche 911 that shimmered under the streetlights. The car’s aggressive lines and polished finish spoke volumes about Natasha’s personality—bold and unapologetic.

She unlocked the car with a casual flick of her wrist, and the interior was just as striking. As you slid into the plush leather seat, you couldn’t help but admire the smooth, minimalist design of the dashboard and the powerful purr of the engine as Natasha started the car.

She looked over at you with a grin that made your heart race. "Ready for the adventure?"

"Absolutely," you replied, feeling a thrill as the Porsche glided smoothly out of the parking lot. ​​The ride to your place was an interesting one. Natasha could admit she was a bit out of her element. You weren’t just some girl she could impress with her career, money, or the sleek Porsche. Not that she had any intention of using those things to win you over. It was clear you were accustomed to the finer things in life, and she wanted to meet those expectations without overstepping.

As she followed your directions, she found herself trying to stay on her best behavior. She was focused on making sure this felt right, wanting to show you that she appreciated you for more than just the surface-level luxuries. It wasn’t about the car or the status; it was about connecting with you in a way that felt genuine.

“This is me,” You gestured after the thirty-minute drive. As Natasha pulled into the driveway, she took in the house with a quick, appreciative glance. Nestled in a peaceful cul-de-sac of Woodland Hills, the home was a striking blend of mid-century charm and modern elegance. The exterior was sleek and stylish, with clean lines and large windows that hinted at the openness inside. The driveway led to a spacious front area, flanked by well-maintained landscaping and mature trees. “Let’s hurry before the sprinklers turn on.” You offered as she followed you into the house. 

You flicked on the front lights, kicking off your heels, and dropping your purse and keys on the foyer table. It's then Natasha noticed a dog leash and collar among the things on the table.

"You have a dog?"

"Yes, his name is Bear," You answered. "He's with Isabella at her dad's. I share custody of him too."

"Cute," She smiled.

You turned back to her. "Make yourself at home. I'm a little thirsty. Would you like a drink?"

"What do you have?"

"Anything you want."

"Surprise me," Natasha responds.

"How does a margarita sound?"

"That sounds great."

"Good, because it's all I can make," You winked. You walked over to your in-home bar and began to make a margarita for the both of you. "I'll show you around." You offered. You glanced behind you to see Natasha admiring the trophies and photos lining the shelves and walls. Her gaze lingered on a Grammy Award prominently displayed on a shelf, Songwriter of the Year. Next to it, a sleek platinum plaque shimmered, celebrating a song that had achieved remarkable sales. Both awards were a nod to your significant contributions to the music industry, and Natasha's interest was evident as she took in the impressive recognition.

"These are impressive," Natasha nodded towards the awards.

"Yeah," You nodded. "I guess you could say that. I helped write a song with my friend way back when. I don't really feel like I contributed much but I see it as a bit of a participation award." You handed her the finished margarita to her.

Natasha took the drink, her fingers brushing against yours.

"Thanks," She smiled. "So, tell me more about this career you keep downplaying. You seemed to be headed for stardom."

"Yeah," You sighed. "Maybe, but I don't see myself in that light. My parents were fully on board to support me if I wanted to do it full-time. Which at the time I did. Once I had Bella my perspective changed. I didn't want to take too much time from her. That and the market for teen mother pop stars wasn't exactly big."

"That makes sense," Natasha nodded. "But you seem to be great at it. Have you ever thought about doing it again?"

"Nah," You gestured to the couch, inviting her to sit. "I can't lie and say it hasn't been in the back of my mind. I dabble in music from time to time. Mainly with my father's artists or when friends ask me to. I think I'm really happy with my career as a publicist."

"You're very talented," Natasha said, sipping her drink.

"I'll take your word for it," You smiled.

"How did you get started with music?" Natasha asked, her interest sincere.

"Well, I grew up in the industry," You shrugged. "It was all I knew. My parents had an in-home studio and I would sneak down to the studio to listen to sessions. I performed in talent shows at school and took dance lessons. It was mostly a hobby. I wanted to be like my dad. I got invited to help sing for one of his artists and we kind of made a little career out of it. I think it was for him to placate me until I got it out of my system or became mature enough to take it seriously."

"How old were you when you helped write the Grammy song?"

"Fifteen," You answered.

"Damn," Natasha nodded. "How'd you manage to stay so lowkey since then?"

"Mostly the help of my parents," You shrugged. "I've never done anything crazy to grab headlines. I've managed to keep my personal life pretty private. The press has mostly left me alone. I'm just another nepotism baby in the industry with connections."

"Do you want to be known for more?"

"I don't know," You answered honestly. "Sometimes. I feel like there's a lot more that I could do."

"But..." Natasha raised a brow.

"But I'm happy with the way things are. I get to be involved with music without having to worry about the fame. I've seen firsthand what the lifestyle can do to someone and I'm not sure I want that for me or my daughter," You answered sincerely.

"You don't have to do it," Natasha responded. "I think you have a great thing going for you now."

"I think so too," You agreed.

"Now, enough about me," You shifted in your seat. "Tell me more about you. What's your family like? I know you have that sister in London at Cambridge. What is she studying?"

"International relations," Natasha answered. "With a concentration in security studies or something. She's changed her major twice but I think this will stick. I pay the tuition so hopefully it does this time around."

"Wow, that's nice of you," You nodded.

"She's my baby sister," Natasha replied. "I would give her the world if I could."

"How did she end up there?"

"We had some issues at home," Natasha answered vaguely. "And it was best for her to go. Plus, our mom had connections there. She's from Russia originally but grew up in England in her teens. She met my dad on vacation and he moved her here. "

"What does your dad do?"

"He was a doctor," Natasha set her drink down. She took a deep breath. It was as if she was wondering what was appropriate to reveal. "Now I'm not so sure. He and my mom had a pretty rough relationship. She took us and got full custody. Raised us on a teacher's salary."

"That must have been tough," You frowned.

"Sometimes," Natasha shrugged. "We were kids. We didn't really understand. Besides, my mom did a great job. She's the reason we're where we are."

"I would love to meet her someday." You finished the last of your margarita.

"Well, I think that can be arranged," Natasha's voice was warm and playful.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I'm sure she'd love to meet the girl who has captured my attention."

You chuckled. "Oh really? Who says I'm interested in you?"

"The fact that you invited me back to your house after a concert," Natasha answered, leaning in close. Her lips were inches from yours, and the air charged between you. "The fact that you blush every time you look at me."

"Is that right?" You whispered.

"Mmmhmm," Natasha hummed, her hand brushing against your cheek.

Her touch was gentle and teasing, and it made your heart race.

You felt a flutter of anticipation in the pit of your stomach.

"Natasha," You whispered, your lips a hair's breadth away from hers.

"Mmm?" She murmured, her voice husky and low.

You leaned in and closed the distance between you, capturing her lips in a kiss. The kiss was slow and tender at first, but soon it grew more passionate. Natasha's hands cupped your face, holding you close as her tongue explored your mouth. You pushed her back against the pillows, raising your legs to straddle her lap, before she groaned in pain. Her back arched and she reached under her to raise a Barbie doll. A reminder that you were a mother.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Yes, it's just that this doll was on my back." She tossed it aside, not caring where it landed. "Continue, please."

You did and continued kissing her, running your fingers through her silky, red tresses. It was only when the clock struck 2 AM that the two of you pulled apart, realizing the time.

"It's late," Natasha said, her eyes locked with yours.

"Stay the night," You offered. "I want you to stay."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

She smiled. "Well, I can't say no to an invitation like that."

You grinned, feeling the rush of anticipation.

You rose from her lap and held out your hand. Natasha followed you to your bedroom, her eyes never leaving your ass, as you swayed your hips a bit extra just for her.

When you got to your bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed. "When's the last time you were tested?”

"Three months ago. Healthy and STD-free," She answered. "You?"

"Same here," You said breathlessly as you raised your blouse over your head.

Natasha's hands went to your waist and you shivered, goosebumps rising on your skin. Her touch was gentle and explorative. She caressed every curve, every line as if she was trying to commit it to memory.

You closed your eyes and enjoyed the sensation, the feeling of her hands on your body. It had been so long since you'd been with someone, and it was clear that Natasha knew exactly what she was doing.

"You're so beautiful," She whispered, her lips trailing kisses along your neck. "So sexy." She whispered as she planted a kiss just behind your ear. That spot was sensitive as she ran her tongue along the curve of your neck.

Your head fell back, exposing your neck to her, as you enjoyed the feeling.

She was skilled. She knew exactly how to make you feel good. And she was taking her time, making sure you were enjoying it. She couldn't get enough of you as her hands explored your body. Eventually, you took a few steps back, her mouth never leaving your skin, as you gently fell back onto the bed.

"I want to taste you," She whispered in your ear.

Your stomach twisted and turned, a warmth growing between your legs. "Please," You begged.

Natasha pulled back, her green eyes filled with desire as they locked with yours. She kissed your lips one last time. Then, she began a trail of kisses down your neck and your chest. When she reached your breasts, she unclasped your bra, exposing them to her.

"Perfect," She said, taking one nipple into her mouth. She rolled her tongue around it, teasing it. It's then she noticed the tattoo just between both breasts.

A rose.

"A black rose," She whispered, her finger tracing it.

"A small act of defiance on my part as a teen," You explained. "I was angry and upset and wanted to make a statement. My mother wasn't happy. But, I kept it."

"It suits you," Natasha smiled before her mouth resumed its work.

You arched your back, moaning softly, as her tongue circled your nipples.

She worked her way down your body, planting kisses along your stomach and hips. Finally, she reached your hips where your jeans fit snugly against your thighs. She unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them off, leaving you exposed in your black, lace panties.

"Mmm, such a naughty girl," Natasha teased. "I like it."

"Only for you," You said, a grin playing on your lips.

"I'm honored," She replied, her eyes filled with mischief. "Let's see what else you have."

Natasha hooked her thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down. Her hands caressed your thighs, sending goosebumps all over your skin. When she pulled the panties free, she let out a sigh.

"Mmm, so wet already," She hummed, her finger stroking your clit. Her touch was electrifying as she touched you. Natasha was skilled and attentive. She seemed to know just what you liked.

Your breathing became shallow as you closed your eyes and lost yourself in the feeling.

She worked her way up, planting kisses on your inner thighs. She took her time with you, sucking just enough for the skin to warm on your thigh. Finally, she reached the place you wanted her the most. She settled onto her belly, a prime position for her, and immediately got to work.

She parted your folds and dipped her tongue inside, making you cry out.

"Mmm," She hummed, her tongue exploring your core.

She swirled her tongue around your clit, sucking on it, and licking it. It was unlike anything you'd ever experienced. She was relentless, bringing you close to the edge and backing off, only to start the process all over again. She used both hands to raise your thighs over her shoulders. Almost as if she were trying to get closer.

You gripped the sheets as the pleasure washed over you. Your body was on fire. You were getting closer and closer to your release.

Just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Natasha finally gave you what you needed.

She pressed her tongue against your clit, hard, and then circled it. The pressure was incredible. You let out a cry of pleasure, the sound echoing through the room. Your orgasm was intense, sending waves of ecstasy through your body.

"Oh, God!" You moaned, your whole body trembling.

Natasha continued her ministrations until you came down from your high.

"So, beautiful," She whispered, pulling back and licking her lips. "Delicious."

You opened your eyes, a lazy smile on your face. You were satisfied and content, but Natasha wasn't done with you.

"I'm not done yet," She said, as if reading your mind.

"Don't I get to taste you?" You asked, tilting your head to watch her strip for you.

"Of course, baby. I just can't wait," She admitted, before turning her back and stripping for you.

Her bra was the first to come off and she threw it aside. Then, her hands went to her jeans and she undid them.

"No," You said, sitting up. "Let me."

Natasha grinned and nodded.

You sat on your knees and reached around her. You admired the large and elaborate tattoo on her back. Your fingers traced along the skin, watching her back muscles flex as you took it all in.

"We match," You mused.

"Huh?" Natasha turned to look at you.

"Our tattoos," You said, pointing to the one on your chest.

"Oh, yeah. We do."

"I don't know if I should be concerned that my tattoo artist was so unoriginal," You teased.

"Or maybe he just had an eye for art," Natasha quipped, her hands resting on her hips. "Now, are you going to keep teasing me, or are you going to undress me?"

"Undress," You decided.

Natasha smiled and stepped out of her jeans, kicking them aside. Then, she hooked her fingers under the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down.

You couldn't help but admire her body.

She was perfect.

Her curves were on full display, and her skin was smooth and soft. She was fit and toned. Her abs were clearly defined. She wasn't bulky, but she was strong and athletic.

"I could look at you all day," You admitted.

"Well, that wouldn't be very fair," She grinned, reaching for the bed and sitting on the edge. She spread her legs wide, giving you an unobstructed view of her core.

"You're beautiful," You whispered, moving in front of her. You pressed a kiss against her lips.

"Mmm," She hummed, her eyes locking with yours. “I want you to ride me."

"Oh?" You tilted your head. "What's the magic word?"

"Please," She grinned, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. No one had ever made her beg before. She found it kind of hot.

"Good girl," You grinned, kissing her one last time before climbing on top of her.

Natasha lay on her back, her arms resting above her head.

You straddled her waist, hovering over her. You leaned down, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. She responded in kind, her tongue dancing with yours.

You pulled back, your hands roaming over her body. You explored every inch of her, wanting to memorize every detail. You were still amazed that this woman was so into you. You made use of both your hands. You used one to part your lips while using the other to do the same to Natasha. When you lowered yourself and your clits touched the both of you let out a curse. You closed your eyes in pleasure. Though the angle was awkward you were determined to make it work.

"Fuck," Natasha gasped, her eyes fluttering shut.

"You like that?" You asked, your voice breathy.

"Yes," She moaned, her hips bucking up. "I love it." She hadn't expected you to be so forward and brazen in bed. But, she enjoyed it.

You began to grind against her, your clits rubbing together.

The pleasure was incredible. It was a wet and slippery mess between the both of you.

As you increased your pace, the friction intensified.

Natasha's hands went to her breasts, cupping and squeezing them. She pinched and tugged at her nipples, making her writhe in pleasure.

"Yes, fuck," She moaned. She grabbed your hips, directing you to move a certain way, and you hissed.

"Yes, just like that," She gasped, her back arching.

You continued the motion, circling and grinding. Your movements were becoming frantic and erratic as you both climbed higher and higher. You began to get choked up on your moans and sighs as your hips worked harder.

"F-fuck," Natasha gasped, her grip tightening.

You felt the familiar coil begin to tighten. The pleasure was building. You knew you were close.

"Come with me," You begged, looking down at Natasha.

She looked back up at you, her green eyes locked with yours.

"Yes," She groaned, her hips grinding against you.

With a few more thrusts, you both climaxed. You groaned, your pussy clenching and throbbing as you pressed down hard against her.

"Fuck!" Natasha cried out, her orgasm hitting her hard. Her body convulsed and trembled as she rode out her high.

You collapsed onto her, the both of you gasping for air.

"Holy shit," Natasha breathed, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

"That was amazing," You said, smiling.

"Come here," Natasha grabbed the back of your neck, kissing you soundly. You licked around her lips, tasting yourself and humming. You lay like that for a few more moments. Sharing lazy kisses back and forth.

"Can we do it again?" You asked as you ran your fingertips along her collarbone. You wanted more of her.

"Oh, I like you," Natasha chuckled. "Yes, we can do it again. After we've had some rest."

"I'm glad you came tonight," You rested your head against her shoulder.

"I am too," She agreed. She laid her hand on your ass, rubbing you, spreading your cheeks before letting her hand rest there. "Can this be my pussy? Hmm..." She questioned. Her free hand gripped your chin to make you look into her eyes. All you saw was pure lust. "I asked you a question." A lot of women would be turned off by the idea of her staking a claim so early on, you're not sure who those women are but you wouldn't be one of them.

"It's yours," You muttered into her lips as you leaned forward to kiss her. "As long as I can say the same."

"Yes, ma'am," Natasha teased.

"Good," You said.

You closed your eyes, a smile on your face. You were already looking forward to what was in store for the two of you.

Natasha Romanoff.

You couldn't believe you were lucky enough to have met her.

*********

The next morning, Natasha woke up in your bed, with you wrapped around her. She opened her eyes to see you sound asleep, your head resting on her chest.

She smiled.

"What a night," She whispered to herself.

She hadn't been planning on anything happening. Of course, she wasn't stupid. Inviting her back to your house was bound to end like this. She had hoped it would end like it did. Damn, she felt good. Not only did you know how to fuck, you didn't hold back. Natasha had to admit she enjoyed having a woman in bed who was just as confident as she was. Not only that but you're beautiful and you have it all together. She'd hit the jackpot.

She decided to act on impulse and began to plant kisses all over your face.

"Mm," You moaned, stirring awake.

"Good morning, baby," Natasha greeted, pecking your lips.

"Good morning," You said, a sleepy smile on your face. "I didn't take you for a pet name person."

"I'm full of surprises," She chuckled, kissing you again.

"Are you always this affectionate after a hookup?" You asked, raising a brow.

"No, but I've never had such a good time before." She shrugged. "Besides, you're not a hookup."

"What am I, then?"

"Mine," She answered. "At least, if you'll have me."

"Yes," You answered without hesitation.

"Good, because I don't want anyone else touching this," She said, her hands sliding down to your hips. "Got it?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good," She grinned, kissing you again."So, are we going to get breakfast or are we staying in bed all day?"

"Actually, I hate to break it to you but you have to go," You said. With the look on her face, you knew your word choice was wrong. "Sorry. Not like that. I'd love for you to stay but Isabella is coming home today."

"Oh, right. It's a Saturday. Makes sense," Natasha nodded.

"I had a really good time," You said.

"Me, too."

"I want to see you again," You suggested.

"Let me take you on a date," Natasha said. "A real one."

"Aren't you afraid it's going to get out to the public?"

"They're already speculating," Natasha shrugged. "If I can't hide it, I might as well go for it."

"A date then," You said. "I like the sound of that."

"Yeah, me, too," She said.

"I'll text you," You said, pecking her lips. "You can let yourself out. I'm going to brush my teeth."

"I can't wait."

Natasha got out of bed and got dressed, giving the bed one last look before she strode towards the living room. Something seemed different about the atmosphere. She was walking toward the table where she left her phone when she noticed something. A giant dog. A Bernese mountain dog. One that she would assume had the name Bear. The dog you'd said was over at your ex's house with your daughter.

"Hi," A voice behind her startled her. Across the room, Isabella was sitting at the kitchen counter, happily munching on a bowl of frosted flakes, as she watched something on her iPad.

"Hi," Natasha waved awkwardly.

"Did you spend the night?" Isabella asked, looking up at her.

"Yeah," Natasha nodded. "When did you -"

"I got here like twenty minutes ago," Isabella answered before she could get it out. "I thought Mom was sleeping but I saw a strange car in the driveway. Dad has a spare key."

"And your dad is..." Natasha began when she heard the deep baritone voice of a man entering from somewhere in the house.

"Hey, y/n, I checked the shower in Bella's bathroom. It's working fine but we still need a plumber to go ahead and look at it," His voice died down when he realized Natasha wasn't you. Sam looked dumbfounded for a second but quickly recovered. Natasha briefly recognized him. Sam Wilson was a wide receiver for the Los Angeles Rams. She was familiar with him from her extensive searches on you.

"Who are you?" He asked, his gaze flicking between Natasha and Isabella.

"That's the lady mom had a sleepover with," Isabella informed. "You know the lead singer of Velvet Rebellion. She is totally hot right dad?"

"Isabella Marie," You scolded as you stepped into the room. You wrapped your robe a little tighter around you as you spotted Sam too. "What are you guys doing here? I thought we agreed you would drop her off later."

"We did," Sam said. "But I have a meeting later so I dropped her off earlier."

"Right," You nodded, running a hand over your head. "Um, okay. Natasha this is my ex-husband Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Natasha Romanoff my..." You fumbled for a second. Could you introduce her as a girlfriend? You hadn't defined what this was yet.

"Girlfriend," Natasha answered for you. You raised a brow but nodded. That would work.

"Nice to meet you," Sam offered a small smile, holding out his hand. He gave you a knowing smirk and you rolled your eyes at him.

"Mom, do you have clothes on under that robe?" Isabella gestured to the way the robe began to slip slightly from your chest.

"Yes, "You said a bit too harshly. "Natasha was just leaving. I'm going to see her out."

"Bye, Natasha," Isabella smiled. "Nice meeting you."

"Bye, sweetheart," Natasha offered Isabella a wave. 

You walked her to the door, opening it for her. You stepped onto the front steps with her. "I'm sorry about that. I'm not that codependent with Sam or anything. I didn't know he was dropping her off."

"It's alright," She shrugged. Yeah, she found it a little weird but she trusted your word.

"I had a great time last night," You smiled, leaning in to give her a soft kiss. "I can't wait for our date."

"Me too," Natasha smiled, pecking your lips.

"I can't wait to have you again," You murmured just for her.

"Me too," She echoed. "Call me later."

"Bye," You said.

"See ya, baby." She turned and headed towards her car.

You sighed. When you saw her car pull out of the driveway your demeanor immediately changed. You walked back into the house to see Sam snacking on your trail mix.

"Sam, you're eating my trail mix," You said, your voice flat.

"You can't tell me not to," Sam shrugged. "You're not my wife."

"Sam, stop eating my trail mix," You huffed. "And get out of my house."

"Should you be this hostile? Didn't you get some last night?" He chuckled as he gestured to your current wardrobe.

"More than you," You rolled your eyes. "You have your own trail mix at your home."

"It's not the same," Sam pouted. "I miss the good old days when you would make this for me."

"That was when we were married," You pointed out. "Now, leave."

"You know, I wouldn't be surprised if the paparazzi caught you and your new lady friend," He teased. "How does she feel about that? Also, isn't it a bit early to be inviting her over? Especially with Isabella."

"First off, it's none of your business," You scoffed. "And secondly, Isabella wasn't supposed to be home."

"Well, I guess that makes sense," He nodded. "If she hurts you I'll hire someone to kick her ass if you need me to. My sister has those aggression issues."

"Hmm, where was your sister during our divorce to kick your ass?" You quipped.

"Touché," He smirked. "I'll leave you alone. Don't forget about my birthday party next week."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Love ya, Y/N/N," He said. "Bye, Bella."

"Bye Daddy," Isabella came rushing back into the room. She gave him a quick hug and kiss before walking him out. It's then you take a deep breath. You looked over to see Bear with those big brown eyes looking at you.

"Oh, don't judge me," You muttered in disbelief. 

----> next part

[writeriguess]

The rain drummed steadily against the windows of the X-Mansion, a soothing, rhythmic sound that had become almost as familiar to you as the gentle hum of the mansion’s engines and the soft crackle of the fireplace. The weather outside was typically dreary for this time of year, but inside the mansion, a sense of coziness pervaded, the atmosphere warm and inviting despite the storm raging beyond.

You were curled up in one of the large, comfortable armchairs in the mansion’s library, a thick book resting open on your lap. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm, flickering light that danced across the walls and the rows of bookshelves. The room was a haven of calm and serenity, a stark contrast to the chaos that often swirled around the lives of the X-Men.

Logan Howlett, known to most as Wolverine, was one of the few members of the team who preferred to keep to himself, often retreating to the more secluded corners of the mansion. His presence was both imposing and enigmatic, a blend of raw intensity and quiet solitude. But tonight, as the storm raged on outside, he had chosen to join you in the library.

You looked up from your book to see him standing by the window, his broad frame silhouetted against the rain-streaked glass. Logan’s gaze was fixed on the storm, his expression contemplative, almost wistful. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was clenched, and it tugged at something inside you.

With a gentle sigh, you set the book aside and stood, crossing the room with quiet footsteps. “Hey, Logan,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to face you, his dark eyes meeting yours. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—perhaps surprise, or maybe it was just a hint of vulnerability. “Hey,” he replied gruffly, but there was a warmth in his voice that was rarely there when he spoke to others.

You reached out and touched his arm gently. “It’s nice to have some company tonight. Do you want to sit by the fire for a bit? It’s warm and cozy here.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure,” he said, his voice softening.

You led him over to the armchairs by the fire, and he settled into one of them with a contented sigh. You took the seat opposite him, feeling a subtle shift in the air as the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.

For a while, you both simply enjoyed the quiet. The crackling of the fire and the steady patter of rain outside were the only sounds, creating a soothing backdrop to the moments you shared. You could see Logan’s face in the firelight, the lines of his features softened by the warm glow. There was something intensely intimate about this moment, something that made your heart ache in the best possible way.

Finally, Logan broke the silence, his voice low and reflective. “You know, I don’t usually do this. Just…sit around like this.”

You smiled gently, leaning forward a little. “I’m glad you’re here. Sometimes, it’s nice to just…be. No missions, no danger, just quiet.”

Logan’s eyes met yours again, and you saw a flicker of something that made your heart skip a beat. It was a look that conveyed more than words ever could—a deep, unspoken connection that had been growing between you for some time now.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get used to this place,” Logan admitted. “Too many ghosts. Too many reminders of things I’d rather forget.”

You reached out and took his hand in yours, the contact surprisingly gentle. “I think we all have ghosts,” you said softly. “But we don’t have to face them alone. Not here, not now.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened slightly, and he looked down at your intertwined fingers as if seeing them for the first time. “You’ve got a way of making things seem…easier,” he murmured. “Don’t know how you do it.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s because you make things easier for me too. We all have our struggles, Logan. We’re stronger together.”

There was a moment of silence as Logan considered your words. Then, with a soft sigh, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The vulnerability in his posture was a stark contrast to his usual tough exterior, and it tugged at your heart.

“You know, I’ve never been good at this,” Logan said quietly. “At letting people in. At…being close to anyone.”

You moved closer, sitting down beside him and placing a hand on his back in a comforting gesture. “It’s okay to be vulnerable, Logan. You don’t have to have all the answers or be perfect. You just have to be yourself.”

Logan turned his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a look of deep gratitude. “It’s not easy for me to open up,” he said. “But…with you, it feels like I can.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you could see the sincerity in his gaze. Slowly, you leaned in, closing the distance between you until your lips brushed against his in a gentle, tender kiss. The contact was soft and exploratory, a delicate dance of emotions and unspoken promises.

When you pulled back, Logan’s eyes were half-closed, his expression one of profound contentment. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips curved into a rare, genuine smile. “Yeah? Me too.”

The two of you sat there for a while, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and the intimacy of the moment. There were no words needed, no grand declarations—just the quiet comfort of being together, of sharing a connection that was both profound and deeply personal.

As the night wore on and the storm outside began to wane, you remained close, savoring the closeness and the warmth that had settled between you. Logan’s presence beside you felt like a promise of something enduring and beautiful, a bond that had been forged in the midst of all the chaos and pain of your lives.

Eventually, the fire began to die down, casting long shadows across the room. Logan gently pulled you closer, his arm draped around your shoulders in a protective embrace. You rested your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

In that quiet, intimate moment, you knew that whatever the future held, you had found something truly special in each other. And as the storm outside finally gave way to a peaceful stillness, you felt a sense of calm and fulfillment that made all the struggles and challenges worthwhile.

Together, you sat there, content in the simple joy of being with one another, knowing that you had found a rare and precious connection that would see you through whatever came next.

Requests are open.

[its-avalon-08]

hearts intertwined (hamilton x sister! driver!rosberg) p14

chapter 14: double agent

series masterlist

avaspeaks - im so so so so so sorry i havent updated this series in so long. requests are taking up so much time! here you go anyway, pt14!

Y/N and Nico sat in the quiet comfort of her Miami apartment, the city lights twinkling outside the window. The post-race buzz had faded, leaving a comfortable silence in its wake. They'd been reminiscing about their childhood, sharing stories of pranks pulled on unsuspecting neighbors and the countless races they'd staged down their suburban street.

Nico had a smile on his face, a shadow flickering across his features. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the shore providing a soothing backdrop.

Finally, Y/N broke the silence. "Nico," she began, her voice hesitant, "there's something I need to ask."

Nico met her gaze, a flicker of apprehension crossing his features. "What is it, Y/N?"

"Lewis," she started, then took a deep breath. "Do you… do you ever think about fixing things with him?"

Nico's smile vanished. The question hung heavy in the air, a silent echo of years of unspoken tension. A muscle twitched in his jaw, and Y/N sensed the turmoil simmering beneath his calm exterior.

"Lewis," he finally choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Every time I see him, Y/N… every time I hear his name, it's like a punch to the gut. We were… we were more than teammates. We were friends. Brothers, almost."

He paused, his gaze averted, lost in the memories that flooded back. "The rivalry… it consumed us, Y/N. It poisoned everything. We pushed each other to our limits, yes, but at what cost? We lost each other in the process."

Tears welled up in his eyes, his voice cracking with raw emotion. Y/N's heart ached for him. The rivalry everyone else saw as thrilling competition, she witnessed firsthand as a slow, agonizing erosion of a once strong bond.

Without a word, she reached out and squeezed his hand, her touch a silent display of understanding and support. "I know, Nico. I know."

He leaned into her touch, his voice a mere whisper. "We were so focused on winning, on proving ourselves, that we forgot what truly mattered. The joy of racing, the camaraderie… and most importantly, our friendship."

Y/N listened patiently, her presence a balm to his emotional wounds. As Nico spoke, the pain of the past seemed to seep out of him, a heavy weight finally lifted.

"Maybe… maybe one day," Nico said, wiping away a stray tear, "we can try to rebuild what was lost. But for now… for now, it still hurts too much."

Y/N offered him a comforting smile. "I understand, Nico. But at least now you've spoken it out loud. That's the first step, right?"

Nico nodded, a flicker of hope returning to his eyes. He squeezed her hand, a silent thank you for her unwavering support.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the beach, a newfound understanding bloomed between them. The path to reconciliation might be long and arduous, but the first seed had been sown. Perhaps, one day, the bitter rivalry that had driven a wedge between Lewis and Nico could be replaced by something stronger, something akin to the friendship they once shared.

switching sides (y/n is such a menace)

Stepping out of her room for a breath of fresh air, Y/N's eyes landed on a solitary figure silhouetted against the moonlit Miami skyline. It was Lewis, perched on the hotel balcony, a bottle of beer dangling precariously in his hand.

Curiosity piqued, Y/N walked over, the oversized Red Bull racing shirt hanging loosely on her frame, barely concealing the shorts underneath.

"Lewis?" she called out softly.

He looked up, startled, then a flicker of a smile crossed his face. "Y/N. Shouldn't you be getting some rest?"

"I could say the same to you," she countered, leaning against the railing. "Care if I join you?"

Lewis gestured to the empty space beside him. "Of course. Want a beer?"

Y/N shook her head. "Not tonight. Just wanted some company."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the rhythmic hum of the city below providing a backdrop for their unspoken thoughts.

Finally, Lewis spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "The race was… intense."

Y/N chuckled. "Understatement of the century, wouldn't you say?"

A smile played on his lips. "You pushed me hard, Y/N. More than anyone else on the grid."

Her cheeks flushed. "Just doing my job," she said, though a playful glint danced in her eyes.

The air crackled with a sudden awareness. Gone was the tension from earlier; in its place, a comfortable familiarity bloomed between them.

They reminisced about past races, shared stories, and laughed at each other's jokes. As the conversation flowed, a new vulnerability seemed to emerge in Lewis's voice.

Lewis smiled, but a shadow lingered in his eyes. "Speaking of friendships," Y/N continued, her voice dropping to a quieter tone, "do you… do you ever think about fixing things with Nico?"

The question hung heavy in the air, the weight of years of rivalry pressing down on them. Lewis's posture stiffened, his jaw clenching tight.

"Nico," he finally said, his voice raspy. "It's… complicated. The competition, the pressure… it drove a wedge between us. I don't even know where to begin."

Y/N listened intently as Lewis stared out at the moonlit cityscape, his voice low and strained. "It started subtly, Y/N. Back in the early days, when we were both hungry rookies, pushing each other made us better. We thrived on the competition."

He took a swig from his beer, the clink echoing in the quiet night. "But as the wins started piling up, the rivalry became… obsessive. Every race was a battle, not just between us and the other drivers, but between us two. We'd analyze each other's moves, scrutinize each other's tactics, it was relentless."

A bitter smile played on his lips. "We both started questioning every interaction, wondering if it was genuine or just another mind game. The trust, the camaraderie, it slowly eroded, replaced by suspicion and a constant need to prove ourselves as the better driver."

Y/N's heart ached for them. "Did you ever try… talking about it?"

Lewis shook his head, his gaze filled with regret. "Ego got in the way. We were both so focused on winning, so determined to dominate the sport, that admitting our insecurities felt… like a weakness."

He let out a humorless chuckle. "The irony, of course, is that the intense rivalry ended up weakening us both. We lost sight of the joy of racing, the thrill of the competition. All that remained was a bitter animosity."

Y/N leaned against the railing, her voice a soft murmur. "It sounds like you both let the competition consume you. Forgot what truly mattered."

Lewis nodded, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "We did. And the worst part? The media loved it. They fueled the fire, turning our rivalry into a spectacle for the fans. It was a constant reminder of the friendship we were destroying, brick by agonizing brick."

He turned to Y/N, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. "Maybe… maybe if we had just stopped, talked about what was happening… things could have been different. We might have saved our friendship."

Y/N saw the pain flicker across his face, a flicker she recognized all too well from her own conversations with Nico.

"Maybe," she said, stepping closer to him, "maybe just a conversation. A chance to acknowledge what went wrong. It won't erase the past, but it could be a start."

Before Lewis could respond, Y/N surprised him by engulfing him in a tight hug. The unexpected gesture took his breath away, but then he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

A single tear escaped his eye, tracing a warm path down her cheek. In that moment, a million unspoken words hung between them - apologies, regrets, and a yearning for something that had been lost.

Y/N held him closer, her heart aching for the pain that had fractured their bond. "It's okay, Lewis," she whispered. "It's never too late to try."

They stood there for a long time, two souls seeking solace in the quiet embrace of the night. The moon cast a soft glow on them, a silent witness to the tentative steps towards a reconciliation that stretched far beyond the confines of a racetrack rivalry.

The future remained uncertain, but for the first time, a flicker of hope had ignited, a spark of redemption for the fractured relationships that had haunted them for far too long.

exclusive feature! here's a talk with y/n---

author - y/n why are you meddling with brocedes?

y/n - cause it gives you a banger chapter 15

author - fair enough, continue <3

y/n - you have no idea what is about to hit you! ly

credits for gif - @lewishamiltongifs

taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 , @xoscar03 , @torossosebs , @jajouska , @lindsayjoy444 , @barcelonaloverf1life , @charli123456789, @heyheyheyggg

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[bullet-prooflove]

The Train Station: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @readmetosleep @kierawashere01 @hangmanscoming @goldensunshine91

Companion piece to:

The Vet - Rip comes face to face with a nightmare.

Broken - Travis recieves a phone call from Rip regarding you and Malcom Beck.

You’re leaning against the hood of the truck, the headlights silhouetting your form when Rip returns from rolling both of the Beck’s bodies into the canyon. Despite all the illegal shit the two of you have done together over the past few hours apparently disposal of a body is where he draws the line. It doesn’t matter that you shot Teal Beck in the head after he laughed about the state his brother had left Gina in or that you watched him take Malcolm Beck apart piece by piece. When it comes to getting rid of a corpse Rip Wheeler is practically a gentlemen.

“You doing ok?” He asks as he takes up residence alongside of you, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You’ve seen a lot of heavy shit tonight.”

“I’ve seen worse, done worse.” You say quietly, nudging his shoulder. “What about you, you doing ok?”

The fact you are even asking is a testament to your strength and character. Most women would have run for the hills by now but you’re still here, asking after his wellbeing despite the fact you have blood and brain matter splattered across your clothing.

He’s always held a part of himself back from you because he’s never wanted the darkness that resides deep down in his soul to taint what the two of you have. It’s only now that he’s realising there’s a little darkness in you too.

You hadn’t hesitated when you pulled the trigger on Teal Beck, you hadn’t flinched when he pressed the Glock against each of Malcolm Beck’s joints and blown a hole in every single one of them. You’d helped him roll up the bodies in tarp, hose down the inside of the stable, you’d even tried scrubbing the blood out of the floor in the cottage but there are somethings a stain like that just won’t come out of.

It's when you get back to the foreman’s house that he starts the burn barrel. He keeps it around the back in the yard for when he needs to get rid of shit. The train station may supply a certain amount of discretion but Rip isn’t taking any chances, not when it comes to you.

“Take your clothes off.” He orders when the fire is hot enough and you strip down to your underwear under his unrelenting gaze. “Panties and bra too honey. All of it’s got to go.”

You toss the bundle of clothes into the flames and the smoke plumes into the air with a shower of sparks. You look gorgeous in the warm glow, the scars from your time abroad, highlighted on your skin as you raise your eyes to meet his and whisper the words.

“Your turn.”

Everything goes in the barrel save for his hat and boots. He sets them on the wooden lawn chair instead. His gaze is still locked on yours as when approaches you, his fingertips brush stray strand of hair back behind your ear.

“Do you like what you see?” His asks you, his voice raw as he looks into your eyes.

You know what he’s asking, do you love me, the real me?

The one that was forged in blood, who’ll probably die the same way.

“I do.” You whisper as you raise up on tiptoes and kiss his mouth. “God help me Rip but  do.”

Love Rip? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[thescarletnargacuga]

BLADE OF SHADOWS

AN UNSEEN CONTINUATION

Harlequin AU credit: @tadc-harlequin-au @iamespecter

The Unseen/Shadowblade is my OC and is NOT CANON

WARNING: heavy swearing, violence, arachnophobia

~~~

The sun blazed down on the wasteland. Heat rippled the air as midday temperatures soared. Crazed pawn puppets lay in wait along a rocky outcropping, waiting for any other unsuspecting puppets to wander by. Directive: guard. Taken to the extreme, anyone in sight is considered a trespasser and must die.

Whisps of a dark, heavy mist collected around the rocks. Noticed by one puppet, his gears clicked and whirred with confusion. Quickly, the unknown mist became a thick, rolling fog that engulfed the entire area. Day became night. Confusion became panic.

The puppets brandished their weapons, searching the darkness for signs of a threat. They never saw the shrouded figure moving swiftly through the mist. A blade in the dark took off the head of a pawn, downing him instantly. The figure moved quickly, golden eyes streaking through the shadows. The figure leapt into the air, kicked a pawn in the chest, knocking him over and stabbed his head, the blade puncturing through to the ground beneath. The pawns fired at random into the mist to fight off the unseen intruder. The figure tucked and rolled out of the line of fire behind a boulder and whistled loudly.

Rumbling from a huge, fast approaching entity gave the pawns enough time to see two more, much larger, gold eyes before many of them were sliced in half by a giant energized blade. The entity kept moving, slipping back behind the veil unseen.

The remaining pawns were frenzied and some ended up attacking each other, making them easy targets as the figure re-emerged to join the frey. They punched one though the face with their mechanical arm and gutted another with their sword. The figure hacked off the gun arm of a pawn and used his own weapon against him, shredding his body to splinters with the rapid bullet fire. The figure jumped back into the shadows as another pawn tried to grab them.

The crazed puppet ran blindly through the darkness, trying to find the attacker. He slammed into something huge and metal, knocking himself off his wheels. From the ground, he saw the glare of a great beast silhouetted against a break in the mist above. He only had time to scream as the beast crushed him in it's powerful maw.

The figure breathed heavily and clearly, unaffected by the mist, and sheethed their sword. "That was the last of em. Kill the mist, Shadowblade."

The mist emanating from the beast's vents ceased. In a matter of moments, the mist faded away under the intense sunlight. When the battlefield cleared, Pomni took off her mask. She took a breath of fresh air and wiped the collected mist residue off her brow.

Her mask was an invention from Caine. It was a breathing apparatus and night vision goggles combined into one compact, form-fitting face mask that attached to her via micro friction. No straps or clasps, it stuck to her face like a magnet she could attach and release with the push of a couple buttons on the jawline. The mask lenses being the same color as Shadowblade's eyes was an aesthetic choice.

Pomni looked down at the remains of the deranged puppets. "Enjoy your time in the void, boys. None of you are coming back." She kept watch while Shadowblade cleaned up. Pomni's beast chomped down puppet after puppet, still conscious or not, until every enemy was consumed. However, one pawn had too much live ammunition left on his person, and when Shadowblade ate him, the ammo exploded. Shadowblade coughed and hacked as smoke billowed out of it's maw.

Pomni turned quickly towards the sound of the explosion, but rolled her eyes at Shadowblade. "Fucking hell. I told you. Stop. Eating. The weapons. Caine will have to fix your fucking shredder again if you keep doing that."

Shadowblade shook the throat rattling explosion away and grunted. Consuming raw material was necessary for mist production, Shadowblade couldn't help it if the materials were sometimes a little spicy.

"Let's get moving. Bet your ass we can find more trouble." Pomni smirked before putting her mask back on.

Shadowblade chuffed and lowered itself to give Pomni easy access to the saddle attached to it's back via the same technology as the mask. Pomni mounted up and whistled. Shadowblade took off at a full sprint.

~

Caine checked his Wondrous Apparatus for Cohorted Kindred on the Yonder. The tracker installed on Shadowblade's saddle blinked closer to the city. It was very late, Pomni and Shadowblade had been out galavanting about since sunup and was only now seemingly heading back to the manor. He closed his modified pocket watch and put it away with a heavy sigh. "It's been every day with them for weeks now. She doesn't even wait for me to send her out on a mission anymore, she just...takes off on the back of her mighty steed and poof."

He took a large swig of liquor, settling deeper into his office chair. Bubble hovered next to him. "You regret building that saddle?"

"Nope. Keeps her out of my hair."

"You don't have hair, boss."

"...I know, Bubble. No, what I wish, is that's she'd at least tell me were she was going. Then I wouldn't have to obsessively check my W.A.C.K.Y. watch for her position." Caine hiccuped and patted his chest. "You see, there are areas that are still extraordinarily dangerous. Even with her new friend."

"Like that quarry with the drill worm you sent her to a few months back?" Bubble gave a snarky grin.

"I DIDN'T KNOW THERE WAS A DRILL WORM!" Caine snapped back, nearly throwing his half empty bottle at the blimp. He hasn't forgiven himself for that. If that worm had gotten her, she wouldn't have just died. She would have been destroyed. Her soul piece included, sending her to final death. He held his head with his hand. Bottle loosely hanging from his free hand. "Maybe I'll have a talk with her..."

"And I'm suuuure she'll listen, boss." Bubble chortled.

Caine looked at his latest creation on his desk. "Maybe she'll listen if I come bearing gifts."

~

Shadowblade zipped into the crumbling city limits at top speed, skirting around broken street corners and jumping over fallen buildings with practiced precision. The occasional puppet poking their head up from the rubble scattered as the beast blew past. With a charge of speed up a fallen slanted roof, the beast leapt over the wall that separated Caine's manor from the rest of the city. The garden forest trees shook with Shadowblade's landing, spooking scavenger birds and critters from the branches.

Z watched this unfold with very mild interest from their sentry post, giving Pomni a nod as she dismounted and approached the stairs to the manor's grand entrance. Shadowblade stretched, shaking the wasteland dust from it's joints and eventually meandered towards it's designated barn.

"Did I miss anything exciting, Z?" Pomni removed her mask, hanging it on her hip opposite her sword sheeth.

"Just Caine getting drunk off his ass again." Z said flatly.

"Great." Pomni sneered. "How many bottles deep is he?"

Z shrugged.

"Has he been singing at the top of his fucking lungs while swinging from the chandeliers?"

Z gave a quiet, amused huff. "Not yet."

The front door flew open, revealing Caine bracing himself against the doorframe. His shirt was half soaked from drink poured over his exposed heart. "HeeeEyyyyyyy, there she is! The prodigal puppet returns!" He falls forward with his arms open in an attempt to hug Pomni.

She stepped back, letting Caine fall on his face. She crossed her arms and looked down with disapproval. "You're disgusting."

Caine rolled over onto his back and looked up at Pomni. "Says the puppet covered in grime and mist residue. You can't judge me." He pointed at one of the three Pomni's he saw over him.

The gentle tinkling of bells announced Gangle's presence in the doorway. "Master Caine, I thought you were going to your office. You said you had something new for Pomni." She wrapped her ribbons around him and helped him stand.

"Yes! The thing! I have a thing! Pomniiiii follow meeeee!" He could barely put on foot in front of the other without Gangle puppeteering him through the foyer.

"I'm sorry for his behavior Mistress-"

"Don't." Pomni cut her off, fist clenching.

"Right, sorry." Gangle shrank away from the grumpy harlequin, focusing on getting Caine to his office in one piece.

Caine fumbled with the door handle, but got his office door open and made way to his desk with Gangle's assistance. He leaned against it and Gangle released him. On the desk was a small unknown device. Caine presented it to Pomni with a flouish. "Ta-da!"

"...what the fuck am I looking at?"

"Give me your sword hand and I'll show you." Caine held out his hand to her.

"No. Tell me what it is." Pomni kept her arm crossed to her chest.

Caine released a tired sigh and put the device on the back of his own hand. Black metal bands attached to his wrist and middle finger. A polished amber colored crystal shined proud in the center, surrounded by symbolic carvings of unknown meaning. "THIS-" He held it up to Pomni. "-is a very special charm. I made it myself!" He said proudly. "Since you've been spending a lot of time with Shadowblade, I made a charm that will specifically work with them!"

Now Pomni was intrigued. "What does it do?"

"This is one of the most advanced harmonic resonance detection and response systems built by your's truly." He puffed out his chest. "I made it from some of the fluid I collected from Shadowblade. It crystallized while I was examining it and that's when inspiration struck! You see, that fluid is an energy based nano-"

Pomni rubbed her temples. "Oh my GOD, I don't care. What does the fancy fucking bracelet do?"

His tone and bravado flattened. "It connects you to Shadowblade. You'll be able to sense intention, presence, and energize your sword the way Shadowblade does with their own blades." Caine took off the device and tossed it to Pomni.

Pomni put it on the way Caine had. "Lead with that." She unsheethed her sword but nothing happened. "...uh..." She gestured to her sword, arching a brow at Caine.

"You'll figure it out." He sloshed back another drink and plopped into his chair.

Pomni glared. "You're right, I will. Right now, actually." She turned on her heels, marching for the door.

"No, stop, come back." Caine sarcastically called to her as he continued to drink.

Gangle silently watched Pomni leave in an annoyed huff. She looked back at Caine, who was zoning out and slouching heavily in his chair. "Oh dear..." She slinked out of Caine's office, only the bells she was required to wear made a sound.

~

Shadowblade watched Pomni walk to the front door and slowly went towards it's barn as Pomni spoke with Z. This was the routine: go with Pomni, follow her every order, return to the barn when finished. No camaraderie outside the rides.

A strange pang radiated in Shadowblade's core as it entered it's barn. It couldn't tell what it was, but it felt bad. It hurt. It clawed at the dirt floor of the barn, loosening the hard ground and circling to find a good position to lay in. Shadowblade settled down and vented air hard. It started to run a diagnostic on it's core.

"We're leaving!" Pomni shouted into the dark barn.

Shadowblade canceled it's diagnostic, getting up with some surprise.

"Son of a bitch thinks I'm not smart enough for this just because I don't want to listen to him blabber on about shit I don't care about." Pomni hissed to herself as she climbed Shadowblade. "I'll show him." She looked at the crystal on the back of her right hand. Nothing was happening. She didn't feel anything. "Shit probably doesn't work anyway. Whatever. I'm not in the mood to be around that asshole." She put on her night vision mask, whistled low and Shadowblade walked on.

~

The wasteland was silent under a sky full of stars. Without human light pollution, the moon gave the land a silver blue hue. A barely noticeable breeze swept swept through as Pomni and Shadowblade traveled further from the city, keeping a moderate pace.

Pomni scanned the surrounds and their wasn't another soul in sight, puppet or otherwise. She looked down occasionally to see if the crystal was doing anything. Nada. It was just a cool colored rock. "What the actual fuck am I supposed to do with this?"

Shadowblade suddenly stopped unprompted.

"What is it?" Pomni whispered, still seeing no one.

The ground felt wrong. Hollow. A crackling, shifting sound came from the hard dirt and a sinkhole opened. The ground collapsed and sent them plummeting down into the earth.

They fell dozens of feet before Shadowblade hit slanted hard surface. It dug it's claws in, trying to stop. Pomni held on for dear life as the position of gravity kept changing. Shadowblade left deep marks as it slid to solid ground. Finally coming to a stop, they could catch their breath.

"What the fuck!?" Pomni looked up, just barely able to see the night sky through the hole far above. She looked around, the sinkhole was part of a larger cave system. Or, rather, what she thought was a cave.

Shadowblade brightened their eyes to the max, revealing a ruined brick and mortar building, broken and slanted. There were multiple buildings of masonry and brick build, all half collapsed and barely standing. Ancient structures of the forgotten world, buried by time.

"Holy shit." Pomni looked around and saw a way through large enough for Shadowblade. "To the left."

Shadowblade looked at her.

"Yes, the actual left this time, prick."

Shadowblade chuffed and crawled through the crumbled entrance of the largest building.

Inside was absolutely massive. They stood on the third floor overlooking an open factory. Iron steam machines of unknown purpose filled the space below. Oversized pistons and gears reached for the vacant ceiling. The metal grated floor beneath them creaked under Shadowblade's step.

"There's got to be a way out somewhere. Let's go, but watch your step." Pomni held tight and Shadowblade climbed over the railing and jumped down to the factory floor. Dust shook loose from various machines when they landed. Being on such a large beast gave the factory a more claustrophobic feel than it should. Shadowblade squeezed in between and climbed over long dormant machines.

A sudden skittering sound had Pomni unsheathing her sword and Shadowblade freezing in place. Neither of them moved or breathed, waiting for the foreign sound to happen again. Silence.

"Keep moving." Pomni whispered and kept her sword at the ready. Shadowblade dimmed it's eyes and went on much more slowly, it's spines and tail flared.

The factory opened up some, the machines a bit father apart. Long, stringy cables webbed between them, blocking the path. Shadowblade pushed forward, using a paw to swipe away the cables when the webbing closed on it's own like a clap trap. The beast jumped back, but the webbing held tight. As Shadowblade thrashed, it's tail hit another web, becoming snared. Then the other front leg. Then the maw. The combined trapping webs started to pull Shadowblade deeper into the factory. Shadowblade activated the outer blades. The golden glow took out a few cables, but the webs pull tight, preventing Shadowblade from moving their legs enough to cut.

Pomni jumped off as Shadowblade was forced to the ground and dragged. She tried cutting the webs, but there were too many of them. Shadowblade was pulled away faster than she could keep up and disappeared into the darkness with a muffled roar.

"Fuck!" Pomni kept pursuit in the direction Shadowblade was taken. Skittering came from all around. The walls began to shift as hundreds of clockwork spiders the size of small cars moved in unison to advance on Pomni. She slid under a web trap, avoiding two spiders that tried to jump her in the process. Keeping her momentum, she vaulted over a machine and slashed her sword through the legs of a spider that got too close. She found a hold in the wall just big enough for her, and threw herself through it. She felt a pointed spider leg claw at her ankle as she squeezed herself into the horribly tight space.

Even when she was safely out of reach of the spiders, she didn't slow down. She kept her sword out in front as she wiggled her way through the gap in the wall. It occurred to her that using any of her weapons in this space would be next to impossible. Cold chills prickled her back. Even being surrounded on all sides by stone, she felt vulnerable.

Pomni heard Shadowblade's roar and she found a small opening she could peak through. She saw Shadowblade's eyes and blades glowing in the dark, still fighting desperately for freedom. The beast almost cut itself free when a mass of web descended from the out of sight ceiling, pinning Shadowblade to the ground.

Pomni's eyes widened as gigantic spider legs ever so delicately came down from above. This clockwork behemoth on eight legs wrapped up the struggling beast and pulled Shadowblade up into he air. Pomni ducked out of sight when one of the smaller spiders climbed up the wall in front of her. The spider skittered and clanked past her and she carefully peaked out again. Shadowblade was gone, along with the largest spider.

Pomni slid down out of sight and quietly cursed to herself. Part of her told her to run. This was a lost cause. Try to get back to the sinkhole opening and grapple her way out. But what about Shadowblade? They were her constant and faithful companion. Always obeying, always defending, always...being there. She looked at the crystal on her hand. "I'm coming for you."

~

Caine was passed out in his office chair, snoring loudly. He didn't stir when someone knocked on his door. Ragatha peaked in and groaned at the sight of him. She gingerly went to his side and shook his arm. "Caine? Caine. Caine!"

Caine snorted and awoke. "Oh, hello, Ragatha." He stretched.

"Caine, I'm terribly worried about Pomni. She hasn't come back yet."

Caine sighed heavily. "She left after I gave her a new toy to play with. She probably won't be back until morning."

"Could you at least check were she is? Please?"

"Of course." Caine took out his W.A.C.K.Y watch and opened it. He saw the blips of everyone at the manor...and no other. He stood so quickly, his chair fell over.

"What! What is it?"

"Pomni isn't showing up." He adjusted some settings, no change.

"Her tracker isn't active??"

"No. I would have received an alert if that happened. She, or more specifically Shadowblade, is somehow out of range." The best result he could pull up was her last transmitted location. He grabbed his coat and cane.

"Wait! I'm coming too!"

"I move much faster without a passenger." He blinked away.

~

Pomni slowly worked her way out of the wall, she looked up and saw only darkness. Even her mask couldn't see that far up without at least a little light. The skittering sound of the spiders still came from all directions, but none seemed to be getting closer. She at least felt able to move about without being immediately noticed.

She found a ladder to a catwalk on the second story. From there, she climbed her way to the third floor. She felt queazy looking down but she stayed focused. If she squinted, she could just make out the silhouettes of hanging bundles. She picked up a lose bolt and did something very risky. She threw it at the closet bundle to see what the response was. The bolt bounced off and clattered to the ground. Some of the smaller spiders reacted to the noise but the big one was nowhere to be seen.

She got a running start and leapt to the bundle. She swung and nothing happened. The bundle was too small to be Shadowblade, so she moved on to the next. No beast. Another, this one was quite large. She pulled at the cables and got them loose enough to see black metal and tangled spines. She pulled out even more cables and found Shadowblade's eye, it glowed brighter when it saw her. "Hey!" She spoke in as quiet a voice as she could, keeping an eye out for the giant spider. "I'm going to cut you loose, and we're getting the fuck out of here." She put her hand on Shadowblade's head.

Shadowblade gave a quiet, low rumble in response. As opposed to the pain it felt in its core before, another new sensation came over it. A positive one. One of strength.

The crystal on Pomni's hand started to glow. It became brighter and brighter until it was a beacon. Pomni cursed and tried to hide the light, but it was too late. The spiders were on the move, including the massive queen clockwork. "Okay, fuck all this sneaking around!" Pomni took out her sword and sliced at the cables holding Shadowblade to the ceiling.

They fell three stories, but the bundle Shadowblade was wrapped in softened the landing. Pomni started immediately trying to cut Shadowblade free again, and the golden glow of the beast blades blazed underneath. Pomni brought down her sword to free her companion and her blade ignited with gold energy, slicing through multiple layers of cables.

Shadowblade forced it's own blades open and burst free as the spiders were closing in. Shadowblade whipped it's tail and shot blazing darts of metallic shards raining down on the spiders. Pomni could feel Shadowblade's resolve: Protect. The crystal on her hand harmonizing with the thrum of her own heart. She lashed out with her sword and it cut clean through a spider's body. Then another. And another! It was like they were made of paper!

Cables rained down from the ceiling. They would have trapped Pomni, but Shadowblade scooped her up and moved swiftly back from the snares.

"Fuck this place! Fuck these spiders! I want that thing's eyes!" Pomni pointed her golden blade at the descending queen.

Shadowblade clawed the ground, feeling Pomni's intense hunger for the hunt.

Rip.

Tear!

KILL!

~

Caine sprinted full speed across the wasteland, blinking as far as he could in bursts. He finally made it to Pomni's last known location and didn't give himself time to catch his breath. He saw the hole in the ground and looked down. The moonlight was just bright enough to give him a view of the bottom.

Blink.

Underground, he could hear shouting and roaring and shattering and screeching. He moved into the ruins and could only see the distant glow of gold from Pomni and Shadowblade as they climbed the factory to attack a massive spider he didn't even know was there until Pomni lit it up.

"What in the world??" He lifted his cane and the round end glowed with warm light. He was surrounded by clockworks. "As Pomni would say, ...fuck." A spider shot cables at him, he sidestepped and they flew past him. Another spider lunged at him and he caught it with his puppetmaster strings. "You're not the only one that comes with strings attached! Ha!" He contorted his hand and the spider attacked the one next to it.

~

Shadowblade ran up the broken wall with the fury of a thousand suns, leaping at the queen and cleaving one of it's arms clean off. The beast made an abrupt u-turn off the adjacent wall and lunged again, grabbing the queen by the mandibles. The clockwork Queen screeched and tried to push Shadowblade off, but the beast wouldn't budge.

Pomni climbed up Shadowblade's head and plunged her sword into the Queen's head. This didn't kill it, but did a lot of damage. Shadowblade was forced to let go when the queen thrashed her legs as them, but the beast grabbed a hanging bundle and swung around back to the queen.

Shadowblade leapt and Pomni prepared her sword. Shadowblade lashed from the left, Pomni the right, the two creating a gold X made of pure energy that carved into the queen spider. Shadowblade spun and kicked off the broken spider to the second story catwalk. The queen fell to the ground in pieces.

So much was flowing through the connection in the moment. The satisfaction of a successful hunt. The rush of survival. The disbelief of actually pulling this crazy shit off. Feeling alive.

Shadowblade turned it's head to look at Pomni. She was just as out of breath. The glow of her sword faded and she sheathed it before resting her sword hand on Shadowblade's neck. "I told you I'd get you out." Shadowblade rumbled in return, it's eyes dimming for a few seconds before brightening again.

"Wait a second, is that..." Pomni zoomed in with her mask lenses. "..Caine!?"

Caine was making four spiders tapdance while he dance-dodged away from two more, the end of his cane still glowing.

Pomni reset her lenses. "Should we help him?"

Shadowblade huffed, feeling Pomni's desire to watch Caine fight just a bit longer.

"Fine. I suppose he is outnumbered."

Most of the spiders retreated when the queen fell, but a few just wouldn't quit and were making Caine really work his dance moves to keep from getting hit. His fun came to an end when a streak of gold light flew by and sliced all the spiders in half. He calmly brushed dust off his jacket as Shadowblade circled him and scattered the remaining spiders. "Well, it's good to see you two getting along nicely. Care to share how you ended up here?"

Shadowblade stopped and Pomni held her right hand high, along with her middle finger. "I figured it out, asshole."

"As I said you would." Caine smirked.

"Shadowblade and I are of one mind now, I don't even have to tell it to eat you out loud."

Caine narrowed his gaze. "Is that REALLY what Shadowblade wants? I'm the one always out studying and repairing them. And stop called them an IT. This beast has more personality than even you."

Pomni growled. Trying to force thoughts if eating Caine through the connection. Shadowblade stepped forward.

Caine gripped his cane just a little tighter, ready to blink.

Shadowblade lowered their maw...and pressed to Caine's chest. A low rumble vibrating his being. Shadowblade sent through the connection feelings of trust.

Caine pet the top of Shadowblade's maw with a smug grin aimed at Pomni. However, he was caught off guard by Shadowblade moving forward and lifting him off the ground. He slid down the beast's neck face first and into Pomni. Pomni was pushed back and nearly lost grip on the saddle.

Shadowblade had no regard for the position Pomni was in. They were making their way back to the large carvern where all this started to try and find anorher way out.

Caine held himself over Pomni for only a few seconds, that's all he could spare before she'd try to kill him, but those few seconds felt like an eternity to see her like that. He backed off before she started shoving and made his way around behind her on the saddle.

Pomni could feel her face heating up behind the mask and she hated herself for it. She didn't want anyone to make her feel this way, let alone the self proclaimed puppetmaster. "Don't get any ideas and turn that damn light off. I'm using night vision for god's sake." She growled.

"My dear, I am nothing if not a gentleman." He held his hands away from her and his cane dimmed. "Buuuut that may make things difficult when it comes time to leave. I need to be in physical contact with my passengers."

Pomni looked back at him. "Wait, you can blink both of us?"

"I can try. I've never taken anyone as large as our friend here, but we need to get topside somehow."

Shadowblade looked up to see the first pastels of morning coloring the sky through the sinkhole. Then they looked back at their two passengers. Caine rubbed his hands together. "Hold this for me?" He shoved his cane in Pomni's hands and put one hand on her waist, the other on Shadowblade's back. He focused as much energy he could muster into the transfer of their bodies to another space. He visualized the surface. He willed himself and the others to be there. Blue energy radiated out from his heart, covering himself, Pomni and slowly Shadowblade. The process usually happened so fast, no one knew how he did it, but this time it was like trying to move a boulder uphill. Shadowblade saw the blue energy cover their body making them feel momentarily weightless.

Blink.

Suddenly they were on the surface, a good distance from the sinkhole. Caine collapsed against Pomni, on the verge of unconsciousness. He breathed heavily and felt more lightheaded than when he was shit-faced drunk. "Did...did it work?"

Pomni resigned her anger and sighed. "Yeah. It worked. Try to hold on, would ya? I don't want to have to drag you all the way back to the manor."

Shadowblade was already walking back without verbal prompt. Feeling the mutual need to rest.

Caine lazily wrapped his arms around Pomni's waist. His head heavy against her shoulder. "I was worried..."

"Hm?"

"You disappeared off the map. I...was worried."

"Oh. Well...don't be. I can take care of myself. And I have Shadowblade besides." Pomni took off her mask as the morning light brightened.

"You are a very capable woman. Always have been. But I still worry. I want you to come back." He mumbled, half asleep.

Pomni didn't know how to respond. Him saying how much he wanted her to keep returning despite how often they're at each other's throats, it made her feel strange. A good strange. But still strange. She tensed when Caine held tighter.

"...come back."

"I'm right here, you doof. I think you blinked away a few IQ points." She sniggered.

The wasteland was merciful. Allowing them safe passage home without interruption. Shadowblade took them all the way up to the front door and got as low to the ground as possible to let Pomni help Caine inside. Shadowblade watched them disappear behind the threshold, and walked along the side of the manor towards the barn. This time, they looked up. Seeing Pomni and Caine limping inside. They had never bother to try looking through the windows before. Where do they go? They watched to see another woman with red hair rush forward and help Pomni escort Caine up the stairs.

Shadowblade reared up on their hinds legs and carefully leaned against the manor to see through the second story windows. Pomni and Ragatha took Caine into a room Shadowblade couldn't see into. They came out after a few minutes talking to one another, without Caine. Shadowblade could not hear but they felt relief and security through the connection, even if those feelings did not translate on Pomni's face. Shadowblade cocked their head to the side watching what was happening when their view was obstructes by a curtain of red ribbons. And then there was screaming.

Shadowblade moved back and down from the window and continued to their barn. They got comfortable and could finally rest their road weary paws. A booming rumble form overhead promised a storm. Rain collected on the ground in front of the barn, making large puddles in view of Shadowblade's reflection. Shadowblade looked at themself, really looked.

Is that...me?

[spreadwardiard]

I wrote a little thing. A little megaorion fluff thing. I can't get this ship out of my head omg.

Title: Home is Where You Are

Summary: After a long time away in Iacon, Orion returns to Kaon and snuggles up in berth with his conjunx.

Rating: Teen and Up

It was well into the recharge cycle when Orion finally stepped off transport in the city of Kaon, and even later when he finally arrived at the run-down building that served as his second home; the Gladiatorial Apartments. He ignored the warnings flashing on his HUD as he trudged down the hall towards the elevator, alerting him to what he already knew; that he was exhausted and in desperate need of recharge.

As always, the elevator groaned in a worrisome reminder of the lack of maintenance that was afforded to this place. It would fail, one cycle, if they didn’t tend to it, Orion thought as it inched its way towards the upper floors. Orion hoped that by that time he will have successfully convinced Megatronus that it would be beneficial to allow Orion to purchase something… safer and more suitable to their needs. As much as he loved his conjunx, the tiny apartment provided to Megatronus, even as the Champion, was too small to comfortably house the both of them full time.

He felt that familiar tug at his spark tighten as the elevator ground to a halt. Orion wasted no time, stepping out of that steel death trap as soon as its doors allowed him the space to do so. He let that tug at his spark pull him forward down the hall. He knew even before he punched the lock code into the door that Megatronus was recharging, and that brought a smile to his face as he stepped into the dimly lit apartment. Orion made him promise not to wait up for him.

Home… The apartment consisted of only three rooms; the living area, the berth room and the washrack. The main living space was half a fuel preparation station, and the rest was only large enough to fit his conjunx’s desk and two chairs. Orion couldn’t stop himself from quietly tidying up the space. He yawned softly as he straightened up the pile of datapads piled on the corner of the desk, saving them from inevitable collapse due to their haphazard stacking.

A quick glance around the room ripped a heavy sigh straight from his intake. The place was a mess, though that was not the fault of Megatronus. The unit his benefactors used to house him was simply too small for the larger warframe to comfortably maneuver himself to tidy up small nooks and crannies- another reason Orion wanted to purchase something else for the two of them.

He made his way into the fuel preparation station, picking up any trash that was easily accessible. After tossing it into the waste receptacle, he made his way to the automatic energon purifier on the counter. It was not turned on. Still ignoring the warnings in his HUD to seek immediate recharge, he switched on the machine, and carefully added the raw energon into the unit. Now, they would have fuel prepared for them when they came out of recharge.

An exhausted yawn ripped free from his intake as he turned and glanced at the closed door to the berthroom. His conjunx lay beyond that door, along with the silent promise of comfort and rest. It was so slagging difficult to recharge now, when he was alone in Iacon.

Orion paused only for a klik once the door to the berthroom slid open, to admire his Champion's form upon the berth. His spark blazed in a momentary inferno upon the sight. He wasn't entirely sure when or how he had fallen so deeply in love with this mech. It was not an intentional decision on his part, but Megatronus had nonetheless burrowed into his spark and had become everything to him.

Even shrouded in darkness his frame was magnificent. Without his low light filters switched on, Orion could see the elegant angles of Megatronus’ armored pauldrons and the almost delicate curve where his waist slopped into his hips silhouetted against the dim light trickling in through the window. The beauty of his frame was enough to suck the air directly from his vents.

Orion still could not entirely understand why Megatronus had chosen him as his conjunx. He could have any mech he wanted, and yet Megatronus had given his spark to a simple archivist. Orion was no fighter. He was not especially strong. He did not have a station that gave him great political power or a voice amongst the people. Despite how deeply he loved Megatronus, he still often felt undeserving of the love Megatronus returned to him.

He felt another yawn begin to build up in his frame, and his HUD flashed that obnoxious warning once more. Finally, he stepped towards the berth, taking care to move slowly and quietly to not disturb the gladiator before him. Megatronus must have been just as exhausted as Orion was, for him to be recharging so soundly.

He sat slowly on the edge of the berth, careful to slowly distribute his weight so as to not disturb his lover's recharge. Orion could already feel the comforting warmth of Megatronus’ frame radiating towards him as he scooted himself close until he was finally able to press himself gently against his lover’s back.

“I missed you so much.” Orion whispered as he peppered gentle kisses along the Champion's spinal strut, before slipping his arm around his lover's waist. He knew that once the morning came, he would likely find himself pinned below this very same frame while they reunited carnally, but for now he was simply content to snuggle his face into the larger mech's back and hold him as close as possible while finally allowing himself to succumb to the demands of exhaustion.

[echoalyssa]

For the Last Time | Dick Grayson

image generated by Midjourney AI

just an angsty smut piece for my fav bat boy

~~~

We had split weeks ago, but here he was, silhouetted against my front door. It had been ugly, and the wound still felt raw, but we still gravitated towards each other. Despite the terrible memories that lingered, we always ended up together. For better or for worse. 

“Hi.” My voice comes out whisper quiet and he hesitantly steps inside, nudging the door closed with his foot.

His dark hair falls in front of his eyes and he lifts a hand to push it back behind his ear. 

The air is thick with tension and the words that had gone unspoken. He follows me to the couch, making sure to leave ample space between the two of us. He’s looking at me so intensely that I can’t help but find the bookshelf fascinating.

There is so much to say yet nothing to say at the same time.

I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. I rest my head on my arms and just take a second to look at him. It’s been too long since he was last on this couch. Even being in his presence had a calming affect. 

“What did you want to talk about?” He asks, playing with his thumbs. He looks up at me quickly and then drops his head.

“You asked to come over.”

He nods and pulls at a loose thread on his shirt. “So then you should pick what we talk about.”

It’s stupid really, we both know what needs to be addressed but for fear of disturbing the calm we’re both tiptoeing around the topic.

I nod at him but still stay quiet.

“I’m sorry. I watched you disappear before my eyes and I was too absorbed in my own head to realize that you needed me. I should have never left you and I should have been someone you could depend on. I let you do everything for us financially and I still expected you to clean up the apartment. I’m sorry. That’s not a partnership and you deserved better.”

It’s everything that I have ever needed to hear from him, but was it too late? The damage had been done.

“Why couldn’t you see that before?” I ask him.

“I was selfish. I was jealous. I didn’t care to and that was wrong of me.”

I choose to stay quiet, knowing that he’s asking for my forgiveness, the problem is that we’d done this before. An apology followed by the exact same behaviors that got us here before. To tell him that I had forgiven him would be a lie and that wouldn’t benefit either of us.

The silence stretches between us and he stands up to stretch. He rolls his neck and the soft crack of the bones fills the air.

“I miss it.” He says softly, looking around the apartment that we had once shared. It had been his home too. More than that though, disguised under his words was that he missed all of it. He missed me.

He sits back down, closer this time. He sits in his usual spot, and he places his hand on my knee. His thumb traces the curve of it gently, as if I might vanish before his very eyes.

We sit in silence for a few minutes until that line of tension snaps and he’s pulling at me just as much as I’m reaching for him. In one swift motion I climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. It’s like we’ve both been allowed to breathe for the first time and neither of us can get enough of it. His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me in so close that there isn’t a millimeter of space between our bodies.

Dick tucks his head into the crook of my neck and lets out a shaky exhale. I’m holding him just as tight. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes, and I sniffle into his shoulder. His fingers drag up and down my back, kneading at the knots that had accumulated without him. He touches me like it might be the last time he ever gets to.

His fingers slip lower, playing with the hem of my shirt. “Is this alright?”

He’s giving me an out but that was the thing, even if I tried to take the out it was inevitable that I would end up right back where I started. Here. With him.

“Yes.”

“Look at me.” He says quietly, his fingers wrap around my jaw, and he angles my face so that I have to look at him. “I love you.”

I duck to avoid his eyes but I whisper it right back to him because that was the only part of this mess that I was certain about.

“Look at me.”

I pry myself out from the crook of his neck, eye contact had never been my strong suit. The second our eyes meet I can feel the impending tears come rushing back. His mouth meets mine and then it’s a mess of teeth and hands and clothing hitting the floor. 

“You’ve lost weight.” He doesn’t say it in a bad way, but he’s acknowledging that our break had been harder on me than he had thought. His voice is laced with concern. “I’m so sorry. You’re tiny.”

He wasn’t wrong, it hadn’t been intentional but whenever I was stressed my hunger pangs would disappear, resulting in my noticeable weight loss. Dick, knew just how much I valued having an athletic physique and the drastic difference had brought tears to his eyes.

“Stop that.”

He doesn’t need me to tell him twice, knowing full well that I won’t talk if I don’t want to, and flips me over. His fingers press me up over the back of the couch and he guides my hips back. He pauses briefly to step out of his shorts but then I feel him right where he belongs.

The physical size difference between us means that we line up perfectly. We moan in unison as he seats himself inside me. His hands press me into the position that he wants and then his right hand tangles in my hair. He yanks it slightly, causing my back to arch and groans, dropping his mouth to my shoulder.

“If you could see the way that you look right now…”

He’s rough with me, in a way that makes my legs weak. It’s weeks of tension that had been building up to this point and neither of us can deny it.

“Please.”

His knee knocks my own further apart and the grip in my hair tightens. We had been doing this long enough for him to know exactly what I need. The new angle has him hitting parts of me that only he can find. 

The force of his thrusts has me pinned to the couch. I sob, holding the couch as if that could keep me grounded. 

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” My orgasm is approaching rapidly and I open to my mouth to tell him that but it rips through me before I get the chance.

My back arches and my vision goes black, the force of it all renders me completely silent.

“Fuck.” He grits out but he never lets the pace slow. All I can do is hold onto him as he fucks me through it.

~~~

I can already tell that I’ll be sore the next day. Coming off two back-to-back orgasms the oversensitivity was bordering on uncomfortable, but I loved every moment of it.

He’s staring at me through lidded eyes, trained on me like I’m the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. His lips are parted slightly, and his hand is wrapped tightly around the headboard. The veins in his forearm stand out prominently. His other hand dips between us and I can feel my eyes blow wide as he rests two fingers on top of his shaft and peers up at me expectantly. ‘Take it.’ His eyes whisper to me. I was already struggling to take him into me, let alone the long thick fingers he has ready for me.

“You can do it.” He murmurs, and the deep rumble of his voice sends another wave of pleasure through me.

He drops his hand from the headboard, curling it around my hip to hold me in place. I’m drowsy with pleasure but I let my body press closer to his, pulling his fingers and his length into my body.

My head falls back immediately, my eyes rolling back into my head. It’s such an intense feeling that my head empties of any thought that isn’t just him.

He’s moaning underneath me, twitching slightly as if he’s fighting the urge to move inside me.

“Look at you.” He murmurs, curling the fingers that are inside me for emphasis.

I sob, and my nails dig into his chest. He’ll have marks tomorrow that he probably won’t be too pleased about.

“I’m so close baby. You look so good taking me like this.”

My nerves are on fire but I’m still dragging myself across him, watching the way that his face contorts with pleasure. His hips snap up, meeting me halfway every time. His thumb brushes against my clit, adding to the pleasure.

“I-I’m going…”

His body tenses under me and I feel him twitch inside me. I cry out his name, collapsing into his chest as the waves of pleasure roll through me. Dick shudders underneath me, finishing with a few small thrusts.

His fingers slip into my hair and he kneads at the back of my neck. Neither of us is concerned about cleaning up the mess we had created. We were just basking in the pleasure of each other.

“You really love me, don’t you?” He whispers while dragging his fingers through my hair soothingly.

Emotion gathers in my throat and all I can do is nuzzle into his hand and close my eyes. Even though we were together tonight, I still wasn’t sure that I would experience him this gentle with me again. I would enjoy this for as long as I was allowed to have it.

[sleepingdeath-light]

warming your bed ; 18+

requested by ; nobody — reposted from another blog of mine

word count ; 772

content ; one night stand, oral, technically the set up for smut but there’s still sexual content hence the rating

fandom ; pirates of the caribbean

pairing ; captain jack sparrow x female reader

read also on ; ao3

minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

It’s a quiet summer evening; the type of day where you have the time to sit out on the balcony and watch the sun set from a cloudless sky over a calm ocean. A few dozen docked ships partially silhouetted by the gradually fading light as your patrons slowly filter out of your tavern doors. One by one they stumbled and tumbled out onto the pier, arm in arm and exchanging plentiful raucous laughter and drunken conversation (as far as one would call it that) with each and every one of them grinning widely from ear to ear.

Yeah, a quiet night indeed. At the very least you had been spared from having to play witness or mediator to many bar fights — only having seeing the tail-end of one before another customer broke it up to spare you the trouble. No hassle, minimal mess, not very loud. It was a harbour-business’ dream. Some people were just good like that — you just wished you’d see them more often than just through the summer.

But even with the consideration of your pillaging patrons, there was still a great deal of work to do — and you couldn’t very well have them do the chores for you. They were your guests, after all, not your employees (lord knows you couldn’t afford any with all of the expenses you have to look out for; the joys of working with pirates). So you turned to go back inside, soapy bucket and rag in hand.

Or, rather, you tried to go back inside but your path was obstructed by a swaying figure that reeked of rum. Another pirate, it seemed.

Oh joy.

Like many others before him, he says he’s looking for shelter and a drink — says he’s on bad terms with his crew and got kicked off for the night. Part of you wants to turn him away or pry about what exactly got a captain (as he identified himself) voted off of his own ship, but you decide against it and put on your best service smile and usher him over to the messy reception area, writing his name with a worn down quill before leading him to the bar.

Captain Jack Sparrow, he introduced himself with a slight drunken slur to his voice, and you can’t help but feel like you’d heard the name before. Mostly in complaints from customers, remarks about how ridiculous and illogical he is — how he doesn’t seem to have very much self awareness or adherence to the code (a code you knew better than to pry about). But none of that really mattered here; the captain was now a patron of yours and so long as he payed you fairly you couldn’t care less for his reputation.

Business is business, after all.

From there it doesn’t take very long for him to start getting rather talkative — and, very openly flirty at that. He takes each drink offered with a smile and a wink and thanks you with compliments that gradually get more and more flustering than flattering… and yet you find yourself getting more fond of the eccentric man’s company, engaging him with conversation and listening intently to each (likely heavily embellished) story he tells.

A few short minutes after he began spinning his elaborate tales of the seas, the two of you were stumbling your way through the halls of your inn — wanting to hear more than just his fantastical stories and needing to feel more than just his hand on your thigh. You could feel his greedy hands roaming freely over your body as you just barely manage to grab the key and unlock the door before you both fall into a heap on the wooden floor.

He tasted of rum and the sea, with an eager tongue and teeth that bit your lips red and raw — leaving his mark without shame or regard for the outside world and letting you get drunk off of him. Large, calloused hands pinched and groped at you through the thin fabrics of your sullied dress; pushing your skirts up to your waist and tugging your bodice down to expose your breasts to his greedy gaze.

Pinching, tugging and twisting; he payed close attention to your chest until your nipples pebbled under his fingertips and only then did he turn his attention to your soaked pussy — reaching down through your undergarments to slide his index finger along your slit. And when he pulls away from the kiss to suck it clean and comments on your taste, you know that you’re in for a long night, and you can’t even bring yourself to complain.

[letters-unsending]

No. 38

////

Villain is disguised as a Hero and Superhero takes them to a safe house.

////

Villain had only ever seen Superhero from afar. He was a sharp line, silhouetted in red by the rising sun on the eve of battle. He was a streak of gold, tearing through opposition with a sure hand. He was a squared figure with shoulders pulled back, hands curled round and claiming the podium in front of him as he addressed the crowd with a voice that bellowed chest-deep.

Walking beside him felt like trespassing, like treading the line between concept and reality, and Villain startled as Superhero squeezed his shoulder.

“We’re almost there. It’s right down this street.” Up close, quiet, Superhero’s voice lost its bold tenor. It was soft, scraping, catching along each word like the gravel under their heels. The sound slid down Villain’s spine, too textured, too real and the pressure of Superhero’s hand suddenly screamed into his nerve. Villain held back every instinct to wrench himself away. Trapped beneath his sternum, fear writhed like a dog with a frothing mouth.

“Sounds good,” Villain hummed. He let his body rise back into Superhero’s palm and recalled each bone below. He thought about the thin, winding clavicle and the curved back of his scapula; he thought about the tendons and muscles drawn between. He thought about how easily Superhero could choose to clamp down and shatter him all the way through.

Superhero drew his hand away and Villain sagged, tucking his sigh of relief into a shallow cough as he lingered a few steps behind. It was easier this way, to stare at his back, to break him down into the line of his spine and the breadth of his shoulders. He wondered how many steps it would take for Superhero to completely dissolve into the distance. The clouds of ash would smear him grey and formless. The wasteland would enfold him.

Superhero turned, debris churning beneath his boot, “are you coming?”

“Yes.” A hound cried in the distance. Villain jogged forward.

////

The safehouse had only lamps for light. Superhero set one on the table and wiped the oil from his fingers as the flame flickered in its glass shell, casting a molten, wavering glow over the small room. He sighed and sunk into an old armchair. Like the couch Villain was settled in, its cushions were clotted with dust and soured by mildew, but Superhero slumped into it all the same, tilting his head back toward the yellowed ceiling tile.

Once more, Villain’s stomach jumped at the wrongness of the sight. Superhero belonged in throne rooms, with a mantle of velvet cast over his shoulder and a crystal wine glass pinched between his fingers. He should’ve only been visible in the fullest light, rendered in sharp edges and planes, constructed in poise and power, and nothing more.

The rusty light and warm shadow sunk Supervillain further into the chair. Flaring, the glow licked across his knuckles as they rolled and tensed, and Villain discovered that the back of his hand was scraped raw. The darkness implied scratches and furrows, but Villain couldn’t see the blood; the shadows were too rich and flushed in the lamplight for the red to show.

But Superhero could see blood. Of course, he could see, with those inhuman eyes, animal pupils swollen black in the dark.

“You’re bleeding.”

Villain's brow twitched. He knew where the cut was; a bright line of pain arced from his ear to the base of his skull. At first, he’d thought it was sweat, slipping down his neck, but it was warmer, slower, and grew tacky as it seeped into his collar.

“It’s fine,” Villain replied, tongue dry, not daring to look away from Superhero. He focused on the shadow beneath Superhero’s brow. It deepened as Superhero frowned, sinking into the folds of his skin.

Superhero tilted his head and dragged his gaze across Villain, slow, methodical, and keen. Villain’s arm was thrown over the arm of the couch and his spine bent to accommodate the sagging fabric behind him, which cast his legs in a long and languorous sweep. It should’ve been an easy posture, but Superhero saw the hard, locked angles of his joints. He saw the way Villain kept his head from hitting the cushion, neck straight and jaw drawn so tight it made his cheeks ache.

“It’s safe here,” Superhero assured and Villain almost bared his teeth, “you can relax. Once headquarters receives our distress call, they’ll come and retrieve us. It’ll take no more than a few days.” Superhero’s voice was soft again, softer than it was on the walk there. The syllables slinked, lifting the hairs on his arms.

Safe. Villain pushed his tongue against the back of his teeth, staving off a grimace. How safe could it be, sitting alongside a man steeped in shadow–a man who could rend the very room in ribboned halves?

“I am not used to battle,” Villain’s breath cracked, and he wished it was fake. He wished that each pitching breath was for show, rather than real fear leaping onto his tongue. “I’m terrified,” he looked up and Superhero stared back, “scared of it all.”

Superhero rose from his chair and Villain curled further into his seat, tucking his heels beneath the underside of the couch. “I’m fine,” blood slithered down behind his ear, “just nerves. Everyone gets a little shaken up after a big battle.”

The lamp flickered, flame jumping as Superhero bumped into the table and settled on the couch beside Villian. Fabric rustled. Dust floated up around Superhero’s thighs, glimmering like floating embers in the light before drifting down to his feet.

“Your fear doesn’t make you weak. You don’t need to excuse anything.” He settled a hand on the couch, leaning forward. His face was stiff, focused; his sclera burned orange. “There’s no shame in injury either.” Villain glanced down Superhero’s knuckles, finally able to follow the red–dark, deep, and ripping all the way into his forearm, disappearing between the torn fringes of his sleeve.

“I believe we’re both guilty in that regard,” Villain whispered. He willed his sternum still, scarcely breathing.

“Yeah,” Superhero smiled, keeping his eyes on Villain’s, “it’ll heal fine though.” Superhero leaned further on his arm. Villain wondered if it hurt, wondered if Superhero even felt the blood slipping down the side of his palm and onto the cushion. “Do you mind if I take a look at your head? You’re probably going to need to bandage it. Head wounds are never pretty.”

Villain had pushed so far into the end of the couch that the side of his leg burned, but Superhero was still so near. His weight spilled over, sinking into the space strung between them, and Villain felt his presence like a phantom touch, clutching his shoulder and cupping his ribs; awareness blazed along his side. Villain blinked. He breathed through his teeth and Superhero waited in perfect stillness, predatorily calm.

“Sure.” He turned his head toward the wall and offered his up his ear. In front of him, there was a window, cracked, fogged, and warped with age. Water had broken through and rotted the mantle. He tried to follow the dripping lines where rain had eaten through the wallpaper and spliced it into wilted silver whisps, but his vision swam, trying to climb back into his head, into the weeping wound.

“Do you mind if I move your hair?” The couch creaked. Superhero shifted closer.

“Whatever helps,” Villain spoke to the spiderweb fractures in the window. He listened to Superhero’s breath, then felt it as it washed over his blood-matted curls, a warm, dragging breeze.

His first touch was tentative. Fingers whispered into his scalp, slipping across his skin like a sigh. Villain should’ve flinched, should’ve lurched, should’ve done anything to snap the tension corded and coiled in his chest, but Superhero’s terrible hand was tender. Villain could only spill forward and clutch the arm of the couch. The fabric scraped against his palm.

“That bad?” Superhero asked, touch retreating as Villain slumped away.

“Just getting comfortable,” Villain whispered. Any louder and he felt like he would choke. Again, he tilted his head and proffered his hurt for display.

Superhero was firmer this time, parting his hair, letting the wound breathe. As Superhero prodded the hot, bruised skin running astride the cut, Villain exhaled and rested his chin on the top cushion, looking at the window again. The glass had taken a silver sheen, misted with the onset of rain. The first droplets carved delicate white arcs downward before settling in the broken seams and divots.

“Someone got a pretty hard hit on you.” Superhero noted, finding that purples of the bruise spread much farther than the neat tear. Villain knew that much. Supervillain had grinned before swinging the iron end of his staff into the base of his skull.

Villain hummed in affirmation.

////

“You’re bleeding.” Villain echoed the statement, much later. The candle had burned out sometime during the night, and white morning light washed through the room in its stead. No longer warm, no longer tucked into the bed of shadow, Superhero leaned back into his chair in an arrogant sprawl. He should’ve looked untouchable again, divinely separated from the world around him.

But his fist trembled against his stomach, bunched in his shirt.

The cloth was stained. Terrible. Red.

[zablife]

Hello Lee! Here I am ready to fill your inbox with requests. As I am in love with the way you write Luca I’d like to request the prompt “are you even real?” With him. It’s a horror / psychological prompt but feel free to write any genre you want! 🖤

Hi Shark! I adore this prompt and wrote it immediately, but Tumblr ate the first 500 words 😭 and it took me some time to return to this one. I've used Luca x Aurora (my OC) pairing from My Sun My Moon and All My Stars here which I hope you'll enjoy!

Darkness and Nothing More

GIF credits: upper left @areyenotfondofmelobster, upper right @twvstedsouls lower left @madame-amour, lower right @insane131

Two gunshots pierced the thick summer air, followed by the crash of a Tiffany lamp. The elegant drawing room was plunged into eerily still darkness before Aurora's body staggered forth into the silver moonlight. Collapsing in a heap, she lay silhouetted in shadow beneath the open window. As a gentle breeze rustled the curtains, it carried away a whisper of smoke from Luca's revolver.

Meanwhile in the distance dogs began to bark at the disturbance, calling Luca out of his haze. Rage from moments earlier turned to despair as he surveyed the damage, hands trembling with shock. Losing his grasp on his weapon, the heavy metal clattered onto the blood soaked rug. In a show of repentance, Luca dropped to his knees by his wife's side, cradling her head in his lap.

The rosary tattoo on his forearm came into view above her forehead as he brushed the hair from her once sparkling hazel eyes. He watched helplessly as they turned dull, fixing upon his in a trance like stare. Urgent pleas spilled from his lips as her head began to loll in his hands. "Stay awake, amore. Talk to me. Tell me what you see." He strained to hear Aurora as her mouth struggled to form words. “There's only darkness,” she whispered on one last jagged exhalation of breath.

Luca roared in agony, pressing her chest to his as though the closeness might resuscitate her. When he felt her arm drop listlessly at her side without pulse, he wept uncontrollably. Lowering her to the floor and placing her arms in peaceful repose, he shuddered at his actions. Eyes darting and hands fumbling through the shards of colored glass, he found his gun. Without hesitation, he placed it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

The next morning Luca awoke in his bed, the blinding sunshine exacerbating a pounding headache. He pitched forward, head in his hands, as he attempted to piece together the events of the previous evening. The copious amounts of liquor made it difficult to recall, but he felt the lingering tension in his back and shoulders from the escalation of emotion. He remembered how he attempted to subdue Aurora with a kiss, only to feel her palms shove into his chest scornfully. He was certain she said she was leaving. She had threatened it often enough, knowing the effect it had on him.

As he blinked against the bright light, a new memory flashed behind his eyelids in horrifying detail. His stomach turned as he saw the gun at his side drawn in warning before he realized he was firing into her back. Gulping harshly, he recalled the terror and guilt clutching at his heart before turning the gun on himself.

Opening his eyes he studied his hands in bewilderment. He died, yet here he sat without a scratch. His pulse began to race as he wondered precisely when reality had given way to delusion. Perhaps it was all a terrible dream?

"Aurora?" he called in a raw, cracked voice. His arm shot out beside him only to find her side of the bed cold and empty. Throwing the covers aside, he rushed from the bedroom, panic growing as he searched the house for his wife in vain.

Finally he came to the sitting room. Dread bloomed in his chest as he prepared himself for the discovery of her body. Giving the heavy oak doors an urgent shove, he stopped short at the sight of the unblemished Tiffany lamp. With renewed fortitude, he paced toward the carpet and forced himself to look upon the spot where Aurora bled to death.

Instead of crimson stains, he found an immaculate looking rug which caused him to furrow his brow in confusion. Bending down to examine the wool fibers with his fingertips, he felt a sudden dizziness overtake him when he realized it was as pristine as the day it arrived. His eyelids slammed shut as he muttered, "Thank God."

However, the relief was short lived as he considered the alternative. Luca pinched the bridge of his nose as the throbbing pain behind his eyes resumed. It seemed Aurora had left him in the night as she promised and he sighed heavily in defeat.

"Is something wrong?" a gentle lilt floated through the air.

Luca's head shot up at the sound of Aurora's soft voice, scanning the room for his beloved. He soon found her, standing behind him with a smile warming her delicate features. His body flooded with a sense of gratitude that she was not only unharmed, but in high spirits.

As he slowly approached, his gaze rested upon the shine of her dark curls and the glimmer in her eye. She looked more angelic than ever in the early morning light. "I know I don't deserve this second chance," he confessed. "But you're here," he announced in amazement, the stress of the morning breaking him. Cupping her cheek in his palm, tears sprung to his eyes as he asked in amazement, "Are you even real?"

She cocked her head at his strange behavior. "Of course, I'm real," she chuckled at his astonishment. "As real as you," she added taking his hand and guiding him toward the window for some fresh air.

Luca rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand gently, savoring the feeling of her soft skin against his. He wanted this to serve as a reminder to treat her with the utmost care. After glimpsing what might come of his temper, he vowed to change. This was a new beginning for them and he wanted her to know things would be different.

"Tesoro, about our quarrel..." he began.

"It doesn't matter now," Aurora hushed him with a gentle kiss. As they parted she pointed to the bustling street below. All their neighbors were gathered, talking amongst themselves in hushed whispers.

"What's going on?" Luca asked, craning his neck to see beyond them. When he turned to look back at Aurora, an icy chill shot down his spine as he found himself addressing an empty room. Luca shook his head, sure he was going insane.

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Luca sought answers. He followed the maids to the street below just in time to see police solemnly remove two bodies on stretchers. Although the dead had been covered by white sheets, the form of a man and a woman could still be seen beneath them.

He listened to the reverberation of voices through the courtyard until they became too faint to distinguish. Although he didn't understand why, he was being drawn away from the light with each passing moment. Fighting to remain for an explanation, he overheard one last exchange.

"Why would he do such a thing? Mr. and Mrs. Changretta were so in love," the upstairs maid stated sorrowfully.

The housekeeper shook her head in disagreement, "There was only darkness there and nothing more."

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

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[divineordiabolical]

*Zaria walked into the church after almost tripping over air because of course she did. Anyways, she starts calling out*

“Hey, is anyone here? I need help with like… protecting my house from ghosts or something”

(I totally didn’t forget to send this several times nuh-uh)

The heavy oak doors of the church yawned open, their sound a low groan that rippled through the stillness of the sacred space. Anastasia—Asya, as she obliged Zaria to call her—was in the midst of the usual chores she was accustomed, tending to the candles flickering at the altar, a quiet reverence guiding her hands as she tended to the altar’s candles. There was an almost hypnotic quality about the way the flames danced in their glass encasements, flickering with each breath of air that wisped through the stone walls.

It was as she was situating a wick upright, ensuring the flame burned evenly, that she heard the soft creak of the heavy oak doors and the hesitant shuffle of footsteps. The sound drew her from her reverie, and she turned, her gaze sweeping over the dim interior until it settled on the figure standing in the doorway. Oh, Zaria! There was something in the way she lingered just inside the church, as if the weight of whatever had brought her there was too heavy to bear alone. The shape of her, silhouetted in the dim light— small, jagged, and weak, eliciting an almost visceral, raw riposte. Just like her.

Asya’s heart stirred with a gentle concern, and she left the altar behind, her steps light and deliberate as she crossed the nave to meet her friend. “Zaria?” she called softly, her voice carrying the same warmth and quiet strength that had guided Zaria before in her moments of need. “What brings you here? You appear to be—” she hesitated, searching Zaria’s face for the right word that wouldn’t pose offense, “—troubled.”

[ggathena]

where: his bedroom who: @thorfinnrowlex

The room was cloaked in shadows, illuminated only by the faint moonlight seeping through the curtains. Athena stood by the window, her slender figure silhouetted against the night sky. Her eyes, usually warm with affection, now burned with a cold intensity. The air crackled with unresolved tension as she waited for Thorfinn.

Thorfinn, the man she loved with all her heart. Thorfinn, who had shattered her trust into irreparable shards. She clenched her fists, feeling the emptiness where the tattoo on her arm once symbolized their bond. She had magically faded it away, erasing his mark from her skin—the pain of betrayal too raw to bear.

It didn't make sense, not when they'd confessed their love, not when she'd vowed herself his and he'd swore himself hers. Her fingers ran along her inner forearm, pain overcoming her at the bare thought of losing him for good. Silly, it may seem, she'd chosen to wear the black cotton dress she'd wore to their first date, as though it would erase all the terrible things that had happened in between.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and then the door creaked open. Thorfinn stepped into the room, his silhouette framed by the doorway. Tall and imposing, he exuded a presence that once brought her solace but now only fueled her anger.

Silence hung heavy between them, the weight of broken promises suffocating the air. Athena fought to control the storm of emotions raging within her—anger, hurt, and a profound sense of loss. The heavy eyeliner was already smudged, she'd been fighting tears ever since she'd arrived, the electric blue of her irises a high contrast with her pale skin and red eyes.

"You lied to me," she said once she found the strength, her voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "You told me you loved me while you were with her." A pause, she had been avoiding his gaze since he came into the room, unable to look at him in the eyes until now.

[practically-an-x-man]

Relapsed (Nikoletta x Abner)

Summary: Months after her shadows were drained in the battle against Starro, Nikoletta finds an unpleasant surprise

Tags: post-TSS, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, mild body horror, soft ending

Word Count: 2.7k

____

She woke in the middle of the night, blinking in the darkness.

That wasn't unusual in the slightest. It was rare, very rare, that she made it through a full, uninterrupted night of sleep. Either her dreams were flooded with turbulent nightmares and painful memories, or she woke up shivering.

But tonight she seemed... fine. Confusingly fine. She couldn't remember any particularly rotten nightmares, and she was actually somewhere adjacent to warm with Abner right beside her. She'd slept through worse than this. Much worse.

So what had woken her?

She pondered that thought for an extra moment before concluding she'd probably just been stepped on by one of the cats, or something equally innocuous.

Nikoletta turned over in the bed, finding a grip on the topsheet to tug it back over her body.

Shadows spread out from her touch.

For a split second, she thought it was just a trick of the light. Something about the angle, the light streaming in from the window, her half-conscious mind filling the gaps in any way it could. Because she hadn't spread shadows in months. Not since Starro. She was past that years-long nightmare.

Wasn't she?

Nikoletta's fingers slid along the fabric, leaving an unmistakable trail of inky darkness in their wake.

Her drowsiness vanished in a heartbeat, like the tide before a tsunami. Panic flooded in its wake, fast and all-consuming.

She was moving before she even realized it, wildly kicking herself off the bed - away from Abner, away from the cats, away from anything she could ruin with her shadows. Her limbs tangled in the sheets, keeping her rooted to the bed for one terrifying moment before she wriggled herself loose.

Her knee hit Abner's thigh somewhere under the covers, and raw fear stole her breath for a moment. She was suddenly grateful for the twist of sheets, for her constant chill keeping her in full sleeves, for the few thin layers of fabric that still separated her from him. He'd already been marked by her once. She couldn't imagine granting him that curse again.

Finally she freed herself from the bed and crashed unceremoniously to the floor, clocking her hip on the nightstand as she fell. Nikoletta's fingers dug into the carpet beneath her - cheap vinyl, thank God, no shadows left behind. Nikoletta scrambled for the door (aluminum doorknob to safe, safe linoleum on the other side), trying to place some distance between her dangerous touch and the things she loved.

She reached the door and pulled it open, careful that her fingers touched only the doorknob and not the wood around it, and pushed her way into the living space beyond it. The carpet was safe, the linoleum was safe- but she was careless about the doorjamb, and her bare feet left dark streaks on the wood as she crossed it. Dimly, through her haze of panic, she could hear Abner shifting on the bed.

"Nikki?" he asked, voice raspy and confused from sleep, "Was it another nightmare?"

She couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. She pushed herself a little further into the kitchenette, pushed until she found the refrigerator - metal and plastic, blessedly immune - at her back. Streetlights shone in from the window across the room, granting her a brief glimpse at herself. Her pajamas were stained in odd patterns, like she'd been sweating ink, from everywhere the fabric touched her skin. Her breath came too fast, in harsh and jagged bursts.

"Nik? Hey, are you okay?" Abner called out, and a moment later she saw him silhouetted in the doorway. He passed a hand over his eyes, trying to rub the sleep out of them, then frowned as his gaze fell on her. He took a step closer.

"Don't touch me!" Nikoletta blurted, all too sharp, and grimaced as he flinched. She shook her head, struggling to pull her thoughts together, "They're back- the shadows, they're- they're back. You can't touch."

She watched his eyes dance over her figure as he caught up to speed. Her whole body was shaking, not from cold but from the raw adrenaline pumping through her veins. And to think, she'd had a whole four months where she didn't have to be afraid of herself. Nikoletta wrung her hands together so tightly her knuckles hurt.

Something passed over Abner's face a moment later. In the darkness of the room, Nikoletta couldn't quite tell what it was. But he took another step towards her- and held up his hands in surrender when she tried to shift away.

"It's okay. I won't touch," he assured her, crouching to meet her eyes, "What can I do to help?"

"Gloves, I- I need my gloves."

"You got rid of your gloves," Abner pointed out, though he stood up anyway. Nikoletta's eyes traced his motions, though she still couldn't bring herself to move from the floor.

He was shockingly calm for the circumstances, she thought. Calm and patient and gentle like he'd dealt with this a thousand times before. She had no idea how. This was the man who could hardly bring himself to change the TV channel when it switched to something he didn't want to watch, and yet here he was as steady and decisive as an EMT staunching a gunshot wound. Nikoletta sat curled on the floor, shaking uncontrollably with her knees pulled tight to her chest.

Abner was back a moment later, a pair of thick winter gloves in one hand and a box of blue nitrile gloves in the other. She had no idea where he'd found either. Nikoletta reached for the disposable gloves, then froze. She didn't trust herself to get them out of the box without brushing his fingers in the process.

Without missing a beat, Abner set the winter gloves down beside him and worked a pair of nitrile gloves out of the box. He offered them to her, pinching them by the fingers so she could safely grab them. Nikoletta tugged the gloves onto her hands, feeling marginally better to have that shield between her and the rest of the world.

Abner reached out, wordlessly offering her his hand. Nikoletta hesitated. The gloves were old, found in some God-knows-where corner of the apartment, and they didn't quite fit her hands. Without so much as a sigh, Abner reached back into the box and pulled another set of gloves over his own fingers.

Two layers. That was better. Safer. When he offered her his hand a second time, she took it. Abner squeezed her fingers once, and Nikoletta let out a shuddering breath.

"Better?"

"A little."

For a minute or two, they just stayed there: hands clasped through thin rubber gloves, sitting together on the cold linoleum floor. Slowly, Nikoletta's heart seemed to settle back into her chest, her panic bleeding out of her in slow ripples.

"I don't know what happened, it just-" she found herself stammering, looking down at her shadow-stained clothing, "It just came back, like it used to be. I don't know... I don't know what to do. I- I can't stay here if the shadows are back. There's just too much I could ruin."

Abner didn't respond at first, though he squeezed her hand again to let her know that he'd heard her. She could see the gears turning in his mind, working through undisclosed thoughts.

"Okay." he finally said, "Here's what we're going to do."

There was a shocking level of assuredness in his voice. He didn't hesitate, he didn't go quiet, he didn't stammer through the words. It felt as if they'd switched roles, her timid and trembling while he took charge. But it was comforting to know at least one of them had their head on straight.

"We're gonna go out to the lot behind the building. Where I go to release the dots, remember?" Abner asked, waiting for her to nod before he continued. He still hadn't let go of her hand, and gave it another gentle squeeze as he spoke, "And you're going to let out as many shadows as you can, okay? Just let them go, like you did when you saved me."

"How do you know that will-"

"Because it worked once. You did it once." he insisted, "Can we at least try?"

Nikoletta pursed her lips, but nodded. There was no harm in trying. Nothing to lose and everything to gain. And it was safer to be outside than in here, surrounded by wood and cotton and a pair of all-too-affection cats. She didn't know where Baron and Barbie had run off to, and she didn't want to find out when one of them brushed up against her leg and painted their fur with permanent ink.

Abner stood up, carefully offering her his other hand as he did. He didn't reach for any more touch than that, though his pajamas covered most of his skin anyway. All this carefulness reminded her of the early days - earlier - but his confidence was brand new.

It only took about thirty steps to get from the apartment to the dirt lot behind it. That was part of why they'd picked this apartment above any others: Abner needed a place to expel the dots, twice a day, without causing undue damage to what was around him. The dirt was soft but dry under Nikoletta's bare feet, a trail of shadowy footprints following her.

Abner paused in the center of the lot, dark eyes flicking over Nikoletta's figure for a moment before he spoke again.

"I'm going to go upstairs and change the sheets," he said, "And see if anything else got, um, shadowed."

"The doorjamb," she muttered, "By the bedroom. It's ruined."

"Could be worse," Abner pointed out, "That's something we can replace."

She nodded, though she found herself twisting her fingers uncomfortably into the hem of her nightshirt. Her gloves squeaked with the motion.

"Check the cats." Nikoletta blurted as another thought struck her, "Please. And- and yourself. You were right there in the bed with me."

"I will."

It wouldn't have made much difference if she'd brushed against Baron. He was a black cat anyway. But Barbie - short for Barbershop Quartet, for no reason other than she'd been found in an alley behind a hair salon - was an American shorthair, pale gray and striped, and any accidental touch would be obvious. Say nothing, of course, of Abner and how pale he was. Even the marks on his back were almost supernaturally stark against his skin. At least he could hide those with a shirt.

Abner reached out, clasping her shoulder and giving it a brief but comforting squeeze. Then he was gone, and Nikoletta was left alone.

She peeled the gloves off her hands and crouched in the dirt. She'd let go of those shadows once, in a desperate attempt to save Abner's life. And it had worked. She'd thought for months that the spray of shadows across his back would be the last mess her touch would ever leave.

Apparently she was wrong. They'd keep coming back. The shadows were an endless poison, forever welling up inside her.

Nikoletta set her hands in the dirt and purged herself of the darkness.

When Abner released his dots, he claimed it was the best he felt all day. As the day went on, he got more tired, more achey, more sick, as the virus took hold of him again. Gruesome as it was, she always found herself grateful for his little twice-daily ritual. It was the most unburdened he ever looked, and he deserved to be free of pain. She only wished it last longer than the sparse few hours he got.

But for her it was the opposite. Purging her shadows did not feel good. It did not relieve her of any pain or sickness. Instead she only felt hollow and exhausted when she finished, hardly able to hold herself upright. Despite the muggy nighttime air around her, she felt chilled to the bone. Something about the shadows kept her together. Without them, she was weak.

Nikoletta ran her shaking hands over the front of her shirt, exhaling a sigh of relief when no more shadows followed the touch. It had lasted a whole four months the last time she'd drained them - but that was life-or-death, and she'd been unconscious for days afterwards. She didn't know how long it would last this time. Days? Weeks? Or would she be going through this whole routine again tomorrow night?

"The cats are alright." Abner's soft voice came from behind her, an unknown number of minutes later, "Not a mark. Me too. Everything's okay. As long as... you're okay too?"

"I'm fine." Nikoletta mumbled as he approached and crouched beside her, "Safe to touch again. For a while."

"It would be okay either way," he said, then reached out to set his palm on her knee. He hesitated a little before he did it, like he was expecting her to pull away. "We'd find a way to make it work. It wouldn't be any worse than dealing with my dots."

Nikoletta nodded, though she bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't quite believe him, but she couldn't argue without it sounding like his condition was a burden to her. She was a little impressed, all things considered. It was a clever choice of words.

She moved to stand, but her knees crumpled under her. There was that weakness, her strength drained alongside her shadows. Abner darted ahead to catch her before she could fall, and a heartbeat later had lifted her into his arms.

She'd been surprised the first time he carried her. It was on her way out of the hospital - they'd insisted on pushing her out to the car in a wheelchair, but she hadn't realized she was still too weak to walk until they'd made it to the parking lot of the apartment they lived in now. After a moment or two of debate, wondering how to get her up the flight of stairs when she couldn't even stand on her own, Abner had finally come to a decision and lifted her into a bridal carry.

She hadn't been fond of it then. She wasn't sure she was fond of it now. Vulnerability as a whole was a difficult thing for her, and what was more vulnerable than being carried?

But it was either that or wait out here until she got a little strength back. And that could be all night. Besides... if it were going to be anyone, she'd rather it be him.

"I'm glad it happened now." Abner mumbled, seemingly out of the blue as he helped her back into the apartment. Baron and Barbie brushed against his legs and mewled softly as he stepped inside, and a faint smile twisted at Abner's lips.

"I wish it hadn't happened at all," Nikoletta huffed in response. Abner shrugged as he set her down on the bed. He lingered just an extra moment, daring to lean in and kiss her forehead before he pulled back.

"I mean if it was going to happen. If it couldn't be avoided. I'm glad it happened now, and not another time," he explained, "I mean, if it happened earlier, I wouldn't know how to help you. And if it happened later, we might have forgotten how to deal with it. And now we know how to fix it if- when it happens again."

Baron hopped up onto the bed and picked his way over to Nikoletta's side. He bumped his face into her hand with a rumbling purr, demanding affection. Nikoletta forced herself not to freeze or flinch. It was fine. Everything was fine. The problem had been dealt with.

"I guess you're right." she sighed, finally convincing herself to run her fingers through Baron's soft black fur, "I guess... if it had to happen, it was better we got it over with."

Abner nodded and lifted the covers, ready to slide back into bed next to her. But he paused, half in and half out.

"Do you... want me to sleep on the couch tonight?" he asked, frowning just a little as his eyes flicked over to the door, "If you need space?"

He pulled back just a little, but Nikoletta's hand snapped out and caught his wrist before he could go far. Abner froze in place. She swallowed hard.

"No. Please." she admitted, the words sticking in her throat, "I don't want to be alone."

[illumins]

𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞—𝑙. 𝑗𝑒𝑛𝑜 (#⁰¹)

✦trope: angst, dystopian, fantasy

✦wordcount: 680

✧second pov

▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭▬▭

In the heart of a wasteland, where the remnants of civilization crumble beneath the weight of despair, you find yourself standing beside Jeno, your savior, your love, your anchor in this chaotic world. The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and burning debris, the sky a swirling canvas of ominous clouds tinged with the sickly hue of pollution.

Around you, the landscape stretches out in desolation, a barren expanse of crumbling buildings and twisted metal, the remnants of a world long forgotten. Charred remains litter the ground, a haunting reminder of the devastation that has swept through this once-thriving city.

Jeno's form cuts a dark silhouette against the backdrop of devastation, his bare torso wrapped in bandages that serve as a reminder of the battles he's fought and the wounds he's endured. His eyes, pools of darkness reflecting the turmoil within, betray the weight of the decision he's about to make.

You watch him with bated breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you grapple with the enormity of the situation. You had always believed in Jeno, had trusted him with your life, never once suspecting the darkness that lurked beneath his stoic facade. But now, as he stands on the precipice of damnation, you can't help but question everything you thought you knew.

The ground beneath your feet trembles with the echo of distant explosions, the world itself protesting against the choice that Jeno is about to make. But still, he stands resolute, his jaw set in determination as he grapples with the weight of his decision.

"Jeno," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath as you reach out to touch his trembling form. "What are you doing?"

Jeno's gaze meets yours, his eyes dark and haunted as he struggles to find the words to explain. "I'm doing what I have to," he replies, his voice tinged with resignation. "...For us."

Your heart clenches with a mixture of fear and desperation as you watch him wrestle with the demons that torment him. Whether it were the ones he'd bred from his own choices or of the makings of the world that failed everyone—failed him.

"But at what cost?" you plead, your voice breaking with emotion. "The world is at stake, Jeno. You can't just..."

Jeno cuts you off with a look, his expression pained yet resolute. "I can't let them take you," he says, his voice raw with emotion. "I won't." His eyes shined with newfound tears.

Tears blur your vision as you watch him step forward, his form silhouetted against the chaos and destruction. And as he raises his hands to the heavens, a single tear glistens in the harsh light of the setting sun, a silent testament to the sacrifice he's about to make.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely a whisper in the chaos of the world's end. And then, with a final look in your direction, he closes his eyes and lets out a scream that tears through the very fabric of reality.

The ground beneath you trembles and shakes, the world itself seeming to protest against his decision. But still, he stands firm, his gaze never wavering as he prepares to make the ultimate sacrifice.

You reach out to him, desperation clawing at your heart as you beg him to reconsider. "Jeno, please," you plead, your voice cracking with emotion. "Don't do this. We'll find another way. We'll..."

But Jeno shakes his head, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. "There is no other way," he says, his voice heavy with sorrow. "This is the only choice I have left," his words fell out like a harsh whisper.

As the world is consumed by the sacrifice that Jeno has made, you cling to Jeno in a desperate embrace. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers those three words that will haunt you for eternity.

"I choose you."

Before you can react, Jeno pushes you into another dimension, a realm beyond the reach of time and space. And as you watch from the other side, the world crumbles around him, consumed for you.

[sovaghoul]

I wrote this many years ago, prose to convey the Beltane myth. It's sensual and erotic but not explicit, implied het!sex. Please enjoy.

💝 Joyous Beltane 💝

The Maid waited anxiously in the Grove, knowing soon that Her Love would emerge from the trees. Although She knew exactly what was to happen this night, She was no less excited. To be reunited with the Lord She loves above all others after His death in the Fall, the cold lonely Winter, and the teasings of Spring, this first day of Summer was remarkable indeed.

When She at last heard the approaching footsteps, She dropped Her shift to the ground, Her pale skin radiant in the rising Moonlight. The Magick of the Full Moon sparked, sizzled, and cracked around Her as Her Love drew ever closer. Finally, after seemingly endless moments, a form silhouetted against the setting Sun at the edge of the trees.

Her breath caught as He stepped forward, His beauty far greater than She remembered (as seemingly happened every year). She took in His defined, lean muscles, the grace in His stride, the passion in His eyes. The ends of His dark tousled hair barely brushed the ruddy flesh of His shoulders, His budding antlers peeking through the mass above His forehead. His desire for Her was obvious as He continued His advance, and the Maid let loose a peal of joyous, inviting laughter.

Seeing Her, the young buck of a God broke into a run, His hunger now barely contained. Her silken hair fell in delicate waves to the middle of Her back, a fawn-colored waterfall from the crown of Her head. Her eyes glowed at Him even from a distance, and the rapid rise and fall of Her bosom only excited Him all the more. Within moments He was in arms’ reach of the Maid, and His hands nearly itched with the anticipation of caressing the soft, supple curves of Her body. A flittering déjà vu flickered in His mind, a faint memory of another tryst not unlike this one. He shook it from His thoughts though as He stopped, leaving little more than a hair’s breadth between Him and His Love.

His panting breath was warm and bore the lush scent of the woods as it met the Maid’s face, His eyes flashing and His heart pounding from more than just the sprint. She remembered His face, of course, even though the last time She saw Him as Her Consort, He had been old and weathered. She knew that only His Divine Soul remembered Her, not His young conscious mind; He always lost His powers of recollection on His yearly sacred journey to the Underworld. She, however, is eternal, and so while Her age cycles as well, She never leaves as He does. The Dark of the Moon obscures Her face, and the Winter months take their toll, but She still remains. It didn’t matter though that the memory was gone from His mind, He still knew and understood His destiny, and tonight would be the first of many milestones as this Once and Future King traversed His path in this incarnation.

For a moment, both were still, each drinking in the naked form of the other. She drew Her breath, He licked His lips. She smiled, and He spoke;

“My Lady, will You come dance with Us?” His deep, gentle voice carried all the raw power and promise of fulfillment proven by years past, stretching back to the beginning of time. It shot sensuous lightning bolts through the Maid’s thighs, as this hallowed ritual exchange did each year.

“With joy, My Lord,” She answered, Her words chiming like silver bells, Her breath sweet and cool as honeyed wine. The God smiled, showing His white teeth, and grasped the Maid at Her waist, lifting Her and spinning about. He laughed full in His throat, a sound like the harmonious choir of the forest creatures. When He set Her on the ground again, She still smiled, and He held Her close to Him, His lust evident against Her bare hip.

Her eyes, bright with seduction, gazed up at Him through Her lashes, and She whispered, “My Lord, will You come love with Us?”

His blood boiling and His need spilling over, the God growled His answer, “With joy, My Lady.”

Before the final word left His lips, They had tumbled, limbs entangled, to the soft grass of the meadow.